HOME | DD

Description
If you must give me a name, call me Zevhannon, The Pious Apostate, for that is what I am. I write this account under a false name because if the authorities learned my name, I would be killed. It will suffice you to know that I was among the priesthood of the falsely so-called Holy Temple of Iyau the Bull, in the holy city of Neor, and had been a devout Iyauvist from the day I was born, until the day I had seen this so-called god for myself. I curse the day my people turned away from the gods of our fathers! Enough of my prattling. I will tell my story.

In my seventeenth year, I had been judged fit to serve Iyau directly among the Sanctum-Priesthood as an acolyte, assisting the Sanctum-Priests. Anyone with any knowledge of the religion beyond their local ekklesia or village predicator would know that the sanctum-priests serve Iyau directly in the Holy of Holies. The rituals done by the ekklesia-priests and their shoddy idols are mere shadows of the Sanctum Rites.

The day of my first offering-rite came a week later after much preparation. The morning of that day, I happened to pass through the market to find some smoked fish for my breakfast, and chanced upon the sight of a beggar with an ukka melon, being chased and captured by the City Watchmen. The beggar stared at me and called at me, ignorantly, taking my indigo robes for those of a higher office, “Priest! Help! I am but a beggar who sought to feed his daughter!” I kept silent and walked away with my smoked fish, fearful of ending up like that poor wretch, solely for the appearance of aiding him, someone who had clearly cursed by Iyau with poverty. I can still see his fear-stricken green eyes.

Nota Bene: In a previous edition, I have heard it claimed that the preceding anecdote is contrived and blatantly fictional. Invariably, these unworthy critics have never so much as set foot in the city of Neor, otherwise they would know that the city is filled with beggars except after the purges undertaken by the City Watchmen. The debt collectors and tax collectors leave many penniless and continue collecting even after having rendered the debtors destitute. And that is all I will say on the matter.

Once I returned to the temple, I did my best to compose myself. Finally the time for the offering-rite came, at sunset. I was bathed, anointed with aromatic oils, and given the white robes of the sanctum-acolyte, and joined the procession. The sanctum-priests and their acolytes filed before the massive cedar doors of the Holy-of-Holies. The high priest at the head of the procession shouted the secret word that commanded the doors to open, and we entered.

The place was dark, save for the oil lamps that dotted the walls, and the blood-red light that came from the god itself, sitting on top of the raised platform at the central altar, where it was being served by three sanctum-priests. The procession circled the altar, chanting praises to the Bull's might and glory. Each time we circled it, we grew nearer.

When we could go no nearer, we stopped. I looked upon the god. It had the form of a great bull, fashioned by the Prophet-King Yassu himself, shaped of gold, silver, and steel, carved with arcane signs and sigils. On its forehead was carved its sign. It easily stood thirty cubits high. A pair of ebony horns, eight cubits long, curved from its heavy head, and smoke and steam belched from its mouth and nostrils. Coiled behind it was a tail like unto a scorpion, tipped with a sting like a sickle of shining black metal. The red glow came from between its ribs, as though flames burned within its belly.

I looked down and saw the Three Offerings, as served served in the ekklesias, but dwarfing them in size. The offering-bowls the size of coracles, enough to carry a man. Food, Wealth, and Blood. One bowl was heaped high with wheat, another was piled with coins of gold, while the bowl for the blood-offering, where the ekklesia-priest would pour wine, the bowl in the center...Contained the beggar from the market, covered in lashing-scars, bound like a pig to be roasted. Those green eyes stared at me for the second and final time. My stomach threatened to leap out through my mouth.

The Bull looked upon the three offerings with eyes like burning coals. An oily and black forked tongue slithered out of a mouth lined with knife-like teeth and licked its metal lips, in anticipation of its meal. The high priest chanted his liturgy, which I cannot remember, as fixed I was on the sight of this god. He took his offerings in the traditional order, eating the grain, then the gold. Finally, it was time for him to feast upon the sacrificial victim. He opened wide his steel-toothed maw and snapped up the screaming men as easily as a crocodile devours a young antelope. By some miracle, I forced myself to retain composure, once again out of fear of sharing that man's fate.

As his flesh was rent asunder, so was my heart. I remembered my parents having told me that the worshipers of Zevu and Elensh (Called Saulla and Sabariu in the lands of the Lemmiki, called Ongaowe and Uksun among the Eb, and called Borlin and Walha by the men of the heath, among other names) sacrificed men to the appetites of those gods, and that the priests of Iyau had ended the barbaric practice. I learned that the story had been a lie. The Bull could not be a god. It was then that I began my studies and became the man I am today.

May you be blessed by Lord Zevu-Saulla, Lady Elensh-'Abariu, and all the beautiful and good gods.
Zevhannon the Pious Apostate

Day 14, Month 4, Year 1102 of Yassu The Prophet-King, and Year 21, of the reign of the Hateful and Profane Unholy Emperor of the Unholy Neoric Empire, Derau-Sidellau IX

Elensh-Day, Day 14, Plantingmonth, Year 5965 in the Era of the Pious Kings of Sur and Lemmikia.

