#The Elegiast

[clover-is-strange]

WIP

I'm making Cultist Simulator aspect and Magnus Archives entities playlists!

I'll update this post when I finish more icons and add more songs :]

plus if anyone has any recommendations I'd welcome them!

Winter: 4'33" (...)

Knock:

Edge: I'm Gonna Win

Forge: Tango Del Fuego

Lantern: Leave my Body, Don't Wake me up

Moth: Stuff is Way, Abbey

Grail: Fear & Delight, Formidable Marinade, Tango Del Fuego

Heart: Sleeping Giants

each entity icon is based on a specific episode MAG 174[vast], MAG 31[hunt], MAG 25[dark], and MAG 47[spiral]

[All the entity playlists have the listed contents + The Fear Song]

The Extinction:

The Slaughter: 6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro / Con)

The Lonely: A Complete List of Fears Ages 5-28 (Aprox), Sex with a Ghost, Alone Again (Naturally), Memoir #2 [06.12.09]

The Web: Puppet Boy

The Desolation: Arsonist's Lullaby, Tongues & Teeth, Who's Eye is it Anyways

The Stranger: Mask of my Own Face, Imposter Syndrome, Jack Stauber's New Normal, Terry's Taxidermy, people are strange

The Hunt: Animal Skin, What's so amazing about grace, Run Boy Run, That Unwanted Animal, Cop Car

The Vast: I've got some falling to do, Major Tom (Coming Home)

The Spiral: The Mind Electric, Devil's train, uncanny, Abbey

The Eye: Evil Eye, Somebody's Watching Me, Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land

The Flesh: The Dismemberment Song, Formidable Marinade, The Body Terror Song (I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier), Body, Petrov Yelyena and me, meat

The End: Made of Death

The Buried: The Song with Five Names, Hand me my shovel I'm going in

The Dark: Dr Sunshine is Dead

The Corruption: The Hearse Song (I debated this one for a long time, but I decided that it's A corruption Song much more than a End song.), insects, maggot, Nobody Likes Me (Think I'll go eat worms)

[fairyable]

The weather today is still. A kind of stillness that cannot be offset by the rustling of leaves, or the kind of thunder that rattles your windows. It is the kind of still that muffles your own noise - your mumbles, your singing, your breathing. Time passes with one hand over your eyes. The whole day, it is as if there is a layer of snow over everything. Everything, cabinet tops and breakfast dishware. A permeating cold that slinks by your notice. Implicit, like in dream, coaxing you into slow shallow breath. Numbing your skin. Priming your mind for oblivion.

[neokamui414]

Completely forgot to include this bit of mythological speculation but this one's a bit more tentative as the timeline might not work out even though given the nature of the Histories, the Mansus and The Hours don't have the most linear connection to time as we understand it.

Presuming that The Elegiast existed in some capacity prior to St. Columba and The Book of Iona, I believe he existed in the form of Thoth-Hermes/ Trismegistus and or Hermes-Anubis. Given his association with writing and record keeping specifically the record keeping of the Dead that would link him with the psychopomp Hermes (to say nothing about how this might tie into his role as the patron of The House of Lethe) and the god of writing Thoth it was also involved in funerary practices and afterlife beliefs.

Trismegistus is obviously associated with alchemy and so that would track with The Elegiast's roll as one of the three Hours needed for the Elixir Zeboim from the Ghoul/ Medium DLC.

I'm bored, and more importantly for the sake of this post, I am someone who's a huge fan of the games made by Weather Factory. I also am an aspiring academic in religious and mythological studies hence why the games made by WF are so appealing to me.

Thus I'm going to share some of my theories/headcanons on which real life deities mythical beings and other religious figures are alternate identities / names /titles for the Hours of The Secret Histories universe, just for the fun of it.

1. The Mare is known as Batō Kannon, or Hayagriva Avalokiteshvara in East Asia. Likewise The Apple Bright is probably Cánshén / Memyō Bosatsu and maybe maybe be The Queen Mother of The West.

2. The Wheel is not just Kubera but all of the Lokapāla & Dikpāla / Four Heavenly Kings / 12 Deva . Particularly I think his status as a Zeus-like figure that gives birth to the Dionysian Moth invokes Indra, his status as the "low-red sun" would equate him to Surya and his eye symbolism would connect him to Shiva in either his Mahakala or Ishana incarnations.

