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Criminal Veteran/Ex Criminal Background

You were an experienced criminal with a history of breaking the law. You have spent a lot of time among other criminals and still have some contacts within the criminal underworld. You're far closer than most people to the world of murder, theft, and violence that pervades the underbelly of civilization, and you have survived up to this point by flouting the rules and regulations of society.  Now that you’re free, you're looking for something else, perhaps trying to change yourself for the better. For whatever reason, you're leaving behind the life of crime, but your skills are undeniably suited for the role you need to play to get to that life of peace.

Source: Mercenary Veteran (Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide) mixed with Criminal (Player's Handbook) and mixed by @retr0station on tumblr

Skill Proficiencies: Deception, Persuasion Tool Proficiencies: One type of gaming set, thieves’ tools Languages: None Equipment: traveler's clothes including a hood, a gaming set of your choice, and a pouch containing 20 gp

Criminal Life

You know Criminal life as only someone who has experienced it can. You are able to identify criminals, and you know a little about most of them. You can find the taverns and festhalls where criminals abide in any area, as long as you speak the language. You have an advantage on persuasion rolls against them.

Suggested Characteristics

Personality Traits (d8)

1 I always have a plan for what to do when things go wrong.

2 I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.

3 I try to be kind when I can be.

4 I would rather make a new friend than a new enemy.

5 I am incredibly slow to trust. Those who seem the fairest often have the most to hide.

6 I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds.

7 The best way to get me to do something is to tell me I can't do it.

8 I blow up at the slightest insult.

Ideals (d6)

1 Honor. I realized my past actions were wrong, and will do everything in my power to redeem myself. (Lawful)

2 Freedom. Chains are meant to be broken, as we are the ones who forged them. (Chaotic)

3 Charity. I try to make up for my actions by donating to charity (Good)

4 Greed. I don’t really want to change, this adventure is just part of my punishment as some sort of “Community Service”. (Evil)

5 People. I'm loyal to my friends and family. They’re the only reason I’m trying to do better. (Neutral)

6 Redemption. There's a spark of good in everyone. I hope that spark hasn’t faded within me. (Good)

Bonds (d6)

1 I'm trying to pay off an old debt I owe.

2 My gains go to support my family or charities

3 I still sometimes speak to my old companions from when I was a criminal.

4 I do what I do to make the people who love me proud.

5 I'm guilty of a terrible crime. I hope I can redeem myself for it.

6 Someone I loved died because of I mistake I made. That will never happen again.

Flaws (d6)

1 I still steal things sometimes out of habit.

2 My mind still automatically maps out the best way to kill someone upon meeting them.

3 I don't trust anyone anymore. Everyone is my enemy.

4 I have a "tell" that reveals when I'm lying.

5 I turn tail and run when things look bad.

6 I can’t bring myself to feel any remorse for those I hurt when I was a criminal. 

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Looey........

Looey!!

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A sketch I made about a month ago because I find the size difference between my ody and most other people's ody's entertaining. This was before I changed up my art style drastically, so it's a bit bad, but I thought I should share it anyway

Apparently, you can't change asks to be your art account instead of your main account so uh. - @retros-art

ok tall ody u have to donate ur inches to the other odys now i hope u realize this <3

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Looey!!

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Made a novel masterlist in Google Docs for a more comprehensible compilation of all the information for Fonou Mythou. Under the cut will be the current version, but chances are the doc will be updated before this post is!

Hello, We’re the Retro Station. Welcome to my masterlist of all things related to all the bits and pieces that are being used for my novel in progress, Fonou Mythou, a book about the journey of Telemachus and the death of Odysseus and his family after the Odyssey takes place. Remember that some things may differ from the usual mythology and stories, as this is my own version of these tales and therefore have my own messages planted into them. I will try to say in notes or something if it’s extremely different from the normal mythology, but in general this is my own spin on things.

Fonou Mythou introduction post  

(SPOILERS!) Chapter Planning and Timeline 

The Underworld (Im gonna make this into a slideshow)

The Trojan Family slideshow

Oikos Cocytus (Patroclus found family fic thing)

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I did in fact post this to ao3 hooray.

Oikos Cocytus

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66079234/chapters/170288281

Patroclus mourns the loss of Achilles by the River of Woe, where he drowns in his own sorrow for thousands of years. One day, he is found by a familiar face, who attempts to help Patroclus heal from his depression.

