Pagan Gods: Of Brotherhood and War

<minotaur21560>
Trunks of trees like great pillars of a temple. The night is cool with wisps of fog.

“O Flame of a Thousand Names,
God-Protector of this vale of fame,
Bless this, our Forest, site of sacred games
That fix the hearts of enemies and maim.
Spy out their plans, unmake their aim,
Cast down, derange their bones, give pain!
Enact defeat of demons and prefigure same.

“Staunch defender of the woods, I came
to lead our troops and make their name…
Let god to this man stake claim.
Rope, bind his limbs to wooden frame,
Make him the glossy bull we blame
And play the foe. Punish, tame
Him now; Cudgel, make him lame!
Like to Incubus the same,
And let him hang his head in shame!”

<minotaur21560>
In sacred grove stands the Dark General, naked, hale and strong. All sign of rank or uniform removed, he is the sacrificial bull. A board or yoke on his shoulders rests, three holes hold wrists level with neck, elbows depending. “I, bound with ungirded loins, declaim…”

Rising and falling with his breath, his pelted chest is stretched, while he waits upon the pleasure of the god. A figure well-suited to play demon and enemy…solemnly prepared for punishment, an ordeal nobly to be endured for the good of the forest and its folk… May the god be propitiated by this offering.

<Gaius_the_Seed_Sower>
Wind flows with forest scents in the circle of stones. Runes of green fire blaze into being upon the menhirs and green lightning crackles in the sky, heralding the lordly Forest Father... primal virility, the coming of the god.

Moss and flowers burst from the wooden yoke, and the wind roars round the stones, the circle, the eye of an invisible storm. Flames brighten, and in a great swirl of emerald flame, I appear…

Stepping solemnly towards the bound sacrificial bull, vines and berries grow around you. Plucking one, I mark your forehead and throat with runes of vibrant forest blood, cupping your chin up to my burning eyes. "The bull offers himself to me? His flesh and spirit, his strength and virility, his will and shadow...shall he offer these all up to his lord?" I say, continuing these opening rites.

A great power is building beneath and around us...this ritual is not to be lightly undertaken! None would fault the bull if he should feel fear, and so his liege offers him one last chance to escape…

<minotaur21560>
Around me air and wood quickening to growth… Fast thumps my heart — the incomparable approaching god, intoxicating, all-glorious… Fruit plucked, vine snapped; my throat and head are marked.

I face him with all remaining will. To the canopy of leaves I answer:

“An oak tree grows on banks of the Euphrates.
I come as demon. Enemy of god, bull to embody darkness.
Let forest witness how you smite me to expose my strategy!
Through this will I be cleaned.
An oak tree grows on banks of the Euphrates.”

<Gaius_the_Seed_Sower>
"The milk of bulls shall flow in this circle, and within this place shall be sown the seed of emptiness and shadow...Let the bull be loaded with flowers and honoured in sacrifice" I bellow, letting leaves and moss and flowers fall from my hands, garlands and wreaths put upon you.

<minotaur21560> I sing:
“Bedeck the bull with leaves of bright-berried bryony,
with sprays of fir, with branches torn from trees.
Fill soul and flesh with maddening vision; draw tight
the round drum skin, and beat upon it with a driving thwack
Till wild beat gives rhythm to a breathing sweetness.

<Gaius_the_Seed_Sower>
[3 lines lost here from fire damage in the eruption of Vesuvius.]

<minotaur21560>
“Follow constellations to the mountains
where the cedars grow
I, sanctified through holy consecration,
While it subsists within me, holy, for a short time,
With human soul-might… that I will again receive
After present bitter and relentless necessity
pressing down upon me…for I am the son
And would serve the god.”

<Gaius_the_Seed_Sower>
I go around the bound bull, marking his chest and back, his arms and thighs. At last, a sharp piece of flint is produced, and the bull eggs are weighed.

