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Revision as of 19:05, 4 April 2025
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"Are you quite sure you want to know this?"
Beyond this point lie major spoilers for Fallen London, Sunless Sea, Sunless Skies, or Mask of the Rose. This may include endgame or major Fate-locked spoilers. Proceed at your own risk.
You can find out more about our spoiler policy here.
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"They praise His Holiness. They bless His Seventh Butler. They recite every order carved into its ten-thousand teeth: And here those with two claws, and here those with dewclaws, and here those with wingspans exceeding one day's span, and here those with fangs that drip wine, and here those..."[1]
The Seventh Sacristan or the Seventh Butler is an organ-agent of the Presbyterate, serving as the Prester’s maw.[2] It is a vast, grotto-like creature with ten thousand sharp teeth,[3] haunting the Prickfinger Wastes[4] and preying on the bats that dwell there.[5] Its claws are larger than church spires, and its hide is made of flint.[6]
The Sacristan can open its jaw until it becomes a yawning chasm, capable of drawing in everything nearby with a single, cavernous breath.[7] Within lies a vast interior cavity, packed with flailing bats and a sticky, oil-slicked,[8] ammoniac chamber [9] where acid pools and tendrils[10] dissolve and disassemble all who are unlucky enough to fall inside.[11]
Though its body is hewn from stone, the Sacristan is evidently organic in structure, possessing a circulatory system of shifting passageways[12] that open and close like the vessels of a living beast. It abhors Peligin and any creature bearing that color is violently expelled[13]with a swift sneeze.[14]
Deep in the Sacristan’s bowels lies its larder-garden,[15][16] a vast and fetid chamber where flying creatures are lured,[17] stunned,[18] and seized.[19] They are then killed and dried,[20] to be prepared as offerings for the Prester's table[21] by a cadre of masked Presbyterate agents.[22] The creatures will then be impaled upon the Sacristan’s teeth, precisely matched to the specifications etched into the enamel.[23] Any creature found flightless or marked by the stain of Peligin is unceremoniously expelled from the Sacristan’s body.[24]
References
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "[...] They praise His Holiness. They bless His Seventh Butler. They recite every order carved into its ten-thousand teeth: And here those with two claws, and here those with dewclaws, and here those with wingspans exceeding one day's span, and here those with fangs that drip wine, and here those..."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "If it's hunting a grotto with ten-thousand teeth, then we're hunting a grotto with ten-thousand teeth. It'll hurt. We'll have to pay with blood. But I'm not turning back."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "Scattered bats wheel overhead. Zee-foam beards the rocks. Cold wind slices across the waves, and the grotto that isn't a grotto dips behind crags to retreat into the Wastes."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "You arrive just in time to see it feed. Teeth shine in a cavern mouth that chews and swallows bats by the dozen. Stalagmites that aren't stalagmites seize more flapping creatures from the air, packing their droves into jaws that grind like flint. Pebbles clink, the ground jitters again, and you lose the hillside as it roams amongst the crags."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "In the fray, a ratwork switchblade flashes. You take aim with the Dour Eradicator and fire. Avoiding claws larger than church spires, the Patchwork Rat scrambles to dodge your bullets as they blast flint from the beast."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "It can't dodge fast enough. The thing that's not a grotto yawns until its jaws are the sky. Bats vanish, sucked upward, as does the Patchwork Rat, as does the Dour Eradicator."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "Sweet oil oozes from the walls. It smells like slag and strawberries. You slip through a sphincter, like wet soap through someone's fingers."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "Everything sticks, as though you were a spoon dunked into jam. Bats hang from the cavern in droves, clustered thick as sausage links in the best butcher's shop. With every breath, ammonia invades your sinuses."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "You see tendrils like boneless fingers stretching to explore the air. They pull the floating cadaver to bits. One limb lands on your lap."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "Corpses bob in a soup boiled from their own flesh. You balance on drifting islands, bones afloat in the broth. Fumes sharper than knives scrape your nose raw."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "Muscles like stones in the walls convulse, opening passageways. You rise with other bats who've found their way into these vaults. Tunnels funnel you higher, higher."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "Thought they were a grotto. They weren't no grotto. Devoured her. Would've devoured me – except she dropped her snuffbox. I tripped into it. Got covered with the stuff. That didn't agree with the beast. It coughed me out. She weren't so fortunate."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "Walls expand and contract as though they were calcified lungs gasping for breath. They gasp, and gasp – and a gale blasts you forward."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "All the bats burst into a larger space. Somewhere that echoes with a pitch to thrum your bones like zither strings. Liquid trickles. Little tongues lap. Your batling lands to drink."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "You smell springtime: a garden dense with roses, all the roses in the world. This is where you belong. This is where you should rest."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "They bend along nocturnal banks to drink. You drink with them. Milk and blood and honey. Hope and love and belonging. Flavours that rush through your veins like cool rivers through hot jungles. You have no wings, or you would spread your wings. You have no wings, or your wings would wither."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "They inhale until their wings droop. You inhale until you are sitting on a lush lawn in a green twilight. Flowers bend above you and spill dewdrops like diamonds. The grass whispers, conspiring. Vines twine around your limbs, higher and higher, and roses, roses, roses open blooms deeper than throats, redder than red. Thorns cut into your nostrils, kiss your brain."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "You ascend past rustling creatures with wings. Some stir inside bottles as large as bathtubs. Some flutter with bags on their heads. You would have a bag on your head, but you cannot flutter."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "[...] Every wall is honeycombed with shelves. Every shelf is stocked with bats cocooned in linen wraps. Winged provender."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "One figure swings a censor: rose incense. Another swings a silver crook, hooking your batling by the throat. It falls as though its bones were curdled milk. They chant. Another for his table. Another for his mouth. Another for his larder."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "You weren't meant to see, and yet you see figures arise from acid pools. Gloved fingers hold dripping candles. Masks lacquer and stone and flesh survey the chamber, shadows stripped. [...]"
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "[...] They recite every order carved into its ten-thousand teeth: And here those with two claws, and here those with dewclaws, and here those with wingspans exceeding one day's span, and here those with fangs that drip wine, and here those..."
- ↑ The Rat-Catcher, Fallen London "They see you. Unwinged. Unclean. Unfit for the Prester. Your hands and tongue and nose and ears aren't yours. As one figure sinks your batling into an enormous vat, another rings a bell. Your knees crumple. The vat boils. Bats churn a hurricane above your head."
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