3. The Thunderskin is Xipe Totec, what with the flaying, the association with protection from disease, and the connections to perpetual natural cycles. And if that's the case, The Thunderskin is the Red Tezcatlipoca

4. Thus I think that The Colonel and The Lionsmith might correspond to two of the other four Tezcatlipocas. However I am not certain as to which of the two Edge Hours would be the Blue Smoking Mirror and which one would be the Black, as The Colonel is associated with scarred and amputated mythological figures and the Black Tezcatlipoca is missing a leg and despite being associated with the night was also one of the Five Suns which would explain The Colonel's association with the Lantern Principal. Buuuuuttttttttt The Black Tezcatlipoca is also so so so associated with Jaguars and felines are in The Lionsmith's wheelhouse so who knows I might not actually be on to something with that particular line of mythological speculation after all.

5. Just as The Wolf-Divided is almost certainly inspired by the Nordic Monstrous canines such as Fenrir/Garmr and especially his offspring Sköll and Hati, I think so too Snow must be Hel. After all, The Wolf and Snow are deeply associated beyond just them sharing the Winter Principal. The fact that Chione, a Name-Emanation of Snow was defeated or suppressed by The Colonial whom we know is Wodan/ Odin also helps to confirm this for myself.

6. Given her patronage of The Invisible Serapeum, and that one of her Names is called the "Lady of Veils" I think there's a strong possibility that The Forge of Days was known to the Egyptians, particularly those under Roman rule, as the goddess Isis.

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I have a few other speculations and mythological associations that I've made in my mind but those would take a bit more explaining in order to make any sort of sense. So I will save my Watchman is Apollo and how that relates to whatever the hell is going on with Janus and his whole deal in The SH universe for another time.

[bestworstcase]

killasimi the weaver's tale is about black elie (and eva dewulf). killasimi the carpenter's tale is about governor collers.

deep mandaic the jeweler's tale is about the monarch at the crossroads (the butterfly-keeper) and the unwise mortal (the jeweler) and the egg unhatching (his egg). deep mandaic the chandler's tale is about the chandler (obviously) and her witness and the red grail but to be more precise it's about how the chandler is in fact the oldest hour.

fucine the queen's wound is about snow and the sky. fucine the queen's weapon is about the serpent. both of these are the same story. sabazine the fisher's tale is about ys. sabazine the sailor's tale is about noon. all of these are the same story.

ramsund the falconer's tale and the thief's tale are two halves of a secret.

ericapaean when i get you…

[leggypuppy]

I am doing a vanilla cultsim run for the first time in Years and I have Forgotten How To Do Literally Everything

[londonfallen]

❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. ❜ sumgiast.

+ [ UNDRESS ] & [  BREASTS  ]  -> a meme long, long ago ...

ever the patient one, he was : both of them in truth, but no one more than summer himself, no matter how how he tried to mask it 'neath sheepish giggles or cheeks flush pink with stolen blood, but even the stolen heat could not compare to the dove's own, how often still he bows his head and apologizes to him for his own behavior demure. but he can't help it! it isn't as if he has the experience ... he'd halfway fainted the moment summer had first kissed him, where his hands trailed to cup his face and beckoned his attention where, somehow, it had wandered from him, and the dizzying rush of heat that flared first between his ribs and rose higher, when that kiss deepened. this feels just like that : except nearly twenty times more intense.

this the farthest they've gone yet, at both of their behests ; though most often, it was the ivory dove himself who became too overwhelmed to continue on, trapped with a heart he hardly knew could beat quite so fiercely—even now, he hears it resounding, echoing in his ears where he wills himself not to pull away again. he wants this, he is just ... shy, and terribly inexperienced, prey to his own internal cacophony : though it is only his own voice, a monologue thus that chastises him for his trembling hands, but assures him nonetheless where his cheeks flush crimson in watching how his lover lies anticipant beneath him, fingers interlaced with the one hand keeping him pinned, that they want this too. how prominent his anxiety must be, to have him comfort him too—but his voice is much more reassuring than his own, at the very least, it serves to still him 'long enough not to startle where he feels his hand trail from his jawline down to his collar, fingers deftly pulling at the buttons, pausing after every one just in case one was yet a step too far.

