#;notes on necromancy(musings)

[ossifer]

On the Mechanics of Lyctorhood

I want to preface this by saying this is a long, long post that is going to delve deep into lyctorhood, skim the surface of physics and biology, and fully embrace conjecture! If I'm right about all this then I'm very happy, but I also cannot wait to be disproven in Alecto the Ninth.

Thanergy

Thanergy is the product of the decay of thalergy: this is the principle that underpins all of necromancy. All necromantic adepts are capable of manipulating both thalergy and thanergy, but necromancy is shown to be reliant on thanergy specifically, and is most geared toward utilising thanergy as a result.

“Thalergetic decay causes cellular death,” you said carefully, pressing the nail in harder, “which emits thanergy. The massive cell death that follows apopneumatism causes a thanergetic cascade, though the first bloom fades and the thanergy stabilises within thirty to sixty seconds.” [Harrow the Ninth]

As shown by @pokkop15 in this post the term thanergy is almost certainly derived from Thanatos, the Greek God of Death, but thalergy's origins are more murky: likely candidates are thaleros (a greek word that means lively), Thalia (the muse of Festivity whose name also means blooming), or Thalassa (divine personification of the sea in greek mythology, which would fit considering how life is very associated with saltwater in TLT).

The Eightfold Word: What is Lyctorhood?

According to the resident tall glass of skank and questionably reliable narrator, Ianthe Tridentarius, the Eightfold Word is composed of the following steps:

Preserve the soul, with memory and intellect intact.

Analyse it—understand its structure, its shape.

Remove and absorb it: take it into yourself without consuming it in the process.

Fix it in place so it can’t deteriorate.

Incorporate it: find a way to make the soul part of yourself without being overwhelmed.

Consume the flesh [NOTE: Ianthe says 'a drop of blood is enough to ground you', which to me indicates that this step serves as a way to ground the incorporated soul into the lyctor's body, by having material from the soul's original body. This is very significant.]

Reconstruction—making spirit and flesh work together the way they used to, in the new body.

Hook up the cables and get the power flowing.

Lyctorhood seemingly works by providing the necromancer with, among other things, a near limitless reserve of thanergy that is presumably derived from the incorporated soul once the power is flowing: as we see with Cytherea healing herself, lyctors are either unable to generate thalergy—or their ability to do so is lessened in comparison to their ability to generate thanergy—and must instead siphon it from external sources when their own thalergy is depleted.

In Nona the Ninth we are introduced to Palamedes' conception of Lyctorhood in terms of Lysis: the Lyctorhood we are most familiar with is Petty Lysis, where only one of the components dies, while Grand Lysis is a mutual death—a gravitational singularity creating something new, as is the case with Paul. Lysis is a term used in biology that refers to 'the breaking down of the membrane of a cell', which as I've explored before

In the series, Lyctorhood is spoken of in terms of fire: there are repeated references to Gideon's soul being made the furnace of [Harrow's] Lyctorhood and serving as a furnace of power, Mercymorn refers to her cavalier's mortal soul burning in her chest, John says that the risk posed by fully incorporating Alecto into himself completely would be that he'd probably burn to death, and Paul's birth results in Camilla's body being consumed by flames. This leads us on to how lyctorhood is also characterised as consumption: eating the cavalier, absorbing their soul, burning it for fuel.

What is the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood?

Lyctorhood is barbaric, it is cannibalism, it is taking another and burning them in yourself for power. But that raises the question of where that power comes from. By the way that thalergy/thanergy are spoken of with terms reminiscent of radiation, coupled with how lyctorhood is rendered through metaphors and imagery related to fire and/or consumption, it would seem that the logical conclusion behind this is that the soul is being subject to continual thanergetic fission.

The terminology Tamsyn uses is something that lends credence to this: nuclear fission 'occurs when a neutron slams into a larger atom, forcing it to excite and split into two smaller atoms—also known as fission products'. Sudden, sharp decay/conversion of thalergy into thanergy could be the mechanism behind thanergetic fission, as we see with Harrow's description of apopneumatic shock and how the burst of thanergetic energy (a neutron slamming into a larger atom, forcing it to excite) is sufficient to prevent liminal osmosis from taking place: "In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated."

But from what we know of the nature of the thanergy, thalergy, and the soul, this explanation makes no sense. Thanergy is emitted by thalergy decay, but souls in of themselves are not a source of thalergy nor thanergy, as shown by Anastasia's tripod principle: “The body needs thalergy and a soul to keep the lights on. Anastasia’s tripod principle. Body plus thalergy, but no soul, is basically a very weird vegetable … after a while it gives up and shuts down.” [Nona the Ninth]

Going back to the nuclear terminology, I'm going to cut straight to the core of this theory: the mechanism behind the thanergetic generation of lyctorhood is thanergetic fusion.

What is thanergetic fusion?

The term I use here is a misnomer, because a more accurate term would be pneumatic fusion, considering how Tamsyn Muir is fond of using the Greek pneuma to refer to the soul: nuclear fusion 'is a reaction in which two or more atomic nuclei combine to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles'.

A nucleus in physics is 'the positively charged central core of an atom, consisting of protons and neutrons and containing nearly all its mass', while in biology the term refers to 'a dense organelle present in most eukaryotic cells, typically a single rounded structure bounded by a double membrane, containing the genetic material'. Palamedes uses the term lysis for Lyctorhood, which as you'll recall refers to the disintegration of the cell membrane, thus exposing it's innards: such as the nucleus. The soul is the nucleus.

Nuclear fusion involves combining two or more atomic nuclei to form one or more different atomic nuclei and subatomic particles: the difference in mass between the reactants and products is manifested as either the release or absorption of energy; as a rule of thumb the fusion of lighter nuclei releases energy, making it an exothermic process, while the fusion of heavier nuclei results in energy being retained by the product nucleons, and thus the resulting reaction is endothermic. An exothermic reactions releases heat, causing the temperature of the immediate surroundings to rise, while an endothermic one absorbs heat and cools the surroundings.

In the context of this nuclear fusion explanation of Lyctorhood, an exothermic (exothanergetic) reaction releases thanergy while an endothermic (endothanergetic) reaction absorbs thanergy: the fusion of lighter souls release thanergy, the fusion of heavier souls absorbs it.

What are the implications behind these mechanics?

The question that comes to mind is what is a heavier soul? The answer, once again, lies in physics: "The heaviest atomic nuclei are created in nuclear reactions that combine two other nuclei of unequal size into one; roughly, the more unequal the two nuclei in terms of mass, the greater the possibility that the two react." [Wikipedia]

How does John explain the soul of a planet to Harrow?

John: “And what has a soul?” Harrow: “Anything with a thalergetic complexity significant enough to … have a soul. So, humanity.” [...] Harrow: “A planet’s a ball of dust. Its thalergy comes from the accumulation of microbial life. You can’t consider it one coherent system.” John: “Call it a communal soul. What’s a human being, other than a sack of microbial life?

Planets' souls are communal, formed from the thalergetic complexity of an entire world coalescing into a nuclei that lies at its heart, heavy in a way a human soul is not: a human soul is light, a planet's soul is heavy. In other words, Alecto is a heavy nuclei and John is a light nuclei, with the resultant nuclei of their combination forming something heavier than either: an endothanergetic reaction.

Moving back to thanergetic fission and the apopneumatic shock of a violent death, we can now examine what happens when John becomes God:

He becomes aware of Alecto when Cristabel kills herself in front of him.

Now aware of Alecto, he creates a massive flood of thanergy by inciting the violent deaths of millions, possibly billions, through the detonation of nuclear devices.

Empowered by the mass thanergetic fission caused by an untold number of apopneumatic shocks, 'I became a demigod', he finishes off the rest.

He kills Alecto, takes her soul in his hands, and attempts to become one with her.

He almost fails, and during this flawed process is forced to split her soul between his body and another, hiding himself in her and herself in him.

Fusion still occurs, this reaction is endothanergetic and allows him to near absorb a massive amount of thanergy in one sitting: "And when we were together … once the shaman had claimed the sun … I became God."

He violently kills the rest of the planets in the system, flipping them and creating a surplus of thanergy, a process of large-scale energy creation and transferall: to quote Ianthe once again, "You see, my field has always been energy transferral … large-scale energy transferral. Resurrection theory."

What this all means is that the secret behind the Resurrection is that John's Lyctorhood works fundamentally differently to that of his Saints, because his is endothanergetic where theirs is exothanergetic, a reaction between a heavy and a lighter nuclei.

Not only is it endothanergetic instead of exothanergetic, it generates a different form of energy. Emperor John Gaius produces thalergy.

