In Praise of the Spicy One Most High

[Shyriath]

From far-off lands, a figure wearily ascended the steps before the Temple doors. He was shrouded in muddy, faded robes, and his face could not be seen; but the robes themselves, worn as they were, still bored the traces of fiery red and dark gold that had made up their original color. He paused at the top of the steps, and looked up at the solemn words carved into the stone above the doors:

"VIVA LA B0O0O0O0/\/\"

He bowed his head, and then entered into the nave of the temple.

It had been many years, countless years, since the weary figure had been here. In technical terms, perhaps, he did not need to. Truly, the Gods were as much everywhere as they were here, and it was easy to find Them, if one knew where to look. On the other hand, perhaps, a little formality might be in order, every now and then. There was a difference, after all, between meeting a king on the street and meeting him in his palace.

He breathed deeply, squared his shoulders, and began to walk forward, toward the head of the temple, and its shrines of the various Gods. His gait was slow, shuffling, rhythmically swaying; as he raised up his arms toward the ceiling, a tiny object could be seen swinging back and forth on a chain around his neck, an amulet in the form of a golden chicken, wreathed in flames of copper and bronze, its eyes tiny rubies.

The figure chanted as he moved. And to some of the watchers there it seemed that, following in his wake, were two lines of ghostly poultry, swaying in time with his movements, and crooning an ethereal counterpoint to his words.

"In the name of B'caw, praised be he:
(zoooooooon)
Blessings upon this Temple, and all within.
(b'caaaaaaaw)
Prosperity to this city and its people,
(zoooooooon)
Glory to this nation, and its Kaiser.
(b'caaaaaaaw)
May the fire of your spirits burn with you
(zoooooooon)
As the spicy chicken burns in your throats;
(b'caaaaaaaw)
May you remember Him and His Brethren
(zoooooooon)
As He and His Brethren remember you.
(b'caaaaaaaw)
Trust in each other, the B0O0O0O0/\/\, the Gods;
(zoooooooon)
These and spicy chicken will never fail you.
(b'caaaaaaaw)
Throw your grenades, and bring forth your hot sauce:
(zoooooooon)
Praised be he, praised be B'caw!
(b'caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw!)"

In the shocked silence that followed, the robed figure, his avian chorus fading away behind him, stopped and bowed before the altar of B'caw. With great dignity, he withdrew from the bag slung over his shoulder a beautifully handcrafted stick of dynamite, and placed it on the altar; he then withdrew a bucket of fried chicken, and, with an air of ceremony, took a bite out of a chicken breast. He carefully placed the bucket on the altar, next to the dynamite.

Finally, he took up a thurible, bedecked with bells, from a bracket next to the altar, placed a large piece of red incense inside it, and lit it. He began his slow, swaying walk back to the entrance of the temple, swinging the thurible back and forth, spreading forth thin smoke and the solemn sound of ringing bells as he went... along with, it was soon realized, the sharp, strong, eye-watering scent of cayenne pepper.

The figure slowly marched through the temple and back into the street, leaving several score burning-eyed worshippers sneezing, coughing, and gasping behind him. When several of them ran out into the street in pursuit, he was nowhere to be found, the thurible sitting by itself on the temple steps.

[Kaiser Ometeotl II]

I had spicy chicken twice yesterday... mmmmm

[Shyriath]

Truly, O Niftiness, B'caw approves of such devotion. He smiles down upon you... or at least he would, if He had lips instead of a beak. (Just go along with it, He does His best.)

[Shyriath]

Incidentally, played around with the Gaia avatar generator to see what I could come up with for a spicy chicken priest that looked semi-sorta like my current avatar here.



Fun.

[Kaiser Ometeotl II]

Kinda creepy.