Infernal Interview with Druciferi Excelsi

I sat down for an interview with Satanist 1° Druciferi Excelsi from the Church of Satan.

Among other projects he has worked on, he designed the logo for the Metal Invaders podcast on Radio Free Satan.


Would you prefer I refer to your real name in the interview or your Druciferi Excelsi pseudonym? Or maybe something else entirely?

Druciferi Excelsi: For my own security, I would prefer to use a pseudonym. You can use this one, Druciferi Excelsi. I’ll probably be talking about my other name (Mister 47) at some point anyway, because I use that name to produce art.

Q: Okay.  Druciferi Excelsi it is, then.  Is the art you produce as Mister 47 different than what you’re doing under your other pseudonym?

DE: The use of the pseudonym does pertain to what type of art I create. Clients, particularly those who work for bigger publications, tend to pigeon hole artists. So if they see me produce a darker piece, but they want kittens shitting rainbows, they might go to someone else. So I use different names for different types of work. I produce stuff more closely aligned with my own personal vision as Mister 47. When I need to produce something for another purpose, I’ll use another name, be it my real name or something else. Much like Satan, I’m a man with many names. 😉

Q: I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I can absolutely see someone getting sort of typecast in the art they do or maybe not getting a particular commission they wanted if the customer doesn’t appreciate another side to their artwork.  So it’s safe to say that your pseudonyms don’t cross over?

DE: Most don’t. That is correct. This pseudonym, Druciferi Excelsi, is the one I use to discuss Satanism with the masses, so I may allow works to blend with this name and Mister47, because they are serving a similar purpose, but in the outside world where I have to move as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, none of those pseudonyms will ever be representative of what I do as Druciferi Excelsi/Mister 47. And that is entirely to avoid pigeon holing or accidentally outing myself.

Q:  Totally understandable.  So your Satanic works fall under Druciferi Excelsi.  Is there special meaning to you for selecting that particular pseudonym or did you just like the aesthetic of it?

DE:  I had run into a situation where a previous pseudonym was being used by someone else, and it was causing confusion. I needed to change and evolve, ever forward. Many years ago, a friend dubbed me “Drucifer” which is a play on my real name and Lucifer. And there’s that line often used in Satanic ritual “In nomine de nostri Satanas, Luciferi excelsi”. So I blended “Drucifer” with “Luciferi excelsi” and came up with Druciferi Excelsi. It seemed right, taking something I always was, integrating it with something I became, and making it new.

Q:  Now that you mention the play on your real name, I don’t know how I missed that before.  So tell me about the Satanic aesthetic of the art that you’re creating.  Do you have any art that you’d like me to feature along with this interview?  If so, I’ll post as much or as little as you like.

DE: I can share some things to include in the article later. Right now I am working on a project for another member, but I can’t say anything about it yet. I actually have quite a few projects lined up since Conclave. But I can tell you about other things I do. Right now the most popular of my personal projects is My Little Baphy. It started as a prototype in college, but I developed it further. It started out as a juxtaposition of something inherently perceived as cute, and something inherently perceived as “evil”. I make these super cute looking goat characters, and grant them one of the Infernal Names. Right now I have Baphy and Mephi. Before it is finished, there will be a series of nine. We both understand the significance of the number nine.

DE:  My passion is comics. Comics are what made me want to be an artist. I have a couple comic projects on the back burner for right now, but I definitely want to move them forward as soon as possible. One is a web series I’d done in the past called “Pandora’s Soap Box” which utilizes a clown caricature of myself making social commentary and observations. Another I am still kicking around is called “JC and Stan: The college years” and it in many ways draws from, and even parodies, Milton’s “Paradise Lost”. I like humor, so I like to draw it from wherever I can.

DE:  No pun intended on that “draw” line. :p

Q:  I’ve definitely seen you post Baphy and Mephi on social media.  I’m looking forward to seeing how the other seven come out.  Let’s talk about those for a moment; what are you using to create them?  What is your process?

DE:  That is a great question! I buy blank vinyl bases from a vendor, it’s a very simple cartoon style bovine body, and I build over it with Sculpee and wire. I like the vinyl because it’s very heat resistant and Sculpee bakes at a low temperature in comparison to, say, potter’s clay. After I build and bake them, I paint them to look how I’ve chosen each to look, then I treat them with a layer of triple thick semi-gloss to serve as a protective layer and also give it a nice sheen.


DE:  What also makes the bases fun is the heads move and are removable. So if you wanted you could give Mephi Baphy’s head, etc.

Q:  I didn’t realize that was Sculpee with a gloss over it.  The glossed look reminded me of ceramic classes I had taken during school, so I thought you were painting over a ceramic body that you fired in a kiln.  How do you decide on a paint style for each Baphy?  Have you thought of any other names for your My Little Baphy line?

DE:  I go through a concept phase for each one. Baphy was the first, and obviously modeled after Baphomet. His design is also the simplest. With each subsequent installation I try to give that character unique features that also challenge my skills as an artist. My formal training is in illustration, sculpture is something I picked up on my own. As for the names, I have four so far. Baphy, Mephi (Mephistopheles), Beli (Belial), and Luci (Lucifer). I haven’t settled on the other five yet.

