Priest of the feast

chapter one- the harvest festival

Our story begins in the province of Veluccia, a small-yet-prosperous agricultural society that places great values in its application of the latest agricultural practices. While no one really knows what has allowed Veluccia to stay ahead in terms of research (given that there are no established academies for miles), some hypothesize that their growth comes from divine blessings that are a result of their annual harvest festival.

A brass, blaring noise interrupted Elizabeth's train of thought as she muttered her nth prayer for the day. Soon after a cacophony of trumpets, trombones, and french horns alongside other brass family instruments began a jagged recourse that could only be described as warm-up. Startled, Elizabeth got up from her leather-bound kneeler and looked outside the wrought-iron and glass window of the small broom-closet sized booth she found herself in. The view was beautiful, with the brass players lining themselves up upon a wooden cylindrical stage that dotted the nearby grassy field with several other wooden stages of similar size that went on to form a large circle. On some of the other platforms other groups appeared to begin their own practices, filling air with the ironically pleasing tone of competing sounds for airspace.

Gradually Elizabeth went from staring outside the window to staring down her own reflection in the thick glass. From underneath the hood of her black and white religious fatigues long, shoulder length blonde hair draped out slightly from both sides of her neck, attached to a head that would require an equally long explanation. Skin not as fair as snow but not as dark as a medium-done meat reached an equilibrium at a color akin to sliced turkey. Prepared turkey being one of her favorite dishes, as demonstrated by the fullness in her cheeks that gave away her well-off status without making her appear fat in the face. A feminine jaw line led to a small, sloped nose which in turn branched off into sparkling blue eyes.

A knock at the door to the prayer booth diverted Elizabeth's eyes away from the window and to the door, as she quickly pivoted her lithe yet hour-glass figure 180 degrees to meet her mother, Priscilla.

Priscilla was the matriarch of the monastery Elizabeth lived at, and had all the features akin to a Victorian monarch. Sharp, yet curved facial bones. Slender, yet soft figure for an apple-core shaped body which all but concealed her wealth. Short, yet vibrant dirty-blonde hair that rest perkily atop her head in the form of a bob-cut.

"Good morning, mother." Elizabeth coed sweetly as her mom gently hugged her.
Priscilla proceeded to quickly kiss Elizabeth on both cheeks before responding in an old, yet healthy voice, "Good morning, dearest Elizabeth. I hope you don't plan on spending the entire day by yourself in here like potted vegetables? There's preparations yet to be made for the festival, and you know how important our part is to the tradition."
"Yes- I do," She chuckled softly in bursts before continuing somberly in a robotic and monotone fashion. "Each of us has to bless the food before placing it in the Genesis Grail. We then have to recite the Rites of Rumination thanking the God Brioche for another bountiful harvest."
"Good girl. Now clean yourself up and don your Sacramental clothing. The festival takes place at dawn." She said in a kind and forgiving voice, almost as if she expected her to apologize later for her tone.
"Yes,Matriarch Priscilla." She rasped, holding back exasperation over yet another ritual.

***

Elizabeth tossed her cotton bra against the wall in frustration. "I don't understand why we have to perform all of these specific prayers. Can't we just pray to Helga the Goddess of general health and be done with it?" She complained as her boobs bounced freely for a moment, relishing in newfound freedom before falling back into place, lightly sagging from gravity but still holding remarkably upright.
"You know what Matriarch Priscilla says: Without all the Good Gods there are only the 'Nesses of the material world, like darkness or... evilness!" Heather, Elizabeth's best friend and fellow sister, began to answer before turning it into a joke so as to not anger her friend. Heather herself was a rather plump but kindly woman, being 185 lbs at the age of 20. A stark contrast to Elizabeth who at her same age currently weighed exactly 100 lbs.
"Yea I know, but it's still so frustrating!" Elizabeth exclaimed before her skirt and panties faced a similar fate to her upper clothing, exposing her untamed legs, very-lightly haired but hairy none-the-less. "Hey, why can't we pray to a Goddess of hair removal?" she joked as she began to pluck hairs out individually.
"Because you can't just create a god for whatever menial task you want done." Heather chortled hardheartedly. "Visit the mages on the other side of the continent if you want it so badly!" She joked, and Elizabeth stopped for a good five minutes to laugh.

