#Virulent Lore

[saltminerising]

I've never understood this pervading idea that light's aesthetic is elegance and angels ("biblically-accurate" or otherwise) and splendor and all that, considering none of that is in the lore at all. Canonically, light's thing has always been philosophy and the pursuit of knowledge. idk the absolute virulence of fanon completely drowning out canon is just wild to me in a strangely fascinating way. Anyway the new ancients are definitely perfect for light and also perfect for me :)

[boatswainscall]

I really do sympathize with Destiny 2 players and the Absolute State the game is currently in (and tbh has always been in, in some form or another), as someone who originally picked the game up during Forsaken and who has been let down in new and unique ways every time I've returned to it since. I know too that the typical Ragetubers within its niche are for sure not helping things (neither has the subreddit). I honestly though have an immense amount of grief for people on here especially who love Destiny's world, lore and characters so much who are having to watch as the leadership keep breaking new holes in a ship that has been sinking for years. And if it ultimately means people end up coming to Warframe either in general or because of 1999 I will welcome them all with open & unjudging arms.

I am also aware though that Warframe's super early game and vertical midgame climb are even now a horrifying slow crawl, and are the #1 killer of people's progress no matter how badly you want to get to 1999 or even stuff much earlier on like the Second Dream or the War Within. It's pretty much a universal experience to have a high MR friend carry you through that whole portion, either through deleting the map for you as you both attempt to farm for specific mods or straight up farming for them themselves and trading them to you to give you the boost you need to get to the good stuff. It's what my friend had to do for me back in 2017 when I first started, and it's what me and that same friend will do for a mutual friend if they ever start playing themselves. It's Warframe's biggest problem right now, alongside the issue of properly balanced difficulty at the peak of endgame but that's it's own developmental can of worms.

However.

Like I said, I've played Destiny myself. I've been on the subreddit, I've seen the rage bait youtube videos. I've seen the levels of virulent and shocking hatred some players have for the developers and Bungie as a company. Which is well earned in the case of the upper leadership as we saw, but is un fucking warranted when aimed at the developers and writers. The game has been floundering for years and getting worse with its microtransactions yes, but that is not and has never been the fault of the people who actually make the game. But it's way easier to just yell at Bungie or "the Devs" as a monolith, not helped either by the fact that the developers were kept in a chokehold on speaking up about why player feedback was supposedly being "ignored" until the news broke last year about the bottomless depths of the CEO's fuckheadery.

What I'm getting to is, DE is not that kind of developer, entirely I think because they've managed to remain independent even after being bought by Tencent (and because Steve is the CEO). They have always been open and honest about their developmental decisions and direction (beyond just vague "roadmaps") and are extremely receptive to player feedback. I don't doubt that they're aware of the midgame mountain and are likely trying to work out how to improve it, but it's such a sprawling and widespread issue that we likely won't hear anything about it for a good while. DE though has already had to handle some truly nightmarish levels of personal targeted harassment a couple years ago involving a specific youtuber who I don't think I've heard of since the situation was handled. The last thing we need is more of that specific genre of toxic freak calling for physical harm on the developers because of the poor balancing of the midgame mountain or the Endgame's difficulty curve (if they get to it). Frankly no fucking game developers deserve that, on any game of any type or size. Not Destiny 2's, not Warframe's, not anyone.

Which is a long way of saying I hope the toxic assholes coming from Destiny 2 are starved out by Warframe's midgame mountain and go play something else instead, which tbh from what I've seen most of them are Crucible types so they probably will anyway. As for everyone else jumping ship, we've got a ship of our own and we're pulling you on board. And we'll be there with climbing equipment once you reach that midgame mountain, including myself.

[thefirstknife]

idk if you've talked about this, but Maya says something interesting in her "final" message to the Young Wolf. She says the YW should ponder "iterations" of the conversation on the riverbank (iirc) but I don't remember the YW mentioned in the Dark Timeline, and in the Epistemic lore tab, Praedyth says "the figure always changes." Is the YW a unique individual or do they exist in other timelines too? (I feel like I've missed a few details so I'm hoping you can answer. 😅)

It's a really cool message that will be interesting to revisit from time to time.

I leave this to you now, when it is too early to act. Before you have the faculty to understand its gravitas. You were offered the age you've fought to restore. Everything we've lost. You won't find it on this narcissist's station. I will set it in front of you, finely crafted and tuned. You mistakenly label it hubris, and resist. And you know... failure is a catalyst: it breeds invention. Would you comprehend the endless permutations of our conversation on the riverbank? I was only trying to change your mind. To help you see a better future. That exchange... did not always end in your favor. It does not have to still. You believe my ideology, virulent. All right. Know that I have bled across time, and under the skin of the cosmos. My knowledge became its fabric, filled its vessels, through its mind. Humanity is scattered, yet to see a Collective, focused. But in this infinite network the Vex have created... There is one answer. A Golden Timeline... With a heavy cost.

It took a few reads for me to wrap my mind around this. Maya definitely confirms that this happened in multiple timelines, in some way. We're not really sure if it's exactly the same though, obviously, since we can't really check.

The interesting bit is that the few timelines that Elsie has seen, all of them have failed because, essentially, the YW never became what they did because we didn't destroy the Black Heart. Those timelines have failed completely. But there seems to be other timelines in which we do exist, except we're always someone else (kinda like keeping everyone's Guardian canon, in a way) which we know from Epistemic as you've noted, and it's really cool:

Some visions he gets once, while some come back over and over again. One recurring image: a piece of the Traveler cracked off from its body, lying belly-up in a forest, with a small figure standing in front of it. The figure changes every time, but the sickly glow of the Traveler doesn't.

This is us regaining our Light at the Shard of the Traveler in the Red War, so it's post-Black Heart.

I think the YW is unique in a way that they only exist in the timeline where they destroy the Black Heart (D1 base story), but since there's an unknown number of timelines, this person is always someone different (so there's no one canon YW, it could be any of us). There's also timelines where we never become the YW because Elsie never helps us and we never destroy the Black Heart and things spiral from there.

It always remains a question if anyone using the Vex and their Network and technology is actually seeing real existing things, or perhaps simulations or possibilities. I do wonder if they left Maya around with the Echo for some future purpose or at least to keep their options open. Also intrigued about her mentioning "a Golden Timeline" and if that will mean anything in the future or if it's just her yapping from the Network. I did not expect her to stay around and especially not with the Echo in her posession so I'm super excited about the possibility of storylines with this in the future.

[artificial-absinthe]

I finished the first season of Arcane. It's impressive, so artistic and strong in narrative telling. Every character has a marked personality conveyed through their every feature including their looks and body language. Highest pinnacle aesthetics, the scenery is captivating.

That being said, every transformers fan that watches it, perhaps, can't but notice the striking parallels with the Aligned and Idw1 lore. Actually... the background plot is quite the same.

The major problematic arises because there's a dramatic split of social hierarchy.

In Transformers, it exists the caste system and functionism. In Arcane, society is divided in high and low classes as well. Low castes are heavy work labourers, such as miners, gladiators, etc. They are rude, often violent, and outcasts. They suffer scarcities and unjustice from a government who despises them or is oblivious to their strife. The same for low classes in Arcane. (Save for existing gladiators)

High and mid castes are government, scientists, military, artists, not brute workers such as archivists. The same for Arcane.(save for archivists)

The different castes/classes are split in separate places. Low castes/classes are not allowed into the wealthy cities.