Q:  Do you go through your concept phase with the full vinyl, Sculpee, wire, gloss, and baking process or are you sketching it out and using markers or paints or something like that?

DE:  I draw them first. If I need to, I’ll do a color study first with markers and drawings. With Baphy and Mephi, the colors were off the cuff. With Prince’s recent passing, I’d like to add that the purple I use for Mephi is Purple Rain.

Q:  I love that you went with purple for Prince.  That’s an awesome tribute to an amazingly talented artist, and on something that’s a personal project to yourself.  Do you have plans to create duplicate Baphys and sell them at all, or are you going to tuck them away in a safe place in your lair?

DE:  They are for sale. I make them to order, due to the price of the bases. Right now a single toy is $60, and a pair is $100. There is more information about that on my Facebook page The Art of Mister 47. I’m still building an online store, and rebuilding my website, with my own domain name. It’s slow moving as I have paid commissions to finish, and when people pay they have my utmost priority. Though I do also keep one of each for myself.


Prominent placement.

Q:  Start to finish, how long would you say it takes for you to create a single Baphy if you already have all of the construction materials readily at hand? How did you source a vendor for the vinyl base?  The supplier to artist relationship has always fascinated me, since my own art has been as simple as putting pen to paper or fingers to a keyboard.

DE:  The project started as a concept in college, we were provided a miniature version of the bases I use now. So when I moved on, I kept buying them from that vendor. I’m trying to contact someone beyond customer service at their business to negotiate buying power and reduce my cost, since I could easily buy volume on these if the price is right. As far as process goes, so long as I’m not waiting on supplies, it probably takes about 3 hours to build one, and about 6-8 hours to paint and gloss one. Due to my busy schedule, and sometimes needing to order supplies, I do ask for 3-6 weeks turnaround time on orders from placing to receiving the items.

Q:  Nine to eleven hours to produce a single Baphy, wow.  So this company is one that you’ve gone through for a long time out of a long term working relationship.  Let’s hope a little lesser magic will go a long way in securing you some better prices on your supplies.  You mentioned your passion for comic books earlier.  I’ve always been a big comic fan myself, the Punisher being my all-time favorite comic book character.  How have comics or comic book culture influenced your art other than getting you started down that path?

DE:  I’ve been heavily influenced by artists like Jhonen Vasquez, Todd McFarland, and Frank Miller. Spawn is what motivated me to be an artist, the stylized drawing I do for Pandora’s Soap Box and kooky 4th wall antics are drawn from Vasquez, and I’ve worked on some noir style stuff in the past inspired by Miller’s use of super contrasting blacks and whites. I’m also a Punisher fan, but I’m Team Bats 100%. I favor the anti-hero. But I really like Batman because he doesn’t like to kill. I find leaving an enemy broken and battered far more favorable to killing them. It prolongs the suffering.

Q:  I always loved Jhonen Vasquez as well.  I don’t know how many times I went through JTHM and Squee when I was younger.  I have a lot of love for Batman as well, especially the intelligent side of Bruce Wayne and how he’s a great detective, but without killing his enemies and no matter how many times they go back to Arkham it always seems like they come back to haunt him again.  I can understand Frank Castle’s frustration with a justice system that is corrupt and owned by the very people he’s fighting against. One thing that really appeals to me about them both is that they aren’t “super” heroes, they’re just men with skills, with resources, and with a driving purpose. What can you tell us about Pandora’s Soap Box?

DE:  Pandora’s Soap Box is a web comic I created as, well, a soapbox. Lol. It started out as a bit piece with no real established characters. I would just draw shorts with one or two panels and a punchline. At some point, it became more of a ‘slice of life’ series in that many of the subjects of scrutiny were from my day to day experience, and I represented myself through a cartoon clown caricature, as well as a caricature of my “normal” self. Think Fight Club, but neither character is imaginary. The clown caricature is the more cynical, anti-social, blunt aspect of myself while the other character is more grounded in reason. I recently learned the admin of the hosting site where I housed Pandora passed, so my online archives are mostly gone. I have a few on my current machine, but most are on my Mac drive, and I need a new Mac. I’m planning on reviving it once I can work out hosting issues, and possibly printing an annual each year, collecting the episodes into a single print source.


Drucifer’s split personas along with Darren Deicide

Q:  Do you feel that by splitting your personality into different characters in the web comic that it helped you to work out anything that was on your mind at the time?  I guess what I’m getting at is:  did you find the web comic to be therapeutic in any kind of ways that you wouldn’t have expected?

DE:  It was certainly therapeutic. It was/is an outlet for my social observations. It is called “Pandora’s Soap Box” after all, lol. That was my intent when I started the series initially. I was super frustrated with my projects at college, because they were all boring assignments and none comics related. So I started doing this as a side project on top of the tons of credit hours worth of stuff I was already doing to have a release from everything else. For me it was similar to how South Park is for Trey Parker and Matt Stone, a place to bash stupidity, pretentiousness, and other forms of annoyance.