Description
If you must give me a name, call me Zevhannon, The Pious Apostate, for that is what I am. I write this account under a false name because if the authorities learned my name, I would be killed. It will suffice you to know that I was among the priesthood of the falsely so-called Holy Temple of Iyau the Bull, in the holy city of Neor, and had been a devout Iyauvist from the day I was born, until the day I had seen this so-called god for myself. I curse the day my people turned away from the gods of our fathers! Enough of my prattling. I will tell my story.

In my seventeenth year, I had been judged fit to serve Iyau directly among the Sanctum-Priesthood as an acolyte, assisting the Sanctum-Priests. Anyone with any knowledge of the religion beyond their local ekklesia or village predicator would know that the sanctum-priests serve Iyau directly in the Holy of Holies. The rituals done by the ekklesia-priests and their shoddy idols are mere shadows of the Sanctum Rites.

The day of my first offering-rite came a week later after much preparation. The morning of that day, I happened to pass through the market to find some smoked fish for my breakfast, and chanced upon the sight of a beggar with an ukka melon, being chased and captured by the City Watchmen. The beggar stared at me and called at me, ignorantly, taking my indigo robes for those of a higher office, “Priest! Help! I am but a beggar who sought to feed his daughter!” I kept silent and walked away with my smoked fish, fearful of ending up like that poor wretch, solely for the appearance of aiding him, someone who had clearly cursed by Iyau with poverty. I can still see his fear-stricken green eyes.

Nota Bene: In a previous edition, I have heard it claimed that the preceding anecdote is contrived and blatantly fictional. Invariably, these unworthy critics have never so much as set foot in the city of Neor, otherwise they would know that the city is filled with beggars except after the purges undertaken by the City Watchmen. The debt collectors and tax collectors leave many penniless and continue collecting even after having rendered the debtors destitute. And that is all I will say on the matter.

Once I returned to the temple, I did my best to compose myself. Finally the time for the offering-rite came, at sunset. I was bathed, anointed with aromatic oils, and given the white robes of the sanctum-acolyte, and joined the procession. The sanctum-priests and their acolytes filed before the massive cedar doors of the Holy-of-Holies. The high priest at the head of the procession shouted the secret word that commanded the doors to open, and we entered.

The place was dark, save for the oil lamps that dotted the walls, and the blood-red light that came from the god itself, sitting on top of the raised platform at the central altar, where it was being served by three sanctum-priests. The procession circled the altar, chanting praises to the Bull's might and glory. Each time we circled it, we grew nearer.

When we could go no nearer, we stopped. I looked upon the god. It had the form of a great bull, fashioned by the Prophet-King Yassu himself, shaped of gold, silver, and steel, carved with arcane signs and sigils. On its forehead was carved its sign. It easily stood thirty cubits high. A pair of ebony horns, eight cubits long, curved from its heavy head, and smoke and steam belched from its mouth and nostrils. Coiled behind it was a tail like unto a scorpion, tipped with a sting like a sickle of shining black metal. The red glow came from between its ribs, as though flames burned within its belly.

I looked down and saw the Three Offerings, as served served in the ekklesias, but dwarfing them in size. The offering-bowls the size of coracles, enough to carry a man. Food, Wealth, and Blood. One bowl was heaped high with wheat, another was piled with coins of gold, while the bowl for the blood-offering, where the ekklesia-priest would pour wine, the bowl in the center...Contained the beggar from the market, covered in lashing-scars, bound like a pig to be roasted. Those green eyes stared at me for the second and final time. My stomach threatened to leap out through my mouth.

The Bull looked upon the three offerings with eyes like burning coals. An oily and black forked tongue slithered out of a mouth lined with knife-like teeth and licked its metal lips, in anticipation of its meal. The high priest chanted his liturgy, which I cannot remember, as fixed I was on the sight of this god. He took his offerings in the traditional order, eating the grain, then the gold. Finally, it was time for him to feast upon the sacrificial victim. He opened wide his steel-toothed maw and snapped up the screaming men as easily as a crocodile devours a young antelope. By some miracle, I forced myself to retain composure, once again out of fear of sharing that man's fate.

As his flesh was rent asunder, so was my heart. I remembered my parents having told me that the worshipers of Zevu and Elensh (Called Saulla and Sabariu in the lands of the Lemmiki, called Ongaowe and Uksun among the Eb, and called Borlin and Walha by the men of the heath, among other names) sacrificed men to the appetites of those gods, and that the priests of Iyau had ended the barbaric practice. I learned that the story had been a lie. The Bull could not be a god. It was then that I began my studies and became the man I am today.

May you be blessed by Lord Zevu-Saulla, Lady Elensh-'Abariu, and all the beautiful and good gods.
Zevhannon the Pious Apostate

Day 14, Month 4, Year 1102 of Yassu The Prophet-King, and Year 21, of the reign of the Hateful and Profane Unholy Emperor of the Unholy Neoric Empire, Derau-Sidellau IX

Elensh-Day, Day 14, Plantingmonth, Year 5965 in the Era of the Pious Kings of Sur and Lemmikia.