Resurrection Theory

As we know from Anastasia's tripod principle, thalergy alone cannot make life, a soul is also needed—meaning that the inverse is true, in that a soul alone cannot make life, thalergy is needed; In order for John to have performed the Resurrection, he would have needed to imbue bodies with both their soul and thalergy to recreate the life he took in the first place. Logically, this means that John would have to be able to create thalergy. John is the only being in the universe who is able to generate thalergy, namely via the continual fusion reaction between a heavy soul and a light soul, also known as Alecto and himself, to produce it.

Let us return to what Augustine says of the nature of his power: “You don’t get your power from Dominicus,” said Augustine. “It gets its power from you. There’s no exchange involved, no symbiosis. You draw nothing from the system. It relies on you entirely, as we all know. You’re God, John. But—as the Edenites are fond of pointing out—you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time.”

John is the source of fresh thanergy in the system: he produces thalergy, which he can decay into thanergy. The thanergy in the system is finite, it would drain away after enough time, but his heavy and light soul reaction producing thalergy that can then be decayed into thanergy allows for new thanergy to be introduced into the system; John's necromancy's unique in that it relies on the rapid creation of thanergy via accelerated thalergetic decay, resulting in thanergetic fission.

Why do I say thanergetic fission? Becase it could explain why his necromancy is shown to manifest as large amounts of light, because what does thanergetic fission result in? We see when Palamedes utilises the rapid thanergetic fission of his thanergy reserves to blow up in Cytherea's face:

The sickroom exploded into white fire, and the bonds pinning Gideon snapped. She fell hard against the wall and spun, drunkenly, lurching back down the corridor as Palamedes Sextus made everything burn. There was no heat, but Gideon sprinted away from that cold white death without bothering to spare a glance behind as though flames were licking at her heels.

White light that gives off no heat. What happens when John reassembles himself?

White light. It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

Speaking of that scene, it is likely the most definitive proof we see that John produces thalergy, because there is no way for his body to function without thalergy, and thanergy cannot be converted to thalergy (as far as we know). That thalergy has to come from somewhere. John, the Resurrector, is able to create thalergy.

Do you know where else we see what is explicitly called a form of resurrection? The endothanergetic reaction that created Harrowhark Nonagesimus: "My parents gassed fifty-four infants, eighty-one children, and sixty-five teenagers, and harnessed that thanergy bloom to conceive me. My mother used the resultant power to modify her ovum on a chromosomal level, so thanergy ignition wouldn’t compromise the embryo. She did this so I would be a necromancer." [Harrow the Ninth]

A large amount of thanergy is generated within an instant by closely-timed apopneumatic shocks caused by sudden death via what Harrow specifically names as nerve gas [Gideon the Ninth]. This brings to mind thanergetic fission as opposed to fusion, due to the fact it relies on thanergy, but the key detail here lies in two factors: the unequal size of the nuclei (souls) involved here, and the fact these souls are shown to have been manipulated.

The souls—emphasis on souls, as opposed to thanergy—of a large amount of children, of varying ages, are forcibly prevented from passing to the River via liminal osmosis due to the sheer amount of thanergy involved, and they are tied to Harrow's soul, as shown by Abigail commenting on her unique spiritual signature: "I’ve counted up to one hundred and fifty signatures contributing to you, and there’s more—they’re stamps rather than complete revenants, of course, which means their spirits were manipulated to leave marks on you in some way, which is fascinating if it means…"

What is a planet's soul? A communal one, the thalergy complexity of a world. What is Harrow's soul? A communal one, exactly two hundred sons and daughters of her House, manipulated to be stamped on her original one. I cannot speak of what this means, but it means that Harrow's soul is naturally heavier than John's: a nuclei formed from two hundred others.

Conclusions

Lyctorhood is nuclear fusion, with souls as the nuclei: the combination of souls produces thanergy as a byproduct of the process of forming a new nuclei; Souls are not a perpetual energy source, and are unable to generate thanergy or thalergy on their own, it is the combination of them that creates thanergy or thalergy.

Petty Lysis, the Lyctorhood of the Saints, is an exothanergetic reaction which produces thanergy as the two souls involved are melded over untold years: it is not a one-way consumption, it is a fusion, but the power transferral does only go one way, due to the fact it is not a mutual death. Grand Lysis is a more complete, and thus powerful, version of this reaction wherein the two nuclei are fully combined within an instant, as opposed to gradually combined.

John's joining with Alecto works on the same fusion principle of Lyctorhood, but the difference lies in the nature of the reaction at the heart of it: he is endothanergetic and produces thalergy as opposed to thanergy, which he can subsequently decay into thanergy to fuel his necromancy. The Resurrection was made possible by him generating thanergy.

Final Note:

I want to point out something before anyone else can, and that is the fact Lyctors could be interpreted as working on pneumatic fission as opposed to fusion: meaning that the constituent souls are split to produce power, and that the exothanergetic and endothanergetic reactions would be reversed—John exothanergetic instead of endothanergetic, and vice versa with Petty Lyctors, which explains why they appear to be thanergy voids: they absorb all thanergy in their surroundings.

I considered this while writing this theory, but ultimately I found that fusion seemed more likel. Alternatively, both Paul and John are examples of pneumatic fusion due to their more complete Lyctorhood while the Petty Lyctors are working on pneumatic fission. I prefer the idea that all Lyctorhood is pneumatic fusion, which is why I ultimately leaned into that interpretation in this post.

Thank you for reading.

[questionable-chnt-hc]

I headcannon the hourglass to represent camp here and there also represent that we are all to die in the end as nothing will last forever. The hourglass perhaps symbolising the rest of the world covering up the camp, which can easily be destroyed when flipped around. Maybe it also represents that the camp will change over time, but what it stands for never will? I think that it could show how different these people are to the regular world, or rather irregular. Hence the different coloured sand inside of it.

I still think it's something to do with death or the end... Maybe a rapture or something as camp here and there is also like got similarities with the bible. Perhaps we might get a parable of the sheep and goats story where some people go to heaven or something and others stay and rot in the camp? I mean, surely it could suggest that maybe? I suppose it could also represent a sort of connection with chess? Like chess matches are sometimes timed, probably not with hour glasses, but it could represent jedidiah and Lucilles' view on dealing with issues in the camp. Especially since the camp itself is like a chess game with some bit of manipulation here and there. ( Example, literally Sydney and Elijah as he was manipulating him to gain what he needed and ' win 'against Jedidiah. ) its just such a goof.

The moon is also suspicious, symbolising an end like an end to a day....I mean, it could also mean like an end to a creation of something if we're getting biblical with it? Due to the creation story like goofing and stating a day was just a period of time with light until dark, so perhaps when the moon falls, it will be all over? It also heads to the question what's after death, I mean I know sydneys alive and such but what happened exactly....ALSO ON THAT NOTE IF JEDIDIAH BROUGHT BACK RIGHT....AND HES MEANT TO BE JUDAS DOES THAT MEAN HE WILL BETRAY HIM FUTHER TO PEOPLE WHO WANT HIM DEAD? OR PERHAPS, IT ALREADY HAPPENED AND HE FEELS GUILTY ABOUT IT? AND THAT'S WHY HE BROUGHT HIM BACK AND CARES FOR HIM?!?!?

At the same time It could be? I mean, that might be why Elijah hates him, he killed the muse and brought him back not telling him a thing...and almost putting his ability to worship something living out the window. Also I don't even know if this counts but if necromancy seemed satanic ( well not really as he isn't Christian....but you get it. ) would that add onto it?

You know I think I'm thinking to hard about a fictional podcast logo......( just maybe... )

That is a religious nerd!!!! ( formerly known as dude!!!!! )

Bonus:

Elijah likes eating worms now :}

Wait you’re onto something here methinks

[cacaobean760]

Hero and Leander Poem Analysis

DISCLAIMER!!!!!! I am not a professional in dissecting things like this because it's written very...Shakespearish? I don't even know the word for it. So if you do see something that I said and it's wrong, please correct me <3

Sooooo uhhhh Idk why I decided to do this but I found a poem by Christopher Marlow that is about Hero and Leander. This is really long and I mean REALLYYYYYY LONG(the poem itself is 124 pages...)Here is the link if you guys yourself want to go over it(The actual poem starts on page 78): http://dbooks.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/books/PDFs/590654826.pdf

But ya I am just gonna be going over the first part of how Leander is described and some things I noticed that might relate to our Leander! So strap in because this is also probably gonna be a long one~

(Also Yellow highlights will be vocab and red highlights will be descriptions)

Ok so if we look at the very first image, it tells us that Leander was born is Abydos and he had long hair(ARTIST NEED TO GET ON THIS NOW!!!!) and "unto Colchos borne" just means that if Leander did cut his hair, It would fall onto the land of Medea and the Golden Fleece. The Golden Fleece was a piece of treasure, and the word Golden is specific to Leander and the MC because when we show Leander our curse, he relates to us by saying "we match" while showing the pin on his coat that is Gold(Gold will be used A LOT in this poem). Now because the Golden Fleece we can infer that a lot of people would want to have their hands on is so by saying that if Leander hair had been cut, more of the youth of Greece would be attracted to Leander and want him more then the Golden Fleece. And then to further this emphases on his attractiveness, they name a women who whished that," his arms might be her sphere"(hugging her). Something interesting to note is that instead of saying hair here, the word Tress which as you can see in the image above, means a lock of woman's hair(which will be brough up later).