( it never is, assurance returned where the dove bows his head and allows his weight to press further down over him : from where he presses chaste kisses along the length of his neck, knees pressing gentle into their side, and how he sighs against them. he'll thank him for his patience proper, one night. with any luck, and with any ounce of bravery, ideally tonight. )

" i'm sorry, i— " if nothing else, the laughter muffled 'gainst his neck is proof enough he doesn't want him to stop, no matter how his voice wavers in an apology started, but never finished, quickly dropped in favor of sitting back up, settling back 'pon his calves and tugging a hand free regretfully from his. " i've never done anything like this, i don't ... you know. " a vague gesture between them, trying in desperate earnest to communicate the whole that is his own lack of understanding proper course of action. he doesn't exactly get out much, so to speak. his hands move to sign in fleeting desperation, before he realizes how silly it looks and halfway startles himself 'pon the realization : he doesn't think he can blush any redder, nor feel much hotter—embarrassed, perhaps, but not humiliated by any means. and despite how his own hands tremble, they steady enough to reach around behind him, to unhook and undo what he has come to realize his partner's most oft everyday wear to be : lingerie. how he hadn't noticed before, he isn't sure ... needless to say, it is the first time he struggles to look anywhere but his eyes, brow knit in concentration and worry alike where he tugs the straps free from his shoulders first, and then off entirely. he considers folding it, if only for a moment when he has the bralette in his hands, but the thought, like the article itself, is quickly discarded. further still. he catches his hands tugging at his own buttoned blouse, and urges him on the same when it finally slips from his shoulders, rolling them back to allow the fabric to fall back and bunch at his arms where few buttons remain to keep it snug to his waist. at the very least, they're even—chest laid bare and hearts racing : at the very least, he'd swear theirs was too. he may not yet be able to pry his eyes lower, but that does not mean his hands do not wander ; and just like, he would swear the illusion of a beating heart, where his hand trails first down their front, 'fore curling loosely right under their ribs, thumbs pressing gentle pressure against them.

" like ... this? " he's undoubtedly hesitant—his breath catches 'fore he even moves his hand up, and he wouldn't have noticed it either short of the sigh that follows, when he reaches up one hand first to cup his breast. it's ... so much softer than he expected, not that he had any expectations to start, but even that thought alone leaves him burning red from nose to ear, fang catching the corner of his lip where he squeezes it gently, brushing a thumb almost absentmindedly around the bud of his nipple. he's guessing, at best : knees pressing once more 'gainst his hips where he finally wills himself to draw his gaze downward, what must be a whimper swallowed back 'gainst both the sight and the pressure he feels straining beneath. it's embarrassing enough, being this flustered, it's more embarrassing knowing there is no avoiding him knowing how even looking at him like this, in a manner so impure, turns him on too.

he's gotten ... a way more confident, if nothing more, testing different measures of teasing him where his thumb first circles around his nipple, testing flicks against it as he notices it harden, it's only when he shifts his hand to tease it between two fingers and squeeze his breast in one gentle motion, the same which he hears him groan, that in his own innocence he stops, startled, searches for his gaze again. " ah—! are you o- oh ... " he thinks if he could curl into himself, he would, breath catching once more where he catches not just his eye, but notes the subtle eroticism of his entire expression : features flushed, eyes fluttering open where he calls to it, and lip quivering with every false rise and falling of his chest where he pants, whimpers, pleads. he thinks he's starting to understand. " is this ... good? "

it's easier, at least, to recognize the pleasure that comes with the tension that crawls along his shoulders, settles, releases where he watches him writhe against the gentle squeezing of his chest. he's started to alternate, at least when he shifts himself free from the constraints remaining from his own blouse. it's grown inconvenient, where he tries to position himself to lay over him, sighing where he starts to trail his softer kisses from jaw to collar. " i ... really don't know what i'm doing, do i ... " and lower, across the front of his chest, squeezing his breast with one hand where he moves to settle partway on his side, enough to wriggle one arm beneath him, and allow him opportunity to pull him closer where he liked. " florian, mon rêve, can you— " he feels so ... warm. and dizzy, too. it's almost overwhelming, but not quite yet : he offers one more sheepish grin, where his hair too has started to match just how much of a mess he feels in head and heart alike, strands falling 'cross his face where his lips trail further, and he kisses along his breasts instead. " please be gentle with me ... "

[jade-harley-lesbian]

someday. someday i will get a cultist simulator character in a tournament not run by me. i dont care how unhinged i have to get but ill fucking do it.