Q:  People also tend to let a lot of things fly under the context of something being a comic or cartoon that they wouldn’t fly in the “real world”, in terms of political correctness.  South Park has certainly always been pushing boundaries as far as the dialogue of what can and should be considered free speech or even art in some cases.  Not that a Satanist necessarily concerns themselves with stepping on any toes, but can you think of any particular subjects you tackled on your web comic that may have ruffled some feathers?

DE:  Oh, absolutely. I was giving a presentation in one of my classes for some professional design stuff, business cards, post cards, giveaways, etc. And I was giving my presentation for the class. One of my proposed concepts did utilize a custom baph I designed. While I was giving my presentation, I was interrupted by a girl who said, “Because you like SATAN?” I let it slide during the presentation. But that night I went home and drew an episode of Pandora where my clown was doing that exact same thing, only when it got to that part of the conversation, instead of letting it slide, his retort was “Well, nobody ever faults you for being a bitch, so why don’t you shut the fuck up and let me finish my presentation?” and some of my classmates saw it. I got tons of hate mail on Facebook. It was great! 😀  I also did a little blasphemous piece that ruffled some feathers. I drew a single panel short when it was still in that phase of a pilot and Jesus in the cockpit of a plane. Jesus was freaking out because he can’t fly a plane and the pilot gave him a dirty look and said “You have got to be the worst co-pilot I’ve ever had”.


Q:  I can’t get the image of Dana Carvey as SNL’s Church Lady out of my mind. “Could it be SATAN?” So let’s talk process. How does one create a web comic?  Getting a domain and hosting aside, what kind of software are you using?  Are you using a stylus as an input device rather than a mouse? Or are you storyboarding and drawing everything out by hand and then scanning it and posting it?

DE:  I work entirely digitally. I was working with Adobe programs on a Macbook for a while. But shortly after college, I was rooming with some assholes who destroyed it, with liquid damage (the one thing not covered by Apple Care) and never coughed up the $3,000 for me to replace it. Now I work on a Chromebook that I’ve hacked to run a Linux partition and I utilize similar open source programs: GIMP (Photoshop), Inkscape (Illustrator), and Scribus (InDesign). It works and gets the job done. But I miss the sophistication of Adobe programs. I use a stylus and tablet to draw it all digitally and then upload it to a host site.

Q:  Was learning those Adobe suites part of your college curriculum or did you teach yourself?  Are there any specific software features of the Adobe suite that you miss when you’re using the open source programs?  How does it limit you as you press forward with the Chromebook after your Macbook decided to have a drink?

DE:  I did learn them as part of my education, yes. I converted completely from traditional media to digital my junior year of college. As far as features I miss: LiveTrace. It’s a function in Illustrator where it will trace anything and convert it to vector images. I would do all my line work in Photoshop, then import it into Illustrator and LiveTrace it to give it a real clean look, then color it. I also miss the mixer brush of Photoshop. It would allow you to mix colors together, the same way an artist does with a paint palette. The Chromebook set up doesn’t really hinder me, these programs are great (and free!). They’re just not quite as refined/sophisticated as Adobe software. I’ve also learned a lot about ‘rooting’, the programming language used in Linux for installing/upgrading the software.

Q:  That Adobe quality does come at a high cost.  Sometimes I get a random inspiration to try to learn a new skill, and I thought I’d take up digital art since I used to do a lot of traditional art through honors classes in Middle and High School.  I rushed to the Internet to research Adobe Photoshop, and I remember seeing the license fees and thinking, “Ehhh, maybe I don’t need to learn this after all.”  I’ve never been the sort of person to download a torrent or pirate software or anything like that.  I can definitely see the appeal of going open source so long as it doesn’t cripple your ability to create the kinds of work that you want to create.  So you’re just using your mouse and keyboard when you’re working rather than drawing freehand with some kind of stylus input device?

DE:  Adobe licenses are expensive, unless you’re in college. I got the Adobe Premium Suite (one step down from the Master Suite) on a student discount for less than $400. I work with a stylus and tablet, so I still draw. I could never do it with a mouse/trackpad. That’s hell.

Q:  Do you have a link to the type of stylus and tablet you’re using?  In case any readers are interested in trying it out for themselves.

DE:  These used to be $30, now they go for $80.

Q:  They must be getting more popular.  You didn’t have any real issues getting it to work on your Linux partition?  Pretty much just plug-and-play?

DE:  Yep. Linux houses drivers for most tablets natively, I just plugged it in, adjust some settings in GIMP and I was off.

Q:  Linux sure has come a long way in the past ten years.  I remember trying to use Debian and Ubuntu a while back and having a hard time getting a lot of my peripherals to work.

DE:  Linux is definitely a great OS and much easier to use than it used to be. It’s funny you mention Ubuntu, because that’s the Linux system I run on my Chromebook.

Q:  I’m pretty sure Ubuntu is still the most popular flavor of Linux for home users these days.  Its availability and marketing through a lot of publications have really made it take off.  Druciferi, it has been really great talking to you about your work!  We can do this again any time you have something new you want to talk about or just want me to help promote something you’re working on.

