Grove Deacon | Crimson Grove Abbey

LORE & BACKGROUND

The Grove Deacon is a grotesque figure, revered by the Crimson Congregation, his form bloated and distended beyond all human proportion. He does not walk, nor does he stand, instead, he rests upon a great, pulsating mass of tumorous flesh, his atrophied legs dangling uselessly in the air, twitching like the vestigial remains of his long surrendered sanity. His body is swollen with the Crimson Grove’s bounty, a living testament to its excess, his stretched skin mottled with the deep reds and oranges of over-ripened fruit.

Strung across his sagging frame are countless small bells, each one carefully bound to his flesh with cords of braided vine and golden thread. With every shift, every heaving breath, they chime and jangle, a ceaseless hymn to the Grove’s abundance. Their soft, discordant song mingles with his voice as he preaches, his sermons thick with praise for the fruit, for its sweetness, for its promise of salvation through surrender.

He does not command with force but with certainty, his words slithering through the air like overripe nectar, thick and inescapable. He calls upon the congregation to drink deep, to let the Grove’s blessing swell within them, to cast aside the burdens of doubt and restraint. The faithful kneel before him, enraptured, as his gelatinous form quivers with conviction, his bell-laden bulk trembling in time with his fervent proclamations.

And when he laughs, it is a wet, gurgling sound, rich with indulgence and knowing. For all who listen will drink. All who drink will grow. And all who grow will be one with the Grove.

Grove Deacon | Crimson Grove Abbey

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