[mothwithout]

Both kinds of Winter-long know that their death is only deferred, so both tend to seek and treasure beauty. Here they detail their purest experiences - the mountain after the avalanche, the peace after the storm-wreck, the gusted silence of the sun-shadowed hill...

me seeing purple flowers on a lawn: that’s the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen

me seeing sunlight hit the waves of the sea: that’s the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen

me seeing raindrops sparkle colorfully on a bus stop bench at night: that’s the

[gaast]

Obsessed with how Julian behaves on his Hush House visits. Just muttering to himself. Incessantly. Man has never once shut the fuck up. Since the 17th century.

[manorinthewoods]

"I mastered Death, Harrowhark; I wish I'd done the smarter thing and mastered Time."

THE CLOCKED TOMB

The premise is simple. Locked Tomb, but they're all chronomancers instead. I must confess a total inability to translate many of the characteristics of the setting; but I shall do my best to conceive of the Houses as they might be, and the events of Canaan House.

To begin, then:

The FIRST HOUR is the Hour of Dawn, the Hour of Rebirth, the Hour of Grace. This Hour consists of God, his Saints, and the Priests of Canaan House. Nominally, their specialty is the manipulation of immortal time; much is said of them, but it is most often said that they could make an eon of a minute, and a minute of an eon. Their sacred duty is to maintain the existence of the universe; for Time is long dead, and there are Beasts beyond Time, and the Saints preserve the world in the final moment before calamity.

The SECOND HOUR is the Hour of Fury, the Hour of War, the Hour of Ruinous Time. For this whole frozen moment they have trained, to be the front line at the End of Days. They are mostly known for their martial prowess, but the chronomancers of the Second Hour are experienced with the End of Days, and the acceleration of Time; so that they may move quickly, and their enemies slowly, or so that they may grasp the face of another, and watch it age one hundred years in a second, and crumble to dust in the wind's grip.

The THIRD HOUR is the Hour of Healing, the Hour of Restoration. They are specialised in reversing time; unlike the Saints, they cannot travel through it, but they may, selectively, recapitulate bygone hours. A wilted rose will bloom again; dusk will turn to noon. The soul, however, is inviolate; the body's history may be unwritten, but not that of the soul. It is thus forbidden to reverse the history of a corpse.

The FIFTH HOUR is the Hour of Authors. They know that Time is history, and history is written; and they know of how history might be written. They can declare things, about the past and the future. Only so much; only so much. But enough; to say that a corpse was never befouled, or a room never entered. But enough; to declare that a death never did occur. With every stroke of their drafting-pen, the End of Days is courted; the Work is scratched and left to bleed. It is a delicate dance. It is one they master.

The SIXTH HOUR is the Hour that Sees, the Hour that Remembers. They unwind Time, to gaze at its moments; they peer through the ages to observe the past and future. They are prophets and elegiasts both.

The SEVENTH HOUR is the Hour of Fading and Frozen Beauty, the Hour of the Sunset. They press their fingers to the hands of the clock, so that it will not tick its last. They are very adept at preservation, at taking the Grand Work of God and perverting it to a frozen moment.

The EIGHTH HOUR is the Hour of Judges, the Hour of the Reckoners, the Hour of Law. They bear the particular specialty of the transference of hours; they do not create or destroy time, but they are known for drawing it from one to another. The practice is often seen as barbaric; there is a certain nature of natures, which governs transference, and by this law time may only be transferred through alike things. That is, to rejuvenate one, you must take time from another. The Eighth are the siphoners of Time.

The NINTH HOUR is the Hour of the End. It observes the roaring barrier of the Work, and the End of Days beyond. It is a gloomy observation; but there's little else to do but while away the time, in the old and ruined Empire.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

The Empire of Days has not lasted for ten thousand years. In fact, it's not been around for very long at all. 900 years, maybe less.