DE:  Thank you, sir! It was a pleasure getting to sit down and speak with you about what it is I am doing! I’ll definitely be back anytime you’ll have me! HS!

Q:  HS!


Drucifer’s rendition of Frank from Donnie Darko


Drucifer’s take on Mad Moxxi from the Borderlands series

Darius Tupper – One Night in Beylor

One Night in Beylor – A short scene of Darius Tupper

Heavy footsteps scraped across the paving stones down the city alleyway and were quickly drowned out by the deluge of rain that had persisted throughout the night.  I pressed my back against the concave side of a trash bin in the shadows, hoping that Lord Braxton’s men would pass me by and leave me in peace.

The footsteps slowed and I could hear labored breathing less than a dozen paces from where I was hiding.  Using the darkness to my advantage, I risked a quick glance around the edge of the bin.  Three large men in boiled leather with cudgels.  Fuck.

“Come on out, Tupper!  There’s no use hiding!  We saw you come down here and there’s no way out.”

Ever so quietly I lashed my shield to my arm and made sure my flail was ready if it were needed.

“We’re giving you until the count of five, Tupper.  If you don’t come out, then we’re going to get violent.  One!”

I tried my best to fix my hair with my free hand.  The rain does terrible things to it.


Why were these men even interested in finding me?  It’s not like I was trying to steal Lord Braxton’s wife away from him.  She was nothing to me.  The way these noblemen treat me, you’d think I had stolen from them or something.


All I had done was plow his wife and daughter at the same time.  Ha!  Lady Braxton really was a screamer, though.  And her daughter did the most peculiar thing with her tongue, it was as if—


What was I thinking about?  No matter, it was time to toss the dice.  I stepped from behind the bin and in to the moonlit alleyway.

“My good sirs, why do you hunt me so?  Did you seek Chauntea’s blessings tonight?”

The burly man in front with the oft-broken nose spat.  “Can it, Tupper.  You know what you did.  Lord Braxton wants you in his chambers right now.”

I affected my most winning smile, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t have Lord Braxton on my schedule for tonight.”

“Your schedule,” the pimple-faced oaf beside him scoffed, “You’re a fucking wanderer!  Everyone knows you don’t have no bloody schedule!  Hell, you live in a bloody inn.”

“Wrong and wrong again,” I began, “I do keep a schedule, and I choose to stay at an inn because I appreciate being waited on.”

The maladjusted bull of a man in the back coughed and waved his hand in an almost child-like attempt to appear articulate, “Oh, aye, Mr. Big Priest here has a schedule, boys.  Tell us priest, what’s on your bloody schedule that’s so Gods-damned important that you ain’t comin’ with us to see Lord Braxton?”

“You have no idea how bloody my schedule is about to become.”

“Was that a threat, Tupper?”  The three laughed together, “Lord Braxton is gonna skin you alive for what you did to his wife and the Lady Marguerite.  He didn’t say we couldn’t rough you up first, thou-urk!”

Pimples stumbled backwards two steps before toppling and splashed in a murky puddle with my thrown knife protruding from his still gaping mouth.  Fucking chatty simpleton.

Bull and flat-nose rushed forward, roaring fury with their cudgels raised to strike.  I ducked low and allowed bull’s momentum to roll him across my back.  The suddenness of it caught him off guard and sent him sprawling behind me as I raised my shield to deflect flat-nose’s cudgel strike.

The cudgel impacted directly on my shield sending numbing shockwaves down my arm.  I quickly struck out with the hilt of my flail as I drew it in the ensuing scuffle and nailed him straight in the nose, shattering it once again and knocking him out cold.

I wheeled on bull, just scrambling to his feet.  The seething fire within me demanded violence.  I bared my teeth in a rictus snarl as I shook the shield off of my half-numb arm, now gripping my flail in both hands.

“W-w-wait, Tupper!  I know you’re mad, but we’re just doing our jobs is all!  We don’t want to die for Lord Braxton, we’re real sorry, honest,” pleaded bull.

“Apology accepted,” bull visibly relaxed, “But you blasphemed!”

Bull’s eyes widened in horror as I stepped forward and brought my flail down on his skull with every ounce of strength and fury I could muster. Bone fragments, grey matter, blood, and tissue exploded in an egregious display of violent beauty.

“Yesssss…” a quiet rasp echoed through my subconscious as I splashed some rainwater on my flail to remove chunks of grey matter, and returned it to my belt loop.

I took a moment to finish off flat-nose and retrieve my knife before a merry tune I had heard at a tavern the other night popped into my head.

Fuck, that’s catchy.

My footsteps barely made a sound amongst the damp gloom of the night as I began the slow trek back out to the main street, whistling that catchy tune I had heard at the tavern.

The carnal indulgence of Darius Tupper.

What follows is a small background I was working on for a Dungeons & Dragons character that I’ve started playing with some co-workers.  I’ve enjoyed writing about this character and find their progression to be interesting, so I may write more about them in the future.

That said, I’ve been worldbuilding for something larger that I’d like to write about. The details about the world in which Darius Tupper lives fall within the confines of what the Dungeon Master (DM) created for this adventure.  I may come back to this at a later date and re-write the character to a world of my own creation.