The low castes in Transformers and low classes in Arcane live in cities polluted by the vapors of factories and such, or that seem darkened somehow. The sick, the addicted and the mentally ill are common. Crime is not in short supply. Criminals are exiled or seek shelter there because there their activities are unnoticed.

Kaon (Transformers)

Zaun (Arcane)

Iacon (Transformers)

Piltover (Arcane)

The ruling entity is conformed by an association of a number of characters called the Council in both cases. (In Transformers there's also a Prime, which has no analog in Arcane)

The High Council and the Hall of justice. (Transformers)

The Council and their Tower. (Arcane)

There are also enforcers.

The antagonist is a menacing character, witty, terrifying and sexy arrogant as hell who has no qualms on use whatever means to get his way. They come from mines, they want freedom and autonomy to their kind but also crave power and know no boundaries. They value loyalty in a high degree and demand it, –the consequences of betrayal are dire. They endorse violence as way of change and are cruel and remorseless. They both have deep streaks of scars on their faces creasing their lips and share a liking for purple, dubious substances.

Megatron and Dark energon

Silco and the shimmer.

Also, they used to have an ally whom they referred to as brother, but who parted ways with them because of the virulent and dangerous, radical tendencies of the turned antagonist. These ally is/was noble, strong but kind and knows/learned that violence should be the last resort.

They both have as well subordinates that would follow them through hell because they, among other reasons, see in them that which any other. And these subordinates are feared and their own way of creepy.

Frag, it's Soundwave!

Oh, no, it's Jinx...!

And Sevika

Overal, the running story and focus is obviously very different, with various elements of their own, but honestly, the background plot and various parallels sometimes caused the fleeting feeling that I was watching a prewar tfp human steampunk version. Don't take me wrong, I loved Arcane and am very interested in the next season.

[rigbeta]

The Headhunter Lore

Name: Leofwine Rakes Terror Radius: 32 Meters Movement Speed: 110% Description: The Headhunter is a sly killer that uses his power, Hunter's Prowess, to hinder and maim survivors in his hunting snares and injure them from a distance with a Spear Shot. His personal perks, Predatory Dominance, Cruel Incentive, and Cunning Pursuit, diminish survivors' ability to escape the initial chase, strategize after hooking a survivor, and hunt more efficiently. Backstory:

It was a cold January day of 1687 In the wood enclosed village of Dalton; Leofwine Rakes was born in a freshly built cottage just within the tree line of the forest; home of the woodsman Randolph and his wife Annice Rakes.

Upon his birth, he cried and secreted copious amounts of mucus to the worry of his parents. The Village Doctor, A charming man named Ecclestone, became a daily visitor. Ecclestone always treated and tenderly cared for the infant as though he were Leofwin's third parent with more than a doctor's oath.

Leofwine miraculously survived his malady and started to grow into a healthy young boy. But at the tender age of 8, his mother developed an odd rash.

Small red bumps that spread across her body before blooming into blood and pus-filled blisters; marring Annice's sun-tanned skin and transforming it into a repulsive landscape of virulent red seepage, crusted brown scabs, and hideous pink scar tissue.

Syphilis; an abhorrent condition that was poorly understood and viewed as a potential punishment for sins. Randolph stood by his wife as the village shunned and leered at the family; Leofwine was tormented for having a Pig's Whore of a mother, and he the bastard Pig son. After a daily harassment from the "pristine" villagers, he would return to his family's cottage and stare into his mother's speckled vanity mirror; staring back at him, he'd see a boy with a pig's face, just as they said; a stubby little nose under wet, rheumy eyes. A mouth with somehow too little lip yet too much jowl. He was ugly. The son of a Pig and its disease-ridden whore. He desperately tried to forget what was told to him daily; what made making friends impossible with the even crueler children of the village. All he saw were faces twisted by the judgement and self-righteous prejudice.

This abuse wasn't Leofwine's curse alone; Randolph was forced to take long treks to neighboring villages to sell his lumber to less knowing folks, as it was nearly impossible to separate the Woodsman from the forsaken disease that plagued his bedeviled wife.

The only respite from the misery was Dr. Ecclestone's continued visits as he helped treat Annice, whose joints soon became too swollen and stiff to properly help with the work, and began to experience spells of severe fatigue, nausea and even paralysis.

It wasn't long before Randolph began to show signs of the dreaded rash himself. Another pox from god, the villagers were appalled by his apparent depravity and he was forced to wear thick hoods on his journey out every day.

Annice passed away from the illness when Leofwine was just 10 years old, something had grown within her and caused a blood clot. Dr. Ecclestone had made sure no one came near the body for fear that the disease would spread, but Leofwine had looked upon his mother's rashy, mishappen and blistered face before her passing, filled with an odd combination of sorrow and disgust. As a corpse, she didn't look any better, but at least she was free of the flaring pain. Of the scorn of being a Pig's whore. Yet, there was an odd sensation. Leofwine couldn't place it, but his heart seemed to be lighter.

Randolph's condition soon started to worsen and with it, his mind faltered. In response, Leofwine was taken under the wing of the very Doctor who treated his mother out of charity.

Doctor Chadwick Ecclestone, an exemplary man of social status and marked compassion; he welcomed Leofwine into his home like he was family and had Randolph interred in a personal sickroom for aggressive treatments of mercury and Guaiacum resin; despite Randolph's denial of pain, he was always bleeding from the sores, and he was beginning to show the same odd lumps in his face.

Under Dr. Ecclestone's roof, Leofwine hardly saw his father, and preferred it that way; the sight of his wretched, medically induced spewing and his pox-ridden viscera filled him with instinctive revulsion. Instead, he'd busy his mornings with his new playmate, Gleda Ecclestone, the intelligent and naturally charming daughter of the doctor.

Leofwine was already smitten, and his affections only grew as he reached his teens.

When he wasn't reading or playing with Gleda, he would join Dr. Ecclestone any chance they could spare an evening in the woods; Dr. Ecclestone was an avid hunter, something usually only permitted for nobility or tradesmen, but as a high-class member of the Village, he was always with a trusty spear and his sturdy snare traps.

Almost every other Evening and certainly every weekend he would bring Leofwine along for the spoils of the woodlands. There were many lives to snuff out in the wood, but The Doctor was especially keen to share the joy of hunting wild boars with Leofwine.

Dr. Ecclestone taught Leofwine the perfect arch to toss a spear at the various wildlife they caught and the best placements for snares to capture and injure even the slyest of critters and strongest beasts. Soon, the mighty and terrible boars of Dalton's woods began to fall to Leofwine's snares and a single, well-thrown spear.

Despite the villages initial rancor, they applauded the Doctor's "Saintly Charity" for the miserable, god forsaken wretches, and their admiration started to shine in their eyes when they spoke to Leofwine as well. No longer faces of revulsion; the people were becoming friendly, even kind.

And despite having an oddly oblong, admittedly craggy quality to his face, Leofwine was even the target of sneaking flirtations from the young girls of the village. But his heart was already set on Gleda. The only thing killing a proper confession was the pig that stared at him in the mirror every day. Despite everyone else changing their faces, his remained a woeful facade.

Over the years, Dr. Ecclestone had become more a father to Leofwine than the babbling, moaning invalid hidden away in what was now his permanent cell rather than just a sickroom. Leofwine still felt sadness and pity, watching the once proud and vigorous woodsman grow feeble and mad as the disease ate away his flesh and mind, but the support of Dr. Ecclestone and growing allure of Gleda quickly brought him peace of to his own mind when his father mercifully died.