It described Leander's body as," Straight as Circes wand" Now what is special about this? Circe is a Goddess that practiced in the magic of Illusion and Necromancy. I think the Illusion does apply to Leander I just don't know how yet, I also saw some theories of Leander using Necromancy soooo....is this a coincidence??? Then it says that Jove, might have sipped nectar out of his hand. Now Jove being a God really says something about Leander if he would be willing to drink it out of his hands. And then you find out that Jove is actually the God of Jupiter which is also the God Zeus(they are all connected just have different names depending on the origin I believe but correct me if I am wrong). And Zeus is THE GOD, the ruler of all Gods. So for him to be willing to Drink from Leander's hand, a HUMAN hand, is really big.

(First off just want to say that White is used twice here I just forgot to highlight the first one, Gold and White will be used consistently throughout. I think that White is important because they are the color of the Lilys that Leander gives to us). It first compares Leander's solder to a nice piece of meat and then it talks about Pelops Shoulder that got....Eaten(idk don't ask me, Greek Mythology is weird) Also something that could also relate to Leander is this....

So I just wanna say that we Know that Leander is a beautiful young man and I think got resurrected and we know that Leander dies by drowing...in water...and we all know what Poseidon is the God of sooooooooooooo(they probs met in the water...Im just saying)Anyways, Then it just goes on in further detail on how attractive Leander is. Then with the Pen thing, I think Marlow meant that that he can describe men much less Gods so it will have to suffice that his muse(The 9 muses from Hercules anyone)talks about Leander's eyes. Then this was unusual to me because Marlow describes Leander's cheeks and lips as Orient which means the East. So at first I thought it was talking about Leander home town Abydos but Abydos is on the West...

And that would have to mean that Sestos(where Hero lives)must be on the East so maybe Marlow was saying that Leander's cheeks and lips were for Hero?????

Then Marlow talks about how if Hippolytus had seen Leander, He would be enamored by his beauty. Which would also be a very big thing because Hippolytus is known to be disgusted by sex and marriage(which is also ironic because we know that Leander is DEF not disgusted by sex)and also it talk about Aphrodite for a bit and who is Hero the Priestess of????(you can probs guess if you don't already know). Then says that Leander's beauty could melt the rudest peasant, So he is just really driving home how Pretty or attractive Leander is. Marlow talks about soldiers who would do anything for Leander just to get a favor from him and says that," he was a maid in man's attire, For in his looks were all that men desire." So I guess everyone just thought that Leander was soooo beautiful that he had to be a women because he was just too attractive.

Now just like the Gold and White that a brought up multipole times, Hand touching is also brought up a few times and obviously we can see the significance of this relating to Leander and MC…

The next thing is def sus and weird but I feel like goes along with how manipulative we all think Leander is because Leander wanted to get with Hero but Hero was a virgin and had to stay a virgin to be a Priestess for Aphrodite. But obvious Leander did not want this so he goes on a speech on how Virginity is just a concept(which I guess is true but its sill sus)and it does not really matter...

So ya, Leander is just telling Hero,' Hey like it does not really matter if you are a virgin or not so just get with me." Like ok....chill out dude. And then Hero rejects him and Leander continues...

It's giving what happens when we reject taking the flowers from Leander from when we first meet him.

Now this is just ironic so I figured I can put this here but I don't think it really relates because I don't see any bracelet on Leander(Poseidon gives this to him so it relates back to Pelops)...

Then Poseidon thinks Leander is also a Women???? Also I would like to note that on Leander’s belt, the shape represents the triple goddesses which are all very feminine in their descriptions so could this also relate to why Marlow keeps describing people thinking Leander is a women?

And upon Him finding out Leander is a man and not a women he gets upset a throws a weapon at Leander....

So Leander gets hurt and I am thinking that maybe that is what Leander's scar is from?????

Now I first want to talk about the white lilies because this is the flower that Leander gives us in the beginning...

ok now for all the other times gold and white are used if I count them, for white it is 13 and for gold it is 16, so ya, they are used quite a lot.

And then at the end, there is a toxic flower called Oleander, So it's very close to Leander's name and this is what I found when Hero saw Leander dead...

She shouts O, Leander soooooo is this why the flower is called that???

OK that is all! I hope you guys enjoyed, I know this was long but ya, I hope you guys liked it. Again if you guys see anything that is wrong please let me know so I can fix it!

[offrozenmemoirs]

cheating death, anatomy class - ariortos

Uncomfortable Headcanons || Accepting! @allthatisleftinthedark

CHEATING DEATH - what does your muse think about death? are they afraid of it?

-Death is something that fascinates Ariortos, not in a way that he wants to avoid it, but he wants to study the afterlife in some fashion besides talking to reapers...Unfortunately, as a necromancer, if he were to run into a follower of Pharasma, he would be public enemy number one. Though he considers being able to work on dead bodies to reshape them into something else, or combining necromancy with botany to make undead plants a worthy pastime...

In a weird kind of way, he admires Lady Hirume for her blessing of life upon plants.

ANATOMY CLASS - what were your muse’s favorite and least favorite classes in school?

-Ariortos' favorite subjects within school were botany and magical theory. He excelled in them and was recognized with creating a new strain of flayleaf, though it should be noted that smoking it is very ill advised, as it's more akin to being used as a tranquilizer that knocks out chimeras or other large beasts.

His least favorite subject was the history of the Graneayan empire itself. He dislikes the propaganda that's pushed and also hates the sections describing the fate of dragons, to him, it's such a waste of good creatures and for them to end up as decorations for noble houses saddens him. His second least favorite? Theater.

[desalvar]

 . I'VE DIED EVERY DEATH I COULD .

    and i have survived each one ( MAIN VERSE. )

He is more myth than man. So happens to creatures with lives unreasonably long and caprices insolently frequent - they exist in endurable fractals. At once Nikodemos and Undying, for a time Octavian, for another Matteo, then Wolfslayer, Giver, Eris, Lucien; the Necromancer has been much and many, and will be many more. A self-contained legion of selves and lives lived.

Much like his history, his nature is vague and indistinctly capricious. Once upon a time a human, as human as his accursed kin of feeble, hollow-souled demonfood 'sensitives' could be, he fights the hand dealt tooth and claw long enough to become a thing transcendental and ineffable - neither living, nor dead, nor human, nor quite witch. The void at his core goes from inborn burden to weapon when he wrests control over what he can take unto himself and swiftly takes to taking souls. Magical talent he steals from the naturally gifted, mortal coil he trades in for manufactured immortality, his grimoire he writes in blood atop his very skin and in ink into his soul, and at last emerges from his doomed fate a terrible creature of his own creation - the first Eater.

And the Eater surely goes on to taste all he can of the world. From early antiquity onward one can encounter him in many places as many things. Amongst creature kin the terrors he once sowed still echo in certain places. Quiet about his dealings, his reputation as killer-eater have earned him few allies, even fewer friends and some of his more abhorrent titles. Where the esoteric and magical can be studied, he studies it, where it can't, he hunts it down. All for want of crafting his own perverse version of it. Magic is one thing, necromancy another, but a thief is a thief no matter the scale. Amongst humans where lies are far easier, he wears kinder masks. Covers himself in glory in battle and jewels in castles, becomes pauper, rebel, noble, knight, king, kingslayer. Becomes priest, saint, martyr, god. He crafts and sells the sweetest lies and seals the cruelest fates. Most of all, he eats. Gorges himself on meat damned and divine alike, morsels from any rare and rotten and terrible thing if he finds he can chew it (he finds he can), feeds himself in fists of human herds or handfuls of great big beasts. Swallows power too, and knowledge, adoration, love, all things a man may hunder for, he devours in excess. Most of all, he eats.

