#esoteric ebb

[gudgurkan]

Nessan

A drow druid for Esoteric Ebb

[katy-133]

I've only just started the prologue of the demo for Esoteric Ebb, and I can already tell I love it.

[hellhoundmaggie]

Don't play Hogwarts Legacy -- play *these* games instead! | Renegade Cut

[sophorrific]

currently trying the demo of Esoteric Ebb, if you guys liked disco Elysium you should definitely check it out

[yekokataa]

pretty sure if you call your game disco-like you're contractually obligated to have dialogue like this

[sensualnoiree]

astro observations: planetary placements that might hint at a natural affinity for the magical & metaphysical realms. ✨🔮

hey hey yall! here's a few natal placements i've noticed amongst clients that seem to be reoccurring 🤸🏿‍♀️ is this something you’ve noticed in yourself or others?

Heavy Cadent Placements, especially the Moon: 🌙 In the celestial dance of astrology, cadent houses (3rd, 6th, 9th, 12th) hold the energy of transition and adaptation. When the Moon, the emotional luminary, finds itself prominently placed in these houses, it suggests a heightened sensitivity to the ebb and flow of mystical energies. These individuals may possess an innate ability to navigate the unseen realms with ease, tapping into their intuitive and psychic gifts.

Mars/Venus Contacts: Desire, Will, and Magnetism 💖🔥 When the passionate energies of Mars and Venus intertwine in one's natal chart, it sparks a magnetic force that can draw them towards the magical arts. Mars brings the fiery willpower, determination, and desire, while Venus infuses the love for beauty and harmony. Together, they create a dynamic synergy that fuels a profound connection to the esoteric, making these individuals formidable manifestors and enchanters.

Mercury in its Joy, Dignified, or Highly Aspected: 🌐💬 Mercury, the messenger of the gods, plays a pivotal role in magical pursuits. When placed in its joy (Virgo) or dignified in Gemini, it enhances intellectual prowess and communication skills in matters of the mystical. Highly aspected Mercury individuals might find themselves as conduits between the physical and metaphysical realms, effortlessly translating complex spiritual concepts into relatable language.

[rascosmicwisdom]

🌕🧠 Unlocking the Secrets: The Esoteric Mind of the Moon 🌕🧠

Within the mystical realms of esoteric knowledge, the Moon unveils itself as a profound symbol, representing the enigmatic depths of the human mind. As we journey into the esoteric wisdom of the Moon, we unravel the profound connection between lunar energies and the intricacies of our consciousness.

🌙 The Reflective Mirror:

Much like the Moon reflects the luminous light of the Sun, it serves as a mirror for our thoughts, emotions, and subconscious patterns. The Moon symbolizes the reflective nature of our mind, revealing the hidden aspects of our psyche and providing us with insights into our deepest desires, fears, and dreams.

🌙 Intuition and Psychic Sensitivity:

The Moon, as a luminary of intuition, acts as a conduit to our psychic abilities and inner knowing. It holds the key to unlocking the realms beyond the physical, inviting us to tap into our innate wisdom and spiritual gifts. The Moon's ethereal energy enhances our intuition, allowing us to navigate the ethereal realms and perceive subtle energies that lie beyond the ordinary senses.

🌙 Emotional Currents and Imagination:

Just as the Moon influences the tides of the ocean, it also stirs the ebbs and flows of our emotions. The Moon embodies our emotional landscape, revealing the depths of our desires, vulnerabilities, and imaginative capacities. It beckons us to explore the vast realms of our emotions, guiding us to harness their transformative power for personal growth and spiritual evolution.

🌙 Subconscious Depths and Shadow Work:

The Moon serves as a gateway to the mysterious depths of our subconscious mind. It unveils the hidden recesses of our being, inviting us to embark on a journey of self-discovery and shadow work. The Moon's influence urges us to confront our fears, heal past traumas, and embrace the wholeness of our being, unlocking the transformative potential within.

🌙 Dream Realm and Astral Travel:

As the Moon illuminates the night sky, it illuminates the path to the ethereal realms of dreams and astral travel. Under the Moon's guidance, we embark on journeys beyond the physical, exploring the astral planes and receiving messages from the spiritual realms. The Moon's mystical energy opens the gateway to lucid dreaming, enabling us to access higher states of consciousness and divine guidance.