Calling the Houses the Hours isn't just a minor time-themed twist. The Hours are, in fact, one after the other. The Eighth Hour is the Seventh, after a hundred years have passed; the same with all the rest. In this world, Harrow is descended from Silas, who is descended from Dulcinea, and so on all the way back to God.

How, then, are they all at Canaan House? Simple: TIME SHENANIGANS. Obviously. The timeline's completely borked. Kind of the whole point.

In fact, there aren't even separate planets for each Hour. They've all been living on dying Earth; Harrow and Gideon are the last scions of the Empire, period, and have grown up in Canaan House in its ruined state. They are the hosts.

The plot would obviously involve Time Shenanigans. Like if the first Homestuck intermission was an entire book. Time travel is kept to a minimum; only the Saints can truly reverse time. However, two Saints are made at Canaan House, so it's not just Cytherea time-traveling - it's Ianthe and Harrow too.

Whether or not the Canaan House shenanigans are time-stable is a very important question. If the shenanigans are stable, then there's a very intricate game of chess being played by people who aren't aware they're playing it. Ianthe probably could reverse-engineer Sainthood (debatable if it would involve cavalier-eating here) and the inevitability of her ascension; Harrow might not realise.

If the shenanigans are not time-stable, we have a lot more room. Probably just about everyone dies the first time, and Harrow kills Gideon, but then Harrow travels back in time and starts trying to screw with the timeline to get it into a better state. I don't know what would result from this.

This was actually mostly an excuse to write overly grandiose descriptions of time magic based on a single throwaway line on page 34. I do not have a plot. My apologies.

[bestworstcase]

pacing muttering witchworms contamination, "the softest penumbra of the madrugad's light, invoked carefully through the white flower of the watchman's tree" + the forgivable debt and the invisible opera, schemes to "distract the madrugad from her work with the calyptra" – but.

night, dawn, eclipse. RED THE DAWN AND BLACK THE NIGHT AND WHITE WHAT'S LEFT. ABOVE WE SEE, BENEATH WE KNOW. "calyptra, like the planet that occludes the star or the doylian dog that fails to bark, can be identified only by its absence."

thus, the madrugad is not—cannot be—the white flower. chilly winter dawn; but the red flower is dawn is the mare-in-the-tree. however: "in the times when nothing was forgotten, three flowers bloomed on the watchman's tree: black, red, and gold. red is the life that flows in the body's courses, but the blood of the carapace cross was golden. preservation teaches what endures." and in alchemical terms, citrinitas marks the dawning of the solar light.

"the watchman's tree has flowers three: black, red, and white. red is the life that flows in the body's courses, and white is the writhing at the body's core. hushery teaches what ends."

points at the madrugad. golden flower.

(you can't have an eclipse without a sun.)

"snow; broken mirrors; half-heard sky music; flowers of white, red and black; a blood-streaked winter dawn…"

the received version of the book of suns tells us that the wolf-divided was born from the sun-in-splendour's division. we know from this that the sun can be reborn only if the wolf joins the sun's other selves. only if the wolf's hunger is assuaged will it join its other selves, and only the flesh of its other selves can assuage the hunger of the wolf. a second dawn would herald the last day.

and

the veterans of the légion du seuil, who guard the boundaries of the waking world, tell stories of the labyrinths under the mansus, above the wood, and inside the moon, where the first fallen hours sleep, or hide, or rot: the gods-from-stone. why the labyrinths? because, the legionnaires say, there are hours ruling now who would fight to consume the last scraps of their old enemies; and those who feast would eclipse those who abstain.

lol.

lmao, even.

the white flower is described as the 'death of wisdoms' - but wisdom can pass into sleep, not death, when 'the rage of glass' is subjected to sufficiently powerful winter-aspect when the ragged crossroads arts are invoked.

ragged crossroads, with keeper winter and essential periost, draws a year-tally. ragged crossroads, with keeper winter and glassfinger toxin, distills the encaustum nillycant.

gestures vaguely. what's in kaunas?

night, dawn, freezing winds, faith, the wolf-divided's shadow, and a clandestine department of skolekosophy. four stolen seasonings and i'll have a stolen year, dominykas says genially. lol! lmao even!

azita asks for de motu corporum vetitorum to help her piece together how the wangle works; ouranoscopy, with keeper sky and essential periost, draws a year-tally. when chaima visits for the forgivable debt she says a reckoner lord "botched a conjuring"—it's a didumos. probably didn't even fucking mean to call down the dream of a star, just had too much sky-music and not enough periost.

the white waits west of the world, but she will not wait forever; and the madrugad is the winter's dawn.