CHARACTERIZATION NOTES.

he can be played as far back as early antiquity where Nikodemus began his journey, all the way up to modern times

there is a time before he was Nikodemus - that history is available only upon extensive plotting

most names he's taken are self-contained lives he's lived. and while he doesn't always abandon those names and has allowed historical records of them to survive, connection rarely exists between them and one would find themselves hard pressed to find one. at best, the notion would count as a conspiracy theory. as a rule of thumb, only the preternatural and immortal tend to be aware of more than one of his reputations. otherwise, muses should know him only as what he introduces himself to be

despite the ironic title the undying, nik can in fact die, does it often, very well and rather casually. after each death he resurrects to full health, regrows all physical structures and then 'wakes up' back to square one - a reset of sorts. on the flip side, he feels the pain normally and experiences death like a human would. he just doesn't entertain it long (unless something interrupts his renimation).

he's something of an undead creature in technicality. he breathes, eats, has a pulse et al, but his soul and metaphysics are unnatural, his blood is rotten and his flesh performs odd processes. to blood-drinking creatures his palette would be disgusting or, in some cases, deadly.

he can sense souls. nothing whimsical like colors or anything, but he can metaphysically feel their energy and, after millenia of contact with various creatures, has learned to tell some apart. humans, spirits, undead, shifters, demonic and celestial he can pin down fast, while the outliers of the preternatural world are trickier. still, more often than not he can tell what caliber of power he's facing.

he can also eat souls. says it on the tin and everything. most times he can't do it freely and necessitates physical touch to put his binding mark down, through which he syphons out lifeforce. this ability won't be forced on any muse unless specifically requested and thoroughly plotted out, and may only appear connected to miscellany NPCs.

around the time of the early medieval period henceforth, Antonín Cainhurst may be mentioned in threads.

out of touch accents in everything he speaks.

notable liar.

HEADCANONS.

where i'll link all metas n studies i do of this bassard in his main verse ♡

[7ndipity]

"Set me Free"(Preview)

Vampire Yoongi x Reader

Summary: After losing the love of your life to the cruelty of those in your village and being branded as a witch, you're given a second chance at life together, and perhaps at revenge?

Warnings: angst, supernatural/fantasy themes, character death, violence, injuries, mentions of depression, blood, resurrection/necromancy? Suggestive moments, Idk, lmk if I missed anything

A/N: first off, we just just hit 100 followers!! Thank you all so much! I'm so sorry this is late(I have been STRUGGLING this week) but hopefully we'll get back on track quickly. Anyway, this idea has been in my notes for ages?? It's quite shaky in places, but I hope to make this into a full series later on, so please consider this an early draft/sneak preview. Let me know if you like it!

Spooktober m.list

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A warm breeze drifted through the small clearing in the woods, a final remnant of the fading summer causing the wildflowers and grasses to ripple gently around you as you knelt motionless, eyes closed.

If anyone had chanced passing by, you would appeared to be in prayer, and in some ways, you suppose you were, but it was not some faceless deity that you sought to speak with. You'd given up on them long ago.

No, you came to kneel at a different sort of shrine, a much more somber one.

Just as you had every day for the past year, you'd come to sit at Yoongi's graveside.

Usually, you came just to be near him, longing for his comfort, but today was of significant importance.

It was the one year anniversary of his death, you had work to do.

. . .

You'd known what he was from the first moment you'd laid eyes on him. Your grandmother had raised you on stories about creatures that stalked the night and beings that sustained themselves on the blood of the living. Before her passing, you would sit by the fireside every night while she worked on various herbal blends and poultices for her patients and would tell you various legends about ghosts, werewolves. Vampires.

From the first day he set foot in the village, you'd been able to spot the little tells. The lithe, cat-like manner in which he moved. His not so subtle avoidance of bright light. The tight-lipped way he spoke. The way his eyes had flicked to you immediately from the other side of the market at the almost inaudible laugh you'd let slip when you saw him being being cornered by a group of older women, having seen a possible sutor for their daughters.

He had carefully disengaged himself from the swarm and made his way over to you.

"Something funny?" He asked.

"Just that the Reverend's wife seemed so disappointed when you said you weren't religious." You said

"Eh, not as disappointed as she would be if I tried to attend a sermon." He smirked.

"True, bursting into flames on the doorstep might leave a bad impression." You chuckled.

"Might help get rid of some of the unwanted attention though." He mused.

That was one of the funny things about him, he'd realized early on that you knew what he was, but rather than serving as a deterrent for him, it had seemed to make him all the more determined to settle in your village.

"You're really not interested in any of them?" You asked curiously.

"Well, they aren't exactly my type." He replied mildly, looking at you out the corner of his eye.

"No?" You raised a brow at that. "And what is your type?"

His gaze didn't waver. "You."

Your grandmother may have told you about vampires, but she'd failed to warn about an even bigger danger,

How easy it was to fall for one.

. . .

Stirring the smoldering mixture of herbs you'd prepared, you pulled out a piece of paper and began to recite.

"One of my heart, come to my side

Blood of my soul, reverse the tide,

Arise gentle spirit, cease your mourn

Part the veil, speak once more."

You waited, listening for any sort of confirmation that it had worked.

There was only silence.

. . .

But you were not the only one who could tell what Yoongi was.

Superstition was strong in the area, and as the two of you grew closer, rumors began to circulate. Where before people had referred to you as a 'healer', like your grandmother, there were now mutterings of 'witch' and 'black magic'.

When several farmers went missing, whispers began that Yoongi had something to do with it.

It had become abundantly clear that you would have to leave, but it already was too late. The night before your departure, the two of you were awoken by the sherif and his men bursting through your door, overpowering yoongi and dragging you away.

You were put on trial as a witch, but they had come to the conclusion that you had fallen victim to yoongi's 'dark and wicked seductions' and had been bewitched into aiding him, and were spared the sentence of death.

But there was no such mercy for Yoongi. They had executed him as you had screamed in your cell.

. . .

For days after your release, you were unable to do anything. You couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. In all honestly your would've soon followed Yoongi into the abyss, were it not for one morning when you'd woke to a letter being slid under your door.

Darting across the room, you'd yanked the door open, but there was no one there. Curiously, you picked up the note and opened it, your tired hands causing a page to flutter to the floor. You moved to retrieve it, but froze as you looked at the other piece still in your grasp. Your heart faltered as you read the slanted handwriting.

"You can still save him."

Pulse pounding in your ears, you shakily picked up the page that had fallen.

It appeared to be a page ripped haphazardly from a spellbook. Part of the description at the top was missing, but what was still there made your chest threaten to cave in on itself as you read the faded heading,

'Resurrection of the Dead'.

Who would send you something like this? Why would someone send you this? You checked both pages, but there was no signature. Surely it was a trick? Some sort of cruel mockery to further your suffering.

You kept reading the page over and over. It seemed genuine though. It was was simple enough ingredients, the preparation process lasting for several days and the key point being that the final spell had to be performed on the anniversary of their death.

You had heard stories about magic like this, but you'd always thought them just that, stories. But if there was even the smallest chance of getting Yoongi back, you would've done anything.

. . .

Silent tears slipped down your cheeks, falling onto the cracked remnants of the grave marker.

"Free"

Your eyes flew open, quickly scanning the clearing, but it was still empty. The breeze had begun to pick up again, whipping around you, almost feeling like hands clutching desperately at you.

"Set me free"

Tears welled in your eyes again at the familiar voice.

"Yoongi?"

You hadn't said his name out loud in almost a year, it felt strange and heavy on your tongue. The wind stopped, but the feeling of a hand on your arm remained.

"Y/n." It was no more than a breath, but it was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard. His voice.

You stared down at the page, stunned. It'd actually worked.

Jumping to your feet, you picked up your shovel.

"Please be real." You prayed, digging it into the earth.

The hush that had fallen over the clearing was noticeable, as if everything right down to the crickets had felt the shift in the atmosphere and had fled from the space.

Working quickly, you gathered the last of the ingredients and knelt over Yoongi's withered body.

Gritting your teeth, you dragged the knife blade across your palm, allowing the crimson liquid to drip down over the bones as you began to repeat the incantation.

"From ashes rise, a phoenix reborn

Hecate grant favor, from death restore."

As you finished the third repetition, a powerful gust of wind swept through the clearing, nearly knocking you over. You could feel the energy draining from you as your muscles locked, unable to look away from the sight before you.

It was awful, like watching a body burn in reverse. The blood soaked bones blackened before muscle and tendon began to creep over them, like moss over stone. The dry parchment-like skin patched itself together over writhing mass below. Dry, brittle hair relaxed and took on it's original deep black color.

It had taken only a few minutes, though for you it had felt like hours, the wind died down and everything was still again. It was done.

You could hardly believe your eyes. The figure that lay before you was perfect, it was like the past year had never even happened, a bad dream you'd finally begun to wake up from.

His face was so still and tranquil, he looked like a marble carving. The only traces of his previous state was the tattered remains of his funeral clothes.

Reaching a shaking hand out, you leaned forward to touch his face, feeling the cool, smooth skin beneath your fingers.

A ragged, gasping breath suddenly left his mouth, making you fall back in surprise. His chest jolted into movement, rising and falling rapidly, marble at last come to life.

His eyes flicked open, revealing dark brown irises, glowing almost red in the light as they flashed about in confusion before locking on you and freezing you in place.

