Category: Promethean Futurist

Sacred Cows of The Stone

Matthew KentLeave a comment

“No guilt shall bind you. No thought restrict! Feast then and enjoy, the ecstasy of this life: But ever remember I am the wind that snatches your soul!”

The utterings of the sacred dark ritual continued to unfold under the watch of the New Moon while it concealed Dabih, as something unexpected awaited to be sacrificed upon the altar. It was customary for a human to be sacrificed every seventeen years as per the specifications of this ancient Anglo ceremony, but this year was different; for what lay, bound by brutal magick, was an avatar of Satanas and Kthunae combined.

“There shall be no severing of heads this night. This stone circle of nine, in this cruel and frosted glade which I now stand; where Lucifer himself fell from what man calls the heavens, is where I will bend time and space to my will.”

The congregation, Guardian, Master and Priestess watched on in confusion. The Mistress spoke again.

“Time is but a helical arrangement. We may only be able to progress linearly in this space, but through acausal spaces, causal time can be chosen: periods, eras, Aeons — they can all be accessed and recalled. All that is required is this…”

The Mistress stroked the six-inch quartz tetrahedron perched upon a stone related to the great pagan Chieftain known as “Arthur”, He who was At-Azoth when dragons ruled the skies.

“Lapsit ex coelis, as the Latin scholars of old are fond of saying. This beautiful piece of quartz —with its angles cut to perfection — has been unfolded into the di-tetrahedron by our vibrations, and thus those of old are primed for entrance into this world.”

Bahomay – as she was known phonetically, esoterically – approached the altar holding two sacrificial daggers in each hand that she had retrieved from the Guardian. She raised them to the sky proclaiming, “I sacrifice one of the Sun and one of Mars to reveal the first hidden pathway of old!”

She brought the blades swiftly down upon the avatar, releasing what looked like red mist with green electricity pulsing through it.

“The Emerald Dragon of antiquity! Aperiatur terra et germinet!”

A large scaled and bestial hand with razor sharp claws broke through the Earth. The green dragon slowly climbed out through the soil and gently coiled its tail around the Mistress of Blood. Athushir roared and spewed black fire. The Mistress pointed to the corpse on the altar and whispered, “feden”. Athushir slithered over to the corpse and began devouring it.

The Mistress clapped her hands and several hooded figures, not entirely human appeared, dragging a hooded and bound hermaphrodite to the altar. By then, Athushir had finished the dyssolving and was waiting calmly by a nearby tree. The assistants secured the next avatar to the already bloody altar. Initially, the hermaphrodite slipped and slid on the remaining viscera, but was quickly bound by the tenacious help.

Bahomay raised her knives again as she stated, “One of Jupiter shall now know the sword!” She plunged the blades into the abdomen of the hermaphrodite and began cutting horizontally. She cut, she sliced, until the hermaphrodite was in two pieces.

“Darkat. Dagon. Thou art free again!”, she screamed with ecstasy as an asymmetric and inexplicable creature broke through the hardened soil, accompanied by a beautiful, naked woman with darkly glowing red eyes and long black hair.

The mistress pointed to the altar once more and quietly issued the same Aeonic command: “Feden”.

Darkat and Dagon made their way over to the altar, travelling in their unique way. Darkat gracefully inserted her hand into the cadaver and started pulling out the insides, taking large handfuls of meat and gorging. Dagon positioned his form over the lower half of the corpse and began peeling it without physical contact.

Bahomay clapped her hands again. Two more figures appeared, carrying another sacrifice. The opfer was positioned upon the altar after Darkat and Dagon had relocated to the tree.

She of Blood raised her blades again.

“Now one of the Moon must be opferred”.

She proceeded through the same motions as before, this time bellowing, “I release you Gaubni, god of old!”, as she concluded the last motion.

