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And you thought being in lockdown was dull for mere mortals? Imagine being a horse headed demon from beyond The Nethercrust!
The Lord Of The Pies provides a soothing alternative to punting kittens into the canal and displays his lockdown wares for your pleasure.
Earth. The 21st century. Discord, social disharmony and fannying about are rife. All is fire and piss. The most brutal of these ridiculous conflicts is not waged o’er religion, soil nor oil but… dietary predilections. The carnivore versus the vegan. Of the former, one sect is feared above any other for their terrifying acts of depraved violence. They are known as The Paladins Of Pie. They are… bastards."
Bloodsausage! Crimpdoom! Gristle! Tenderloin! The maniacal meaty madmen are BACK! It's the origin story the world hath been yearning for. 'Tis the unholy, unsavoury and entirely unsanitary coming of... BLACK PASTY!
'Black Pasty: Gravest Of The Gravy' is the product of crowdfunding, fever dreams, a wicked week spent cavorting about French woodland and 3 years in post-production. Gather hither to lap the creamy goodness of Part 1.
BLACK PASTY RISES!
Shot on location at Wild Eco Retreats, Aveyron, France
Domestic deviancy with the unsanitary satanic crew known as... BLACK PASTY!
After the foul events of Black Pasty, something deep within the reeking verdure has survived.
This is what happens when you don't clean up after yourself.
The first and most fecund glimpse of our foul, felonious foursome! See them frolic about the verdure as they howl their worship of all things pasty clad and meat swollen. Quail and quiver as you meet Generalissimo Gristle, The Count Von Crimpdoom, Baron Bloodsausage and Lord Tenderloin. They are BLACK PASTY!
The murk-cloaked minstrels of Black Pasty are trained in the eldritch arts and, with souls as bleakly crimped as their under gussets, this quartet of quag are our last hope to fend off the minions of Beelzebub's fan assisted oven!
'Tis midnight and the sky is filthy with bovine ichor. A miasma so beefily tainted one might mop up the ether with a crusted slice, to gnaw 'pon, whilst giggling feverishly of where secret and ill formed mounds may lie.
'Tis an eve akin to this when one might stumble, suddenly ravening for the taste of raw suet, into a horror sodden graveyard and gaze, through cracked and glaring eyes, into that hell lit abyss, 'pon that which the less sage may call 'the heavens'. There, scalded 'pon that great expanse, is a bizarre and eldritch symbol that blazes from the spire of a geometry defiling mausoleum.
Tis then ye lose thy mind and thine lobes trickle from thy proboscis in a manner akin to the ruptured contents of a boiled dog... For it is then thee realise the truth of what comes! 'Tis then ye know thee art damned.