arathain

[arathain]

Hello! Im looking to write more fic/drabbles for Content SMP, but have a hard time noting everyone’s personality’s. Since reading Astron’s drive, how do you see your roles ALONG their characterization? HC’s youd be interested in spotting by the community?

Optional Addon: How’d the Mason react to players living in Boneburrow’s Borders vs. Hovering its Outskirts, passive or not.

I basically never open tumblr nowadays mb Mildly don't see what I'm being asked,, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh all of my characters are essentially 'fully formed but not fully expressed', so there's plenty of tiny details that simply aren't fully there in canon, or that people don't pick up on - such as mouthpiece's (stated rather clearly in Seams) motive and source of identity, or how the mason's arc can be read either positively or negatively depending on if you're a heartless bastard like me Also just. the augur. you haven't seen much of them, but I really do think they're a lovely stepping stone for fics considering how they know so little, yet so much... anyway uhhhh mason & bonesburrow I think that had the same approach as the rest of the mason's (post-lux) life - too tired, self-loathing and aggrieved to reach out, but painfully wanting to externalise everything that drags them down; a caged heart of their own making, a ribbed abyss of a town that now only screams in echoes, longing but ever empty.

[arathain]

can you pin the comms info and stuff

my comms are currently closed (unless you have a metric tonne of money, of course)

[arathain]

what are your pronouns PLEASE i can't find any info anywhere and i'm attempting to refer to you when talking to my sibling rn

use whatever you want idc

[arathain]

i honestly think it'd be funny if your pfp was low quality and suddenly you whip out a glorious masterpiece

they call me the artist

[arathain]

is your pfp pencil or digital?

digital which reminds me that I need to update it here

[arathain]

Seams

Stone walls screeched in song as the light parted open, metallic footsteps softened by the contents of the reservoir. The roiling shadow stood directly beneath the Great Charter Stone, waiting. Expectant. As the figure approached the centre, the facade of the their discontent melted away, to give in to a pointed, relaxed smile.

'You have misbehaved much, haven't you?' happily said the figure, admiring the frankly unacceptable state of their surroundings.

Mouthpiece snarled. 'I know what you're here for. Get on with it.'

The figure's eyes snapped to them, while their head remained perfectly still, stilted at an awkward angle.

'And what would that be?'

The ghost's eyes narrowed.

'You fucking know what it is, you-'

Their throat froze in place, as the figure continued to examine them. Snapping their head to face Mouthpiece, they walked up to stand immediately before them, the clothed being towering over Mouthpiece as still as a statue.

Mouthpiece dropped to their knees, their body straining in flickers as they attempted to move. A soft whimper escaped their lips, a strange, dissonant sound.

'*Please*'

Piercing, burning eyes snapped down to the kneeling ghost.

'You still haven't voiced your wish, though.'

The creature reeled.

'END THIS' they spoke, the timbre of their tone splitting into disconnected things. Voices.

'FREE US- ME- FROM THIS. FROM EVERYONE. LET ME GO AWAY.'

'Oh, that.' the figure mused. 'I can do that.'

The Augur descended in an instant, water splashing as the two figures fell to the reservoir floor. Sharpened claws tore into spectral insides, all of a sudden growing less and less ephemeral. The ghost screeched in pain, voices separating, straining to break free.

Faces broke through the inky mist, only to sink into oblivion again; a half-mask, a square head, a rat mask, yellow glasses. Having ripped the rib-cage open, the Augur began gorging on the entrails, blood splattering as they savoured the flesh. Fat, muscle, and bone unravelled in stringy pieces, as the figure continued to scream in agony, limbs and joints splitting, contorting, and merging; orange and black skin, woolen hands, blue shirt, red sweater, and ink - so, so much black, bitter ink. Remnants of the Mason oozed in taloned hands for brief moments before being consumed - countless, immeasurable, spiteful voices. The Augur's smile grew a little, gazing lovingly at the flailing soon-to-be corpse.

'I get it, I really get it. The brightest light hurts when all you know is darkness. But it was not your choice, and I'm rather sad I could not witness them before the fall myself. You were far too selfish, my beloved - all too fitting, so consider this your reward.'

Mouthpiece's vision grew hazy, as their parts were chewed and swallowed one by one. Ugly; so, so ugly. The Augur's tongue wrapped around Mouthpiece's head as they bit down, mist crumbling into golden ichor. It hurts, hurts to see yourself; always, everywhere. Sensing the hurt, the pain, the Augur smiled in exultation. Two bodies intertwined, a lone, gleeful fire consumed the hateful, bitter remnants of everyone, everything. Sorry. I couldn't take us all down together.

No time at all later, the Augur stood up, licking their teeth and lips clean with their forked tongue. Looking around, they wrapped their arms around themselves to contain the sheer ecstasy of all that they now witnessed, all the hatred and pain now swallowed and digested. Standing up, the Augur's wide, wild grin calmed down into a controlled, innocent smile.

'Well' the Augur mused to themselves, looking up at the uncut aqueduct walls 'I believe there is work to do.'

They say the misfortune of others tastes like honey; but that is not the whole story. It is the struggle, the potential for happiness, that sweetens the pain - for the utmost showcase of power, the greatest mastery of the flame, is to smother it.

[arathain]

"Liminality" the projector on the venue was mildly scuffed so I had to leave a part of the image blank lmao

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

"Shakedown"

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

"Delinquents"

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

"Blazing March"

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

"AREA SURVEY UNIT 'REVENANT'"

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

"AGONIST BREACH"

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

"I. AM. BURNING. MAN." shoutout to kevin penkin for the made in abyss OST btw

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

A "thread" (I think that's what this kind of thing is called) of the artworks I've made for my IBDP Exhibition, "Corrosion". I'll reblog all of the artworks in loose order. "THREE SAGES"

[arathain]

it's common practice in some parts to guarantee the genie the last wish as a peace offering of sorts, in order to be able to make better use of your first two wishes.