A swarm of flies descended from the skies and formed a tall figure. The Mistress pointed to the altar, issuing the now familiar command once again. The swarm covered the corpse, stripping its flesh; then its muscle and organs; followed by its bones. The flies, now content, flew over to the large tree, hovering above it.

Bahomay clapped her hands a final time. After the next avatar was slaughtered, the sound of distant battle — the clashing of wood and steel, filled the ether. A sea of thousands of men and women locked in a cycle of death, rebirth and bloody coitus, eventually arrived at the altar. The horrific cycle continued as the corpse was absorbed into the fray, vanishing among the blood and appendages, the screams and moans. The sea of blood, death and sex, then transmuted into a pale man and woman with missing eyes and gaping mouths perpetually emanating a wail. The creatures strutted over to the tree to join the rest.

Bahomay walked over to the new, yet old legion, raising her arms.

“The Immolation is complete. Go now, my lovelies. Hunt down the rest. Return them to dormancy. For the age of the twenty-one Dark Immortals is over! Thou, the Old Gods, have returned to reclaim thou’s rightful place as the most feared and sinister species of the Nekalah, and what a glorious and bloody return it is!

Hail the Heinous Gods!”, she concluded, with a sinisterly seductive smile. Then, she collapsed.

The congregation, Guardian, Master and Priestess all rushed over to her. Her legs were trembling and her stomach was growing. The Priestess realised what was happening and immediately parted the Mistress’s legs. The Mistress of Blood screamed.

“The Dark Child is coming!”

She pushed and pushed, until finally, the child broke out into the world in a sea of blood. The Priestess caught the child. It was grey and frail. Its skeleton glowed red through its skin, and its irises were shifting between multiple colours, as if the Child was a refraction of all light. The Mistress pushed herself up from the floor and took Rubedo in her arms, carrying it over to the Old Gods awaiting eagerly.

The child was placed into the giant, scaled hand of Athushir, as the Old Gods gathered round to bestow their powers unto the Child.

Several crows began circling and cawing above the Mistress and her sinister family. More crows joined the circle, and more still, until they had descended and completely enshrouded the Mistress and her brothers and sisters. A bright light began to emerge from the torso of the child, the quartz tetrahedron, and the column of crows simultaneously. The lights shot up into the night sky, turning red in the process and combining into the shape of a triangle, which split and expanded into a tetrahedron, and finally a di-tetrahedron.

The light had to have reflected off ‘things’ concealed deep within space, ‘things’ that were now travelling through the light and down the angles; yet, these were not Gods, dark or otherwise. These ‘things’ were much more inexplicable, for the acausal is boundless and ever-breathing darkly.

Meanwhile, the River began to flow into the Red Lake again, backwards through time…

3.7 / 5
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Neo-Guerrilla Protocol

Beast Xeno3 Comments

Here at 9AO, the idea has always been put forward, that the current Magian / Puritan prison is far too massive and corrupted to wage any kind of effective or sustainable  opposition to. There will be no “revolution” and no plausible social reform. No tactics whether conventional or guerrilla hold a candle of hope to disrupt its momentum. This of course begs the question, what can one do then?

We are inarguably without recourse. The odds are stacked firmly against us. There can be no David/Goliath themed upset. I know that I’m being repetitive. I’m sorry for that, but I’m set on driving the point home.

We can look at our past failures and see the utter futility. AWD and ToB hold as examples. One must wonder what effect was expected. From the conception, they were poisoned. Maybe too much form, maybe not enough subtilty. Too outwardly extreme and also too… how should I say it? “neon”.

What I see, is a test of the kindred code and yet another useless form. The juice is definitely not worth the squeeze. Which, in a way, brings me to the point. The answer to the first question I posed. The kindred code.

So what is it I mean by that? How is the code, something that can be used to oppose this seemingly insurmountable construct? The kindred code denotes a common strength. The bond shared among those who recognize the correct characteristics of their self within others.