Slowly, the flint cuts into the hefty sack, letting the slender fingers of the hand of God within…

<minotaur21560>
“O My Servant!” the god’s voice, gentle, as fingers enter what is cut. The bull throws his bearded head from side to side. Bellowing, he shows the whites of his eyes, seeing his own defeat:

He is demon. Raising his shield till it is knocked aside. His sword breaks. The Bull falls to earth and slays a hundred men; With a snort he charges. Foaming in the face of god, glossy Bull swishes the thick of its tail. The Seed-Sewer dodges, leaps on the Bull, seizing it by horns. The god overcoming what is evil, his roar a whirlwind, now will he cut down the cedar.

Legs spread wide like trees, the brave general is this bull. Yoked arms spread his furry chest. In ecstasy, he feels the blade of flint, the cut, the fingers. Learning what it is to be a demon, he staggers, cock erect, hungering for his own defeat.

Like a scorpion, the god stings his bull with punishing flint.

<Gaius_the_Seed_Sower>
Removing the eggs and waters of life therein from my general, I stuff his sack with moss and mistletoe and acorns… filling him with the green fertility of the forest, though his well of manhood remains dry.

I plough into him, the bull taking the breeding, rutting cock of its master, as fire blazes around the circle and emerald light flashes and rumbles above.

“Come, great bull, and spill the seed of the void! I bid the darkness forth to be purged! Be spilled beneath my sky, in my circle, by the light of my flames… I call forth the spirits of darkness that would feast on virility! Spill forth emptiness and longing! Call forth the hungering void!” I incant as I breed my bull.

<minotaur21560>
Mounted from behind by his cruel rutting god, the dark general reels, takes staggering steps. This shakes his ruined scrote, stuffed now with nuts and leaf litter, and yet from the force of the great god’s blows, his great pole waves like the fennel wand. Green lightning shines on the body of the bull under yoke…

Arms out, pelted chest spread, loyal General, veteran of battles shudders… cranes his neck to see… arsenal emptied, and then filled with mockery and acorns. Soldier who once commanded fear, respect! His spirit despairs…

<Gaius_the_Seed_Sower>
[5 lines unreadable here.]

<Minotaur21560>
And he begins to buck, jolt, pulse. Though dry, he gushes emptiness, shudders, void. Eyes roll back. He cannot stop it. From the rod absence flows…

<Basilisk_of_Imbalance>
A sliver of viscous ink from the member of the glossy bull: section of the stone circle blotted out — cloud of fog, spreading, vile, liquid, black. And from it steps the whirlwind!

Maelstrom of limbs, nose, phallus, wings, eyes. Patterns to derange the sight of reason, scramble minds, tear to shreds… It roars:

“I am
BASILISK!
Of!
IMBALANCE!”

(Scream Which Cannot Be Transcribed - ear canals dripping blood after drum heads snap…)

“This Place will be UNMADE!
Deleted, arid, dead.
Its gods scrambled, punctured, bled. (again the form melts)
Flayed, neutered, red.
New empires installed and spread…
Cross continents enemy armies fled.”

…fire-fall, shape of nightmares, shifting whenever eyes may focus.

—
<Minotaur21560>
Body heaving in the throes of war, dark general fires back his head.

<Basilisk_of_Imbalance>
From the blank in front extends an arm, a blade, a threat.
Striking off the fennel wand that waved with its brute wildness!
Sneer now at the loyal veteran made weaponless!

<Minotaur21560>
The General stares in unbelieving horror at red fountain gushing from his crotch like a faulty fire hydrant. Bull bound… ruined, slaughtered… his head grows light… shade detaching from this shattered body, once the scourge of nations…Rattling chains will drag the broken ghost down to the nether world… leaving behind hairy corpse lifeless…unmanned, slumping forward.

[Even with advanced laser imaging, the rest of the scroll is largely unreadable. In places it appears the Green God fought the B.O.I. and the shade of the General most likely visited the underworld. Perhaps future scholars will discover a duplicate text somewhere in the library at Herculaneum. Until then we can only speculate...]

Published: 2022-10-16, viewed 52 times.