It's good to remember that when a genie gives you three and only three wishes, that rule is a limit on their power over you, not your power over them. You don't want to see what a genie can do when granted the license to perform infinite miracles.

[arathain]

the wary traveler has returned with an inquiry : since the death of the Mason , how did the Mouthpiece know that said death had happened ? and how did they even get to the ContentSMP ? was the Mason being watched throughout the entirety of their later lifetime by the same organization (and whatever Mouthpiece classifies as) that would end up killing / capturing them ? did the Mason know that they would end up being captured / killed ? and if so , why didn't the Mason attempt to elaborate about what would happen if they die ?

Gilded eyes see all, hear all, and tell all. While Mouthpiece was easily able to spectate CSMP, more drastic measures were required to begin interference, as well as to preserve the strings in place - let's just say that the temporary 'Arathain' nickname and the struggle of the malformed vocal chords weren't by design. As for the last two questions, as the dead idiot put it, "My hands are tied and my voice is silent."

[arathain]

Gift of Oblivion

Five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-three

The Mason watched from the Perch's unfinished tower as the little light flittered around the great stone bridge, gradually creating a perfect facsimile of ruination. In the afternoon light, the arches of the bridge cast shadows onto the walkway proper, leading up to the great hole, an artificial equivalent of Bonesburrow's natural location, that was Luxintrus's home. The Mason's old heart, ever more a cage than container, sank once more as they looked at the black mist that enveloped their very hands and face, pain welling as the eternal innocence below gathered yet another bucket of river water. As it should. Standing up, the Mason went back to their work, further erecting the decorational tower to overlook their grave's surroundings.

'Perhaps, one day, another will give them the love in kind they so deserve.' A cold murmur escaped the lifeless lips.

Between three thousand five hundred and three thousand eight hundred and fifteen

The lonely shadow looked over at the sleeping child, night falling on the lifeless lands around them. It has been months since the last incident - while their memory took a toll each time, it was an understandable price for the mind to take. Putting away the wooden training swords, the Mason tidied the little light's drab blankets, and dimmed the lantern that lit up the cliffside cave. Looking at the stars above, the all-too-old yet all-too-young idiot sage was too tired to pray for forgiveness, especially given knowing none would grant it. No, it was the Mason's burden, and theirs alone, to leave their voice, those hues that once illuminated their life so, behind. He looked over once more, at the tiny, radiant being.

'Do you see who I want to be for you, or who I am?'

The Mason scoffed.

'As if you wouldn't run away the second you found out. As you should.'

The Mason looked at their lifeless hands, as if waiting for the first cracks to show in the brickwork.

Twelve-Eight-Elevens

The Mason briefly panicked as the fire under the makeshift metal bowl roared, quickly raising the pot so as not overcook the ingredients. The makeshift 'house', made of great, perfect blocks of stone, contained the covered wound and the woundless light, protecting them from the wind and rain outside. Turning from the campfire, they turned to look at little Lux, rummaging through their belongings. A mixture of tired and cautious words exit their mouth.

'What are you looking for?'

Luxintrus looked back at him, an innocent expression on their face.

'Just looking through your stuff, mister.' She raised a cold, volcanic-glass knife, the Mason's eyes widening, if they could. 'I found this thing in your bags, what do-'

She suddenly stopped, her eyes slowly widening as the Mason approached, defeatedly. The little light screamed and bent over, staring at the approaching figure in overwhelming fear. The Mason grabbed the fleeing moth, taking the knife out of their hand. Before they could scream again, the knife stabbed firmly, once, extinguishing the little light, who would awaken in an hour or two, memoryless. Crushing the knife in their palm, the Mason went back to the stew.

'Three days.'

The Mason sat, alone, wandering in agony through the cold depths of their own existence. As they should.

Zero

The Wheel-Bearer entered the room, white fire burning as their comrades descended onto the town. Quickly evading the fumbled attack of their opponent, they pierced them through the chest with their stone greatsword, and then used it to stab the other, charging at them with a knife. Sword plunging through the ground, thousands of spikes pierced the two lifeless, but soon-to-live bodies, dragging them into the ground for an eternity of imprisonment, until the cold flames consume them all. Going further into the house, the Mason extracted another sword out of the stone ground as a small child approached them. Puzzled, the fool sage paused.

The little light beamed a smile at the murderer in front, both hands extending a cloth doll, vaguely resembling a wizard. They were blissfully unaware of the two dead in the room next door, or the blood on the Mason's hands, embracing the figure in front of them with earnest, blind love.

After a second, an hour, a century, the Mason fell to their knees, legs giving in under the burden of the Wheel. Screaming, they stabbed their sword into their head, black liquid flowing out and enveloping their body. As the child walked forward, it saw behind the crouched, ink-black mess, and the twin figure that slowly sunk into the earth before them. Eyes widening, they looked back at the inky figure that moments ago was but yet another friend, their fading hair now turned completely white, just as the fires that crept along the floor. Before they could react, however, the tiny being was snatched by the bitter, inky shadow, passing out from shock as the dark figure leapt from street to street, disappearing into the fiery night. As he should.

Five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-four

The shackled hands close upon the diary, returning the article back to the shelf it rightfully belongs to. A sharp, roiling sneer forms upon the dark, transparent face, savouring the tranquility of it all. 'Well, or so the stories say.'