Beneficial, cohesive, and symbiotic are the bark, fruit, leaf, and root to any tree.  They operate by the living code of the tree and belong to the natural worldly order. In the correct balance, they sustain the tree’s longevity. A tree is not in a hurry to grow. It simply grows in its own time. Each branch, leaf, and root forms right where it’s needed. The tree has learned to play the long game.

Ultimately the tree’s purpose is domination of it’s perspective domain. The circumference of that domain expands as the tree slowly saturates the ground below and the sky above. Trees are the longest living organisms on the planet. Which when you consider the hostile nature of the world, is a remarkable feat.

This can be difficult to draw parallels with in correlation to what I am discussing. Understand that each tree is it’s own ecosphere. It has its own culture, so to speak; it’s own living code. No two are the same, even within their particular subspecies. They are resilient and strong. They are nearly immortal and yet full of vitality.

As preposterous as it sounds, trees are invasive in nature. So when considering strategies for overcoming vast areas, it’s a foolish not to look at the tree and draw inspiration.  To model our living code to reflect the lessons of trees.

It is my assessment, that to really do anything against the Magian establishment; we must grow. We must become efficient and cohesive. This will mean forgoing instant gratifications, in lieu of more lasting results. Our resolve must be to a twofold effort.

The first is to awaken those predisposed to the correct shared character. The second is to cultivate a knowing in what Jason King would call the NEXT. Rome was not built in a day. It also collapsed in part because it pushed too hard for expansion. Ignoring the principles and commonly known strategy of winning the hearts of the people. Feel free to debate me on that, but I think you’ll find it was a contributing factor.

There will probably be a part two to this, but for now this will do.

-TC Downey

5.0 / 5
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Warlocks

Beast Xeno

“Walk freely among them. There are none to fear. A Devil veiled in the mist. The Apex.”

No Surrender

Non Servium, I will not serve. No one should ever be forced to take a knee. Not to a man. Not to an army. Not to a state. Not to an ideology. Not to fear.

There are so few that live a worthy life. So there are MANY that are not worthy of living. Bending at the knee for so much. Lacking the backbone and conviction in having consistency of character. Masquerading as free, yet are anything but free.

Slaves to many masters. Bound in so many ways. Slowly ripping apart, being pulled in so many directions. The collective suffering is unfathomably immense. Self-deceit seems like a reasonable coping mechanism, when faced with the overwhelming darkness of what might lurk beyond our control.

We have such a finite sphere of influence. Try to pull the heavens to the earth and be crushed under the weight. Try to raise hell and be scorched by the reckoning of ultimate consumption. It makes sense that we play all these games of distraction, the sheer vastness of possibilities seems overwhelming.

Yet we are alive. Most will continue to be alive. Live deliberately. Be decisive and bold. If you must wear a mask in life, let it be one of your own designs. At all costs, do not surrender this life to mundane pursuits.

The Law of the Jungle

“To reap what is sown, imbues the sovereignty of the law. Do what thou will; this is the whole of the law.”

You have but one true judge and though there are many courts of opinion; it is your conscience that truly holds the gavel. Can you live with it? Will you always be able to do so?

In the Sinister traditions, many look up to David Myatt. Yet few seem to recognize the immense regrets expressed by the man. His rejection of extremism, by itself; stands alone with saturation in personal shame. For those that make the assertion that he wrote under the pseudonym of Anton Long there’s an even more profound insight gleamed.

If you take this as a given. If you dare to make the claim, that Myatt equals Long, then you will be met with a backlash of ludicrous gaslighting guised as calls of “logical fallacy” in a circular argument that cannot be overcome. This is because the argument asks for “primary sources” that were written by an anonymous person. So the goal post is just continuously moved just out of reach.

Think about this for a second though. Why is it so important to keep the charade going? Why is the mysteriousness and anonymity of identity so sacred? To me, it makes sense. Hear me out here. If Myatt has written a heartfelt rejection of extremism and is sincere, then why not make it a full confession and clear the mind?