(Or: Odysseus and Penelope adopt a queer mentally ill child Odysseus knew during the war.)

Tags: Patroclus POV, First person pov, Angst, Lots of angst, Self-destructive behaviors, Found family, Lashing out due to trauma, Did I mention trauma?, Lots of trauma, Patrochilles, Odypen, Hurt with comfort, but like Familial though

(If you would like more information on how exactly my Underworld functions, please feel free to backread or ask. If you'd be interested in more chapters, please let us know! We will probably write more, but if no one's interested, there's no point in posting it pfft.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sit beside the riverside, burying my toes into the sand that wails at every shift and touch. If I look close enough, I can see the agonized faces of those I had watched suffer in the discolored grains. My eyes, however, never could stay focused when the glowing water flowing rapidly in front of me screamed for my attention. Human screams. Familiar war cries, the begging for mercy, called to me. It filled me with extreme despair- A feeling I believed filth such as myself was meant to feel. The faces were clearer in the water, and when my eyes finally focused upon the rapidly moving waters, they always landed on one particular face- the face of the man who used to make my heart skip and now makes it ache. The pounding, aching feeling in my chest that made me want to throw up was a daily routine, as well as the tears that unwillingly spilled into my beard from the sheer amount of despair I felt just looking into the waters.

I had thought on countless occasions, upon seeing my lover's pained or horrified expressions and cries of agony, of diving into that river to embrace the hallucination of him and hold nothing in my arms as I sank and became one with the River of Sorrow. I often fed it my screams and tears right by the riverside. A few times, I allowed it to lap at my feet when the tide rose, and allowed myself to feel its horrid effects until everything felt raw and my frail mortal shell forced me to pull away from the water. 

The feeling the river gave was overwhelming. A clashing, overwhelming, clawing feeling that retched screams and sobs from my very soul. Every ounce of emotional agony I had ever experienced bounced in my skull until I blacked out and fell into realistic nightmares of my lover and others I had cared for. Many times, I had used my hands to claw at my face and neck and torn myself apart with my nails, only to awaken the next morning with smooth skin in silent, peaceful tranquility that made me feel ill. Numb.

I do not claim to know the inner workings of the Underworld, and I likely never will. Since my death, I had been trapped within my 19-year-old self, with all of the scars over wounds I had obtained in my adulthood and my death. This body does not die, no matter the times I impale myself on rocks or fall from high places- I simply awake as if nothing happened. In my desperation to feel something, I would trudge and stumble back down that peaceful hill like an addict deprived of his fix. I needed to feel that pain and agony. I deserved it, it felt right. I had to remember all of that guilt, I could not risk letting myself forget it. 

I am always alone on my side of the Cocytus. The others in Eternal Paradise were too busy celebrating their heroic lives to wallow in their sorrows and self-pity. On the other side, however, where I could just barely make out the dull fields of Asphodel, a handful of shades did the same as I. Small figures just barely in my vision, wailing at their vivid memories of their worst moments, the feelings that came with those memories amplified to an extreme degree. I wonder to myself, occasionally, what they could be feeling in comparison to me, but I dismiss such thoughts rather quickly. It did not matter - Nothing mattered without the man I considered my husband, but even if he were in this dreary realm, he would hate the shell I have become.

For what must have been a thousand years, I remained on that lonely beach, disassociated and writhing in delicious anguish from the water’s effects. I was obsessed with the pain, addicted to the feeling of agony that remained stagnant in its terrible effects. It was against human nature not to become numb to the scraping of the soul the tides brought with them, and yet it still induced the same amount of despair as the first day I sat beside these waters. There were a few times when another shade wandered to the shore to cry about something, but this occurrence was rare, and they never came back. I wondered occasionally if I should walk along the shore and see if any other shades were similar to me just outside my vision, but that thought filled me with more misery. No one deserved to feel this way, and it was much too depressing just thinking others might be wasting away by the shore like I was.

I was content with my personal Tartarus I’d created for myself. The thrashing and clawing, slashing and sobbing. I was alone in my little painful bubble, and I had planned to keep it that way for all eternity. Alone and in agony was what I deserved. I liked being alone. The loneliness was all-consuming and prevented the numbness from creeping up on me. I had succumbed to the despair and loneliness, and I was buried in it beyond the point of return.

