Jethro came to awareness with slow deliberation. The smell of incense was stronger and he could hear chanting in an ancient language. His head felt like it was full of the cotton that he raised on his farm. Lying still, he could feel a sheet atop his body, and the air was chill. Something wet touched his forehead and he opened his eyes with effort. The neutral face of the monk at the door was above him, framed by the light of the burning braziers in the room.
“He has awoken, it is time to begin,” the monk said in a solemn tone. Jethro only understood the last word.
As the man moved out of view, Jethro tried to sit up. He could not. His wrists were tied above his head and his feet were also bound in a spread eagle manner. Panic tickled the edges of his awareness. Something was not right. Looking above him, Jethro could see the carving of a demonic visage on the ceiling above him, with a slaughtered sheep secured in its open, toothy maw, and liquid dropped down onto his forehead.
The chanting rose to a song, and lifting his head as much as he could, Jethro saw a naked man, with carvings in his flesh of symbols and pentagrams that healed into raised scars, coming towards him with arched iron scythes. It became clear to him what was about to happen as his head cleared.
“Wait, you said I was safe!” he shouted.
“No, we said we would save your soul, and so we shall. The Changing Wheel requires its sacrifice so we may live in the peace and glory of its cycles. What you do is for good and holy purpose. We thank you for your gift. Your soul shall save our souls.”
Jethro screamed as the dark curved blades cut into his chest and dragged along his flesh to his belly. He could feel his life blood spill over his sides. The chanting voices of the choir rose in an unholy fervor, as the monks shed their robes and began to partake of this glorious feast.
The Big Picture