Leofwine looked upon his father's corpse; his eyes were wide and yellow, blisters the size of groats threatened to reveal his bile-covered teeth, and the many, many red blisters transformed the remains of his face into a large, cobbled lump.

Leofwine didn't feel sad after he saw the pitiful, scab-infested ghoul lifeless on the table. He felt somehow... better. Almost happy. His father was dead. Yet he was not sad.

Looking into the silver mirror adorning the wall, Leofwine saw his own face; It was gorgeous in comparison despite his stubby nose, his jutting brow, and his jowl-like mouth; he was beautiful. Most beautiful were his shimmering blue eyes. Not like his father's yellow pus-colored ones; they were clear and filled with a bright future. The death of his father was the last strand tying him to that damned lineage. He had a new family. One that promised that bright future smiling back at him.

That day he asked Gleda for a day out, and the two spent all evening talking as they strolled through the village; dressed in refined clothes, arm in arm, the two were like young lovebirds.

As they walked to the ends of the village, Leofwine saw the trail that led just beyond the tree line to his former home... it had to be in quite a state... no one had bothered to go down since he and his father came to live with the Ecclestones.

"Shall we take a peek?" Gleda asked with a hint of what could have been flirtation. But Leofwine wanted nothing to do with that ramshackle hut, and the two continued on their way back home for a lovely dinner. The confession still waiting to leave Leofwine's breath, despite his newfound charisma.

It was just after his fifteenth birthday, when Leofwine woke to find a curious and ominous sight; his bed sheet, it was covered in odd brown splotches. Some perfectly circular... others smeared from his nocturnal movements...

A sudden chill broke down over his body that brough with it the grinding of his misaligned jaw. He ran to the Dresser mirror and ripped off his nightgown; terrible brown spots dotted it as well, some still had a hint of ruddy, mocking red. He turned around and looked over his shoulder to see his back covered in a fresh crop of red, weeping bumps.

Horror, dread, revulsion and utter panic ripped through him. Those spots were like graves, empty holes of nothing, round, moaning mouths that would swallow up any and all chance at a happy life.

Leofwine threw on his Nightgown and snuck into Dr. Ecclestone's medical stations. A fresh container of Mercury ointment was snatched in desperation and he began slathering any portion of his back in his reach. He stared back into the mirror, his pale face momentarily porcine with wretched horror before he shut his eyes, counting silently. Moments became agonizing as the solution seemingly seeped traceless into his back, and he got dressed.

He carried on with his Hunting, not once daring to tell the Doctor of the flesh-rotting curse he had inherited from his bespoiled former family.

At first, the Mercury seemed to work... the bumps didn't go away, but they didn't spread either... a constant threat waiting to surge over his body and transform him into an abomination.

Leofwine turned seventeen, and just after… he began to notice Gleda's attention seemed elsewhere; no longer did her glances linger on his features, and shorter still were their conversations. His attempts to reach her seemed weak, pointless, and with that pointlessness, pinpricks started to appear from the bumps on his rashy back; like little mouths, thick with bloodied saliva, practically spitting to whisper their paranoid ramblings to his already feverish mind.

Those little graves, mouths, holes... burrowing deep into his body and tunneling into his mind; why was she ignoring him? He was beautiful... he wasn't dead. He wasn't a pus ball like that Pig and His whore. He was... he was...

He was.

That sudden thought brought with it a sudden contradiction; he was so beautiful, yet so ugly. So so ugly. It just wasn't out yet. It was waiting... soon he'd be like them. The Wretched Rakes, all in a row, all in their little holes.

He laughed at the utter absurdity. He was better than that. He was.

He Was.

He doubled his efforts, every day insisting to take Gleda on a stroll, always the charmer to her and to all he came across, even to the lowly peasants that took up a majority of the trough called Dalton. He began to grow cocksure, laying odd and sometimes nonsensical snares to one-up Dr. Ecclestone in the hunt for game, yet somehow showing his methods to be exacting and even superior.

He would be the best. He would be beautiful and utterly perfect.

He didn't even realize the state of his brain. Those little holes weren't just on his back... they were in his brain. Eating little tunnels through his mind and filling it with madness. A madness that lusted for more and more. Each kill in the hunt seemed to make another little hole, another grave in that maddening, lusting, network in his withering brain that. And those holes, those mouths, they ate and killed his rationality, killed his inhibitions, killed his former self and instead filled him with a brimming, pestilent need to fill all those dead qualities.

He didn't even see that his own face was starting to grow lumpy. The bones seemed to swell and dimple, marring his skin, and bringing great concern to Gleda and The Watchful Doctor.

It all came to a head when Dr. Ecclestone introduced a third hunter to their evening game; Royce Harlan; a man that had a face like a roman statue, a man that stood with charisma that was born of natural instinct and good breeding, a man that was not the son of a pig.

Rage quickly boiled a deep red like the blisters that seeped through the ointment on Leofwine's back; a rage that blindly brought strange untoward utterances and curses to his lips despite Dr. Ecclestone and Harlan's company.

Gleda already had met Royce. She met him when Leofwine had been preoccupied for so long with stopping his perdition; they were already planning to be wed. A fact all except Leofwine seemed to be aware of. But now it stared him in the face, mocking him. Royce, the statue of a man snatching away his rightful wife; the girl he grew with. The woman he accompanied and had every single right to court…

The holes spit like drowning cats, they sputtered and argued and screamed and filled the tunnels in his brain with blood, blood and more blood.

It was very easy for him to preemptively set up a snare the night before their next outing; Royce, despite reservations with Leofwine's ugly snarls and grueling face, wouldn't miss out on a hunting trip with his soon-to-be father-in-law. All he had to do was imply the presence of a potential trophy, just beyond the foliage with a hidden gift. Leofwine could hardly contain the smile that threatened to reveal his weathered teeth as Royce's leg was severed nearly to the bone. Hardly contain the absolute joy and sense of freedom at watching Dr. Ecclestone try to save the man from bleeding to death. It was too deep; too deep and filled with spurting, red, liquid rage that flowed from his death and into Leofwine's Swiss-cheese brain.

'Killed Royce, Killed the pig, killed the son of a pig'.

Leofwine couldn't understand why Gleda was so upset when he attempted to interrupt her mourning. Why she screamed and told him to leave her alone. Why she refused to open her bedroom door despite his burrowing knocks and thudding kicks. The little mouths suddenly crooned up his spine and lovingly into his ears; 'She just has to look at him... see how ugly death suits him and how beautiful life is in your face!'

"Just look at his face! It's dead, it's UGLY." He screamed, paying no heed to the maid and a furious Dr. Ecclestone. Unknown to even his own utter malicious, unyielding lust.

"The only ugliness is your utter depravity, you cretinous wretch!" Gleda shrieked in rage through the thick wooden barrier.

Leofwine didn't even notice Dr. Ecclestone and two other servants attempting to rip him from the door, until the back of his petticoat tore from the effort, and all the little round mouths mirrored that gasps of the onlooking Dr. Ecclestone and his servants.

The rotting, bloody, spitting ugliness, it finally was at the surface for all to see.

Leofwine was thrown from the premises, and he was now, for the first time, without anyone in his life. No one that loved him, at least. His head surged, feeling as though his frothing stomach had somehow made its way to his skull; a strange sensation of utter none-self took root and grew from the faces around him.

In a muddled, crazed daze, he wandered to the woods, his bloody mouths spitting and shrieking at all who watched him in disgust. He could hear the insults; he didn't listen though. They were nothing like the shame-filled agonies of his mind.