Father Darius Tupper.

That was what they called me.

I was a dutiful servant of Chauntea, and well regarded in the community of Kleb.

But all things must change.

I don’t have any sob stories to tell, I wasn’t an orphan, I wasn’t abused by the clergy; every decision that I have made in my life I have done so of my own volition and with my own self-interest at heart.

I had two parents who loved me dearly, as I loved them.  We weren’t rich, but we weren’t destitute.  My father was a reputable hatter, and my mother was a seamstress; together, they operated a shop, Tupper’s Tops, and were often called upon by nobility to provide the latest spring or fall fashions for their… refined taste.  A peacock feather in a hat here, a dash of crimson velvet there, a smattering of pinecones wrapped up in a fine sky blue lace – for the season of course.  Honestly, the things that these pretentious nobles paid for were ridiculous, but money was money as my father said.

These nobles were often accustomed to treating those of a different social standing as being beneath them.  My dear father either refused to see it or remained willfully ignorant to the fact, but it always ignited a flame inside of me.  The way the nobility treated my parents sickened me.   Mother and father had spent years teaching me their trade so that I may one day inherit the family business, but I didn’t want to spend my life in servitude to “my social betters” without something tangible to show for it, or at least feeling satisfied at the end of the day with what I had done.

Given my feelings about bowing and scraping to others, it may seem ironic that I left my home at the age of sixteen to train as a priest.  I saw in my service to the goddess Chauntea something that I hadn’t seen before:  a chance to help people that didn’t have any other options.  These nobles, they could have gone to any hatter in Kleb or anywhere that they wanted and purchased a hundred hats or a thousand, it didn’t matter to them.  Their money was their freedom to do what they wish and treat people how they wish.

By the age of twenty I was raised to the priesthood of Chauntea.  I remember the pride that I felt the first time I wore my priestly robes.  Those days, my time was spent doling out chores to initiates, hearing the pleas of people without options, and praying with them.  There was peace in this simple life that I had chosen, and I was able to go to bed with a clear conscience every night.  It was enough that I should help others.

By the age of thirty I was tasked with traveling the countryside to bring Chauntea’s blessings to those unfortunate souls that require her assistance.  My days were spent traveling, praying with farmers, with barren mothers, with the poor.  My nights were spent in bawdy taverns or barns, wherever I could sleep on a pallet for a few coppers or someone’s charity.  The days were long, the nights were often cold and there were many days I would go without a meal, but it was enough that others found it in their hearts to provide this humble servant of Chauntea with a roof over his weary head.

Ten years is a long time to wander the highways and byways of Beylor.  Ten years can make a heart grow cold, if not for that black flame that was ignited within so long ago.  One of the strange things about traveling for so long is that you come to recognize fellow travelers.  It could be a fellow you saw at a bar a few years back or a mother you prayed with on the road in hopes of her bearing her husband a son.  Many of these names and faces are forgettable, but I began to notice a man that I would encounter from time to time in sleazy taverns.  I had never spoken to the man but he had an air about him, one that I recalled the nobility from my youth had about them.  He looked strong. Confident, as though he were an adventurer of some sort.  Somehow I didn’t think that were the case.  He wore black from head to toe, even black mail armor, and he would have stood out in any crowd, but no one paid him any mind.  One night in Klib at The Howling Harlot tavern, I worked up the nerve to take a seat at the bar beside him.

“It seems our travels bring us together often, friend, though I don’t even know your name,” I remarked to him.

He took a long draw from his ale, then set it aside and looked me dead in the eye, “I know you, Darius Tupper.  I also know of that black flame that burns in your heart.  I can see it.  You may call me Charus,” his breathy voice had a distinct rasp to it, as though spoken by someone who had survived having their throat sliced, though this Charus bore no scars.  I swallowed involuntarily at the unnerving fact that this man knew exactly who I was while I was completely ignorant of them.

“Are you, by chance, a nobleman?”

He laughed, a deep and mirthful laugh. “Titles only hold the value that we place on them, Mr. Tupper.  I am no noble, I prefer true power.”

“True power,” I said incredulously, “True power is for the Gods alone.”

I’ll never forget his oily smile.  A faint curve of his sinuous lips.  His raspy voice spoke in the hushed tone of someone conveying some kind of great secret, “True power is that which we create for ourselves.  You’ve served this feckless wench Chauntea for your entire life adult life.  What do you have to show for it?  A straw covered pallet in the stable of a shitty tavern in a shitty town full of shitty people that only care what you can do for them.”

“These people need my help,” I argued, “how can I just turn a blind eye?”

“You need your own help. “


The man who called himself Charus leaned closer, “While you walk the roads of Beylor your father lies at home dying.  He succumbs to a lifelong lack of ventilation from his hatter’s glue. If your family had been able to raise more money, they may have been able to afford some semblance of a ventilation system.”

Tears stung my eyes. I didn’t even know. “What can I do? For my father?”

