Ecstasy

Deenomott was a priest of the fiery war god, Voinogen. A volatile deity that governed over the sun, fire both earthly and celestial. All of these and the cruelest of inventions devised by the minds of man and god alike – war. Deenomott wasn’t a typical priest of Voinogen, he was a warrior hermit. A man who devoted his life to worshiping the flaming war god whilst traveling between the various lands of the continent. Offering his clerical and military services to anyone who’d dare ask. The hermit was quite famous, some have even claimed he was a demigod. Although he could never prove nor disprove such a claim, since neither his mother nor he knew the identity of his father.

One day, Deenomott was traveling through the Ta’atean forest, a known location in which mystery cults devoted to all manner of eccentric deities were gathering and performing their rituals. The hermit came across an abandoned grove, at the center of which stood a poorly constructed altar. Deenomott looked around and saw the remains of an animal splayed across the trees and across the altar. Blood and feces-covered his surroundings and strange symbols were engraved into the tree trunks. The hermit knew who produced such a vile scenery of abysmal worship.

“Those wild things, as insane as their pathetic god.” He remarked before spitting on the altar and walking away.

“The Wild Things” was a popular nickname for the devotees of Bession. An ancient and largely forgotten pastoralist god of the wilderness, foresight, madness and ecstasy. Eons ago, he was an important deity, but now he was relegated to the sidelines. Not that the insults of mortals bothered him. He was the wilderness, after all, the unrestrained thoughts, the ecstatic impulse. As such, Bession preferred the company of mortals over that of the other gods. This attitude had earned the contempt of his divine brethren who viewed him short of a fallen divinity. One thing Bession did find unforgivable was the lack of respect his devotees suffered from. His free-spirited nature attracted all those disillusioned and abandoned by civilized society. For their wild devotion, the mad god loved his wild things.

At sunset, the warrior hermit came across a hut at the edge of the Ta’atean forest. An old hooded man sat by the hut, his face almost entirely covered. Deenomott approached the old man and asked, “Sir, would you let a wandering monk rest in your abode?”

The man lifted his head and stared at the hermit. A smile formed across his face. “Of course, of course, young man. I’d be delighted to have your company.”

Deenomott thanked the old man and followed him into the hut. Once inside, the old man prepared a bed and dinner for the wandering priest and questioned him on the nature of his faith. Upon learning of the martial aspect of the priest’s religion, the old man seemed to rejoice and produced a bottle of wine seemingly out of nowhere.

“Sit, my boy. It's splendid news that you’ve stumbled upon my small hut. You see, I am a dying old man. An awful disease is eating away at my flesh. That is why I am forced to hide my face beneath this cloth. I feel that the end is upon me. I have little time left.”

Deenomott sat and listened quietly as the old man spoke.

“My sons, they’ve all died in battle. Worshiping the great one under his eye in the sky. Now I’m a dying old man and it would be a great shame if my weapons just withered away here, in this hut. Unused and forgotten now that I can no longer use them. Perhaps you could take them as your tools of worship of the Great One. What do you say, my child?”

Deenomott smiled and happily obliged to take the weapons with him. Demanding to see them. The old man stumbled into another room in the hut, one covered by primordial darkness, and vanished for a few moments. He then returned with a gleaming golden spear in one hand and a ruby red short sword in the other. The priest stood up and glared in awe at the fine weaponry.

“These are fine weapons, sir. You must’ve been a great warrior.” The hermit walked towards the old man, hoping to inspect the objects better. “Who made these fine tools, sir?”

The old man loosened his grip on the weapons and sighed. “A lifetime ago, I was a soldier of the high king. And I am no longer sure of the name of the smith who crafted these beauties. My condition had robed my memory from within my psyche. Rest assured, these were passed down in my family for centuries.” He handed over the weapons to the hermit before stumbling back to his chair.

The young priest inspected every inch with amazement. He had never seen such fine tools of destruction before. In his mind, he kept imagining the way he was going to them to glorify his lord in magnificent battles. Deenomott was losing himself in thoughts when the old man’s voice croaked.

“You must promise me one thing, son. The first thing you must do when you leave me to my fate is to find the nearest fire temple and sacrifice a beast to the Great One.”

“Yes, yes, I will! Such fine weaponry must be celebrated properly within the presence and with the blessing of Voinogen!” the priest exclaimed, laying down his newly acquired weapons.

“Now, come drink with me, boy!” the old man shouted with joy. And they drank to their heart’s content.

The more they drank, the stranger things seemed for Deenomott. The room started turning and twisting, colorful clouds decorated the formerly empty space. Strange music seemed to caress his ears. Strangest of all was the appearance of the old man. His skin seemed to turn pale blue, with strange markings appearing all over his face. His eyes were strangely equine and horns grew out of his head.

The priest could not voice his concern because a deep and warm feeling grew inside his stomach as the liquor burned his throat. Joy or rather a sort of rolling excitement was taking over his rationale. A pure, wild, and unbridled kind of feeling was invading his mind.

Ecstasy.

The next morning, just after sunrise, the priest awoke. Outside of the hut. His head pounding, his throat itching, dizzy and lost, the priest barely got up to his feet and then he noticed a chalice lying on the ground next to him. He rubbed his photophobic eyes and looked around. Noticing the golden spear and crimson sword, his heart caught fire. He grabbed the weapons and started running. Almost like he was a man possessed. A single thought circulated inside his mental maze.