Embrace the esoteric wisdom of the Moon, for it holds the key to unlocking the profound mysteries of the mind. Allow its reflective nature, intuitive energies, and transformative power to guide you on a journey of self-discovery, spiritual growth, and conscious evolution. As the Moon illuminates the night sky, let it illuminate the depths of your consciousness, revealing the infinite possibilities that lie within. 🌕🧠✨

[uptoolateart]

I know it's been forever since I updated my Miraculous tarot deck. I've just been so busy writing fics instead! Then I saw the S5 finale and I decided to replace one of the cards I'd already done. So, this is Reality, which is a replacement for The World. An explanation is below the image. It turns into a bit of an analysis of 'Re-Creation'.

My previous image for The World was Marinette/Ladybug and Adrien/Cat Noir, i.e. their dual images. Then I got stuck because actually, that image would be perfect for the 2 of Yo-Yos...but I want to update it because I can draw better now, so that's on its way.

So, why did I go with Gimmi / Reality for this card?

The World is the end of the Major Arcana, or the archetypal cards at the head of the deck. Therefore, it speaks of fulfilment, completion, harmony, and the end of a certain cycle or phase of life. One journey has ended and a new one begins. From this point, we return to The Fool and start the sequence all over again.

The traditional Rider-Waite-Smith image shows a dancing figure, showing that fulfilment is ever-changing and dynamic. He/she is surrounded by a wreath of success / the achievement of a goal. This circle shows the cyclical nature of life. To quote an old Smashing Pumpkins song, the end is the beginning is the end….

In the corners are four figures who also appear in The Wheel of Fortune, symbolising the elements in harmony.

The central figure has one leg up in the air, reminding me of Lord Shiva in ancient Indian stories. Also referred to as the Lord of Dance (not to be confused with the Lord of the Dance, i.e. Michael Flatley), Shiva is a classic symbol of balance, walking the two paths between spiritual life and material life / desires. I thought of him the instant I saw Gimmi in 'Re-Creation', which I'll discuss that below. (I mean, look at all those arms...but even besides that....)

Ancient Indian traditions have this idea of different yugas, or eras. There are four of them, each one shorter than the last. When all four come to an end, Shiva does a special dance so powerful that it shatters the material universe...clearing a path for the universe to be created anew and the whole cycle to begin again. This process goes on eternally.

(Incidentally, we are currently said to be living through the last yuga in the cycle, the Kali yuga, when people are at their weakest and live shorter lives. But don't worry - there are about 427,000 years left of this yuga.)

Many traditions say Brahma is the creator god, after Shiva cleans the slate. Others, though, give Shiva the role of creator, too - specifically describing him as destroying in order to create again.

Hence in 'Deflagration' Plagg reminds Tikki that 'you and I are one', and in 'Re-Creation', when we see Plagg and Tikki in their ultimate forms, they make similar statements. Gimmi is not one or the other - Gimmi is their unified state. Reality = the constant ebb and flow of life and death, creation and destruction...like when Gabriel makes his wish and reality is collapsed and recreated. His wish is Shiva's dance. Constance is an illusion.

I think it's really interesting how when Gabriel 'dies', we never actually see a body. 'That's just because it's a children's show!' Yeah, maybe...but it's a children's show full of esoteric imagery, too. When Gabriel 'dies' he simply floats up and becomes a bunch of glowing light, returning to the energetic source of everything. Even basic physics tells us that energy never goes away. It simply...transforms. In a weird way...Gabriel's still floating around in some form, in the end. (Now there's a creepy thought.)

By the way, if you've noticed the placement of the Gabriel figure on my card...yeah. I didn't choose that. My reference image was a screenshot from 'Re-Creation'. I'm certain Gabriel's positioning was on purpose, to illustrate that is he but one humble emanation of the Creatrix (a feminine source of life - and with all that pink, I'm sure Gimmi is meant to be something like this, too).

And can I just note that I love the way Gimmi's head is surrounded by the atomic model. You may have gathered from other posts that I was less than satisfied with that S5 finale...but everything about Plagg, Tikki and Gimmi was fantastic.

