Anthropomorphic

Furry Lion 

Character Portrait

Gwylim Soulqueef

In the cool shade of evening, the anthropomorphic furry lion, Gwylim Soulqueef stands regally amidst the flickering light of a campfire. Glinting in golds and browns, he captures every gaze from the ensemble of newfound cult members circled around him. "Now, brace yourselves, darlings," he begins, his voice a medley of gravelly wit and sardonic charm. "Life is a psyop." His words, like a siren's call to the eternally curious, beckons them into a sonorous joyride that defies the bounds of reason. Even when he’s not making any sense, he’s speaking with absolute cosmic clarity.

“It’s got you all caring,” he’ll continue, now taking a transcendent puff of his cigar, the smoke twirling around him like a spectral dance partner. “For example, who here cares about Orville Stonker breaking into your home and making off with all your earthly possessions?” Gwylim will ask. Hands tentatively rise, shimmering in the campfire glow. "Irrelevant," Gwylim dismisses with a languid wave. "And of the audacity of attempting passage over the river Ting-Fam without a nod from our dear Roy Bibbowski?" Another set of hands. "Trivialities!" He exclaims, emphasizing the last syllable like a stage actor.

Then with a smirk, almost imperceptible but for the knowing glint in his eye, he posits, "And what about sweet Agatha Collop's wanton wanderings? Concerned?" As the group responds in chorus, he interjects with a resonant, "Inconsequential!" With the poise of a maestro conducting an orchestra, Gwylim's rhetorical dance continues. "And should it matter if every word I utter is merely an elaborate ruse?" Silence. "Precisely," he replies, the corners of his mouth curving upwards, "its trivial." 

In the maze of alleys and boulevards that is Anthroxville, amidst the crumbling facades and neon haze, the allure of Gwylim's House of Soulqueef spread throughout society with the irresistible pull of forbidden desire. His promise: the ethereal knowledge of unalloyed nirvana. Yet, this nirvana came at a price. It was not just monetary; it was the surrender of self, the abdication of past, present, and future to a philosophy of profound apathy. Yet, for the desperate souls of Anthroxville, this "Meh of Mindlessness" as the furry lion coined it, was seductive. In a world spiraling into chaos, Gwylim offered an oasis of indifference. Rather than go with the flow, let the flow flow wherever it may go – with an important exception. The flow to Soulqueef's spiritual haven flowed in the direction of sacrifices: asses, relationships and dignity; and any new devotee hoping to gain the promise of immortal bliss and cosmic clarity must go with this particular flow.

First and foremost, an aspirant must demonstrate their unwavering dedication by signing over their life savings without hesitation. Their fortunes, their accumulated wealth, all surrendered willingly into the voracious maw of the House of Soulqueef, and the deed to every possession they hold dear shall be irrevocably relinquished. A non-refundable gesture of allegiance to the cause, a grand gesture that severs their ties to the mundane world.

Next, in a ceremony shrouded in mystery and ignominy, initiates are required to incinerate the bridges that tether them to friends and loved ones. With flames flickering like the specters of their former connections, they must dial through to each one of their contacts, and confess to a litany of despicable acts meticulously outlined in the prescribed guidebook. Acts that render them utterly, irredeemably lost to the moral abyss.

Yet, even in the face of these soul-wrenching trials, there exists an audacious demand that stands as a testament to the unwavering dedication expected of the House of Soulqueef's devotees. It is the pledge of a 40 gwyliom mehjillion-year commitment of unerring labor, a contract that acknowledges no lunch breaks or respite, where the bounds of time and devotion meld into an eternal commitment. These terms are non-negotiable, and there is the famous case of Spackle Knockabout who dared to contest the celestial arithmetic of his obligation. With unwarranted temerity, he endeavored to barter this astronomic duration down to a more palatable 20 squillion. “You made the mistake of thinking I care,” Gwylim is reported to have responded.

Now, not a whole lot is known about Gwylim or his secretive House of Soulqueef, and nobody is exactly sure from whence the furry lion came from, who, in a similar vein to Sid Blitzkrieg, seemed to just one day appear in Anthroxville as though miraculously plucked out of the ether. And while he remains wrapped in layers of intrigue, whispers suggest he hasn't always been this beacon of indifference. Julian Jodhpur, Fabia Dinkplop, Gideon Rumspringa, Tiffany Taradiddle, and Wesley Smidge, have all individually claimed to have seen him (or his likeness, at least) on different occasions a number of years back, each time crawling about the streets of Anthroxville on all fours, licking a disused teabag for nourishment.

Not only this, but providing a little more insight on things are the testimonies and firsthand accounts from a number of ex-members from the cult, such as Penelope Snizzsnapper, who, in describing her time as a "Living nightmeh," recounts regular episodes where Gwylim's indifference gave way to manic fervor. Then there was his ongoing his vendetta against what he called "Big Dharma" became evident in his nightly tirades, as he oscillated between vehement rage and maddening...