There was something wild in his gaze, like the wolves you'd seen in the woods, that sent a chill of fear through you. But just as soon as it appeared, the feral glint calmed and his features relaxed as he recognized the figure before him.

"Y-ygh" He attempted to speak, coughing weakly. Snapping out of your trance, you quickly fetched your bag and pulled a water skin out, offering it to him as you helped him sit up. He accepted it gratefully, quickly draining it before trying again.

"Thank you." His voice was low and soft, the same as you'd heard in the breeze. The same one whose every word you'd hung on.

"You're welcome." You said quietly.

You both sat in silence for a minute, not quite sure what to do now. He looked around curiously, reacquainting himself with his surroundings, flexing his hands, touching the grass.

"H-how do you feel?" You asked hesitantly.

"Good, I think." He said softly. A breezed ruffled his hair making him shiver which then resulted in him letting out a breathy chuckle.

"I almost forgot what the cold felt like." He smiled. You suddenly remembered the the thin, tattered clothes he was wearing.

"Oh! here." You scooted closer, removing your cloak and drapping it over his shoulders.

"Thank you." He said again quietly, his expression soft as he stared at you, covering your hand with his and sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cold.

He brought his other hand up, brushing his fingers over your jaw. "You're warm." He let out an unsteady breath.

The last strand of restraint you'd been holding onto snapped at that sound as you pushed forward, closing the gap between you and crushed you lips to his.

In that moment, the universe could've ended and you wouldn't have noticed. Nothing else mattered. Everything you would ever need was here, wrapped up tightly in your arms.

"I missed you." You breathed as you parted.

"I know, I missed you too." He said, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

You leaned against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart for a few minutes before reluctantly pulling away.

"We have to go." You said. "We have work to do."

He looked at you confused.

"I'll explain when we get home." You assured him, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

You'd had a lot of time to think over the past year, time to plan.

You weren't the the first ones that your village had wronged, but you would be the last.

They would pay for what they did to the two of you.

[eclipsecrowned]

stolen unashamedly from my bestie @umbralined, BG MUSES + MAGIC.

CANON:

Gale: Once the pure blue of open sky, of swift lightning, of the wind in an illustration. Now, it is an ancient, vibrant purple, almost incandescent when summoned. It is vicious, a powder keg, smelling of powder and heat, dangerous.

Thaniel: Green and brown intertwining, with light dappling along the ground as it blossoms. His magic is the earth itself, old and steady, scented with lavender and herbs. It twines around the air or whoever he is casting at as it settles.

Viconia: At first glance, a dark and ink-black magic, but stare long enough or bring her to light and you'll recognize her magic is a deep and majestic purple. It is a flame in that depth, and runs furiously hot, a threat, a symbol of both passion and destruction. It smells faintly of decay.

PC:

Aurelia: White, a flurry dancing around her hand or whatever she casts. It smells of crisp air and faintly of ozone, of great heights under winter's sun. It is a heavy magic, despite these designs towards something celestial. It is, after all, something like snow rising to the top.

Hel: Green, almost the shade of what consider Necromancy, but the scent of her spells is floral, if a little preserved. A modern audience might think of pressed or funeral flowers preserved. It refracts in the light as if it has many facets.

Ismail: Red, but vibrant, like fresh blood, like rich wine, like a sunrise. It smells of dust and heat when he casts, like something old being burnt away. It flows from him, grasping out at whatever he means to touch or empower.

Miruna: Black shot through with deepest red, like a clotting wound, like something heinous and fatal. It reeks of blood, of iron. It is unpleasant, even before she knows what she is. Bhaal is only blood in her, and his power is hers, and this could be considered an early warning shot.

Sybelle: Silvery, like wisps of fine smoke, smelling of fresh ink and old parchment. It is cool to the touch, but not easily displaced, focused, neither fog nor steam but a mere sliver of weave drifting weightless against her casting.

Valas: Burgundy, a rich purple-red that shifts with light or lack thereof to reflect one note more than the other. It seems to ooze against his hand, viscous, and smells faintly of lichens, of mildew, of untended things that prosper in darkness.

[jasper-pagan-witch]

hi jasper, i hope this question isn't too annoying lol

so i seem to remember that you made a post (maybe an answer to an ask) detailing your personal journals/books for your wizardry, but i can't seem to find it. it was interesting to read, and i'm trying to compile my own magical notebooks and wanted some inspiration from the way others had made theirs.

did you make a post like that, or am i imagining it? lol. thanks in advance

I know I've done that. I know for a fact that that post exists. It's from April 18th of this year and is already outdated. So for you, anon, I'll talk about my currently in-progress magical grimoires and adjacent magical books.

Book Review Notes - a 3-subject college-ruled red spiral notebook. It's where I write the information down for my book reviews. I actually need to type up and post my review of Tarot By Numbers.

Challenge Book - a 3-subject college-ruled red spiral notebook from a different brand. This is where I do those 7/15/30/31 day challenges - usually all in the same day.

Book of Bullshit - a 1-subject college-ruled grey spiral notebook with a front pocket. This is my arcanabula, my orizon, this is where I write down frantic notes about spells or tarot spreads I'm developing, random notes of things I'm researching, and random thoughts that have no better place.

The Tome of Spells & Refinement - a 1-and-a-half-inch black o-ring binder where I keep the spells I have written (including ones that have never seen the light of Tumblr), my crystal grids, and information about my Magic The Gathering spells that I need to develop.

The White Binder - a 1-and-a-half-inch white d-ring binder. In here, I keep most of my miscellaneous information that I refer to a lot, including my MTG enchanting board, printouts of Dungeons and Dragons and The Elder Scrolls materials for me to review, and most of my non-pop culture magic information. My servitors and thoughtforms also have information in here.

The Epsilon Ledger - three faux-leather (aka plastic) notebooks from Walmart. These hold correspondences, information about necromancy and local magic, prayers and devotionals to deities...anything that's personal but not journal-esque. These are grimoires proper, only information, not musings or records of readings.

The Zeta Witchbook - a 1-subject college-ruled black notebook from the generic Target brand Up & Up. This was for the @2022grimoirechallenge before they fell off the face of the planet.

Enby Dragon - a cheap notebook from Amazon with a dragon in the nonbinary flag colors on the cover. This is where I keep my information on Flight Rising pop culture paganism involving the flights and the deities.

Volo's Journal - inspired by the D&D/MTG artifact of the same name, this is a fancy-looking grey sketchbook where I keep information on different types of non-physical entities and, well, animals alike. I use art cards from MTG for the visuals because my drawing abilities leave much to be desired.

Mixin' It Up - a 1-subject college-ruled purple notebook. Since I get some powders pre-mixed, I write down what they're made from and the mutually-shared correspondences between them.

This is to say nothing of the literal stack of empty notebooks that I am saving for future magical usage, nor of the notebooks that I used as grimoires and similar things earlier in my craft. I...may be mildly addicted to notebooks.

I hope this has given you a few ideas, anon!

~Jasper

[lukazlaska]

@grahamdedeus​

Lukaz, in his old age, had grown used to the idea that miracles didn’t happen anymore. Everything in life was planned. Predetermined. Whatever ability he had to overwrite the natural order, however little, came as a result of his luck (or lack thereof) being born with magic. But all it took was that one day in Dele however many months prior for Lukaz to suddenly feel as though he’d stumbled into an astonishing development by accident. 

It wasn’t just that Graham was a gorgeous, commanding young man. Aladonia was full of those. No, it was something more incredible.

Lukaz’s lost love. Lenor. 

Graham was him. 

Reincarnation was a long-held (but never proven) theory among wardens and other mages; necromancy, while somewhat similar, was distinctly different. And Lukaz could not help but believe Graham was living proof that souls could eventually be reborn into new bodies.

He needed to introduce himself to Graham if he were to investigate this possibility further. But he couldn’t let Graham catch onto this ulterior motive. Lukaz knew it was imperative to win the the beautiful boy’s trust; endear himself enough to get close to him. Become his friend. Perhaps become something more.

So Lukaz “accidentally” bumped into Graham, and “accidentally” let slip that his innate magic could be used to help the lad with anything that ailed him. Sure, Dele wasn’t exactly in Lukaz’s jurisdiction, but magic was magic. Just as Graham was surely Lenor.

Months passed, and the two became well-acquainted. Friendly, even. The plan was working, and now it was time for Lukaz to pull back the curtain a bit. Reveal his hypothesis. If fate was on his side, his suspicions would be proven correct. If not, well... Lukaz preferred not to consider the possibility.

He invited Graham to visit his chambers, where the two now sat, mulling over an enchanted pot of tea. (Nothing unsavory; just remaining magically hot without ever getting cold.)  Lukaz kept a cozy space, which Graham seemed to respond to just as Lenor did all those years ago. Heavens, this boy’s beauty radiated the room in a way no other fellow managed to do for Lukaz since Lenor faded into a distant memory. He had to be right about this.

