The Baron's Bloody Goblet. That was the name given to the blood soaked lands of the valley where a terrible faction of practitioner's resided. The name and thus the infamy of the Bloody Baron and his band of flesh seekers had spread far and wide within the region. One could even hear the screams of his cattle throughout the nearby lands, the constant screams. The never-ending screams.
The fort of the Baron was carved into a large crater with an immense castle spreading over the roof of the open structure as if it had been nestled on top by the Gods themselves. Inside the crater was filled with a blood so viscous that it might be more fitting to call it 'molten'. Dotted about the sheer cliffs of the crater were small hovels. Holes in the dirt that housed his preferred meats. There they grew, fattened up for their eventual slaughter.
Each and every one of his meals were forced into exercise that would ensure the meat was of the correct quality. For if even one iota of the meal was missing in its perfection. If the meat that graced his palate was not marbled to a perfect state... It was best not to think of that eventuality.
But in this world who can blame the Baron and his band?
Who could appropriately deliver any such justice?
Justice?
What justice was there to deliver here?
In a world of resources; what is there to demonize of a man that has taken it upon himself to partake in the feast?
When a man's appetite has limits and his strength is correlated to the very foundation of his meals. You could say it was only right that he took these steps. If the Baron were to ever balk in the face of these choices, if he were to fear their implication...
Who's to say it wouldn't be him on the chopping block next?
A raucous laughter emerged from the inner dining room of the large castle. The sound of cutlery scraping against porcelain as each and every member of the band of the baron sheared meat from their steak. Engorging themselves on each and every morsel and washing it down with the wine by their side.
From the very entrance of the room to the back of the room at the head of the table. Sequentially the amount of meat, its grade, the marbling, even the progeny of the cattle from which it preceded. It was all calculated and measured approximate to the increasing ranks. The closer to the door a member was, the closer they were to the Baron's bloody goblet, yet they were deprived of meat more than any other. As if being egged on by the smell of flesh and wine would encourage better performance.
A few steps up the long winding table were seated ranks with a paltry steak set in front and wooden cups with the bare minimum of wine to fill it. This wasn't for the lack of resources. No. That wasn't important. It was a message. If you want more then reach further up this table. Become a member deserving of the privilege to eat.
Nearing the top of the table the goblets increased in volume, content and opulence. Instead of shoddy cups they drank from the finest ornery in the valley. Magnificent silver's and gold's with jewels embroidered into the fine craftsmanship. The wine redder, with a luster that enraptured each and every guest at the dinner table. The meat practically rolled off the plate, there was no need for a plate anymore, frankly it was more than they could hope to stomach. But that in itself was a task given to the strong. If they ever hoped to reach ever greater heights like the Baron before them then they must stomach it. They must engorge on the feast before them, leave nary a crumb and never spit it back up.
And at the very head of the table, there he sat. The Bloody Baron himself. The leader of this gang of flesh harvesters.
He was a ridiculously large man, so much so that even the throne he had resized for the umpteenth time was still constricting his movements. His skin was cracked and bubbling beneath the surface, eyes sunken into his face, yet they were impossibly alert and alive. The brilliant blood red of his irises penetrated past the mortal shell and to the soul, as if he could taste the very essence of an individual just by a single look. The Baron was an ugly man, so much so that he was often thought of as inhuman, something different more akin to a demon or monster than any sort of living thinking creature.
Despite his stature and appearance the Bloody Baron was not incapable of combat. Far from it.
Even though he appeared more reminiscent of a fleshy blob than any kind of human the Baron was a force of nature. His voice moved mountains, a wave of a hand could demolish stone and his control over the bloody goblet beneath this very castle made him a man to be feared in every corner of this region.
Yes, truly he was inhuman in both character and features. Yet he did not even try to hide this fact. If anything it appeared that he took pride in this aspect of his character. His flesh bursting, the hammy digits of each of his appendages, the blisteringly red skin that covered his entire form. All of it was an image, an indicator that this man had achieved a divine status among practitioners. He was becoming something more than human. His understanding of the element and more than anything the amount he has consumed over the years, the decades of toil, planning and conflict had led him finally to this point. He was reaching it soon. It was only a matter of time. This fleshy cocoon would soon gestate, burst, and he would be born anew.
A year, two, ten, twenty? What did it matter? All he had to do was continue governing this self running farm, ensure the subordinates didn't blunder heavily and keep an eye out on the horizon for any incoming threats. And then at the end of it. Ascension. He would merge with the element, his soul becoming crystallized, intertwined with the element itself. He would no longer be the mere Bloody Baron. No, he would be the essence of blood and flesh. The incarnation of life.
For generations they would tell the story of how the Bloody Baron's Goblet became the crucible for the forging of a new God. A God of blood and flesh. That which man was made in the image of.
A God of flesh and blood had not joined the consort of elements for near eons. And it was no wonder why.
In a world dictated by resources; that which is abundant is necessarily worth less. Flesh is cheap, gems are precious. That had been the understanding of this world for a long time. A Baron of blood, a practitioner of such immense power and influence was not thought of as possible, an exercise in theory never a practical thought. Yet for the last two centuries this valley and the surrounding regions have come to know the name and power of the Bloody Baron.
The story was one of legend and despite the fact it took place in the modern day, mortals alive today had even witnessed the uprising of his very kingdom firsthand. It was still untenable.
To become a cultivator of blood and flesh required immense amounts of time, appetite and resources. The very fact that the Baron of Blood was a man that came from nothing, a simple orphan of a land long gone. Of a time passed by. And he had managed to amass this well... natural goblet. This crucible of blood and flesh was a testament to the time and meticulous planning he had become known and feared for. But that was a story for another time.
Our story begins with the inconvenient waking of the Baron during just one fateful meal...