This man in black, Charus, casually pressed a glittering ruby into the palm of my hand.  “Take this.  Use it.  Go to him, and return to me when you are ready.  The power is within you to heal him.  Become the instrument of your own will.  We’ll speak again when you return.”

With that, he returned to his ale.

Wasting only the time it took to wipe the tears from my eyes, I dashed from the tavern to find the nearest money changer and accepted a sum of five hundred gold coins for the ruby that Charus had gifted to me.  No one would allow me to hire their carriage at this late hour, saying the roads are too dangerous to risk a horse hurting themselves; instead, I bought a horse from them, never mind that I had never ridden a horse before, and I raced west down the dark roads toward Kleb.

The nameless horse I paid too much for died from exertion shortly before dawn on the outskirts of the city.  I left its body by the side of the road and ran the rest of the way.  I burst through the door of my parents’ home out of breath, exhausted, dirty, and with sweat soaking through the robes I was once so proud to don.  “Mother?  I’m here mother!  Where is father?”  I raced through the house to their bedroom.  I know mother said something to me as I came into their bedroom, but I didn’t hear her.  Falling to my knees at my father’s bedside, I pleaded desperately with Chauntea to bestow her divine mercy upon my dying father.

Those prayers went unanswered.

My mind raced for a solution to my father’s suffering and Charus’s dry rasp echoed within me, “The power is within you to heal him.  Become the instrument of your own will.”  Determined, I placed my hand upon his chest and light exploded from within him, filling the room.  My previously unmoving father arched his back violently and began thrashing about, then emitted a primal scream as light shot out of his eyes and mouth.

In the blink of an eye, the light filling the room extinguished and my mother and father embraced me.  This man who was about to die only moments before beamed at me with the sort of pride that only a father can feel for their son.  “By Chauntea!  Darius, you’ve worked a miracle!  A true miracle!”

“Chauntea didn’t answer my prayers, father.  I don’t know how I healed you, I just… I needed to.  So I did it.”

“… return to me …” Charus’s rasp filled my subconscious.

“Father, mother… I love you both dearly, but I can’t stay.”

“Surely you can stay for lunch?” my mother asked, squeezing my hand.

“I’m afraid I cannot.  There is something I need to do,” I paused for a moment, removing my belt pouch and emptying its contents on the nightstand.  Gold coins rattled and rolled around to the astonished look from my parents.  “This is four hundred ninety gold coins.  Please, use this to improve the ventilation system of Tupper’s Tops.  I love you both so much.  So, so much.  I must be away.”

Exhausted and road-weary, I began the long walk back to Klib, playing the events of that morning over and over again in my mind.  How did I create that light?  Why would a stranger give me such a kingly sum?  Who was this man in black really?  So many questions that needed to be answered, and I knew that the only place to get those answers would be to go to the source – Charus.

Charus was at his ale when I arrived at The Howling Harlot.  Wordlessly I crossed the common room and sat down beside him.  With a lazy index finger he nonchalantly pushed a short stack of platinum coins toward me, “You look tired, Darius.  Treat yourself.  No words.  Just go.  You’ll know where to find me.”

Before I even thought about it my hand closed around the stack of platinum coins and I was pocketing them as I exited the tavern.  Somehow, I had never felt this free before.  Was this how nobles felt?  Freedom to do whatever they want because of the money they possessed?

I asked around town for the finest inn and found people surprisingly willing to offer up information for a dirty priest.  An hour later I was standing before The King’s Chalice feeling the platinum coins through a fold in my robe.  I stepped through the door and was greeted by the sight of a bard reciting poetry in the common room which boasted three fireplaces.  Elegantly dressed serving maids weaved between the well-to-do patrons that were engrossed in the bard’s poetry as a portly man in an apron spotted me and made a beeline for me.

“Err, master priest, sir, don’t be wantin’ no trouble, no sir.  We’re all Gods-fearin’ folk here in The King’s Chalice.  Don’t no one be wantin’ no proselytizin’ here, no sir.”  He appeared to be trying very hard not to look at the dirt on my once priestly robes.

I hated him immediately.

Flashing my best faux-satisfied smile that I had seen nobility use so often in the past, I addressed him, “My good man, you mistake me!  I have not come here to spread the love and mercy of our dear goddess Chauntea, no sir.  I’ve come to occupy your finest suite.  I’d also like a hot bath, and fresh clothes brought to me, mister… ah, mister…?”

“Err, me name’s Merryweather, master priest, sir, our finest suite do be occupied, so if you could just—“  with a flourish, I fished several platinum coins out of my pocket and tucked them in to Mr. Merryweather’s breast pocket and tapped them.

“I’m sure you’ll find these coins will cover the expenses, Mr. Merryweather.”

“It do appear that our finest suite just opened up!” a painted-face poff of a man across the common room visibly fainted and was carried away by a small team of serving maids. “Right this way, master priest, right this way.  Eledwyn Merryweather runs the finest inn in all of Klib, you’ll see.”

