This fool wished he had a hat as glorious as the empress of gluttony. Though that glowing white key in the bald warriors head intreats me greatly as well if not slightly more, at least temporarily.
With his bearing of a warrior and his prominent position at Mother Om’s side, this gentlemen might be an Emissary, those implied by the Magisters in the Void to be those entrusted with a lesser Key, serving as an outreaching hand of their Demiurge master
I was going to say — she can’t possibly enjoy sitting in that ridiculous getup for hours on end while people march offerings in front of her, can she? Regular rulers put up with it because they need the ritual and pomp and the like to keep their hold on power steady, but she doesn’t really need any of that, so I would have thought she’d spend her time actually devouring her tributes rather than going through this tiresome ritual of accepting them all.
Maybe this just says what sort of person she is, though.
That was my thought as well. If it were me, I’d put a double there and go do something else while the tribute rolls in. Sure it’s always nice to get things, but I imagine I’d be yawning after 30 minutes and nodding off after an hour.
It is said that once, when the Seven quarreled, Incubus offered a thief of great reknown an unparalelled opportunity: the chance to take all that he might desire from the vaults of Mother Om.
Dire was the insult, and dire her retaliation- but the all-consuming war feared by the wise and relished by the ambitious did not come to pass.
The thief’s body, stomach burst open by the treasures he could not prevent himself from consuming, must have brought the Divinity a measure of amusement and so tempered her response.
“We require you to disarm.” “I carry nothing with me.” [later]
“You were foolish to come unarmed!” *reaches out, grabbing a ceremonial headdress* “I knew you’d supply all the weapons I’d need.” *slaughter ensues*
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
—Malvina Reynolds
(I am sure we will find the ark of the covenant in there!)
And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there’s doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.
My my, her majesty takes quite the tithe from her worlds. This one wonders what you would do with ten thousand slaves. Perhaps a vast choir to sing of her infinite beauty?
The beauty of the Flame Immortal is that it can surpass any limitation. A devil can earn shape and conciousness, an aeon can learn how to lie and flaunt the Law, a servant can overcome their race’s purpose, and a human can cheat death.
Nevertheless the smell of death is so heavy in this place I cannot say whether the Glorious Mother Om managed to do it.
Seriously, rotting human corpses /smell/. I’d know.
I’m not seeing a face. And frankly, I struggle to believe that the ruler of one seventh of creation would preside over such tedious, dreary bookkeeping business in person. If it were me, I’d set an automaton on the throne to make the appropriate gestures and noises while I helped myself to the bounty of the palace. But maybe that’s just me.
Truly though, were I to sit upon such a grand throne as Her Divine Majesty I would love to engage in such affairs. After all, it must feel so good just sitting there, feared and adored~
OM, as a meditative mantra, starts at the back of the throat and ends at the lips, thus signifying the whole of creation in one syllable, in one mouth, the mouth of Mother OM, about to be consumed.
If you look closer, everybody’s sleeping but the Lady of the Announce.
I too would love a hat that allows you to sleep in the face of 111’111 universes.
Also, on the topic of Ghetto Mottom, I now see her singing “Bo-bo-bo-booooooring! Bo-bo-bo-boooooooooting!” during the whole offering.
Like, seriously, who wouldn’t get bored after the first hour?
The proportionally largest maybe, but Jagganoth migth have him beat for sheer mass if he doesn’t just stand like he does at the concordance. Maybe he carved out a hole in the side of a cliff face.
Notice the floor grid. At the hoi poloi end, one grid square will hold ‘lebenty-leben people, but at the throne end, the one person fills it up. With the throne. Mussolini knew this trick too.
What I want to know is: where did they put the pile of ten thousand slaves?
“But such immodest bounty,” a pupil of mine once protested. “The plunder of 111,111 universes. Millions of conquered worlds, billions of tithing subjects. How could so much tribute be offered up in a single day?”
“You forget,” I chided. “Beneath the screaming, blistering radiance of Royalty, the terrible light of the Flame Immortal, even the sun would cast a shadow. Mother Om’s undying light touches all she wishes to take; there is but one harvest day, and like the gluttonous demiurge’s hunger, it is eternal.”
This fool wished he had a hat as glorious as the empress of gluttony. Though that glowing white key in the bald warriors head intreats me greatly as well if not slightly more, at least temporarily.
With his bearing of a warrior and his prominent position at Mother Om’s side, this gentlemen might be an Emissary, those implied by the Magisters in the Void to be those entrusted with a lesser Key, serving as an outreaching hand of their Demiurge master
So THAT’S where captain Sisko ended up!
Even the Jägerkin would be impressed!
When you sit down to dine with a ruler, Consider carefully what is before you, And put a knife to your throat If you are a man of great appetite.
Oh…shits about to get real.
…shits about to go down.
If Allison is anything like me she’ll strike second and what she does will hurt six ways to sunday.
brilliant, every page is just brilliant
You think deities would spend their godhood on more enjoyable tasks than counting your tribute. Not so for Gluttony.
I was going to say — she can’t possibly enjoy sitting in that ridiculous getup for hours on end while people march offerings in front of her, can she? Regular rulers put up with it because they need the ritual and pomp and the like to keep their hold on power steady, but she doesn’t really need any of that, so I would have thought she’d spend her time actually devouring her tributes rather than going through this tiresome ritual of accepting them all.