“I hope it is not too hot in here for you, Graham—” Lukaz says, noting the mild humidity of their surroundings. “In my old age,” he muses, lightly smirking to himself, “it just seems I am always cold... how is the week treating you?” Could’t exactly blast straight into the planned revelation now. It had to simmer.

[helreginn]

Hello! My name is Hazel. I’m 30+ and live in Australia.

I promise you that if you don’t at least put in the minimal amount of acknowledgement that Hel is DEATH, our threads will be my least favourite. If you need help with that, consult this very colourfully worded rant I had about it. I’m fine with NSFW, though smut isn’t the easiest thing for me and probably won’t happen so much as other NSFW themes. All NSFW will be tagged accordingly.  I will roleplay one liners, icons and gifs, paras and multi paras. I’m not so proficient where purple prose is concerned so that’ll take a miss as will the ~* TINY *~ script. I literally don’t see the point in it, mostly because I can’t see it.  Multiverse and friendly to most Original Characters & fandoms. Especially ones that can accommodate her character easily. ie History’s Vikings / TAJ / American Gods etc. I don’t mind rping with multiples of the same character. Since Hel is strictly mythology based, I’m hesitant to rp with Marvel muses. This isn’t anything against them, it’s just that Marvel’s history and the mythological history are so vastly different much of the time the only thing the characters even have in common is their name. That said, I do have a itty bitty Marvel verse anyway. Because y'all muns be stupid sweet and I want to play with you all!

So you want to roleplay with me?

Write a starter, tag and @ me and I will reply! Or send me an ask and we will plot something! Or submit something! Send in a meme! I literally don’t care, just do the thing! ^-^ I’m reluctant to write first follow starters anymore. Too many of them went unanswered and it’s just a lot of hassle for something that won’t happen. But if you want one, feel free to hit me up.  If the starter I write isn’t great or what ever, absolutely tell me. I’m not the best writer so I understand that sometimes the starters I write could be better. It’s okay to tell me.  On that note though; Hel spends most of her time in Helheim (The Underworld) so most threads and starters will place our muses there, in Hel. If your muse’s first response is ‘how did I get here’ ‘what is this place’ etc, I probably won’t respond. You could’ve spoken to me about it, I’m sure we could’ve come up with a valid reason for your muse being there. The whole ‘my muse just randomly ended up here with no idea who or what this place is is’ is really beginning to get old. Helheim is not a place you can get into without having sought to be there. It’s not like Europe, you can’t accidentally take a wrong turn at Balarus and end up in Ukraine.

Triggerwarnings?

Hel is literally the embodiment of  life & death. The usual trigger warnings apply: Death, necromancy, violence, gore, blood etc. I tag the most graphic things (which are honestly not that bad ‘cause I’m not big on gore myself) though.

[mmaurysiek]

how does a mechanism of a Mechanism work? - vague musings

(please do argue and share your own headcanons if you'd like! I'd love to start a discussion :3)

I imagine that the origin story of these functionally unbreakable mechanisms was simple. I mean, look at the inventor -- a disabled ADHD vampire. Carmilla had to be fed up by having yet another version of a working artificial eye unexpectedly start breaking on her at least once every few decades or so.

(what i don't get is - why not just go on living with one eye instead - but I guess that literally unlimited amount of spare time and Carmilla's love of creative tinkering have played a huge role in that)

Hence, a sci-fi dream of a prosthetic/medical device that:

seamlessly or near-seamlessly connects with the nerve system and provides natural-like neural feedback,

is as effectively self-repairing as Carmilla's own vampire flesh,

doesn't require the user to remember charging it, as it passively collects whatever (eldritch) energy it needs from the environment.

Near-perfect for a space-faring vampire scientist with ADHD!

And when you already have that sort of tech, why not use it to improve other people's lives? And sure it has worked, at least to some degree. Not that most mortals would live long enough to truly appreciate the unbreakability of these mechanisms, but still, it's improved people's lives. And it got Carmilla enough rapport with the locals to keep the G-Pol's investigations (and their "serial killer" charges - honestly, a girl has to eat!) off Carmilla's back. So it was very practical to have different types of these little unbreakable miracles at hand (an advanced enough science is indistinguishable from magic), ready to use for strangers who'd need them, and pay for them.

Jonny was an accident. See, usually that sort of surgery is pre-planned. Usually, a significant amount of effort goes into keeping a patient safely alive thorough the surgery process. There was no way to guess (and thus test) beforehand what would happen if one of these little miracles got connected to an extremely fresh corpse. I mean, why would anyone waste one of these on a corpse, fresh or not, if not for the desperation of a parent who refused to let death win? (necromancy is just first aid that's delivered late)

And so the eldritch clockwork blood-pump fussed with the entire body, integrated the flesh into its template design, most likely as a powersource, a battery, and included that "battery" in its self-repair function.

mechanical heart: - access point, - medical-grade steel (microwave-safe), - it pumps blood in timed pulses, - maximum simplicity to minimise vulnerable break points, - smart pacer + fallback clock (1.17 pulse per second) note: his brain should be filtering the noise out note: Jonny, what the hell, trauma symptoms aren't "side effects"

extra notes:

- the access point should have allowed for DYI repairs, but Jonny is more likely to try to break something than to fix it,

- he may be one of the people who can hear their own heartbeat,

- the fallback ticking tempo of the device is just slightly differently paced than ticking of an analogue clock.

So the medical device that was supposed to keep its user alive - and it has the side effect of keeping its user alive. Like, infinitely, and through experiences that no mortal should've been able to survive.

I expect that Jonny's newfound immortality was a surprise to Jonny and Carmilla alike. I expect that they didn't know why it had happened for Jonny and not for other people. When the effect had reoccured with Nastya's blood replacement - that may have narrowed down the why, but still left a whole lot of variables that might or might not be necessary for a mechanisation process to take.

Jonny, Nastya, Ashes, Ivy, Scuzz, Brian - none of them would've been able to survive without what they had replaced by the mechanism. There are mentions of failed mechanisation attempts, but going by how many of the potentially important variables are kept, and yet at least some prove to not be necessary later? Carmilla actively tried to avoid mechanisations that could fail over those variables. Carmilla chose to keep those variables in every attempt, chose to avoid the risk of trying to mechanise the people who didn't meet those variables - the scientific method put aside for the sake of something more important.

mechanical lung (internal) - access point, - medical grade steel, - oxygenates blood, - air filters note: Ashes, please stop testing the capacity of the filters. these filters need time to self-clean

extra notes:

- the access point was placed on their back due to a lesson learnt with Jonny and for the sake of everyday comfort and ease of accessing the lung area directly,

- the fallback pace was set to a resting tempo to better allow for "sleeping it off" until the mechanism fixes itself (no need for another Mechanism getting slightly hyper during a malfunction)

mechanical brain (opening the cover illustrated) - extra batteries allow for higher performance, - cannot be turned off, - AI with personality pre-programmed - don't treat her like a baby, she is learning - make backups!!! nanorobotic blood - not intended for warm-blooded species, - was to be temporary, - not mercury, WTF - thick, silver, liquid, transports nutrients maintain bio-heart - do not replace! - do not attempt to remove! - more in the manual note: where?

Has Brian mechanised that priest, effectively?

And then there is the Toy Soldier - who has mechanised itself by a process notably inverse to everyone else's. The Toy Soldier who has replaced a part of its self-repairing wood-based body with a fleshy-meaty component it's scavenged out of a very fresh mortal corpse. (wood is more versatile than metal, for those with knowledge and patience needed to work with it.)

The Toy Soldier did not need a voicebox to survive. Gunpowder Tim was mechanised after Carmilla left, but he could have survived as a blind mortal, too. Raphaella gave herself a spinal structure to attach two extra limbs that she never had as a mortal (in the world shaped for humanoids - more of a social hindrance than a boon) - was she even dying before the process? Marius wouldn't die from being one-armed.

- metal-bone fusion zone should not move, - openable casing (responsible for eye movement), openable shell, lenses and filters, neural interface (tech-nerve fusion zone) note:any mistakes in the fusion zones will be permanent note: use eyelid slices to cover the shutters to make sure they don't fuse permanently open!

I think the lines by Tim's eyes are sort of a gate in the flesh, installed so that the space around his mechanism-eyes would be accessible for repair -- it's much easier to open the mechanism the way it's designed to open than to exercise the futility of trying to separate it from the flesh it's fused with. I think that part of Tim's mechanisation was replacing his still-healthy eye sockets and part of optical nerves, too.

mechanical wings: spinal fusion 1 (neck), attachment port (triangular), motion support (also triangular like 4 extra scapulas), 2 "rib" processors, spinal fusion 2 (lumbar region), neural cabling through the vertical middle column parallel to the spine

Raphaella can swap between the wing models, but the port for connecting them, her mechanism, stays firmly there.

