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Noble Déchet - Psychoféodale Herpétocratie [RG13]
Uncovering a dusty scroll that could date no later than seven or eight centuries past, a text describes the setting of a theater piece, or perhaps the testimonial of an ungodly hallucination. A nose long enough to occlude the sun covers the heads of the impatient audience, who itch perplexed at the sight of two marred figures. Upon taking their seats, they feel a void opening up next to their thighs and chests, and urge to feel inside their pockets. To their surprise, it seems the force only moves in one direction, their hands can only move deeper inside and beneath their clothing, but not outwards, as if a void would attempt to pull deeper with incessant greed. A maniacal laughter fills the theater as the veil is revealed, and we see the faces of two diabolic tricksters cast with moldy glow. Carefully stitched to their robes in golden thread we can read the names 'Mangeur de feuilles mortes', and 'Jean-Guilde'. The audience perplexed with their hands pulled deeper and deeper inside starts to contort and adopt ridiculous poses, a gathering of peasants crooked, bent, wailing and upset demands an explanation that will not be given. Thus the laughter ceases, and from the robes emerge a myriad beings, some biped, others without any appendage, some walk on twenty seven legs filled with erect hairs, their dance as infectious as unsettling.The creatures take off the stage and inspect the people with a pace erratic but incessant, and they, unable to move, cannot resist being taken atop the stage, where the two tall figures begin the endless recitation that will precede the long awaited ceremony of devourment. I witnessed it all from a crack in the stone, a voice in my dream had announced this happening, so I had covered myself with an ointment that contained my smell away from these foul apparitions. There I could see the figures spit their abhorrent verses as the stage turned into a velvet cascade. At some points only bones were left, I thought the nightmare was over yet then an unseen tool was produced as if by an intertemporal summoning, something that seemed not from this place or time, a device whose shape disrupted the scenery when one'd thought it had been already mangled enough. With inhuman precision they approximated the device to each and every bone, using it to cut through its outer shell, extracting from inside a mercurial substance that solidified upon contact with the scattered blood, releasing a ghostly desertic breeze of unknown color that I felt I should not be experiencing. As I emerged from its haze there was no sign of what I had just sighted, the figures along with the organic remains that they danced around had all vanished, leaving behind an intricate and seamless structure approximately as large as a human in standing position, its gated entrance open as if pronouncing an invitation addressed only to myself. Without hesitation I placed my body against its cold embrace and I cannot describe the sensations that overtook me as its gate started to retreat against me, dreaming of the kinds of worlds where I could possibly rematerialize. I dreamt of the secret and spherical city of most excellent turbo-vascular lead clouds. What is clear is that there I will not be safe there from the arcane liquid forces that emanated from the two cloaked figures. Noble Déchet is: Mangeur de Feuilles Mortes and Jean-Guilde 
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