I can reach only two conclusions; first is the possibility that it really isn’t Myatt at all. Alternatively, this is a tormented man. A man unwilling to let go of perceived infamy and an insincerity to self and others. It suits me better to assume the prior statement, because the latter brings forth a deep empathy and sadness. Imagine that internal war as it’s waging on. Conflicted to see what’s come from the espoused ideology; the battle between ego and conscience eternally wrestling.

So I plea to you, my reader. In a world where all is truly permitted (obviously despite any moral or authoritarian law) be mindful of what you can carry with you. Every action has a reaction and there are worse things than death to consider.

I Die Unvanquished

“There are many forms of death, the easiest is a physical one.”

I despise cowards. In the deepest darkest pit of my gut, they sicken me. They are all cut from the same cloth of contempt. Weak and desperate is their chief features. Let us not conflate cowardliness with fear itself. Fear though mostly diminutive in its positive aspects, at least has the power to be motivating. That is when placed in the context of self-preservation. You can overcome fears, it just takes the right understanding and empowerment to do so.

Cowardliness on the other hand, shows an utterly pathetic and often infectious lack of character. It is often said that, if you don’t stand for something; then you will fall to anything. If you can muster anything resembling dignity; then at least learn to stand for yourself.

The following are two statements, when contrasted a certain quality of character is embued within each of them guess which is which and the notions each embraces:

(a) Rather than surrender to
them; die (if necessary by your own hand) than allow yourself to be dishonourably humiliated by them.

(b) Better to die on your feet, than live on your knees.

Both sound noble and frankly badass, but are they? Statement (b) almost sounds exactly like statement (a)… they are not. The first suggestion implicates a character of weakness that lacks the spirit to overcome and avenge yourself. If the goal is not to be dishonored and humiliated, then why not force them to kill you.

If you must suffer then let your suffering be awe inspiring. Let it be of epic proportioning, that none might say your stature was frail. Dig in so deep and push back without such ferocity that nothing remains.

Should you fall, stand up again. Should you lose, then learn from it. Lose again and again, until you learn how to win. Death is only a defeat, if you succumb willingly to the defeat. Such is the mindset of the bold.

Evil Eye For An Eye

“But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

You’ve heard it said that an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth; leaves everyone blind and toothless. This type of platitude leaves a bitter taste, when spoken. It misses the subtle defiance and stark challenge issued to dare it again. It harkens back to a misinterpretation of the words of Jesus.

When I think about this, my mind always plays out a generic trope often used in movies. Where the character is struck and instead of taking the damage dramatically, turns back with a defiance rooted in hatred in their eyes. Dispensing a look that screams out, should you continue to fuck around; you will find out.

One should be deadly and dangerous in character, yet have the strength of mind to discern the appropriate circumstances in which to unleash your fury. Indicating that you’ve measured and standardized where you lay the lines in the sand. Then having signaled that when your barrier is breached; the severity of response will measure tenfold the transgression committed.

In these “modern times” there is a great deal of moralizing, particularly in this respect. We are taught that we should be willingly victimized and then allow the authorities to handle the matter. This never plays out with the necessary consistency warranted.

Too often someone is left with the feeling of injustice. The sort of justice currently administered is artificial and lacking. It ignores the natural worldly order. It makes claims of “blindness” but seldomly offers any semblance of balance.

Which brings me to this final thought here. These institutions that we hold up so high. They are erroneously corrupt and unnatural. Carrying us so far from the world in which we inhabit. We owe nothing to them.

– / 5
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Initiative 616

Beast Xeno

The Infernal Wisdom 

One of the benefits of age is the gaining of perspective. Perspective can often reveal the true terror of a situation. When we are too close to something, it’s easy to laser focus on what we like or enjoy about the thing. Gradually as our sights are zooming in, there’s an almost blackness blanketing what is beyond that thing. We’ll lie to ourselves, saying that “nothing is perfect”, and sacrificing this small part is acceptable in trade for this thing. Compromise after compromise is made and still we cling to this thing. Unfortunately, with me, Satanism has been this thing.