When I arrived at the top level of the inn, there was another team of staff from the inn that were dutifully removing someone else’s belongings from the suite, probably the poff’s judging by the amount of lace, as I was ushered in to it by the portly Mr. Merryweather.  The simpering fool stood there dry washing his hands and looking at me, “The bath will be up shortly, master priest.  You do be in good hands.  Miss Everly will be up with brand new clothes for you.  She do have good taste, sir, the best taste in Klib.  You’ll see!  You will,” and with that he bowed his way out of the door and shut it behind him.

No one had bowed to me before.

Actually, I kind of liked it.

My mind snapped back as there was a knock at the door.  I opened it to a team of inn workers bringing in a large copper tub followed by more team members hauling buckets of steaming herbal-smelling water.  The tub was put in place, the water was poured, and they were all exiting the room when an elven girl in a sheer robe walked in clutching a sponge to her breast.

“If it pleases you, master priest, I’m here to bathe you.”

Oh, this was too much.

“It does please me.  It pleases me greatly.”

Another knock at the door and a beautiful auburn haired woman pushed her way into the room.  “Master priest?  My name is Evelyn, Evelyn Everly.”

“Evelyn Everly?  That’s an unfortunate combination,” I smirked.

It would seem that my technique had become rusty over the years, as it appeared I had wounded her. I would have to work on that. The elven girl began undressing me for my bath as Evelyn approached with a measuring tape.

“Twenty five centimeters, Miss Everly.”

“Excuse me?”

“Twenty five centimeters.”

“Of what?  Twenty five centimeters of what?”

The elven bath maiden pulled my breeches down revealing my endowment.

“Cock, Miss Everly.”

They both blushed.  I spoke again to fill the deafening silence.

“Why else would you approach a nude man with a measuring tape?”

Evelyn turned an adorable shade of red that fit her auburn hair so well, making it appear almost black.  I wanted her.  The consummate professional stepped closer and brought the measuring tape up to measure me for my clothing sizes.  Of course I knew she wanted my clothing sizes, my mother being a seamstress.  But how else was I supposed to flirt?

“Miss Everly, I do believe you are blushing.”

“Noble women do not go about… measuring cocks!  And you! A priest!”

“I used to be a priest.”

“You quit?”

“Today.”  She snorted in response.  “Miss Everly, Mr. Merryweather tells me that you’re a woman of refined taste.  That you’ll find me the perfect clothes.”

“That I will.  My father is Lord Tychon Everly, our house may not be the most prestigious in Klib, but it is very old and well-respected.  I’ve been living in the lap of luxury for my entire life.  I know all of the best fashions for both men and women.”

“Promise me one thing, Miss Everly.”


“Don’t make me look like that ruffled lace-wearing poff of a man that fainted in the common room downstairs.”

Evelyn erupted in hysterical laughter before she schooled her face to stillness and bit her lip, realizing that the elf maiden was still present, washing me.

“Lord Peters is a man of unique style and taste,” she replied politely, barely able to contain her laughter. “Very well, no lace.  Do you have a favorite color?”

“I don’t know.  No one has ever asked me that before.  Surprise me?”

“Very well, sir.  May I ask a personal question?”

“Of course you may, Miss Everly.”

“How old are you?”

“Miss Everly, how scandalous!  Why would you ask such a question?” I demanded with an overly dramatic insulted tone.

Evelyn giggled, “I just think you’re probably older than you look is all.  Besides, people should dress their age, so it’s important to know a client’s age when you’re shopping for their personal style.”

“Forty four, Miss Everly.  Yourself?”

“How scandalous!” she giggled, “I’m twenty.”

“Marvelous,” I replied with a wink.

She slipped out of the door again with a giggle.  The elf maiden spent the next hour washing me, calling for additional hot water to be brought up twice.  The entire thing was so relaxing that I fell asleep immediately after the inn’s work team drained the tub and removed it from my suite.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had slept in a real bed.  Surely it had been decades.

I was asleep when I heard the knock at the door.  The knock came again, followed by the turn of a key.  I could see Evelyn’s silhouette illuminated by the light from the hallway lanterns.  She was carrying a wrapped bundle in her arms; my new clothes.  As she approached the bedside to lay out my new clothes on the nightstand, I reached out and took her by the wrist.  She didn’t resist or seem surprised as I pulled her in to the soft bed with me.

What happened next was purely animalistic.  I did not make love with Evelyn Everly, oh no; I fucked the shit out of her.  I beat years upon years of pent up aggression toward nobility into every one of her holes for hours and hours.  I lost count of how many times she came.  I lost count of how many times I came, as well.  The little slut loved every second of it.  She’d never need a measuring tape to know what twenty five centimeters looks like again.  I continued fucking her long after she passed out, and once I was bored of it I collected my bundle of new clothing and left, getting dressed in the hallway.


Evelyn had gotten some fine black clothing for me.  It felt right.  She had even gotten fine new boots, a tooled leather belt, new matching pouches with inlaid silver filigree, and, curiously, a single red rose.  Was this girl in love with me?  No matter.  I made my way back to The Howling Harlot, thinking the name fitting now that I had had my way with Miss Everly.

There was Charus, still sitting there with his ale.

I crossed the common room with a new found spring in my step, my fine new boot heels scraping on the sawdust covered floor.  People turned to look at me as I passed them by.  I took a seat at the bar.