[catastrophic-crisis]

Esoteric Ebb immediately brings to mind two comparisons: Disco Elysium, and Dungeons & Dragons, which it acknowledges plenty. It places you in the shoes of a Cleric representing the city (already off to a great start, as you were pulled out of the river and thought to be dead) sent to investigate an incident caught between jurisdictions, days before the first democratic election. Teased with the idea that something higher level (spellcasting) might be going on, you're set up with a Goblin companion with his own political ties... that could set him as an opposite of yours.

Esoteric Ebb throws spellcasting into the mix of politics and investigation, and offers turn-based combat. It's taken me a moment to sit down and taste the demo, and I look towards seeing the project grow. I'm curious to see how the ability to fight and cast spells will interact with carrying out our quest, and what it will have to say about its political factions.

[zscribez]

recently came across a game called esoteric ebb, which is basically a disco elysium-like with d&d flavouring

downloaded the demo for it and looks promising so far

[gudgurkan]

The Duck - I’ve drawn a character for the game Esoteric Ebb. Check it out online! 🔥

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Embracing Solitude: The Role of Hermits in Witchcraft

In the mystical realm of witchcraft, where energies intertwine and rituals unfold, hermits hold a unique and revered place. These solitary practitioners, often secluded in the depths of nature, tap into ancient wisdom and connect with unseen forces in ways that differ from more communal magical practices.

## The Hermit's Path

The path of the hermit in witchcraft is a journey of self-discovery and profound spiritual connection. Hermits, drawn to solitude, find solace in the whispers of the wind, the rustle of leaves, and the secrets hidden within the natural world. This chosen isolation allows them to delve deep into their own psyche, unlocking hidden potentials and honing their magical abilities.

## Communion with Nature

Hermits in witchcraft are known for their intimate bond with nature. Removed from the hustle and bustle of societal noise, they attune themselves to the cycles of the moon, the changing seasons, and the ebb and flow of energy around them. This communion fosters a deeper understanding of the natural forces that influence magical workings.

## The Silent Wisdom

Silence is the hermit's ally. In the quiet of their seclusion, hermetic witches often discover a silent wisdom that transcends words. Through meditation, introspection, and a profound connection with the unseen realms, hermits develop a unique form of magical language that goes beyond conventional spellcasting.

## Sacred Retreats

Hermits engage in sacred retreats, withdrawing from the world to recharge their magical energies. These retreats may last for days, weeks, or even months. During this time, hermetic witches delve into intense magical practices, communing with spirits, and seeking the guidance of ancient entities that dwell in the unseen realms.

## Guardians of Ancient Knowledge

Hermits are often regarded as guardians of ancient knowledge. Through their solitude, they preserve and pass down esoteric traditions that might be lost in the clamor of mainstream magical circles. Their libraries, filled with grimoires and ancient texts, become repositories of wisdom that span centuries.

## The Dark and the Light

While hermits are often associated with the light, some tread the shadowy paths of witchcraft. Embracing the darker aspects of magic, they confront their own fears and tap into forbidden knowledge. This duality adds complexity to the hermit's role, balancing the forces of light and darkness within themselves.

Hermits in witchcraft offer a unique perspective and contribute to the rich tapestry of magical traditions. Their solitary practices, communion with nature, silent wisdom, and preservation of ancient knowledge make them enigmatic figures in the mystical world. Whether seeking enlightenment, embracing the shadows, or simply finding solace in the quietude of nature, hermits play an integral role in the ever-evolving landscape of witchcraft.

[blessed-by-umbral]

Threats Which Lead To Promise

Upon Argrin's return to his role as head of House, Ondrea found herself in the midst of her duties, yet still the feeling and sense of detachment clung firmly to her mind. To occupy her time, Ondrea immersed herself in the intricacies of her work within the Fallen Hook. She meticulously ensured that all shipments were in perfect order, while also overseeing the proper placement of esoteric and rare goods were within their designated holdings. Despite the lack of presence of others, Ondrea remained focused on her duties, determined to excel no matter what falsities plagued her mind. Her unwavering commitment to her work within the Fallen Hook was a testament to her dedication and skill. As she continued to navigate the complexities of her position, Ondrea remained steadfast in her pursuit of excellence, always striving to exceed expectations and deliver exceptional results. Perhaps this was a part of why she felt so utterly alone. Ondrea had no one to call friend save for her kin but even then it allowed her no sense of companionship.   Isolation crept within the deepest parts of her mind like rising waters ready to drown those who found themselves within it. The grandeur of the Fallen Hook left an indelible impression on Vahalia, or so Ondrea presumed given her cousin’s piqued interest. Their meeting, however, was clipped due to the arrival of the Maiden's Scream which harbored an important shipment for Ondrea. “My lady?”

