-Clack Clack Clack-

The artist before you uses a hammer and chisel to carve out their latest work. You've look at many wonderful carvings before you, but this one is of particular interest to you: A carefully crafted clock which exudes an unsettling vibe.

"Small Ben" - By Azathoth

There are no comments on the bottom plate, not because the artist has yet to finish it, but because this particular artist leaves no comments.

You apologize for getting so close and back up a few steps in fear, but this seems to only anger the artist more, like a shark smelling blood in water.

You ignore the artist and instead move to another artwork in the room.

The artwork gives you ominous vibes. In fact, everything in the room gives the horrible feeling of dread and discomfort. The clack of the artist working turns from a minor annoyance, to a thunderous roar in your head. You try to keep yourself together, unsure why you suddenly feel so sick to your stomach.

You can't take it, and swing around back to the artist. You ask (as nicely as you could while feeling like you're about to die) what's up with the artworks.


As the artist stops chiseling, the tremors ripping through your body stop. The artist shuts the open book next to him and holds it up. You nearly hurl just from looking at the cover.

You grab Small Ben, ready to go on the attack, but you hold yourself back. Refusing to be consumed by the anger ready to burst out of your body. Refusing to become an animal. You faint.
.............
.......

You state that you're "sooooooo sorry" for not attacking someone you don't know, and that "next time you'll tooooooootally give it another swing", maybe directly at his head.

You bring to ask the artist who they are, when you stop. You point at the artist and call them Azathoth. You've met this person before, in fact you feel a certain way about them....

You raise your hand to point at Azathoth when you spot the wedding band on your finger. You freeze as your mind puts together the reality of the situation.

You stutter out that you forgot they and you were married.

You clench your fist and remind Azathoth that you told them before that this was the last straw and that if they tossed you into an anomalous haze due to their artwork again that you would divorce them.

You fold your arms and refuse this. You know it in your head what's true. You begin to shift through your wallet for your marriage license, your collected brodskul feathers falling around you. When you fail to find that, you instead pull out your ID, handing it over.

"When it comes to massive businesses like mine, you gotta engage with the supernatural time to time." You cheer before letting out a healthy "Yeeeeehaaaw!"

"Due to my latest conviction my probation says I'm owned by the state, but you're second in line. Yeehaw!"