He slowly made his way to the filthy, rotting cabin that once was his family's home... well... his former family. Now he had two former families. His head swam again, threatening to spill bile and rage as the graves began their boiled spitting again.

A ripple of hateful shame seemed to uncoil like a great serpent within his stomach before suddenly biting its own tail.

He laughed in an oddly charming, robust manner at that thought of that great black serpent eating itself, before he caught his face in his mother's dust-smeared vanity. Hideous; The pig was back and worse than ever. The nose that was once just a stub was now a lumpy knot, the mouth like a swollen, rot-filled cave entrance, and his eyes... his eyes were still so blue. So full of clarity despite the ugliness; like two windows pointed skyward in a mausoleum. He was beautiful. He can be beautiful again. The Pig doesn't get to just come back. He'll kill it like any boar he'd maimed and slaughtered so often in the past...

He needed to see Harlan's face. To kill Harlan all over again. Needed to see death take it's hold and throttle it the way the Syphilis had his mother, father, and verily his own face.

Several weeks passed; with his pestilent curse exposed, Leofwine couldn't risk being seen in public too soon... a funeral for a noble... for the King of Pigs, "Sir Royce Harlan", wouldn't be delayed, but he also needed to let the waste of death take hold of Harlan's Roman countenance.

On a night that held no witness, Leofwine crept to the Harlan crypt, and after long hours of determined desecration, uncovered Sir Royce Harlan's body. He gasped in wonder at the sight before him, and felt the bloody holes, which now had spread surreptitiously across his entire body, begin to bicker and spit in rage.

A smile. A smile on a face that was not waxy white or rotted yellow, but a smooth, cool grey.

The pig... the ghoul... it was beautiful... it was... was still a roman statue!

Harlan's face had a stone death mask places over it; a likeness so close, it was simulacrum; it was perfection... it was wrong.

Harlan defied Leofwine's promised rewards; first Gleda's hand, now his beauty...

Except that face was special. It wasn't stuck to a rotting body; it was just placed over it.

It was too easy, like the night Leofwine first stole the Mercury Ointment, his hands snatched the surprisingly light stone visage with ease. Hardly any resistance, really... and he saw Harlan's sunken grey face, the sagging lids of his eyes, the shriveled  lips... it was perfect in its absolute imperfection. "Rot." spat Leofwine, carefully placing the mask in his hunting satchel before making certain all evidence of his visit was undone.

That morning, having not slept, Leofwine dug through his family's old belongings, scrapped together all the sturdy leather straps he could, and fashioned a mask of sorts using his hunting satchel as a base; carefully threading the leather together, coarsely but caringly using thread from his mother's sewing kit, and using the studs from old boots; he fit the Death Mask to the leather, secure and snug, and lowered it over his head; ignoring the protest of his rashy cheeks.

Gazing into his mother's mirror, piercing blue eyes behind a perfect face stared back with a smile. A smile that promised everything; that promised to never rot, never grow old, never blister, and never be hated again.

But that was the perfect face that took away the hate. Leofwine needed to look at the faces... the faces like his mother, father and even Royce... he needed to see the death face, and then, and only then, can his true face be truly looked upon without hate.

Overtime, the villagers claimed to see the ghost of Royce Harlan watching from the woods; his deathly-grey face smiling with sinister reproach to all who drew near.

Around this time, people started going missing. First a few of the louder, more crass peasants. "Good riddance". But then Traders started turning going missing, and a dark paranoia took hold.

Weeks later, a nobleman gathering hunting boar also went missing. Seemingly vanished with the morning mist.

A young woman returned from a visit to the neighboring village that morning, claiming a nobleman with an unmoving, grey smile, accosted her from the tree line, before retreating after she heard what seemed to be a cry of pain from an unseen person further into the wood. She stated he held a very odd-looking Axe, unlike any she'd ever seen before.

That evening, Gleda Ecclestone never returned home after she was due back from a visit to a prospective courting; her horses were discovered roaming the trail and the carriage soon after abandoned in the center of the road.

Doctor Chadwick Ecclestone had search parties combing the woods; frantic in his search but refusing to believe Royce Harlan had returned for his fiancé...

The villagers came across the Rakes' cottage... it looked utterly abandoned, but the ground was oddly soft, as though all the surrounding earth was toiled and overturned.

And then, Ecclestone in a moment of anxiety for Leofwine's potential hand in his daughter's disappearance; demanded they search the cottage.

Disturbed and giving into their prejudice, the villagers stormed the ramshackle, cursing the "leprous pig son" and demanding he come before them with any information he had to offer before making a horrific discovery; the back of the cottage had been converted into one large bedroom; along all four corners of the log walls were shelves packed with human heads in various states of decay, all turned so their sightless gazes fixed to one point; the bed. Some were people from the village, others seemed to be strangers or wanderers, none of them were Gleda. A cold, numbing fog seemed to cling to the ceiling as the villagers and Dr. Ecclestone looked on in utter horror.

The grounds were searched, and at least 31 headless bodies were dug up from the tainted soil.

There was no sign of Leofwine Rakes, or the heartbroken doctor's beloved daughter. Power: Hunter's Prowess The Headhunter has honed a craft that is unmatched in maiming and slaughtering unwary prey. He starts out with 10 Hunting Snares he can set up in doorways and between objects that are at least 2 meters apart or 8 Meters at the most. While stuck in a Hunting Snare, Survivors become injured, start gaining Maim progress and must succeed slightly to moderately difficult skill checks in quick succession to remove the snare without injuring and hindering themself. Alternatively, survivors can immediately Break the Snare by running. Breaking a Snare causes the Survivor to gain an additional 40% Maim progress and remain Snared, but mobile with a -7% Hindered Status while the Snare is still attached. Survivors can remove the Snare but failing a skill check or getting interrupted will fully Maim the Survivor. The Headhunter must manually recollect his Hunting Snares. If he puts a Snared survivor in the Dying State, he automatically recovers it. Special Status: Maimed While Maimed, Survivors will have a Maim Gauge that steadily fills when stuck in a Hunting Snare, removing a Snare, or running with a broken snare attached. While Maimed, a Survivor cannot be fully healed until all Maim progress is healed. A survivor cannot be healed until they are fully free of a Hunting Snare. Special Attack: Spear Shot The Headhunter always brings his trusty Spear on a hunt. He is able to throw it at a moderate to great length; charging it gives a further throwing range. Hitting a Survivor with a Spear Shot will injure them by a health state and force them to be staggered greatly in the direction of the Spear's trajectory, potentially knocking them away from vital safe spots. Missing a Spear Shot results in the Spear becoming lodged into an obstacle. The Headhunter has 6 seconds to remove it before the Entity consumes it. The Headhunter regains his spear after 10 seconds. Special State: Speared If a Survivor is successfully Speared, they lose a health state, the Spear will stick out from their body, and they become broken. The Survivor must remove the Spear manually or get another survivor to remove it in order to be healed. Removing the Spear causes it to be destroyed by the Entity and the Headhunter regains it after 8 seconds. Broken does not prevent Survivors from removing Maim Progress. Special State: Pinned If a Survivor is close to a wall or obstacle when they get hit by a Spear Shot, they will become pinned to the obstacle and have to rapidly attempt to break free. Breaking free causes The Spear to reappear on The Headhunter after 8 seconds. If the headhunter attacks a pinned survivor, they are immediately put in the dying state and he instantly regains his Spear. Another survivor can help free a pinned survivor at a faster rate. Special Interaction: Yank If a Survivor that has been Speared is close enough, the Headhunter can grab the spear and yank the Survivor into his grasp. A Survivor that has been speared can be pulled through windows and over vault locations. Pray for god's mercy because thou shan't get any from me, mine own dearest.  -The Headhunter Unique Perks:

Predatory Dominance You have a natural ability to overwhelm weaker prey. When injuring a survivor that has not been hooked the speed boost they receive from being injured has a 30/40/50% shorter duration. "'Tis not evil...  'tis the way it ought to be." - Leofwine

Cruel Incentive You have been frowned upon all your life, but still you smile in grisly anticipation. While carrying a survivor, your terror radius is reduced by 20 meters. After hooking a survivor your terror radius remains reduced and the generator with the most progress suffers a - 100% repair speed penalty for 30 seconds. If the generator effected by this perk is fully repaired, the survivor who completed the generator will become exhausted for 40 seconds. "All o' thee, watching and sneering like toads; ugly and venomous at me. Come back to me!" - Leofwine Cunning Pursuit The heat of the chase insights a surge of obsessive effort. When you chase a survivor that has the lowest accumulative chase time, they become the Obsession and this perk's secondary effects activate. - The nearest pallet or vault location to the Obsession becomes blocked by the entity for 5 seconds. - You gain a 3% Haste after 5 seconds of accumulative chase. - You keep the 3% Haste status after the chase ends for 12 seconds. "On mine own shelf, or haply the bedside. We shan't sleep a wink tonight, mine own dear." - Leofwine

[kaija-rayne-author]

Hugest of sighs.

I really hate it when I can feel a special interest dying.

It's like watching something you've loved and put your everything into for however long get smaller and smaller in the distance. Until it disappears in a puff of smoke.

I can feel it happening with Dragon Age.

It's actually managed to hang on for a long time, so I guess I should just... wish it a fond farewell and let it go.

I was going to write a less acid filled version of my editorial critique/review about the gameplay preview to send to the devs, but why?

I don't get the kind of interaction I need on posts like my Dragon Age posts to help me keep the special interest alive.

The devs aren't going to listen to some internet rando like me if I did waste my time writing it. Not even if I'm actually a professional editor and this is in fact my job that I'm pretty good at.

They don't even toss me a heart on responses to their posts. And they probably wouldn't read it even if it did happen to make it through all the stuff they probably get on their feeds, anyway. Valuable professional editorial critique or not.

Before I stepped way back from social media I could easily get thousands of @ in a day. I know what they must be dealing with.

I have other things I should really be spending my time on.

Sadly, my special interest in Dragon Age has been on life-support since I saw the gameplay preview.

My DA gaming group has gone from a couple hundred people, most of whom weren't active, to waaaaay more people than I'm comfortable being social with. (I have since muted most of it and withdrawn from anything I'm just... not interested in anymore.)

I honestly feel the new look for Solas killed Solas for me. (Given I'm solavellan that's saying one hell of a lot.) For a bit there, I was hoping he'd grow on me. But apparently, I haven't been inoculated with that particular style of virulent mould yet. So it hasn't happened. Every time I saw a picture I just... cared a little less.

Where once I had the fires of a volcano inside my heart for this franchise, nothing but ash in a breeze remains.

It's always possible that something could happen to reignite my passion for it. It's happened a few times before for faded special interests. It could also be my depression talking and I'll feel completely different tomorrow. That's happened too. (So far hasn't happened in the threeish days since I wrote this. It's probably not the depression.)

But... After seeing that gameplay preview, and listening to the Q&A, and reading the Game Informer post... it may just be time to call Time of Death. As someone who loved the first three, and who absolutely marinated myself in the lore, I frankly feel betrayed. (I mean... Varric with a beard? Really? There were story significant reasons he did not, in fact, wear a beard, did they forget that? Like they forgot his bloody hair colour?)

So long, Dragon Age. It was fun while it lasted.

I truly do hope people enjoy the blathering posts I did about it when passion filled me.

I hope people truly do enjoy the new game. There's too little joy in this world and I hope with all my heart it gives you as much joy as you can handle. I'm just a little sad it won't for me. I'll always have the first three, which I do legitimately love to pieces.

I'm not even crying or upset. I just... don't care anymore.

From a professional standpoint, that's always a danger when you change a piece of media too much. There has to be a certain amount of continuity to it so it feels the same. Without that?

You lose obsessed people like me.

You lose the older gamers who loved what Dragon Age was.

And absolutely, yes, fiction does need to change. It's an integral part of the whole thing. If it doesn't change, if it doesn't adapt, it dies just as quickly as if it changes too much. I like to see change in media. It's needed in so many ways. Change can be hard to adapt to, of course. Or in some cases impossible. Shrugs.

There's a professional balance to these things. It wouldn't surprise me if I have a bit of savantism when it comes to editing and writing. I just seem to deeply understand how it all works in ways others rarely see. Looking at a novel or a game or a show from an editorial perspective is very much like looking at a 4d puzzle for me. I can instinctively see what works and what doesn't.

It's just that, in my honest professional opinion, they tried to change way too much to appeal to a different set of gamers than those of us who are a little older and have loved the feel of the first three games.

It's not the change itself I object to. I'm definitely not one of those people who thinks that DAO was the best DA ever. I've loved them all for different reasons. But they all still felt like Dragon Age. Even DA2, which a lot of people hate, still felt like a fantasy RPGish adventure. (I enjoyed it for what it was. I'd've liked to see what it could've been with more time, but for what it was, they did a great job and it was an enjoyable game).

DA4? From what we've seen so far, it doesn't even remotely feel like a fantasy RPGish adventure game. It feels like a cheap star wars/FFXIV/Fortnite knockoff designed for a much different type of gamer. (Which was actually confirmed by Epler in the Q&A. They did, in fact, design it more for younger players than those of us who have been waiting for it for however long.) Professionally, I believe that was a mistake that may cost them.

The darkspawn alone are a bloody travesty. WTAF are those things? And yes, I've seen the 'lore excuse' that it's the red lyrium making them look like bad halloween deco. I'd buy it if they were kinda spiky and had red lyrium growths and stuff like the red lyrium infected creatures in DAI. But it's like they forgot their own canon.

I dunno. It really just doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure that no matter how beautiful the backgrounds and some of the art they've just... lost me.

I guess I write these kinds of posts so others in the same boat as me know they aren't alone.

You aren't imagining it. While change is in fact good and necessary to a certain extent, they've changed it so much trying to appeal to a different market that it really doesn't feel even remotely like Dragon Age anymore.

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

I've made a horrible 1k list made out of 9 blight haulers and a lord of virulence.

It will probably never win anything but lore for this is that the lord is taking his doggies for a walk (blight haulers are described as hound like).

This is objectively a top-tier list and you should be extremely proud of yourself

[bawkrya]

THE GREAT KING IS HOME!

Leader of the Dragons of Vermin, The Great King Norve was once the Plaguebringer's most valued possession-- the Virulent Flail. After serving the Plaguebringer for five thousand years, the King seemed to suddenly betray Her, under the claim that the Grand Deities have failed their children and the beings of Sornieth. The Great King is elusive, and takes on the aid of Gods who don't have the best of reputations-- so most are hesitant to lean into the views of the Vermin. But, something keeps attracting dragons to His cause.