That is, of course, until he came.

“Room for one more?”

A rough, scratchy voice. A deep, intimidating voice I remembered but swore I’d never heard. My tear-filled eyes could only make out a man standing above me. “Go away,” I croaked, the first words spoken to another being in hundreds of years, “Leave me to my suffering.”

“Sure, if you want to suffer, go ahead,” The man crouched beside my writhing body, looking out across the River of Woe, “This is paradise, after all. If that’s what you want, who am I to stop you? I’m just here for the view.”

I attempted to focus, blinking back tears and squinting at the figure. He seemed familiar as well, likely from the war. He was not Achilles, though. I would know Achilles if he had been turned into an annelid. No one who came to mind as particularly close to me in my memories surfaced as I looked at the silhouette of this man. Who on earth was he? “I did not invite you to join me,” I said flatly, trying to muster a glare but failing terribly, “Leave me be.”

The man sat down properly next to me, looking down at me with discolored eyes, one as blue as the morning sky and the other as black as the night, “You have gotten the temperament of your lover now, I see,” The man chortled, and suddenly it hit me who he was like a tidal wave. A sudden rush filled me, and I was sitting up in sudden alarm, my eyes forcing themselves into focus on the King that sat next to me- King Odysseus of Ithaca. I felt ill all of a sudden, from sitting up too fast or shock, I was not sure, but I very gracefully emptied what little scraps I could feed myself from my stomach into the Cocytus. 

“Oh, Gods, you alright, kiddo?” The humor had left his face, replaced with worry, and his hands were quickly upon my shoulders to hold me up. When he determined I had finished with my display, he emptied some water from his waterskin into my palms and helped guide my shaky hands to clean the mess I’d made before having me drink the rest of the water. 

I was pliant, obeying in silence out of pure uncertainty on what else to do. I even worked with him when he decided to drag me over to a rock to prop me up against. I stared quietly at him, taking in his appearance. He was older and covered in more intense scars than I recalled him having, beard short and well kept, and his salt and pepper hair falling to his shoulders, his pilos replaced with the diadem that signified his status as a king. I couldn’t help but think for a brief moment he looked better without that stupid hat, much more serious and commanding. His voice was much more rough, likely a testament to whatever he had gone through after my death. I realized I probably should speak upon the gentle shake on my shoulder and worried eyes boring into me, so I shoved his hands off my shoulders and mustered the best scowl I could, “...Fuck off,” I snapped, tensing up to seem intimidating despite the weakness in my limbs and the pathetic display I had just shown. The King backed off, letting go and scooching a bit away to give me space, but not leaving.

“What happened to you, Patroclus?” Odysseus asked, his rough voice softening and cracking slightly, his mismatched eyes showing sadness for me. It made me feel sick that this man would feel sorry for me. I did not deserve his pity or his time, he was better off going about his day than kneeling next to this pathetic shell propped against a rock. 

I forced my scowl to deepen, waving a hand to try to shoo him, yelling as loud as I could muster, “Out, I say! Out! Leave me alone! I do not need your damned tears! Get out of here! I’ll fight you! Go away!” My voice raised beyond its limits and cracked, and my attempt to get up led to my stomach turning again and needing to sit right back down. I was shaky, I probably looked crazy, and that look did not leave his eyes. Still, he stood up after a moment of consideration, bowing his head respectfully.

“If that’s what you wish,” The King of Ithaca stated simply, his voice formal and respectul as he brushed sand off of his navy cloak, “I will come to see you again. When would be best for that?”

Had he not heard me, or was he purposefully acting dumb? Either way, it made me angry, “Never! I said out! Never return! Begone!”

“In three months, then,” Odysseus chirped, his voice suddenly cheerful as he ignored my yells, “I will see you then, my friend! I will bring something for us to drink and eat, and perhaps we will be able to speak properly with some food in us, hm? Have a fun time with your suffering!”

Before I could say anything, he turned with his cloak flapping in the breeze, and I yelled after him a handful of obscenities that he simply did not listen to. I yelled even after he left my sight, yelled until my voice was hoarse, before slumping onto the sand with a thump. I had forgotten how godsdamned annoying Odysseus of Ithaca was.

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Animals function on a different system as well. Most of the time, they have a choice on what happens, due to the purity of their souls. By default, they are sent to frolic in Asphodel.