“I thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Charus grinned knowingly, “Everything you’ve done, you did for yourself.  I merely gave you the tools to make it happen.  You were the sculptor of your own destiny, and I was the chisel you put to the marble of your life.  How do you like what you’ve crafted for yourself, sculptor?”

“It feels different,” I paused, “Good.  It feels good. How did I create the light that saved my father?  Why have you given me, a complete stranger, such a vast amount of wealth?  Just who are you anyway?”

“I am known by many names, but it is enough for you to know that you may call me Charus.  As for the money, it was a test.”

“A test?”

“A test to see what you would do with it.  I wanted to see you do what you wanted with the money rather than donate it to charity or some other such foolishness.  I must say, my boy, you performed flawlessly.  You gave the gold to your family because it pleases you to know they are safe.  You spent the platinum seeing how the other side lives.  How was Evelyn?” Charus’s eyes took on a hawkish, almost expectant look at the direct question.

By now I had come to understand that Charus had a way of knowing things even when I didn’t say it.  I didn’t need to, he just knew.  It would be unnerving if I hadn’t come to actually trust him.

“She uses some kind of flower-scented soap, I think.  Her hair smells like it,” I sniffed my fingers, “Maybe most of her smells like it.”

Charus clapped his hands together and howled with laughter, though no one in the tavern turned to regard him.  His laughter cut off abruptly and he looked me dead in the eye again, “She was a virgin, you know.  Her father will be furious.”

I shrugged, “Just a noble girl of no consequence.  I used her like the nobles use everyone else.”

That answer seemed to please him.  He placed a hefty belt pouch on the bar and slid it toward me. “This is for you to continue to do as you wish.”

I glanced from the pouch to Charus and back again. “Who… are you?”

“Just a fellow traveler.”

I worked my sweet flower-scented fingers in to the belt pouch to have a peek.  It was full to bursting with platinum coins.  I swallowed hard.  “What of the light? From my father?”

“Ah, that.  I’ll check in on you from time to time, fellow traveler.  But let’s just say you’ve been raised to the clergy.”

“I don’t understand,” I began, “I was already a priest.  How is that different?”

“The difference is that as a Cleric in service to me I won’t ask you to kneel before me.  I only expect you to follow your passions.  You have the power to create your own miracles as you see fit when you see fit to create them.”

My blood ran cold.  I was sitting at a bar in a sleazy tavern with a god and I hadn’t even realized it! I glanced up from the bag of platinum I was staring into to where Charus was sitting but he was gone, with his rasping laughter echoing in the back of my mind.  I stood up with urgency, knocking my rickety bar stool over and glanced about the common room but Charus was nowhere to be seen.

“Mind the stool, yeh faggish poff!” screamed the irritable bartender with a disgusting comb-over.

“Sorry about that.  Barkeep, did you see the man sitting here leave?”

“Thur was only you, lad.  Yeh been talkin’ inta thah there ale fer like two hours, yah git.  You gonna pay for thah?”

“Sorry.  Yes.”  I slapped a platinum coin on the bar and ignored the barkeep’s vapid, stupid expression as he greedily snatched it up and bit in to it.  I stood up, fastened the belt pouch to my belt, and walked out of the common room and out into the sun rising in the east of Klib.

I took a deep breath of the early morning Klib air.  It occurred to me that this tasted like the first breath of air I had ever taken feeling truly free, though I was supposedly in the service to this mysterious Charus. I spent my first money as a free man on a weapon and armor.  If Lord Everly was going to be as furious as Charus said, I would need to protect myself.

Clad in shining mail armor over my fine new clothes with a shield strapped to my back and a flail through my belt, I set off west to seek my own desires.

I would run in to Charus occasionally over the next ten years and he would always tell me that he was so pleased that he had found a truly carnal individual to carry his metaphorical banner across the lands.  Whatever that means.  Eventually I found myself in the City of Beylor, where our story truly begins in earnest.

First things first.

My name is Quill, though I suspect that many of the people that visit my blog will already know that.  I am also a member of the Church of Satan (C0S), and though I am an Active CoS member, I do not speak for the Church of Satan.

All official information about Satanism and the Church of Satan can be found through the official website and through its various publications such as The Satanic Bible and The Satanic Warlock, which is now available for pre-purchase in its limited first edition run.

I am not a writer by trade, but by choice.  Like any other productive member of society, I have a paying job that often keeps me away from writing.  I find writing to be a very cathartic activity, so I do my best to make time for it.

Often times detractors and pseudos bemoan the Church of Satan, claiming (loudly) that it doesn’t do anything anymore.  What these people fail to understand is that every member of the Church of Satan is a monument to this great organization.  Coming off the heels of the Church of Satan’s 50th Anniversary ritual and gala which I attended, I find myself inspired and awed by all of the work that is being done by my fellow CoS members. One has only to look at the news feed from the CoS website to know about how much everyone is (publicly) doing.

That said, I intend to post my own writing and thoughts on this blog from time to time along with interviews with other CoS members about their projects and the methodology of how they do what they do.