Sacrifice to the flaming war god.

The priest ran single-mindedly for hours upon hours. His legs burned while his lungs were being torn from the inside out. His heart was attempting to escape his chest, but he dared not stop. His eyes focused on the mental vision of a fire temple. He couldn’t see the world around him. Something within having locked him on his imaginary target, like an arrow fired from an elite archer’s bow. As the hours rolled, the sun scorched his skin by midday when he arrived at the steps of the nearest fire temple. When he arrived at his destination, a thick layer of sweat covered his body. His hair and clothes were dirty and disheveled. He appeared to be a wild man.

Once he saw the deer running elegantly across the steps of the temple, he laughed like a madman. The priest tightened his grip around his golden spear to the surprise of the onlookers and threw it with all of his force at the deer. The tip and shaft pierced one of the legs of the beast, nailing it to the stone floor. The creature let out a deafening cry, followed by a panicked chorus of cries from the onlookers. Deenomott heard none of that. All he could see was a gift to his divine father. Laughing with the utmost of glee and swinging his crimson sword thoughtlessly, the priest lunged at the wounded animal.

At the same time, a crow flew into the palace of the gods, croaking Voinogen’s name over and over until the flaming god finally answered its calls.

“What is it, corpse biter?” he demanded to know.

“Look, look, high lord, look through the sun… look,” the avian croaked and sang. Its voice unsteady and crackling.

“Look for what, feathered rat?”

“Sacrilege at your temple, milord…” the bird sang.

The god growled under his breath and sank his head into a flaming sphere in the middle of his chamber.

Voinogen pulled out his head from the sphere and let out a mighty roar that shook the entire celestial palace. Flames came shooting out of his Draconian jaws, and smoke flowed out of his nostrils.

“Prepare my horses!” he demanded.

At the temple, Deenomott was carving the deer into small pieces as the blood and entrails coated the entirety of the temple steps and his body. The hermit shrieked and howled like a wild animal as he swung his crimson sword over and over. Once there was nothing left but stone pavement to slice. The priest collapsed to the ground. The priest waved his gore-stained hands in the air, rolling down the stairs and crying out to the steadily blackening skies. “Blessed be, my father, who is in the burning high heavens!”

A thunderclap shook the hermit back into his senses, and he recoiled in horror when he saw a head resting in his lap. A young woman’s head missing its jaw.

A priestess’ headdress adorning the top of her skull.

The realization sank in.

The crowd of onlookers stared in disbelief, petrified by the unholy carnage that had just unfolded before them. Deenomott stared at his blood-stained hands in sheer disbelief, his eyes welling up as the fear ate at his heart. He tried standing up but fell down the stairs, collapsing at the feet of the statuesque commoners.

“What have I…” His head flew off, disconnected by an invisible force from the rest of his body. Spraying a woman with blood. A violent flash of light burst from behind the now headless warrior hermit, and mortals all around him fell unconscious. Humans could not perceive the unmasked visage of a god.

Voinogen appeared seated on his flaming horse at the foot of the fire temple. One of his hands clutching a mighty battle-ax and the other the decapitated body of his former disciple. His beard flowed like magma as he lowered down his battle-ax and stared with contempt at the corpse of the mortal he just slew.

A slow clapping sound interrupted the war god’s admiration of his own work. The flaming god turned around at the top of the stairs, stood a hooded figure, clutching the golden spear.

“Good job, brother. I was hoping the mortals would tear him apart, but alas, a God is good too.” The figure spoke.

“What does it matter to you, Bession?” Voinogen questioned.

“See, your boy… he insulted my wild things, and for this insult I drove him mad. I hoped he’d kill the priestess, anger the masses, and end up on your altar.” The hooded figure spoke, his words sharp and filled with a sting.

“So, it’s your fault he killed the priestess? You goat-headed…” the flaming god dropped the corpse and charged at the hooded deity.

A sea of vines erupted from beneath the stone pavement, wrapping itself around the flaming god and his steed, restraining him in place. Bession slowly walked to the fruitlessly struggling Voinogen and placed the tip of his spear against his brother’s throat.

“You should’ve taught your kid better.” He said before picking up the hermit’s severed head. Tormented moans escaped its mouth.

“My kid?” the flaming god questioned.

The mad god laughed as he lifted the head and shoved it in his brother’s face.

“What have I… What did you make me do? You sick…” the flaming god couldn’t find the words. He did indeed decapitate his own progeny. However, because he was a demigod, he could not be killed unless a god incinerated him. Severed his head from the rest of his body just immobilized him, turned him into an immortal soul drowning in an ocean of unimaginable pain trapped inside a skull.

The rage bubbled inside Voinogen’s form. He roared like a dragon, and a storm of fire erupted like a volcano from within him. The flames consumed everything in his vicinity, leaving nothing but a desert of black ashes. The burst turned even the decapitated body of his son into nothing but a small pile of soot. Condemning the warrior hermit to a fate worse than death.

Bession escaped the fiery onslaught. All that remained of him was his laughter and his parting words to the flaming war god.

“Remember brother, without me there is no you. Without the maddening ecstasy, there is no war!”