1. If the animal was a pet, it can be sent to wherever their master is so long as their master consents to it.

2. If the animal did anything that is considered heroic (Ex. War dogs, bomb sniffing dogs, service animals, etc) they have the ability to go to Elysium

3. The animal can become a daemon of a concept they are deemed closest to being (Ex. Ody's dog, Argos, is a Daemon of Trauma in this story)

Hey there! I'm an OSDD 1B system and we have alters from greek mythology that have shared their experiences with the underworld, and I've compiled it all into one semi coherent autistic ramble. Below this I will reblog a very long yap about how the underworld works in their conceptualizations. Splitting it up into reblogs so its not a novel lmao.

If that makes no sense to you and you don't feel like learning about OSDD then just think of this as an autistic ramble of how I think the underworld works in the book im writing :)

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Plants are allowed to grow and spread as they please, though most tend to avoid Tartarus unless they are used for punishment. Unlike other beings, if a plant is killed in the underworld it is gone for good due to its lack of soul, unless it is made to stay (such as the plants in Persephone's garden).

Hey there! I'm an OSDD 1B system and we have alters from greek mythology that have shared their experiences with the underworld, and I've compiled it all into one semi coherent autistic ramble. Below this I will reblog a very long yap about how the underworld works in their conceptualizations. Splitting it up into reblogs so its not a novel lmao.

If that makes no sense to you and you don't feel like learning about OSDD then just think of this as an autistic ramble of how I think the underworld works in the book im writing :)

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The functionality of the other living beings differ in the underworld.

Monsters, or at least those birthed to Echidna, are born in Tartarus and by default return there, where they can crawl back to the surface. If a Champion of Elysium were to plead a case to Hades to allow a monster into Elysium, or if the monster were to do something so heroic it impressed Hades by itself, then it would be allowed to spend the rest of its days in paradise. Monsters born by different means tend to be more likely to be allowed into Elysium, as they are not as inherently bloodthirsty as the rest of Echidna's children.

Hey there! I'm an OSDD 1B system and we have alters from greek mythology that have shared their experiences with the underworld, and I've compiled it all into one semi coherent autistic ramble. Below this I will reblog a very long yap about how the underworld works in their conceptualizations. Splitting it up into reblogs so its not a novel lmao.

If that makes no sense to you and you don't feel like learning about OSDD then just think of this as an autistic ramble of how I think the underworld works in the book im writing :)

[retros-art]

Oikos Cocytus

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66079234/chapters/170288281

Patroclus mourns the loss of Achilles by the River of Woe, where he drowns in his own sorrow for thousands of years. One day, he is found by a familiar face, who attempts to help Patroclus heal from his depression.

(Or: Odysseus and Penelope adopt a queer mentally ill child Odysseus knew during the war.)

Tags: Patroclus POV, First person pov, Angst, Lots of angst, Self-destructive behaviors, Found family, Lashing out due to trauma, Did I mention trauma?, Lots of trauma, Patrochilles, Odypen, Hurt with comfort, but like Familial though

(If you would like more information on how exactly my Underworld functions, please feel free to backread or ask. If you'd be interested in more chapters, please let us know! We will probably write more, but if no one's interested, there's no point in posting it pfft.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sit beside the riverside, burying my toes into the sand that wails at every shift and touch. If I look close enough, I can see the agonized faces of those I had watched suffer in the discolored grains. My eyes, however, never could stay focused when the glowing water flowing rapidly in front of me screamed for my attention. Human screams. Familiar war cries, the begging for mercy, called to me. It filled me with extreme despair- A feeling I believed filth such as myself was meant to feel. The faces were clearer in the water, and when my eyes finally focused upon the rapidly moving waters, they always landed on one particular face- the face of the man who used to make my heart skip and now makes it ache. The pounding, aching feeling in my chest that made me want to throw up was a daily routine, as well as the tears that unwillingly spilled into my beard from the sheer amount of despair I felt just looking into the waters.

I had thought on countless occasions, upon seeing my lover's pained or horrified expressions and cries of agony, of diving into that river to embrace the hallucination of him and hold nothing in my arms as I sank and became one with the River of Sorrow. I often fed it my screams and tears right by the riverside. A few times, I allowed it to lap at my feet when the tide rose, and allowed myself to feel its horrid effects until everything felt raw and my frail mortal shell forced me to pull away from the water. 

