Monday 22 April 2019

The Cult of Unknown Knowns

Braskin Radle could never accept anything he was told. It began innocuously enough. His father, a cow farmer, explained to his ruddy-cheeked offspring where milk came from, but Braskin couldn't believe this were the case. A delicious drink coming from one of those dumb animals - absolutely ludicrous. No, milk surely came from a milk spring in the ground, Braskin hypothesised.

Now at 34, Braskin is a much bigger thinker. Birds were created by the king to sprinkle a magic dust onto the populace to keep them placid. The blue sky was obviously the backside of a mega dragon, with rain being its...toilet. The king isn't even real - he's a troll in disguise. Once branded the village fool, Braskin found himself with a following. He'd talk about his theories in taverns and some people latched onto his way of thinking. Yes, it seems far more plausible that the sky is a dragon's arse.

It began as a small meeting group. A handful of humans, dwarves and a couple of elves came together in a pub back room to talk about how the world was probably no more than a week old and they were living in some kind of time loop. As more people became interested the group grew into 50 people, all of whom venerated Braskin. He named them The Society of Unknown Knowns and through the donations he was recieving built a reservation in the country just for them. He figured that they were the only people he could trust, so living with them made sense.

One day, a dwarf called Groggin referred to Braskin as the High Wod, a corruption of 'word', and the name caught on. Braskin told them that modern clothing was made to control their minds, so they all wore clothes made of leaves.

It was 4 years until Braskin hit on his most brilliant realisation yet. That he and his society didn't actually exist. They had never existed. But it was their duty to be brought into existence in what he called The Grand Birthening. The society nodded in unison and asked for a blessing. "How do we become born?" Groggin asked.

"Ah, well, that's tricky," said Braskin. "But I'm pretty sure it involves speaking to a god.

"Right," replied the dwarf, "And how do we do that?"

"Oh, erm," the High Wod thought for a moment. "Well, to get a god's attention we'd need to do something big. Something drastic," a smile crept over his face. "We have to kill the king and drink his blood, I reckon."

"Blimey, very good, your worship."

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