$40.00
**Title: A Coffin for Iitrios and the Hungry Planet**
In the year -2000234 BC, the planet known as Zorath turned, grotesquely hungry, beneath a sky swirling with bizarre colors that twisted in and out of imagination. Whispers echoed through the depths of the graveyard, where the Gloomy Shroud Ghosts moaned a dissonant tune—each note a reminder of their insatiable cravings. Zorath, an orb pulsing with desires and horrors, had birthed a legend: the **RI MBLER: "A Coffin for Iitrios"**.
It was said that Iitrios was a lumbering entity, a creature who roamed Zorath, bearing the ghastly scars of food intolerances and allergies. With skin like wrinkled burlap, and a throat as raw as the parched ground, he was haunted by the burbles and howls of his gut—forever striving for relief. The townsfolk often watched from afar, entranced by the way he moaned, an eerie tune that resonated through the Flickering Abyss.
Some claimed the Abyss was a dimension of endless echo, where dreams collided with grotesque realities. In the depths of it lay a **Gasping Mirror**, a portal to the fears of those too foolish to approach it. Legends warned of stomach-turning reflections, such as visions of monstrous chitinous beasts, ravenous and clawing at the fragile sphere of existence, who only revealed themselves upon the mirror’s surface.
Zorath was tormented by IBS—Intestinal Banshee Spirits—whose insatiable hunger echoed in the very marrow of the planet. They screeched as they twisted the air into knots, manifesting as thick waves of gas that spiraled outwards, triggering the gag reflex of the unfolding of reality. “Feed us! Feed us!” they cried in unison to the winds, their desperation palpable as they summoned twisted recipes of absurdity from the universe’s dark imagination.
One unnaturally cold dawn, Iitrios, burdened by a raging stomach and heartburn from unappetizing choices of earthly delights, sought the Coffin—a looming slate structure that rose from the ground like broken teeth. Once an altar of worship, it had transformed into a grotesque monument to ill-fated dietary choices. Rumors spread that inside were the lost treasures of Zorath's culinary delights—cursed cookware that once produced flavors so rich they could bridge the void.
“There lies the Distant Moan,” the townsfolk murmured. “And within it, solace for the afflicted!” All who tried to reach it returned hollow-eyed and pale, forever changed by the realization that their hungers could not be sated.
With trembling resolve, Iitrios lumbered to the Coffin, haunted by visions of bittersweet images swirling around him like fragmented memories—pictures of meals and feasts gone wrong, of cursed cakes and soured stews, of shimmering dishes that burped their way back up the very Ground of Zorath.
As he opened the Coffin, a black void emerged, devouring light and hope. Inside, the Distant Moan crescendoed into a cacophony of pain and retribution. Strange items rolled around the interior—external organ-shaped cakes, froggy-flavored fondue pots, and bubbling cauldrons of GERD – gooey substances that bubbled like the burning acid it contained.
Iitrios paused; his belly begged for reprieve, yet it grumbled ominously, as if the very air weighed down with sizzling regrets. The IBS spiraled around him like a tornado, whispering the secrets of culinary horrors: “Dare you taste the Fowl Broth of Doomsday? The Artichoke Grief that gnaws on the edges of desire?”
As he leaned closer, drawn to the promise of release, the Gasping Mirror erupted, reflecting Iitrios more grotesque with each fleeting moment. His face became a mask of confusion and horror, horror that distorted into desperation. Staring into the reflections, he saw an endless sea of shadowy beasts feeding on the despair of Zorath, churning endlessly among the flickering ruins of palpable regret.
“Join us,” they sang, their voices merging with the Distant Moan, echoing across the haunted plains. “Become one with the hunger!”
Suddenly, the ground shook, fissures carved into the surface, and out arose monstrous appetites—the remnants of gastronomic failures. They clawed toward Iitrios, fiercely hungry, demanding the one who dared to open the Coffin. As the Gloomy Shroud Ghosts swirled around him, reflecting his fears, he realized he had awakened something far worse than his own gastric demons.
In that moment of acute understanding, hunger took hold—not just his but the very essence of Zorath gnawed at the core of reality itself. A strange metamorphosis began; Iitrios became entwined with the Coffin, a fusion of living flesh and eternal hunger.
A scream echoed through time and space, reverberating endlessly, a swirling melody of agony and desire. Zorath twisted, the Flickering Abyss yawning wide in celebration. Digestion became the cycle of life, where hope became despair and darkness blossomed into deeper voids.
Those who had watched Iitrios vanished, irrevocably altered by the reality that hungered for them. The Gloomy Shroud Ghosts, laughing freely, danced on the winds of a now perpetually hungry planet—a planet where all wishes of satisfaction were swallowed whole in the void.
And thus, the lore of Iitrios was sealed within the **RI MBLER: "A Coffin for Iitrios,"** a cursed narrative whispered across the ages—a tale always just beyond comprehension, cradling the unfathomable absurdity of existence on a planet forever insatiable.