The feeling the river gave was overwhelming. A clashing, overwhelming, clawing feeling that retched screams and sobs from my very soul. Every ounce of emotional agony I had ever experienced bounced in my skull until I blacked out and fell into realistic nightmares of my lover and others I had cared for. Many times, I had used my hands to claw at my face and neck and torn myself apart with my nails, only to awaken the next morning with smooth skin in silent, peaceful tranquility that made me feel ill. Numb.

I do not claim to know the inner workings of the Underworld, and I likely never will. Since my death, I had been trapped within my 19-year-old self, with all of the scars over wounds I had obtained in my adulthood and my death. This body does not die, no matter the times I impale myself on rocks or fall from high places- I simply awake as if nothing happened. In my desperation to feel something, I would trudge and stumble back down that peaceful hill like an addict deprived of his fix. I needed to feel that pain and agony. I deserved it, it felt right. I had to remember all of that guilt, I could not risk letting myself forget it. 

I am always alone on my side of the Cocytus. The others in Eternal Paradise were too busy celebrating their heroic lives to wallow in their sorrows and self-pity. On the other side, however, where I could just barely make out the dull fields of Asphodel, a handful of shades did the same as I. Small figures just barely in my vision, wailing at their vivid memories of their worst moments, the feelings that came with those memories amplified to an extreme degree. I wonder to myself, occasionally, what they could be feeling in comparison to me, but I dismiss such thoughts rather quickly. It did not matter - Nothing mattered without the man I considered my husband, but even if he were in this dreary realm, he would hate the shell I have become.

For what must have been a thousand years, I remained on that lonely beach, disassociated and writhing in delicious anguish from the water’s effects. I was obsessed with the pain, addicted to the feeling of agony that remained stagnant in its terrible effects. It was against human nature not to become numb to the scraping of the soul the tides brought with them, and yet it still induced the same amount of despair as the first day I sat beside these waters. There were a few times when another shade wandered to the shore to cry about something, but this occurrence was rare, and they never came back. I wondered occasionally if I should walk along the shore and see if any other shades were similar to me just outside my vision, but that thought filled me with more misery. No one deserved to feel this way, and it was much too depressing just thinking others might be wasting away by the shore like I was.

I was content with my personal Tartarus I’d created for myself. The thrashing and clawing, slashing and sobbing. I was alone in my little painful bubble, and I had planned to keep it that way for all eternity. Alone and in agony was what I deserved. I liked being alone. The loneliness was all-consuming and prevented the numbness from creeping up on me. I had succumbed to the despair and loneliness, and I was buried in it beyond the point of return.

That is, of course, until he came.

“Room for one more?”

A rough, scratchy voice. A deep, intimidating voice I remembered but swore I’d never heard. My tear-filled eyes could only make out a man standing above me. “Go away,” I croaked, the first words spoken to another being in hundreds of years, “Leave me to my suffering.”

“Sure, if you want to suffer, go ahead,” The man crouched beside my writhing body, looking out across the River of Woe, “This is paradise, after all. If that’s what you want, who am I to stop you? I’m just here for the view.”

I attempted to focus, blinking back tears and squinting at the figure. He seemed familiar as well, likely from the war. He was not Achilles, though. I would know Achilles if he had been turned into an annelid. No one who came to mind as particularly close to me in my memories surfaced as I looked at the silhouette of this man. Who on earth was he? “I did not invite you to join me,” I said flatly, trying to muster a glare but failing terribly, “Leave me be.”

The man sat down properly next to me, looking down at me with discolored eyes, one as blue as the morning sky and the other as black as the night, “You have gotten the temperament of your lover now, I see,” The man chortled, and suddenly it hit me who he was like a tidal wave. A sudden rush filled me, and I was sitting up in sudden alarm, my eyes forcing themselves into focus on the King that sat next to me- King Odysseus of Ithaca. I felt ill all of a sudden, from sitting up too fast or shock, I was not sure, but I very gracefully emptied what little scraps I could feed myself from my stomach into the Cocytus. 

“Oh, Gods, you alright, kiddo?” The humor had left his face, replaced with worry, and his hands were quickly upon my shoulders to hold me up. When he determined I had finished with my display, he emptied some water from his waterskin into my palms and helped guide my shaky hands to clean the mess I’d made before having me drink the rest of the water. 

