Praise Platanoir
Begin Transmission.
I.A. Space Log. 1515 hours.
Greetings Earthlings.
By now I hope you have assimilated the information presented to you in my last transmission, and accepted your fate as the newest members of the Interspacial Alliance. As promised, this transmission will deal with the religion the I.A. forces it's citizens to follow, on pain of death. This religion is called "Platanoirian", and worships the Deity Platanoir, the Great Black Platypus of the Swamplands of Eternity.
Platanoir is the Master of Creation, who saw the nothingness of existence and decided to do something about it. Slapping his mighty flipper down upon the nothingness, Platanoir created the Multiverse as we know it. His holy number is Three, his holy food the pretzel, and we worship him every afternoon at 3:33 (Earth Standard Time).
The followers of Platanoir come under several categories: The High Priestesses (advisors to Platanoir), the High Moluscs (equivalent to bishops), the Molusc (equivalent to priests), and the Pond Scum (everyone else). I, as Platanoir supreme representative on this mortal plane, am High Priestess of the Order of Platanoir, one of the reasons why I am considered the most loved and feared creature in the multiverse (along with my fellow Grand Admiral Alaylia, but that is niether here nor there).
Every week we observe the Day of Floating, in which we abandon all work and surround ourselves with joy and festivity. The flipside of this is the Day of Wedging, in which we imitate our splendiforous Creator by wedging ourselves under rocks and praying to Platanoir from dawn till dusk. The other major holiday we observe is taking our newborn children and dunking them in swamp water for thirty three seconds. Should they survive, they are welcomed to our society with open arms. Should they perish, their pathetic bodies are burned on the Wedging stone in an underground temple/cave of Platanoir.
You may find these practices strange, even barbaric. I might remind you that these customs were set in place long before you collectively thought it a wise idea to nail your saviour to a wooden cross and stick a thorn crown on his head. Deal with it. You are now members of the I.A., and as such you will observe our customs, or suffer in the Slave Pits of Daldgh 6 for eternity.
Grand Admiral Chelli Out.
End Transmission.
I.A. Space Log. 1515 hours.
Greetings Earthlings.
By now I hope you have assimilated the information presented to you in my last transmission, and accepted your fate as the newest members of the Interspacial Alliance. As promised, this transmission will deal with the religion the I.A. forces it's citizens to follow, on pain of death. This religion is called "Platanoirian", and worships the Deity Platanoir, the Great Black Platypus of the Swamplands of Eternity.
Platanoir is the Master of Creation, who saw the nothingness of existence and decided to do something about it. Slapping his mighty flipper down upon the nothingness, Platanoir created the Multiverse as we know it. His holy number is Three, his holy food the pretzel, and we worship him every afternoon at 3:33 (Earth Standard Time).
The followers of Platanoir come under several categories: The High Priestesses (advisors to Platanoir), the High Moluscs (equivalent to bishops), the Molusc (equivalent to priests), and the Pond Scum (everyone else). I, as Platanoir supreme representative on this mortal plane, am High Priestess of the Order of Platanoir, one of the reasons why I am considered the most loved and feared creature in the multiverse (along with my fellow Grand Admiral Alaylia, but that is niether here nor there).
Every week we observe the Day of Floating, in which we abandon all work and surround ourselves with joy and festivity. The flipside of this is the Day of Wedging, in which we imitate our splendiforous Creator by wedging ourselves under rocks and praying to Platanoir from dawn till dusk. The other major holiday we observe is taking our newborn children and dunking them in swamp water for thirty three seconds. Should they survive, they are welcomed to our society with open arms. Should they perish, their pathetic bodies are burned on the Wedging stone in an underground temple/cave of Platanoir.
You may find these practices strange, even barbaric. I might remind you that these customs were set in place long before you collectively thought it a wise idea to nail your saviour to a wooden cross and stick a thorn crown on his head. Deal with it. You are now members of the I.A., and as such you will observe our customs, or suffer in the Slave Pits of Daldgh 6 for eternity.
Grand Admiral Chelli Out.
End Transmission.
posted by grandadmiralm at 12:14 PM
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