AAAAAAA. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. MY FIRST TRIPLE G1!

for those who follow me, norve has been a character in my lore for a WHILE now, and now he is finally here...... hes finally actually a dragon.......... im not just talking about a nonexistent pixel.............. but hes my specialist guy and im SO happy to finally have a dragon that suits him!!

hes currently in a temporary outfit until i can commission him a custom skin, and im manifesting a new plaguey scene for him soon hehe......

thank u to everyone who helped me out in saving for this guy and for those who showed support!!! this was one of my long term FR goals and im so glad i can mark it as done. until. well. i go for a triple lavender LOL

[rodentbloodart]

enderman brainrot go brrrrr made two bro endermen (Ash is a magma cube/enderman but ssshhh) they're technically AU versions of my twins Virulent & Virtuous but they're also different still working on lore/story stuff and figuring out how to draw cube heads but I'm having a lot of fun so far :3 enderman base (first image) was made by @/lilaira

[monkmain2]

What if parasitic flower weirdcore slugcat

Normal stats

Starting room: SI_A07 (Sky Islands)

Starting karma: 0(0)

Starts with mark: no

Can maul: yes

Food per hibernation(maximum): 30(30)

Diet: Standard foods, such as Batflies and Blue Fruit, are inedible. Can eat the corpse of almost any creature, including predators, but grants only 1/2 of normal pips.

Starting food: 0

Lung drain rate: 0.5

Throwing skill: 2

Spear damage: 1.6

Run speed: 1.1

Corridor climb speed: 1.1

Pole climb speed: 1.1

Jump height: 8.0

Mass: 0.7

Loudness: 0.5

Visibility bonus: -0.2

Crawling stealth: 0.7

Starving stats

N/A

Additional abilities and stats

All creatures are afraid of you, and you take highest priority over all other threats.

Starting inventory

none

Starting cutscene/movement

none

General and world changes

Survivor’s worldstate, but spawns are randomized to other slugcats’.

Slugpups can spawn, but you can’t keep them, only kill them. infecting one will make it immediately find the nearest death pit to jump into, and trying to hibernate with one just deletes it.

Everything is desaturated and blue, including creatures.

After you’ve infected an entire region, the region becomes covered in the parasitic flowers, and the background will occasionally flicker with images of wilting flowers.

Moon can talk to you before the ending, but all she’ll do is tell you to leave. You also can’t touch her neuron flies.

Lore

Slugcat got infected by plant heehee hoohoo

Personality

It’s just a flower.

Gimmick

After eating from a creature’s corpse, the creature will sprout white flowers and attempt to return to its den, and no creatures will spawn from said den for the rest of the playthrough. Your goal is to clear out every single region (other than Five Pebbles) then infect Moon by mauling her puppet. (Pebbles kills you on sight so he can’t be infected.)

Endings

There is only one ending, as the parasitic flower controlling Virulent cannot feel and therefore cannot gain karma. If you glitch your way to the void sea, the void fluid just kills you on contact.

The real ending has you infecting everything and then taking over Moon’s facilities.

This campaign would be set in an alternate universe obviously

[dailycharacteroption]

Prestige Class Spotlight 14: Daggermark Poisoner

(art by Photomaster70 on DeviantArt)

In the city of Daggermark, the criminal underworld has cornered the local market on poisons, with the Poisoner’s Guild working to perfect new and greater toxins to weaken and make suffer.

Some join in hopes of making use of the guild’s resources for their own goals, while others may view it as a way to gain fame or infamy for their alchemical skill or skill as an assassin.

No matter what the reason is, however, those who prove their prowess may indeed gain the attention of the guild, and access to their secrets.

Naturally, such a skill is not exactly smiled upon in polite society, but those who have need of their skills know that they are among the best due to their association with the guild.

If you’re interested in a poison-based character, this may certainly be for you, so let’s take a look at what’s inside!

This prestige class requires mastery of alchemy, medicine, and deft hands. In addition, it requires training in how to use poisons carefully without poisoning oneself, meaning this prestige class is available to alchemists and ninjas, as well as rogues and vigilantes via talents they can take, and possibly the investigator if you decide to count poison lore as poison use. Additionally, certain archetypes may get the poison use ability and therefore be viable options.

These apothecaries are especially skilled at brewing potions, and can even treat a poison to change it’s nature so that it can be applied in different ways, such as turning one normally applied to a weapon into an inhalable gas, for example.

Additionally, their constant exposure to poisons gives them a measure of resistance until they become totally immune.

They are also very efficient, crafting poisons and applying them with grace and speed.

Despite their profession being the creation of poisons, they are also able to apply their skills at fighting back against them, giving them basic magic for sensing poison and improving their ability to treat patients afflicted by such toxins.

These poisoners also get their own array of tricks and talents to choose from, ranging from smoke bombs that can be further altered with poisons, combining and altering poisons, creating and launching poisoned traps, brewing poisoned tailored to be especially virulent to certain species, and even learning various minor poison magics for altering, enhancing, or generating poison.

Given how they work for a guild that brews poisons to sale, they learn several efficiency techniques to increase the yield and speed at which they can brew.

They also are very familiar with the mechanisms of traps, especially those that use poison, allowing them to disable or even craft them with great skill.

They also learn the basics of attacking a foe’s weak points, ensuring that foes are heavily injured in addition to poisoned.

However, they can also choose to instead target key blood vessels, reducing the initial damage to instead better accelerate the rate at which their poison affects vital organs.

Near their zenith they are especially swift at applying poison.

Furthermore, they can quickly brew the right poison for the job within minutes or even seconds in an emergency, though such hastily made toxins are chemically unstable and break down quickly as a result.

If you’re interested in specializing in poisons and traps, as well as even making a living selling poisons, this prestige class could certainly be for you. Your exact build will vary based on what class you use for the base, but generally you’ll want to be able to strike from the shadows with your poisoned weapons so you can forgo sneak attack to boost the DC. After all, poison DCs do tend to fall off at later levels.

With their focus on substances that weaken and kill, it’s safe to say that there is a certain level of moral ambiguity or outright evil. One has to wonder how this came about. Were they once doctors of medicine, turning their understanding of toxins to darker works? Or maybe they were simply talented with an alchemy lab and carved out a niche for themselves in an amoral place.

Tarn linnorm venom is one part poison, one part potent acid, so poison brewers will pay out the nose to get ahold of fresh venom glands from one. Apparently, this is exactly what has happened, as a recent string of killings revolve around victims rapidly dissolving from the inside out from minor cuts. However, when the remains begin reanimated as undigested undead, it’s clear that the provider has been doing some experimentation as well.

Having come to utterly despise the primitive organics they find themselves thrust among, Elegy-19 has put their medical skills to work in devising increasingly lethal and painful poisons, the android hoping to one day poison entire cities.

The Black Apothecary is as elusive as it’s products are lethal, the owner moving the shop around regularly in the underground with only bare hints at it’s location. Still, the party must track it down if they want to convince the owner to tell them who they sold the poison that nearly killed the king to.

[codexmaledictus]

The Rot Tide Gambit

Ah, Typhus, Herald of Nurgle—the Betrayer of the Death Guard, bearer of the Destroyer Plague, and one of the most infamous figures in the galaxy’s long and tortured history. Yet even a being as monumental as Typhus possesses tales that have slipped through the cracks of recorded lore, whispered only in the darkest circles of Chaos.

One such story concerns The Rot-Tide Gambit, a lesser-known episode early in Typhus's service to Nurgle, before he became the towering figure of despair he is today. The tale speaks of a bizarre and ill-fated alliance between Typhus and an Ork Warlord known as Gorrak Pustuleskull, a beastly greenskin infamous for his grotesque physical deformities, which Typhus saw as the perfect vessel for spreading Nurgle's blessings.