I was pliant, obeying in silence out of pure uncertainty on what else to do. I even worked with him when he decided to drag me over to a rock to prop me up against. I stared quietly at him, taking in his appearance. He was older and covered in more intense scars than I recalled him having, beard short and well kept, and his salt and pepper hair falling to his shoulders, his pilos replaced with the diadem that signified his status as a king. I couldn’t help but think for a brief moment he looked better without that stupid hat, much more serious and commanding. His voice was much more rough, likely a testament to whatever he had gone through after my death. I realized I probably should speak upon the gentle shake on my shoulder and worried eyes boring into me, so I shoved his hands off my shoulders and mustered the best scowl I could, “...Fuck off,” I snapped, tensing up to seem intimidating despite the weakness in my limbs and the pathetic display I had just shown. The King backed off, letting go and scooching a bit away to give me space, but not leaving.

“What happened to you, Patroclus?” Odysseus asked, his rough voice softening and cracking slightly, his mismatched eyes showing sadness for me. It made me feel sick that this man would feel sorry for me. I did not deserve his pity or his time, he was better off going about his day than kneeling next to this pathetic shell propped against a rock. 

I forced my scowl to deepen, waving a hand to try to shoo him, yelling as loud as I could muster, “Out, I say! Out! Leave me alone! I do not need your damned tears! Get out of here! I’ll fight you! Go away!” My voice raised beyond its limits and cracked, and my attempt to get up led to my stomach turning again and needing to sit right back down. I was shaky, I probably looked crazy, and that look did not leave his eyes. Still, he stood up after a moment of consideration, bowing his head respectfully.

“If that’s what you wish,” The King of Ithaca stated simply, his voice formal and respectul as he brushed sand off of his navy cloak, “I will come to see you again. When would be best for that?”

Had he not heard me, or was he purposefully acting dumb? Either way, it made me angry, “Never! I said out! Never return! Begone!”

“In three months, then,” Odysseus chirped, his voice suddenly cheerful as he ignored my yells, “I will see you then, my friend! I will bring something for us to drink and eat, and perhaps we will be able to speak properly with some food in us, hm? Have a fun time with your suffering!”

Before I could say anything, he turned with his cloak flapping in the breeze, and I yelled after him a handful of obscenities that he simply did not listen to. I yelled even after he left my sight, yelled until my voice was hoarse, before slumping onto the sand with a thump. I had forgotten how godsdamned annoying Odysseus of Ithaca was.

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Slideshow of the entire Trojan Royal Family because I'm Neurodivergent as Fuck

Because I know just clicking on links isnt most people's style, I'll put some examples of slides under it.

Jumpscare warning: the placeholder images are all the Cat Blanc painting. No I am not sorry. Yes it is 92 slides. Please take time out of your day to read some of this if you're interested in the Children of Priam during the Trojan War.

Note: These are notes for my own project, rather than an infographic. While most are very close to the original stories, there are certain spins I've made on things. The "Mostly canon to" is there for a reason!

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Creature made in collaboration with @graveyardnest hooray. Doodles under the cut.

A common story trope is infinite libraries full of knowledge that you need to donate your own knowledge to before being allowed inside. The Maned Tome Wolves are a species in one such infinite library that collect these bits of knowledge. Each bit of knowledge leads to a new leaf or stretch of the vine patterns that begin at their golden paws.

It is said if you were to break the long legs of the Maned Tome, you would be able to absorb all of the knowledge it has collected throughout the years. However, those who have succeeded in this have gone mad from the sheer amount of knowledge stored within them.

The Mained Tomes willingly share their knowledge, at the cost of you sharing something the library does not already own. You may not get the books yourself, however the Mained Tome will obtain it for you. If you damage or destroy the books, you are consumed and your blood is used to both fix/replace the books damaged, and the excess is placed into a blank book next to all the other unfortunate souls that met a similar end.

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Updated the map for easier reading!

Fónou Mýthou - Telemachus Novel WIP

Please excuse these pings and feel free to ignore, however these are all people that have inspired me greatly in the process of writing this story:

@neal-illustrator @bigidiotenergytm @kdpartworks @gigizetz

On instagram: @ximena_natzel @jayherrans

PLENTY of more but im too tired to look for them ough.