Everyone knew that no-one knew how to actually get to the mages.

***

Elizabeth looked at herself in the one, gigantic mirror the monastery had. She was clad from head to toe in sacramental gear, though it scarcely left her torso covered. Long, flowing silk adorned with gold embroidery covered her arms,legs, and chest as a long white veil with a gold, jewel encrusted tiara masked her face and head, her blonde hair barely visible as strands crept out from the front. Her stomach and thighs were completely out in the open, with the only covering there being a silky-in-appearance, glorified G-Strap on top of her normal undergarments concealing her. The outfit was supposed to represent an exposure of the most fertile parts of the human body to the gods to show that they had 'birthed' the food for the gods, but Elizabeth disliked it nonetheless.
"I don't think there's any other deity in this world, holy or not, that requires such exposing clothing..." She muttered to herself as she proceeded to make her way to the exit of the grand hall she was in.

Upon opening the doors, Elizabeth was blindly by a momentary increase in light. Even for it being dawn, the surrounding landscape was alight with open fires, lanterns, and more noticeably to her the reflections of thousands of tiny jewels and shiny cloth that her sisters already in formation for entering the festival ground wore. Taking a position at the back Elizabeth joined one of the five rows that shaped a trident, with the multiple prongs near the church forming together at a base led by her mother. After what seemed like hours (it was only minutes) of waiting to Elizabeth, the formation began to march into the center.

Every year Elizabeth saw the same spectacle, but no matter how many times she saw it it always seemed to amaze her. Choirs of men and women singing serenades, bands of all different shapes and sizes taking turns playing instrument-specific pieces and occasionally joining together for single, superb symphonies, and other more extraneous entertainers like Juggling Jokers and even a Fire breather.
And there was the food.
Mountains of meat, forests of fruits, valleys of vegetables, and deep depths of drinks all adorned tables surrounding each of the different circles, where the hardy men and women of the town gorged or gave the food they would have eaten to the growing pile in the center-most part of the circle, a giant golden bowl with multi-colored gemstones the size of watermelons adorned across the circumference of it.
'Gorge' would probably be a better term to describe the Genesis Grail in all it's glory.

Muscled men and lithe ladies, all fit from working the fields and other industries by manual labor began to chant mixed praises as the priestesses neared, who formed three circles around the grail after Priscilla and the other matriarchs had first approached it. The first row got to their knees and began scooping food into the grail, muttering a unanimous yet unintelligible chant as the second row of nuns began a series of their own prayers, each to the different gods they had chosen to dedicate the food too. Finally Elizabeth's third circle began to take action, and they joined the Matriarchs in one single prayer asking the gods and goddesses for good tidings on their next harvest. At first, nothing happened.

But then the magic began to take place. Auroras of all sorts of different colors, both warm and cold, began to fill up the sky. Purple lightning streaked across the sky without a sound being made. The moon seemed to beam out a radiance that made it as bright as the sun and then, for the first time of the tradition in millennia, a booming, harsh voice was heard from the clouds.

"Fools."

It all happened in a matter of seconds.

The purple lightning which streaked across the sky suddenly gained its noise back, and roared at a rapid rate. The auroras in the sky all started changing to one color, a dark purple akin to that of the lighting. Eventually it seemed the entire sky turned dark purple before a noise equivalent to a sonic boom rocked the earth, and sent things flying.

A blast of force originating from the goblet sent food flying forward and Elizabeth, too slow to react to the quick quandary found herself being knocked upside the head by a flying watermelon.

And fell down, cold.

Editor's Note: Hi everyone! This is my second story, and I'm going to try and actually continue it unlike the first one I made. My apologies if there's too much description of the environment and not enough of our To-Be-BBW Elizabeth. I will try to have it be more sexual in further chapters. Please leave any critiques or suggestions you have in the comments as they help me greatly.
1 chapter, created StoryListingCard.php 7 years , updated 7 years
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Nok 7 years
Cool start. So, in the normal feast, do they all watch the goddess fatten up instead?