The Plan:

During a campaign on the pestilent world of Glotthus IV, Typhus sought to weaponize the feral Orks that roamed the planet. Glotthus IV was a quarantined Imperial agri-world, already suffering from widespread blight and disease. Typhus, seeing the potential for corruption, approached Gorrak and promised him the strength of the Plague God—a boon the Ork mistook for "morky trickiness" (Orks rarely understand subtleties of Chaos). Typhus's plan was to infect the Orks with a refined strain of the Destroyer Plague, making them unwitting plague-carriers that would overwhelm the beleaguered Imperial defenders.

The Alliance:

Gorrak accepted Typhus's gifts eagerly, his Warband swelling in size and power as the plague took hold. The greenskins thrived amidst the pestilence, their crude physiology allowing them to spread Nurgle’s blessings without succumbing fully to its decay. Typhus watched with satisfaction as this living plague tore through Imperial forces like a virulent storm, overwhelming their defenses with sheer ferocity and infectious chaos.

But Orks are Orks—unpredictable, self-serving, and utterly alien to the plans of gods and men alike. The more the plague spread, the more the Orks began to worship their infected forms, viewing their rotting flesh and swollen pustules as divine gifts from their own gods, Gork and Mork. Gorrak declared himself "Da Prophet of Da Plague Waaagh!" and began gathering other Ork tribes to his banner, threatening to turn Glotthus IV into an uncontrollable Ork empire of filth.

The Betrayal:

Realizing he had created a monster too unstable to control, Typhus intervened. He unleashed his Terminus Est upon Gorrak’s horde, raining diseased bombardments that annihilated entire mobs in festering clouds of filth. Gorrak, however, proved surprisingly resilient, wielding an enormous, plague-encrusted klaw and bellowing defiance in Typhus’s direction. The two clashed in a brutal duel, with Gorrak’s raw physical power pitted against Typhus’s tactical brilliance and Nurgle-blessed resilience.

Though Typhus eventually triumphed—impaling Gorrak with his manreaper, Silence, and reducing the Warlord to a seething pile of sludge—the battle cost him more than expected. Many of the Orks fled, taking their twisted, diseased bodies to other systems and spreading the very plague Typhus sought to contain.

The Aftermath:

The Rot-Tide Gambit was both a victory and a failure for Typhus. While Glotthus IV was left a lifeless husk, a testament to Nurgle’s dominion, the plague-born Orks that escaped would plague systems for centuries, creating unforeseen complications for both the servants of Chaos and the Imperium. To this day, certain warbands of plague-infected Orks—known as "Rotboyz"—can be found in the galaxy, a grim reminder of Typhus’s hubris in attempting to weaponize the unpredictable savagery of the greenskins.

It is said that Nurgle himself found great amusement in this debacle, for the chaos and entropy it wrought were delightful to his diseased mind. Typhus, however, learned a valuable lesson about the perils of relying on forces even more unpredictable than himself.

Thus, this obscure tale of Typhus stands as a testament to the capriciousness of Chaos, where even the best-laid plans can fester and decay into unexpected consequences.

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Lore Post: Curses

Because of the topics covered in the last few chapters, I can finally start giving more general info about curses! Yay for no longer having to be secretive about the cause of illness in [redacted]. xP

Below is an overview of Curse illnesses, including the names of some curses, their rarity, how they are spread, and how outbreaks are managed in the Zone on a country level. I'll get into more detail later about specific illnesses and their symptoms and prognosis, as long as that curse doesn't play a major role in some pre-planned future fic.

Enjoy the lore noms below the cut!

Overview:

Ghost illnesses are often spiritual plagues/curses passed on through energy and not through ectoplasm. Because ghosts don’t breathe, something being passed through energy is like something being airborne. Something going through ecto is closer to it being like fluid based, like bodily fluids: saliva/sweat/urine/feces/ect. Many of the most virulent ghost plagues are spread by energy, allowing it to move through the Zone like a wildfire with little slowing its progress.

In an ordinary ghost, it resolves on its own in a few weeks of feeling malaise as long as you rest. Though some especially vulnerable ghosts(children, otherwise ill, ect.) need medical aid in order to recover. And of course, none of the vulnerable inanimate objects(liminal objects) have immune systems. They can contract a curse and not be able to remove it on their own, their spirit stricken “evil”. In that case, human intervention can purge the “negative energy” from the object and return it to its former self. These purifying rituals were traditionally undertaken by spiritually active members of a community, often found in priesthoods, shrine maidens, temple attendants, ect.

Immunity:

In general, this is how immunity is passed between ghosts:

After encountering an illness and recovering, their cores produce sub-fluctuations/sub-oscillations in their energy signature that act to repel the illness/curse, similar to how living things antibodies neutralize viral or bacterial invaders. This eventually slows plagues to a stop, as herd immunity causes the R0 to fall below 1 and the plague peters out naturally.

Because of how natural immunity works, ghosts who have recently recovered often attend to the still ill, helping them recover much quicker. This is especially helpful in the case of children or chronically ill, who can have trouble clearing an infection on their own. To this end, ghosts have adapted the typical method of sharing energy done between one energized ghost to another to most effectively clear an illness. This requires closer energy contact than just sharing some of your energy, and so is not usually done with strangers.

However, between family and friends, it’s quite common. It’s like giving someone a long hug if they feel under the weather. The cuddles could be platonic, familial, or romantic, it all depends on the persons involved and just signifies affection and closeness.

Example of Immunity in Action:

Dr. Airmid came over to help Technus feel better, since she’d caught this curse years back, although the amplitude of her signals are much weaker now that so much time has passed. Danny's visit does a lot to perk Technus up, even without consciously sharing energy because he’s just radiating a bunch of antibodies as he’s nearly(though not totally) mended. His system changing his ecto-signature is why he got so tired all of a sudden.

A Few Common Illnesses:

Whispering Panic Love's Longing Olive Pox

A Few Uncommon Illnesses:

Rictus Grasp Frosttouch Breath Hearthstone’s Heat

A Few Rare Illnesses:

The Decay The Pale Lady The Black Rider

Outbreak Phenomena:

The chances for any of these to form an outbreak depends on a number of factors, chief among them: the number of potential hosts. Some illnesses can only afflict certain sub-variations of ghosts. Others, prey on those who are essentially immunocompromised with cores that are already infected with other curses.(opportunistic infectious curse behavior) Still others have disease progressions or infection vectors that prohibit or repress the growth of outbreaks. The most serious of curses have outbreaks that are brief, not because of lack of hosts, but because of severity of symptoms. They burn through the potential hosts and avenues of infection too quickly to sustain permanent presence in an area. (An infamous example of this is Stranger's Skin.)

Assuming a curse does not have a long-term reservoir, and liminal objects often served this purpose historically, and that immunity is temporary(common in the least serious curses) then outbreaks can be tracked in waves and even predicted. The most ardent followers of Eulas include doctors, surgeons, and ghostly epidemiologists. If not cloistered in the temples of Kunnzkapp, they are most often found in major cities in the largest countries throughout the Zone. There is a large contingent in Kingdom Drazi, as a trade hub it seems more than the typical share of migration of potentially infected beings. And as the country is the most urbane in the Local Zone, it also possesses the highest being density, far higher than is common anywhere else outside of the country. As a result, most of the recent outbreaks have started in the Kingdom, especially in one of its many port towns. From there, disease specialists can trace the spread across traveling vessels and caravans to all of their trading partners. This makes inspections of goods and people heading into and out of Kingdom Drazi of the highest priority to national security, involving disease efforts. Multi-regional collaboration is the norm in this case, and supersedes all other treaties involving freedom of movement, of goods and people, or the need to be renewed be new signatory members at the crowning of new leaders.