Somewhere along the line, Satanism has become a haven for the weak and degenerative. Fostering a culture of “acceptance and tolerance”. A niche clique of cowardly scavengers claiming to champion the predatory. Yes, I am specifically discussing pedophiles and rapists. Sleezy filth not worth the space they take up, let alone the air they breathe. Blatantly ignorant of the most obvious features of the satanic mythology.

Satan chose to make a stand against YHWH after being given a command that he just couldn’t in good conscience follow. He was commanded to love and kneel before mankind. Satan being a entity of pure spirit, saw creatures of flesh as mere animals. They were filthy, fragile, and stupid. At first he simply protested. Stating that he could prove to YHWH that they were unworthy and so YHWH agreed and appointed him to the task. 

Time after time, instance after instance; He pointed out the shortcomings of mankind. Yet nothing persuaded YHWH. Not the whorish seduction and sedition of Eve in the Garden. Nor the continuous desertion of the faithful with every new idol YHWH’s chosen came into contact with. Whole cities would have to be rendered into piles of salt, because man was unable to escape his perversity. Still YHWH held them up and glorified them. 

Satan was clearly bewildered by this. Why then were these talking monkeys placed above his kind? YHWH eventually answered this question by explaining that mankind was made in his likeness. It was at this point, in his infernal wisdom that something clicked. Satan and the host of angels were beings of pure spirit and not of flesh and bone. Not weighed down by the temptations and baser urges of their animal instincts. 

To the body of Angels, they had been made in perfection. Cosmic warriors dedicated to their design and purpose. Mankind was clearly inferior. Yet YHWH has said that they were made in his image. This could only lead to one conclusion, He was also inferior. Thus the rebellion became underway. 

This is a summation of every version of the story that I have ever heard. With it comes a couple of lessons that cannot be ignored. Firstly Satan despises mankind. Viewing us as weak and degenerative. We cling to this perversion of flesh and often further twist it to suit our own ends. Secondly, we will worship and grovel to anything we perceive as “higher” than us. Making gods of even pointless symbolic paper and serving out our lives as slaves to it. Hypocrisy, Cowardliness, Stupidity, and Contemptuousness are rampant like fleas in a neglected kennel. 

LaVey pointed all of this out. Aquino pointed it out also. Anton Long not only pointed to it, but also decided to prey upon it. Honestly, who can blame the man? An easy mark can be the source of laughter for an untold amount of time. 

Now here we stand, LaVey said that Satan demanded study in lieu of worship; yet we see them worship him. Anton Long said to learn to raise yourself above yourself so you can triumph over all, yet we cling to our basic animal instincts. Aquino put forth the notion of “becoming” as Xeper, yet where are all the gods? 

Instead, we find these once promising institutions are littered with degenerates, grifters, and sycophants. These are the ubermensch of Satanic thought? Rubbish… Pure rot. Preying on children, turning on your “kin”, reveling in your filth and surrendering to addiction; these are not signs of strength or enlightenment. They are the hallmarks of the mundane and deplorable. 

There is a point, when a cloth becomes so saturated… It becomes so torn and tattered. So stained, that it cannot be washed a new. This is when you can look and it be so in your face. So blatant and obvious to you, that it can never be as it was. That’s when it’s time to step across the threshold into the new. 

For me, I cannot continue to be held down by what calls itself Satanism today. You can have it. I won’t ask for it back. Watch me though and witness me. You will find that my words and my deeds are  synchronic. I am choosing to step into the infernal wisdom of the New Aeon.

The Terror Beyond

As I cross the barrier; I choose to leave the dead weight of it all behind me. Look abroad and recognize the flies in the fermenting honey. Struggling to free themselves. Trapped because they were drawn to the sweetness of the aroma. Greedy little myopically minded pestilence. 