Can TS, Marius and Tim take their mechanisms off? I think not, at least not TS nor Tim.

mechanical arm - notes: Marius, why? All the fucking weapons were two-handed and it was marketed as cutting-edge tech and it was a war-zone liability: the arm can be separated by cutting through the stump fusion zone around the stump neural interface cannot be accessed, cannot be fixed unknown contents between the stump and the elbow elbow: the joint is made out of three: pivot, hinge, and another pivot unknown contents of the zone between elbow and wrist - pressure and temperature fluctuations happen wrist appears to be constructed like the elbow, but the functionality is partly broken a broken spread-fold structure mid hand - it can only spread and needs external pressure to fold fingers have two hinge joints each, except for the thumb that has the base joint constructed like a smaller version of the elbow external fixtures improve the functionality

is the self-healing factor is likely to be more intense around the mechanism?

Jonny is an unreliable narrator, what is the chance that the story about trying to use a black hole to separate his mechanism and flesh has happened?

Unlike medical devices and prosthetics - a mechanism has a primary function of keeping the flesh attached to it alive at all costs. The medical / prosthetic function is secondary. Unlike contemporary prosthetics, these mechanisms cannot be taken off.

At least some (if not all) of the Mechs are gonna yearn for the impossibility of taking those off -- mortality aside, it'd:

- it'd make cleaning much easier,

- it'd be nice to relieve the muscle tension from having one's body-weight distributed differently than what the humanoid body is prepared for,

- the neural feedback that's only partially compatible with the nerve system is disorienting, and makes tasks that require any precision - extra difficult.

like, my own biological optical wiring has a tendency to go weird, so at times it was literally easier to just cover my eyes (eyelids wouldn't fully cut off the light) and go around do stuff sight-less - than to keep dealing with sensory overload of just slightly wrong light - unfortunately, i never had a computer with enough RAM for a fully functional NVDA (non-visual desktop access)

I definitely think that Tim would sometimes do that.

I definitely think that Marius would default to doing precision tasks with his left hand. I may be ambidextrous (more like ambisinistri honestly) myself, but this rant is also very very insistent on it (content warning for medical abuse and discussion of ableism) :

i've ran out of steam before i could figure out the precise inner mechanics of each mechanism, but i guess this long rambling post is long enough?

i'd love to hear other people's ideas!

[bladesalvation]

Zaire Vs. The Other Chosen

**Please note these are headcanon only and muses are not held to this standard

Zaire & Ketheric - Zaire, being a necromancy wizard herself, is quite enthused with Ketheric and his power as the Chosen of Myrkul. However she is very aware he is not as easy to manipulate the way Bhaal's Chosens tend to be (dumb bitches) so she keeps a respectful distance despite more likely doing better as a Myrkul worshipper than a worshipper of Bhaal. Zaire & Gortash - She absolutely loathes Gortash-- he's full of himself, he plays mind games just as hard as she does and he keeps putting his hands on HER pet project Bhaalspawn. How dare you, Gortash. That's her murderous protector.

Zaire & Orin - Depending on if the Dark Urge exists, Zaire quickly switched from their follower to Orin's and admires her openly, whether it is fake adoration or not is up for debate. If Orin did not have a bloodkin that she dispatched, Zaire would be a whole kiss ass to the psychotic queen and Bhaal's bestest princess.

[fierstrt]

okie ; just a few small things to note until i get muse infos done asap!!

nick ;

i do not ship nick/ziggy for obvious reasons. therefore, the kiss never happened. sure, he found her interesting and cute but like . . . that's all lol.

he's heavy into witchcraft by 1980.

ferris bueller ;

baseball player for sunnyvale

attended camp nightwing and was there when shit happened. he was holding some shadysiders captive during color war cause ya know . . . that's what they were doing lol it was all fun and games until tommy slater axed people

by 1994, he's an radio host. has his own talk show on the radio. still resides in sunnyvale.

mason lockwood ;

part of the founding families of sunnyvale ; also comes from a very ancient long line of werewolves. the apisi wolf bloodline to be exact.

wolf curse triggered when he was a senior via accidentally pushing a friend too hard and said friend hit his head which killed him.

wolf form is pure black, with yellowish-red eyes.

by 1994 , mason has moved out of sunnyvale but returns when the mall massacre happens at his mother's word.

davina claire ;

shadysider ; elemental witch ( fire )

died in child sacrificial ritual at sixteen ( 1976 ) , resurrected a week later

cheerleader for shadyside

1994 ; davina is a defense attorney who still practices heavy magic such as necromancy.

liz forbes ;

only and i mean only affiliated with my caroline ( @cahroline ) and for world building with her dynamics , etc

deputy of sunnyvale , becomes sheriff though after nick's father's death . but steps down to regular deputy once nick is sworn in and becomes sheriff

finds out about caroline's vamperism a year after care's curse was triggered .

rescued caroline from bill forbes's basement where he was torturing his own daughter and fully accepts that her daughter hasn't changed and that care is still her .

dies in 1985 from cancer . kept it from caroline until one night when she passes out .

bill forbes ;

only and i mean only affiliated with my caroline ( @cahroline ) and for world building with her dynamics , etc

surgeon , divorced liz when caroline was 10 years old . fancy ass fucker who everyone hates . literally .

tortured caroline because she was a vampire. he viewed her as a monster and wanted to change her.

throws fancy parties at his manor .

dies in 1979 from a heartattack . doesn't even apologize to his own daughter for making her hate herself ( i oof )

[verathion]

domus

It's been years since Daphne last step foot in Baldur's Gate, and if there's one thing she hasn't missed, it's the pomp and circumstance. When something big happens in the Gate, the patriar families have to compete as they always do--and now, their competition extends to Daphne, her companions, and who can celebrate their victory over the Absolute the best.

Awful.

The fake smiles, the empty praises. She hates it all. Maybe it isn't as false as she thinks; maybe some of them are genuinely thankful. But, much like her friend Astarion's musings at the tiefling party after their assault of the Goblin Camp--she's not used to being a hero. She's not used to being in the limelight. The first party wasn't so bad; it was a much needed respite from their long and arduous journey to free themselves of that damned tadpole. But tonight? It's the seventh party hosted by a patriar family in a tenday, and if she has to hear one more praise, she may scream.

No, she is not the hero type. Once the novelty wears off, they'll go back to fearing her, hating her for her practice of necromancy, her dark magic. She'll be outcast yet again, not that she minds. Daphne is used to being on her own, walking to the beat of her own drum, exploring ancient ruins, speaking with the dead there. The way things used to be. The way things should be.

As she sits in the corner of the balcony at the manor house of her current party, she sighs. Maybe tomorrow she can slip away. She'll leave a note for her friends. They'll understand--they know she's not made for this life. They know she's not a fan of being in the Gate. Suddenly, her thoughts are interrupted when she hears footsteps behind her. Her upper lip curls into a snarl, annoyed that someone deems it their right to disturb her moment of peace, but when she turns, her face slackens when she sees Rolan standing there.

"Oh," she says, turning back towards the balcony railing, looking out towards the nighttime skyline of the city. "It's you."

Rolan huffs an indignant laugh, tilting his head with a grin. The tiefling wizard's tail sways curiously behind him as he looks her over: huddled in a corner, trying to hide herself behind a particularly large planter. It's odd, seeing her like this; he's so used to her heroism, her bravery in the face of danger--seeing her cowering is something else indeed.

"This seems familiar," he says to her back. "Except, last time, I was in your position, I was inebriated, and we were in Moonrise surrounded by the shadow curse."

Daphne groans. "I'm not in the mood for banter, Rolan." She says quietly. She slips her legs through two slots in the railing, her feet hanging freely in the air as she hugs the balusters close, pressing her face into the cool, smooth granite.

"Clearly," he says, approaching her slowly. "I couldn't help but notice you disappeared. I wanted to make sure you were alright, is all."

"I'm quite alright," Daphne answers his inquiry. "In fact, I'm better than ever now that I'm here, alone, on this balcony. Well, I was alone. It appears I am no longer."

Rolan puts two hands up in mock surrender, waving them gently to dismiss her bristly words. "I'll make my leave. I know when I'm not wanted."

Daphne groans again, turning her gaze over her shoulder before telling him quietly, "You can stay, if you must. Just, please, for the love of all that is good, don't wax poetic about my skills."

"You know I won't do that," Rolan smirks as he makes his way over, sitting next to her, mimicking her position as he slips his legs between the balustrade, dangling his feet next to her. "I am far more skilled than you."

"Ah. Much better." Daphne shakes her head with a soft grin. "You can officially stay."

The two of them sit in quiet contemplation for a time: Rolan wondering what to say, and Daphne savoring the comfort of it. The lull of the muffled noise from the party inside sounds like a distant thunder, and Daphne smiles to herself when she can hear Gale laugh above it all.

