Osogthoth’s Obesiance – A Tale of Low Adventure

Secretly, so as not arouse the suspicion of the Oithlings, I’ve been diligently working on the very first Low Life novel. Osogthoth’s Obesiance is a 666 page tale of Low Adventure that will be released digitally this April.


Here, for your enjoyment, is an excerpt:

Something shuffling in the fungus banged noisomely on a tambourine as Prime Sinister Osogthoth knelt before the blazing altar of sacrifice, his glistening flesh anointed for the occasion with an assortment of secret herbs and seasonings. Hushed obeisance was the way of things, the assembled congregation attremble with anticipatory glee and irreverent reverence. The day of the thing was upon them. Their loins were girded (and primed). Luscious and scrumptious delicatrocities adorned the spread, gleaming and steaming, arousing the gluttonous desires of the assemblage. Excess and appetite were on tap. The Inner Sinner Dinner (among other things) was about to go down.

Osogthoth, vile mask bedazzled with ichorous stones and lecherous bones, silently recited the forthcoming ballad of impure ecstasy. The tambourine increased its poisonous clatter. Lascivious carnality, and the expectation of that and further unconstrained expressions of licentious etiquette, fueled the whims and motives of every dank participant. Murky inducements indeed…

On this intercalary term, the (un)holiest of days, Stan himself, the Lord of all things lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libertine, libidinous, lickerish, loose, lubricious, and lustful is rumored to dine among (and, by his tenebrous whim, upon) the rabble and stank. Osogthoth, his own wermish vessel a properly adorned and desecrated receptacle for Stan’s salacious glustany, quivered and glitzed. This night, he was determined, would be the night of his personal descendence. Tonight Stan would welcome his invitation. Tonight Stan would prance these halls. Tonight, the Nether Regions themselves would quiver with jealous angst. Tonight Stan would critique his prose.

The sin-o-gogue hushed at Osogthoth’s scurrilous beckoning. The tale, he realized, must be perfect. Stan would hear his voice. The Master of Malady would bend an ear (among other things). The Boss of Badness… The Duke of Damnity… The Prince of Peccability… The Count of Contrition… The Earl of Epithets…

His voice acrackle with passions unguessed, Osogthoth began his narration. Summoning unto him the basest fervor of his being, he addressed the congregation. This tale would be a tale long commemorated.

And this is the story he told…

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