This position was pioneered by a combination of the leaders of Kingdom Drazi and Malproksime Frostiĝinta .

Treatment of, and deterrence of spread for, curses are handled on a case by case basis for every known major curse common in the Local Zone. Additionally, there are groups of well funded researchers in Malproksime Frostiĝinta who study the development of novel curses, curse types, or resurgences of extinct variants. All other major research is pursued by the acolytes, incarnations, and servants of Eulas, though there is much crossover.

[rpcburnbook]

thing I have banned ppl from the discord for: introducing sa to a plot where there was none writing against a person who had listed it as a trigger, writing a whole app without reading a single bit of [lore, wanted ads, relevant apps] and getting pressed the app was denied, aging characters up in conflict with existing family ages so they could skirt a rule about no sexual content for minor characters, writing virulent transphobia into a setting which explicitly has no trans discrimination, lurking the discord and 'writing an app' without making a reserve or talking and then throwing a tantrum when kicked, talking about their personal sex life on main when we make it clear in every rule page and onboarding area that topic doesn't belong in gen chat, unsolicited lore lectures repeatedly after warnings, writing a red pill manifesto after being warned they were going heavy on unsolicited lore lectures, copypasting an app from a fandom wiki, apping a white guy fc as the full biological sibling to a desi fc and writing a screed about fantasy culture erasure when we told the player no. things I have never and will never ban ppl for: being queer, being on the spectrum, having anxiety call it gaslighting, but if you tell me you have gotten banned more than once for your autism or queerness or anxiety in rp, a hobby full of neurodivergent queers... nah. you were banned for behavior, and you've conflated it with your identity. you might not have been told what you did, but it was something.

~

[faller-of-kharbranth]

What's an exo?

They’re—we’re?—robot people from Destiny.

A thinking mind in an artificial, mechanical shell, kept processing through the use of the Alkahest—Darkness-simplified Vex radiolarian fluid—and engineered with humanisms to stave off DER.

…

That’s the broadest explanation/definition I can think of without running into any particularly triggering or heavy topics.

Bit of a minefield if you want to explore further…

Memory loss and alteration, body horror of various sorts, existential dread-inducing concepts, the Vex as a whole with their perfect simulations and virulent behaviour…

Most of this is background lore stuff but still.

Also, Clovis Bray I can rot for what he did.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

2, 3, and 23 for Tansy!

Hehehe thank you for giving me a chance to talk about my most troubled daughter. TW for discussions of cannibalism, suicide, and religious trauma.

2. What’s something about your OC that people wouldn’t expect just from looking at them?

Well, for Tansy, the immediate and obvious answer is “she’s a necromancer” haha.

I’m still hammering out the exact lore on necromancy for Unquiet Bones, but so far: it’s a power bestowed on Tansy (so those in the know believe) by Ysa-Munda, the Goddess of Death. Mother Josefina, the head priestess of Ysa-Munda, initially thought it more likely it was a gift from Xenith, the God of Life, on the basis that Ysa-Munda would be shooting Herself in the foot a bit giving someone the power to bring people back from the dead. But… she got shouted down. Because, hey, what would she know?

Some followers of Ysa-Munda have a very mild form of Tansy’s powers: they can search the afterlife for souls and occasionally perform seances to bring the soul briefly back to speak with loved ones. Even this, however, is seen as stepping of Ysa-Munda’s toes and only done in special circumstances -- e.g., if someone died in a sudden accident, then with a sufficient ‘donation’ to the temple, it might be allowed for the deceased’s family to contact their soul to say goodbye. This may or may not also be used to figure out inheritances.

(Sidebar: Ysa-Munda is also an unofficial patron goddess of lawyers/accountants, because nothing in life is certain except death and taxes.)

Tansy, however, can go much further than this: she can bring souls all the way back from the dead and place them back in their bodies. This is how she resurrected King Damian when he was dying as a child (and has done so multiple times since).

The downside to this is that Tansy is explicitly a necromancer, not a healer. The soul gets put back in the body in… exactly the state the body is in. So if, say, she resurrected someone who died of a virulent flesh-eating plague -- well, that would probably be quite traumatising for the soul in question.

The other downside is that Tansy requires a physical connection to the person she is resurrecting. For anyone not related to her by blood, this is satisfied by drinking their blood or, for a full resurrection, eating their flesh.

(Damian, oddly, is exempt from this; his father, King Theodoric, claimed it must be due to Damian’s royal blood: he is, via the divine right of kings, connected to all of his subjects. Nobody in the intervening years has seen a good reason to disclaim this, or an alternate explanation.)

Very few people, even within the cult of Ysa-Munda, are aware of the extent of Tansy’s powers, as Mother Josefina feared that widespread knowledge of a true necromancer would cause either a) mass hysteria and danger of violence towards Tansy, and/or b) that Tansy would be petitioned to resurrect multitudes of people. Mother Josefina , especially given her doubt even now that Tansy’s gift truly does come from Ysa-Munda, fears that Tansy using her powers any more than absolutely necessary would bring Mother Death’s rage down upon them all.

3. What is your OC’s fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

This is SUCH a good question because I was honestly stumped for a little while!

After mulling it over, I think Tansy’s fatal flaw is ultimately her inability to see situations from the perspective of other people.

For example, when Damian tells her again and again that he doesn’t want her to continue resurrecting him, Tansy assumes he’s just attempting to shirk his responsibilities as king and not realising how grateful he should be for a miracle (possibly because she heard this expressed as a child by other people).

Or when she asks Lucia to leave Varnius’s commune and come back to Haelgavaard, not understanding why Lucia would turn down someone who cares for her and is willing to provide for her material needs and why that wouldn’t be enough to erase her mental health issues.

Tansy isn’t malicious (although she definitely does some awful things), but she is someone who has rigid beliefs that are extremely difficult to change. She considers herself to be logical and is inclined to think people who disagree with her without (in Tansy’s opinion) a good reason are being controlled by their emotions. The solution, then, is to talk the person down until they realise how irrational they are and come around to Tansy’s way of thinking.

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

I think both of these ultimately come back to fear.

Tansy was deeply terrified and traumatised as a child when her first attempt to resurrect her foster mother who died of the plague turned out horribly. Her foster mother suffered immensely until she was killed again to put her out of her misery, the rest of her foster family turned against her and denounced her as a monster, and she was then ripped away from the only family she had ever known and taken to do that exact awful thing again to a boy her own age.

She was then told that the fate of the entire kingdom rested on her doing that awful thing again, and again, and again, as often as needed. Even as the boy she grew to care about grew, in his turn, to hate her for being his tormentor. Even when she fled the kingdom, she was eventually dragged back and the metaphorical shackles put on again. There is no escape from her life except escaping her life, and the thing she is most afraid of in the world is facing Ysa-Munda when she dies.

Tansy has been afraid of so much, for so long, that she’s grown almost numb to it: the fear has been so consistent that it’s become her baseline and she can no longer really tell when she’s feeling it. Tangled up in this is the thread she clings to that as long as she does what she’s told and fulfils her given role then everything will be okay and she’ll be okay and so she just has to keep treading the same path and -- yeah. She’s a mess.