[mothwithout]

Despite their grudging respect for the Elegiast, the Haustorium warns against the Elegiast's subtlety when he chooses to interpret History. The Debate of Seven Cups discusses the nature of the Chandler, her influence of the gods-from-steel, and the way in which sorrow can shape the gods-who-were-from-stone, who are implied to feed their fires. The skill it gives, Solutions & Separations, is an alchemical art focused on the subtle shaping of the Histories. The Elegiast is an Hour of Subtlety and Sorrow: now we can only ask how he might seek to shape Time's Course.

[astraioskosmos]

The Moth has cursed me once more with its yearning and so tonight I reminisce about what was as compared to what is, and my eternal love I ask a question to you; Did you know that I used to whisper to the Elegiast during the coldest nights in the softest whisper that he may allow us to be remembered together? That our names may be written side to side in his scroll so that even in Eternity we would be close? That if we were to be trinkets that he may place us next to each other, cold porcelain brushing against colder stone so that even in death I may imitate holding your hand?

My eternal love, did you know I used to sow tiny secrets to the Velvet in my dreams about us so that even the divine may know of our mutual adoration? That stone or wood-bark or soft soil in the Wood will forever have our initials scratched into them under her gaze? I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, by feeding the Velvet tiny pieces of our deepest desires she may favor us, and with that favor she may shelter and conceal us in the roots of the trees so that when the world got too big- too scary- we may have a place to go to and hide together until the fear lessened and dissappeared?

My heart still beats inside my chest like a drum, but my most precious love, do you know of how much quieter it is without you? It cannot be stilled and yet I can swear I have felt it cease its thunderous dance everytime the fear of you not coming back became too strong. In those moments I wondered, "is this how the Thunderskin felt?" for it loved the Ring-Yew, and yet none know if the Ring-Yew loved him back. Did his heart then feel as raw as mine as the Red Grail flayed him under the gaze of his love? Is he now doomed to be forever bruised as he is beaten like a drum to protect the skin of the world, to preserve the Wake, but never to know the affections of the Malachite? I fear that I too will be forever bruised to never again have your arms around me, your lips on mine and your voice and its sweet words in my ears.

And so my love, do you know of the Moth haunting me? Do you know of its yearning, of the restlessness so strong that even the Malachite cannot renew and heal my broken soul for all that would heal me is you? Do you know of the whispers in the coldest and darkest nights, now not to the Elegiast anymore but to another Hour that would be kind enough to listen so you may come back to me? Do you know of the scratched secrets and the roots, of how I read them on my fingertips and hide in them alone so that I may remember the spark of our love once more, so that I may imagine the feeling of your warmth once again?

Love is always at the whims of the Hours- so says the Sun-in-Splendor and the Forge of Days, the Thunderskin and the Ring-Yew, the Malachite and the Mare-in-the-Tree, The Wheel and the Flint, but we are not Hours and so I pray our love endures despite it all and my soul and heart find solace and healing in yours. I pray we grow old together, and when the time comes for us to come home to the Wood until we either pass the Stag Door or drift down into Nowhere the Elegiast will write our names side to side and honors the memory of who we were, what we went through, and of our love for Eternity.

[lunarlillieuwu]