How then can I transcend? If my Will is to truly evolve and reach towards the pinnacle of my potentials, then what process do I undergo? Since I can reasonably assess that what I am talking about is creation. I will use art as an analogous process for consideration. Since I have experience in the Art of Tattoos that will be my method of discussion. 

When I worked in the industry, each tattoo was to me deeply personal. They are personal for the person choosing to get it and personal to me as a creator. In my mind, the process begins before the customer walks through the door. They have spent hours and hours looking through a sea of images posted online. They maybe have just an idea of what they want. Maybe they are dead set on what they want and where. 

The moment they open the door to the shop the magic begins. In a perfect world, the artist that comes out is in perfect alignment with the customers vision. Most of the time though, a rapport has to be built between the artist and the customer. As they talk about the idea, they begin to build a harmonic resonance. Eventually, they should reach a point of melody between the two. There are times when the two just can’t come together. When that happens, it’s best to call it and both go on to find that resonance elsewhere. 

What does it look like when they are able to build that harmony? The artist and the recipient come to a distinctly clear envisioning of it. They agree on the content and style. Both in unison of the placement and size. The creator has taken care to explain the process and given instructions on preparation. A commitment is made to the time of commencement. The recipient prepares with obedience and carefully carries out the preparations. Ensuring the proper compensation is in order. 

As the time of the procedure begins, the artist sees to the final arrangements. It should be universally understood that this is different from other forms of art. This is also why, I have chosen this analogy. This process is uncomfortable and possibly even painful for the creator and of course for the recipient. When it’s done both will bear the fruits of it permanently. Both will be transformed through this. 

The working surfaces are cleansed and protected. The station is assembled and skin is freshly shaved. The stencil is put down. Then there is a moment. As the client makes absolutely certain through the now easier visualization that they are ready to commit. At the same moment, the artist is going through the final checklist in their head. Simultaneously also envisioning through the visualization; they to are ready to commit. Now the work is about to be underway. 

This is a terrifying moment for the aware. The artist knows to anticipate complications. The question is are there any they might not be able to overcome. They’ve trained hard for this. Still only fools believe that there are no limits. Equipment failure, adverse reactions, and unforeseeables are an every event possibility. All seems firmly under your control. Those first few fractions of a sec are sort of a leap of faith and as they pass confidence quickly builds. 

It is here, mired in pigments and plasma. Here, in adrenaline and uncomfortable pain. It is here that creations are born. This is where it is ALL ALIVE. Complete with the perfumes of green soap and ointment. There is nothing to do but find the harmony that brings all of this to the beyond. 

The Harmony of the House

Religion used to be the lynchpin of any given community. The shared common beliefs and values provided a guideline of taboos which offered governance without having to enact hard draconian laws. After all, mistakes happen and over time what is acceptable morphs into new taboos. This is useful to any closely knit community. 

In medieval times, the governance of a community was left in the capable hands of noblemen to protect and in exchange oversee. This often led to hardship and oppression for the people of that land. This was often the result of greed and hypocrisy with a heavy emphasis on a perceived, but unearned, superiority of the patriarch.  Occasionally though, a great House would arise.

 The metaphorical “captain at the helm” understood  that there had to be a uniformity of code, ethics, honor, and virtue between the House and it’s lands. That men, no matter their status, needed purpose and prosperity within and throughout the land. These Houses culminated into things of legend. Particularly if they rose up in military prowess. 

We see something of a similar effect play out in every version of a feudal system. We see that when the Head of the House is principled and truly responsible for his charge; he can govern with generosity and severity. Understanding the nuances and power of taboos and kinship often using them as precision tools. Rather than relying on brute force alone. This demonstrates the strength and embrace of belonging. 

Creating a feeling of extended family and providing a worthy basis of purpose in union. The Noble Lord was seen as a father figure or an elder brother to all. Those employed beneath him operated in harmony and reflection of his desire to protect and aggrandize his House, Lands, and Kinfolk. Thus legends like “Camelot” were born and then romanticized in tale. 