I've decided I should probably make posts about my book in the making. I'm not sure how to write this without just...Spoiling the events of my book, so it'll be put under a cut. Basically, it's Telemachus's journey after the events of the Odyssey that lead to the deaths of Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus himself. It's meant to be a rehash of The Telegony, as

No one has a full version of the telegony anymore, just bits and pieces.

The telegony wasn't made by Homer himself and is instead just fanfiction we discovered

The Telegony doesn't follow ANY of the actual characterizations of the characters in the original Odyssey and it pisses me AWF

We have Greek Mythos alters that want me to write their memories down so who am I to deny them pfft

In this, Telemachus is meant to be a failure of a hero by doing the opposite of the Epic Hero Cycle ™️- Or, in other words, the opposite of his father. He's to fail every test of the code of chivalry thrown against him and indulge in a handful of the Sins (As you can see in medieval literature often, IE: Canterbury tales, Beowulf, Grendel, and even in most greek and roman mythos)

Under this cut is the basic plot of the book (or, at least, the WIP of it) and a general rundown. Of course there will be side characters not originally in any previous works because it's a generational difference and. Yeah. I'd prefer you not call them OC's even though they technically are (especially the "Telemachus's Best Friend" character). It feels weird to me + we have alters of them and its kinda funky.

*This book is not based on the events of epic despite a lot of inspiration deriving from it. The epic tags are mostly there because I know that'll get more people to see this, in full transparency.*

TW for: Death, killing, Telemachus being kind of a dick near the end, etc

Really shitty edit of this just to show my thoughts physically.

Basically, Telemachus wants to be a hero, and his parents, of course, say no, not wanting the kid to end up horribly traumatized and away from home for many years like his father. In true rebellious fashion, he declares to his friend, a noble named Philopheros, that they are going to take 20 men (need to name all of them...I'll get there, trust) and go fight the fabled Lernaean Hydra that was getting reports of activity again (it's the baby of the one Herakles killed). They fail pretty terrificly but they get there eventually.

This is to demonstrate that Telemachus is following in footsteps and not actually doing anything heroic or memorable- He's just doing what heroes before him did to try to prove himself. This is pointed out by one of the men, and Telemachus gets pissy about it.

I won't go into detail for the rest but basically he just goes and fails horribly at everything his father did until he eventually reaches Circe's island with only him and Philopheros still alive. There, Circe promises to release Philopheros (who she turned into a pig) upon learning Telemachus's identity, and offers him a night with her.

Being a stupid man he agrees, telling Phil he can get lost. Phil leaves in a huff, and Telemachus spends the nice with Circe. When Circe tells him she's pregnant, he tells her "Okay but I still haven't proven myself as a hero, is it okay if I go and do that before the baby is born?" and she's like "aight"

Then he goes and fights Polyphemus because that makes sense. He ends up on the Lotus Eater island and passes the FUCK out for 8 years until he's awoken by Odysseus with Philopheros standing behind him.

Ody tries to take him home but ends up giving in when Telemachus tells him he has a wife and kid to get back to and brings him back to Circe's island. Then when it's discovered Philopheros stayed behind to try to convince Telemachus to come back home again, Circe orders Telemachus to kill him and she'll forgive him for the 8 years he left her to raise Telegonus. So he does.

A few years later Odysseus and Penelope come to visit and Circe sends Telegonus to kill Odysseus. He succeeds, but Penelope wakes up and attacks him, leading to her dying as well. Telemachus hears the yells, comes in, and pauses right before stabbing his own son- Long enough for Telegonus to kill him too.

THE END!

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New style dropped lesgo

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Trying a new art style wml

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Ref sheet for our host Leo !

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Finally, the River Phlegathon, also known as the River of Flames. This river flows equally through Tartarus and Asphodel, and is pretty much what you'd expect: A river of flaming blood, used mostly to punish murderers and other violent offenders, but considering the sheer amount it began flooding from Tartarus into Asphodel.

Hey there! I'm an OSDD 1B system and we have alters from greek mythology that have shared their experiences with the underworld, and I've compiled it all into one semi coherent autistic ramble. Below this I will reblog a very long yap about how the underworld works in their conceptualizations. Splitting it up into reblogs so its not a novel lmao.

If that makes no sense to you and you don't feel like learning about OSDD then just think of this as an autistic ramble of how I think the underworld works in the book im writing :)