Maybe this just says what sort of person she is, though.
well, the Demiurge does get the option of consuming anything they care to, on first review, so it’s not quite so boring as it might be…
Accounting sounds more like it’d be Mammon’s thing, but maybe he trusts his followers enough to delegate the task.
That was my thought as well. If it were me, I’d put a double there and go do something else while the tribute rolls in. Sure it’s always nice to get things, but I imagine I’d be yawning after 30 minutes and nodding off after an hour.
Why do you think she’s wearing that face-concealing hat? It’s so noone can tell when she gets so bored she falls asleep.
Who is to say this isn’t what is occurring now?
(People who have read the next page or two. But none of them exist yet.)
It is said that once, when the Seven quarreled, Incubus offered a thief of great reknown an unparalelled opportunity: the chance to take all that he might desire from the vaults of Mother Om.
Dire was the insult, and dire her retaliation- but the all-consuming war feared by the wise and relished by the ambitious did not come to pass.
The thief’s body, stomach burst open by the treasures he could not prevent himself from consuming, must have brought the Divinity a measure of amusement and so tempered her response.
I’m sure she uses that fancy toilet to make the palace fly.
Can we just introduce a character who uses hats as weapons, it has to happen.
I second this notion. We NEED a demonic Oddjob, and we need it now.
“We require you to disarm.” “I carry nothing with me.” [later]
“You were foolish to come unarmed!” *reaches out, grabbing a ceremonial headdress* “I knew you’d supply all the weapons I’d need.” *slaughter ensues*
>many hours later
Giving time for White Chain to catch up to Allison, then?
The logistics of such incredible gluttony are difficult.
Utterly lovely art, Abbadon.
The Lady of the warehouse makes no distinction between things and things that carry things. All things are her things.
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
—Malvina Reynolds
(I am sure we will find the ark of the covenant in there!)
And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there’s doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.
Reach heaven by commerce.
Is there a more obvious way to demonstrate to humans how humans can be invisibly interconnected than through the study of business and economics?
My my, her majesty takes quite the tithe from her worlds. This one wonders what you would do with ten thousand slaves. Perhaps a vast choir to sing of her infinite beauty?
I can think of a few things-…
Such indulgence~
Such bloodshed~
What a feast it would be~!
Research assistant army kthxplz
The beauty of the Flame Immortal is that it can surpass any limitation. A devil can earn shape and conciousness, an aeon can learn how to lie and flaunt the Law, a servant can overcome their race’s purpose, and a human can cheat death.
Nevertheless the smell of death is so heavy in this place I cannot say whether the Glorious Mother Om managed to do it.
Seriously, rotting human corpses /smell/. I’d know.
You don’t find the smell of rotting flesh sweet? Not even a little bit?
Back when I was red, it was rather intoxicating. Nowadays, not so much.
Surprise twist: She actually has all those boxes as pet carriers, and is the multiverse’s craziest cat lady.
I’m not seeing a face. And frankly, I struggle to believe that the ruler of one seventh of creation would preside over such tedious, dreary bookkeeping business in person. If it were me, I’d set an automaton on the throne to make the appropriate gestures and noises while I helped myself to the bounty of the palace. But maybe that’s just me.
Who is to say that this is not an automaton?
Truly though, were I to sit upon such a grand throne as Her Divine Majesty I would love to engage in such affairs. After all, it must feel so good just sitting there, feared and adored~
So much swag. Mother Om be raking in the dough.
Dough that is both figurative, and deliciously literal. There’s a reason she is called Om, because OM NOM NOM.
OM, as a meditative mantra, starts at the back of the throat and ends at the lips, thus signifying the whole of creation in one syllable, in one mouth, the mouth of Mother OM, about to be consumed.
How did she stand through these hours of foodless ordeal? Not one tiny bite! (Unless she eats off-panel.)
Even the bird is still alive.
Her throne is actually a giant beer hat, and she has a straw under the hat.
She’s chilling with a gold-masked devil and a scarred sorcerer but I bet that fucking parrot turns out to be the primary enforcer.
If you look closer, everybody’s sleeping but the Lady of the Announce.
I too would love a hat that allows you to sleep in the face of 111’111 universes.
I don’t think they’re sleeping, but rather averting their gaze from Mother Om’s feast, as she is not inclined to share, even with a look.
Also, on the topic of Ghetto Mottom, I now see her singing “Bo-bo-bo-booooooring! Bo-bo-bo-boooooooooting!” during the whole offering.
Like, seriously, who wouldn’t get bored after the first hour?
I was honestly expecting a larger throne.
I suspect that the largest thrown will be reserved for Solomon David.
The proportionally largest maybe, but Jagganoth migth have him beat for sheer mass if he doesn’t just stand like he does at the concordance. Maybe he carved out a hole in the side of a cliff face.
Notice the floor grid. At the hoi poloi end, one grid square will hold ‘lebenty-leben people, but at the throne end, the one person fills it up. With the throne. Mussolini knew this trick too.
What I want to know is: where did they put the pile of ten thousand slaves?
Her nibs had a light snack. Saves just don’t last, like they used to.
“But such immodest bounty,” a pupil of mine once protested. “The plunder of 111,111 universes. Millions of conquered worlds, billions of tithing subjects. How could so much tribute be offered up in a single day?”
“You forget,” I chided. “Beneath the screaming, blistering radiance of Royalty, the terrible light of the Flame Immortal, even the sun would cast a shadow. Mother Om’s undying light touches all she wishes to take; there is but one harvest day, and like the gluttonous demiurge’s hunger, it is eternal.”