The House of Iconoclasts

It was sometime in the year 2003 that I first began to consider creating a Noble House like that which I just described. I had begun to notice a vacuum forming in communal experiences. It was an obvious disconnection of people. A number of people being absent the sense of belonging and purpose. Having nothing to build a sense of pride in. 

Regardless of the “official narrative” which propagates the lie that tribalism is somehow detrimental and rooted in hateful ignorance. I began to recognize that in truth it was rooted in heritage and patriotism. It became apparent that these “acts of violence” were mostly misguided attempts to defend what the actors felt was worth protecting. Their cultures and customs. That impulse was accelerated by a disproportionate hypocrisy of sanctioning of one kind of cultural pride while simultaneously demonizing another. 

All forms of cultural pride have an equal right to exist. But all cultures are not capable of existing in close proximity to one another. Thus in a very human way, there are feudal conflicts. By in large, we as a species (particularly here in the West) are in denial of our nature as animals. We believe because we have complex systems of communication and living that we are somehow no longer simply an animal. 

We hold up this image of self as a higher lifeform. Though we may recognize that we have a capacity for both compassion and violence, our collective solution has been the reprehension of anything that could lead to violence. This is inspite of the celebrated works of Carl Jung and specifically his call for the recognition and integration of the “shadow self”. This is also in the face of growing supporting evidence that unmitigated repression of the impulse only results in an “acting out” and often violently. 

It became so apparent to me that this “system” or institution, in which, we are expected to live by and exalt is a sham. It’s a fallacious and corrosive one at that. Tribalism and War are deeply ingrained facets of what’s been deemed the human condition. Attempts to deny them or to simply supress them cannot make the situation better. Only worsen the qualitative experiences in life.

To make matters more concerning, not only is the traditional small community (read that as clan/tribe/extended family) eroded, but nowadays the core family is all but gone. Leaving sons and daughters without fathers and sometimes without mothers. Thus the entire breakdown of what has been deemed traditional is well underway.

My good friend has a saying that he repeats pretty regularly and because it is true, it’s warranted. He says “You can’t unscramble eggs”. You simply cannot repair the utterly broken. This is true of the “system” and this is true of the traditional family in my opinion.

There comes a time when the sacred cow is so old and feeble that it no longer produces milk or offspring. It can barely wander the fields and graze. The ranch hands must give more attention and resources to it. The veterinarians cannot mend it any further. Clearly, the merciful thing is to slaughter the sacred cow. 

The Sacrifice of Sacred Cows

It is here, at the Altar of Mars, that the Warlock is born. Before him was a shattered husk that called himself “man”. Through his breaking of oaths and tearing down of cherished institutions; he is renewed. An empty cup waiting to be filled. This time with an intentionally chosen elixir, the blood of his offerings. 

Where before his caste was decided for him. Before his occupation was chosen by what was available to him. Before he had only the family he came into and descended from him. His faith and beliefs were selected for or more likely indoctrinated in him. His limits seemed set in stone.

He, Son of Mars, now a powerful Warlock raises his blade to the stars. He will feel the warmth of the sacrifical blood running down his arm and know the freedom that he seized. He, Son of The Dread Mother, now reborn into this world takes the unspoken oath. Finds himself with a worthy heritage and new bloodline. 

Kinsmen, once again will mean something. Honour and Strength amongst it’s charter. Character and Purpose, tested and revealed. The soil beneath his feet and landscape are unveiled to be his true home. Erected upon it or most likely grown from it; The House of Iconoclasts. It’s embrace is reserved for these children of Mars.


With all of this said, I break my final oath and reject my final institution. Those who are willing to stand beside me and look to me for what it means to be a Warlock and an Iconoclast, let me point to you the way. Should you embrace me, then I will embrace you. Welcoming you into the Great House.

4.2 / 5
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