Ok I've sent myself into a bit of an angry lore spiral because I was checking the Secret Histories wiki page for Calyptra and notice the section where it says each of the Hours that make up Calyptra. Now, Calyptra has been a little mystery that I wanted to piece together myself and I've been kind of obsessing over the possibilities of which three Hours oversee it. With the information I have, I don't think the wiki page is accurate. I know Velvet is the Black Flower because I found the lore in the Skill tree that confirms it, and I had some Suspicions of Madragaud being either White or Red since she clearly fits the 'Dawn' of 'Night, Dawn and Eclipse,' but there is NO WAY IN HELL the Mare in the Tree is the Red Flower. From what I know about the descriptions of the three Hours the Mare just does not fit at all. Of the two descriptions of Calyptra I know of (Night, Dawn, Eclipse; Blood, Soot and Snow) Mare could ONLY be charitably seen as Blood. Velvet is clearly Night and possibly Soot (could also be blood), Madragaud is definitely Dawn and could be either snow or soot (She has Forge aspect and is known to burn shit) Mare has no connection to Eclipse at all that I know of, and she only vaguely fits the blood description by virtue of being dangerous (for those wondering, i consider the Velvet potentially blood because she is a god from blood and is known to be quite violent when protecting her secrets.) I mostly suspect Calyptra is the Velvet (black flower) the Madragaud (red) and the Elegiast (white) and i just don't think Mare is part of Calyptra at all. If it's confirmed somewhere in game lore that Mare is red flower, I'm gonna be really upset and maybe I'll make a video ranting about it but if there's no confirmation and it's just speculation that's on the wiki, maybe we should consider other possibilities.

[neokamui414]

Based on a conversation in the SH Discord server, and cross referencing the descriptions provided in the different levels of the Dancer Ascension in Cultsim and books that provide Anbary & Lapidary lessons as well as the item names and descriptions of a few things in Cultsim and BoH I've created a rough list of correspondences of jewels/gemstones and Hours.

Hopefully this is fun and interesting information for both lore speculative purposes and for those of you who take inspiration from the Secret Histories for your own real life religious and occult practice (I see you and I validate you so much!)

Malachite - Ring Yew

Sea Pearl - Twins and Mother of Ants

Jet - The Velvet

Scolecite - Worms and The Flowermaker (this one in particular raises all sorts of questions)

Topaz - The Vagabond

Ivory / Bones - Wolf Divided and The Elegiast

Amber - The Watchmen and The Twins

Calcite / Alabaster - Red Grail

Diamond - Giribrago

Coral - The Twins and The Velvet

Garnet - The Twins and The Meniscate

Possibly Amethyst - Horned Axe or Mother of Ants

Cinnabar - The Thunderskin and probably The Grail too and The Wolf Divided

Jasper - The Mare in the Tree and The Twins and Lagiah (so by extension probably the Grail as well) and the Ligeians

Jade - Applebright ( this is based off of the fact that multiple sources associate Nephrite with Nowhere and The Applebright aka a Nowhere Hour, is the patron of a monastery of Taoists, and said monastery's Covenant-stone is White Jade. Jade has a LOT of important associations in Taoism.)

(barring a few exceptions, The Forge of Days and by extension The Flint seem to be associated with most if not all of these gemstones, which makes some amount of sense given the nature of their Divine prerogative and the Forge Principal

[bestworstcase]

This is probably the weirdest thing to say, but I feel like you'd have a field day with Five Nights at Freddy's (fnaf). The "unsolvable" and "badly written" game series (hint: it's neither of those things). Your RWBY takes are very fun, I can only imagine what you'd think of something like FNAF since I think your analysis skills would really flourish there. Understandable if it's not your thing though lol

i know nothing abt fnaf other than i’ve never seen anything that piques my interest but speaking of video games and unsolvable lore–

cultist simulator + book of hours. THE THINGS I KNOW. THE THEORIES I HAVE—

i need to start posting things on tumblr it’s just .difficult. to put everything together in a coherent way but THE JOURNEY goes something like

the nocturnal branch/suppression bureau is a cult of the calyptra.

calyptra is the velvet, the mare-in-the-tree, and the wolf-fucking-divided.

EVERYTHING YOU THINK YOU KNOW ABOUT THE INTERCALATE IS WRONG.

eva dewulf is a name of the wolf-divided btw.

the house of the moon is/was the boundary separating nowhere from the wood, like the hull of a ship. it was torn open and flooded during the lithomachy so the woods is effectively the surface of nowhere now :)

the god-from-stone called the wind and the nowhere hour called snow ate each other and became the wolf, and the white door is twinned to the peacock door, and this is what caused the lithomachy.

the elegiast and the beachcomber are gods-from-flesh who were names of the wind, in much the same way that the solar hours were names of the sun-in-splendor prior to the intercalate.

<- if you’re not a cultsim/boh person the one piece of information you need to understand exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes is that “the god-from-stone called the wind” is not an entity that has even been definitively stated to EXIST but i can back all of this up with textual evidence.