"Does it feel good?" Rolan asks. "Not the praise--clearly, you have a disdain for that. Being home, I mean."

Daphne mulls her lip at his question, a low, uncomfortable groan bubbling in her throat as she wrestles whether or not to be honest with him. Her lips stretch into a small grimace, and she hisses when she decides to be vulnerable.

"No," the half-elf answers. "This place has not been my home in some time. I left for Candlekeep after my..." she pauses, the words stuck in the back of her throat, unwilling to be said, "husband passed."

Rolan's eyes widen for a moment, but he quickly recovers, trying not to look too surprised at the revelation. He leans back, resting his palms on the cold stone of the balcony as he continues to listen, saying nothing. Daphne sighs, head hanging between her shoulders as she relents, and tells him more.

"We were young and dumb," she continues. "And in love, I suppose. I was selling scrolls at a booth in Wyrm's Crossing, and he was a member of the Fist, and would patrol the area during the day. He'd always stop to talk to me and ask me how business was going. It took me weeks to realize he never asked any other vendor the same question.

"The next thing I knew, we were married. Had a little flat in the Lower City. He was a good, good man. An honorable man. Oh, how proud he would have been to see me like this. Hero of Baldur's Gate. But as any member of law enforcement, he made enemies. Busted a group of slavers operating in the caverns under Rivington. They didn't like that, you see. Made a house call to voice their grievance. Killed him, nearly killed me. The survivor's guilt weighed heavily on me. Especially when--"

She stops herself, looking at him with a gaze of shame, her golden eyes wet for a moment, but then she takes a deep breath and quells the emotion. Perhaps she will keep that last bit to herself.

"Well," she mutters. "Enough about that. My grief was all encompassing. Unbearable. Everything around me reminded me of him. The sun, the smells, the sounds, the people. I had to leave. So I did. Isolated myself in Candlekeep for five years. That's where I wrangled myself into a position with the Antiquities Guild. Now that I'm back? Everything still reminds me of him. And I hate it."

Rolan sighs through his nose as he processes her story. For a moment, his amber eyes look up to the sky, and then back to her.

"I don't know if I could ever go back to Elturel." He begins, trying to find some common ground to relate to her story. "It's home, surely, and we can't go back, as it is. But after everything that's happened...I wouldn't want to. It's tainted, gone. I suppose that's why I was so adamant to reach the Gate, to start my apprenticeship with Lorroakan, despite his reputation. I wanted security for Cal, Lia and I. I wanted a new home for us. And I wanted no one to ever question it again."

Daphne turns her head towards him, resting her head against the balusters again as she looks up at him.

"No one is more deserving, after all you've been through," she gives him a half smile. "I am glad you have found your new home."

"And you?" Rolan asks. "Is Candlekeep your home? Will you go back?"

Daphne lets out a long sigh, leaning back to mimic his position. Her fingers tap on the stone beneath her as she mulls over his question.

"I don't think of it as my home, no. Will I go back? Probably. I haven't exactly decided. Though, if I get another invitation to a party, I will simply vanish. I can't do it again, Rolan." She jests. "But, in all seriousness...I do have to eventually return. I have obligations to my guild, after all."

"Right, right." Rolan nods. "Antiquities. Ancient ruins and tombs and artifacts and all of that."

Silence falls between them again, both of their eyes drawn to the stars above. Both of them have words on the tips of their tongues, but struggle if they should say it. After an agonizing moment, Rolan finally speaks, his hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Well," he begins. "You are always welcome at Ramazith's Tower."

It's all he can muster to say, though the words have weight to them--a hidden promise between the margins. Daphne tilts her head over to him once more, giving him a half-smile. She can read between the lines.

"Thank you," she says. "I'll keep that in mind."

[queen-of-the-whispering-trees]

// @artificialartery decided to start a new post b/c it was getting to be a lot of scrolling LMAO (responding to this post)

She got to work as Grant spoke telepathically; picking up a small shovel from next to her and beginning to dig under the roots of a mint plant. Erin lifted the entire section and set it carefully inside the pot.

"You're right--manipulation is easier when it comes to most people. But free will is fickle. Especially with someone as strange as them..." Erin 'spoke,' copying her son's action of utalizing the telapathic link. Not that anybody was around to evesdrop besides the castle's employees, but one could never know for sure.

"They were taking notes. Just symbols and circles, I'm told. But Kelsey belived me, and they'll probably be a useful ally in the future. Just curious," she mused, tapping a finger against the mint bush remaining. Slowly, with a controlled necromancy spell, the entire plant began to shrive up and curl back into the ground.

[bridges-to-ashes]

Warnings: implied alcohol consumption, implied depressive state

Word count: 1.000

[Not visible to muses or anons.]

It knew it didn't have to hide its presence, it hardly ever worked in the first place anyway; he had grown too used to the way it moved and appeared out of nowhere, and even if he failed to notice every once in a while, the dogs were still there to alert him to their former master's appearance.

And yet, they stayed quiet this time as it crouched down in its usual hiding spot next to the fireplace, carefully reaching its hand out to let the old St. Bernard napping infront of the fire sniff its fingers. It knew better than to try to pet her, of course, having learned of the sharpness of its fingers painfully early on, though it curls his hand up to a fist still, gently running its knuckles through her fur for a little while. Her satisfied, tired huff softens its features just a bit, though it's still more than most days saw of its forcefully suppressed gentleness.

It finds comfort in this fact, though this brief sense of warmth doesn't last quite as long as it had wished; the gentle flickering of the fireplace draws its attention to the pushed-over, empty bottles on what was once the coffee table all too soon, to the various notes and notebooks and lists and plans spread out on the small surface, together with half-dried-out pens and books that the local library had overcharged him on so often by now, he would have been better off just buying them himself.

It draws its attention to those things, the cluttered mess the living room had morphed into over the years, and soon also to the curled up, thin figure lying somewhere behind the mess, having simply collapsed on the sofa like he had night for night - or sometimes only every other, or third, or if it got too bad even just the fourth - for too many years now, leaving their once shared bed abandoned entirely, cold and chaotic, and only ever visited during nights when the bottle was empty and every thought written down, every possibility declared useless or disproven, when the little bits of his smell still clinging to the fabric were the only comfort he would accept.

… He hadn't even bothered with the blanket.

This fact, somehow, hurt it so much more than it could have ever expected.

Carefully, it gets up to its feet, stepping over the old, tired dog infront of the fireplace and into the flame's light, though it knows too well that the excitement over its visibly in such had long since faded. And still, it takes care to remain in the light as it steps around the various things spread out across the floor in a manner that Edwin, on his better days, swore was an order of some sort, around 'The Theorem of Necromancy' and 'The Olden Day Saints', useless titles written by unhelpful authors that he still kept, just in case, and it makes sure not to make too much noise as it pushes the table back a little, away from the sofa, before it sinks down to its knees right infront of the worn out piece of furniture.

With its head resting lightly against one of the half-fallen pillows, it takes its time to watch him rest, his slow breathing and the frown that he kept even in his sleep by now, together with the grief that had drawn itself so heavy onto his features that the deity was left to wonder if, in a thousand years, when someone would find this cabin again, they would declare the man he loved to be the saddest skeleton in the world.

Its eyes wander, however, much like his thoughts, and find his limp, left hand almost on instinct, scarred and curled up and, as it had been convinced an entire lifetime ago, made just perfectly to hold in his own. It hesitates, and that for much longer than it would have liked to admit if there had been any other witnesses than a drowsy dog and the soft ticking of a clock, until it finds itself able to reach out and take his hand, gently uncurling it in an attempt to release at least a little bit of the tension he had built up in his body for so long now; it still feels as warm and soft to it as it had the first time he had held it, familiar and secure and unmistakably human.

He stirs in his sleep, slightly just, and it knows it can't hold on, knowing too well that the freezing cold of its skin against his would wake him sooner rather than later. Instead, it runs its thumb over his knuckles one more time, then gently presses the gifted piece of metal into his palm, allowing him to grab onto it tightly as metal quietly clinks against metal, the engraving on the small tool matching that of a smaller piece of jewelry he had never once taken off since the day they parted.

With a toneless sigh, it finally pulls away fully, unknowing of when he had last slept at all and still unwilling to take the risk, instead leaving its head to rest on the sofa while curling its body up a little more, letting the fire shine on it peacefully as it allowed itself to drift off to a light pretend-sleep, one in which it could almost feel the warmth of his body against its own, his embrace gentle rather than tense with anticipation of what might come any second, his skin unscarred from various lashing-outs that would drown it in guilt barely a moment after.

And in this pretend-sleep, he still calls it Henry, soft and gentle and warm and full of love.

And it doesn't know what it has done to deserve to bear this name still.