Ondrea blinked once, snapping out of her reverie. The thoughts which wrested her consciousness faded from her peripheral like silk curtains being pulled back to reveal the light of day, only the scene of which she focused on was that of a man surrounded by six Cress Crimson Guard. His name was Arullio, formally an informant for Argrin, was now merely a man whose fate was left in the hands of the woman who stood before him. Behind him the very ship he was transported upon was anchored, a looming presence within the grey waters in the distance. The vista of the coast was adorned with a layer of rich, velvety mud. The beach, nestled amidst the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ocean's gentle waves, was a mere haven for an array of fascinating creatures. Majestic crabs scuttle about, their vibrant shells contrasting against the earthy tones of the muddy terrain while above, a symphony of sea gulls gracefully soared, their wings outstretched, casting elegant shadows upon the shores. Though, amidst the natural beauty of the scene, a somber sight emerged, as the beach revealed a poignant reminder of who ruled over these sands. The shores were strewn with the presence of deceased or decaying bodies, their once vibrant existence now stilled. The lifeless forms, arranged in an X-like fashion, bore witness to a macabre prospect as their ankles and wrists were bound by sturdy ropes, firmly tethered to metallic stakes that were firmly driven into the ground. The sight that was afforded to all present and among a place where life once thrived, was a macabre spectacle that could only be described as a haunting dance of nature's scavengers. As the relentless waves whispered their melancholic lullabies, the once vivacious corpses lay strewn across the beach, their decaying flesh a feast for the opportunistic seagulls and crabs. The passage of time had not been kind to these lifeless forms, for their once recognizable features had been distorted by the relentless assault of nature's unyielding embrace. The seagulls, with their piercing cries, swooped down from the heavens, their beaks tearing into the remnants of decaying flesh, while the crabs, with their relentless determination, scuttled across the sand, their pincers clamping onto the offcuts of life that remained. The sun, casting its golden rays, seemed to illuminate the grotesque beauty that lay before it, casting long shadows that danced with the rhythm of the waves These were the bodies of the betrayers and those who sought to usurp the Cress line. Given Limsa’s thalassocracy, it was no surprise that such extreme measures were in use.

Ondrea, with an air of ceremonial authority, meticulously observed the surroundings, her discerning gaze swept across the landscape before she deigned to address the formidable Crimson Guard. With a voice that resonated like a symphony, her command reverberated through the air, effortlessly surpassing the gentle caress of the wind that playfully brushed against her neck and chin, leaving behind a delicate trace of the ocean's briny essence. As if in a dance with the elements, droplets of water clung to the luxurious cascade of her raven black hair, adding an ethereal allure to her already captivating presence. “On your knees.”

The Cress Guard forcefully propelled the betrayer to the unforgiving ground below. Arullio, in a desperate attempt to regain his footing, fought against the overwhelming force that had brought him down. His pleas for mercy and understanding echoed through the air, but alas, they fell upon deaf ears. Ondrea gazed down upon the pitiful man with her piercing, icy golden eyes. In an unwavering stare, there was no trace of compassion or empathy, only a cold detachment that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to cross her path.

As Arullio’s gaze ascended, his eyes brimmed with a fiery anger, fixated upon the captivating figure of Ondrea Cress. The intensity of his loathing for her was palpable, emanating from his very being like an ethereal aura. Every fiber of his being seemed to vibrate with an undeniable animosity, as if the weight of his disdain could shatter the very foundations of their existence. His eyes, once filled with warmth and tenderness, now glowed with a malevolent gleam, reflecting the depths of his resentment. The sheer force of his hatred was undeniable, casting a shadow over the atmosphere of his features and left no room for doubt. Ondrea's voice resonated with a discernible air of indifference as she advanced towards him, her figure gracefully crouching down to meet his gaze at eye level. "You are consumed by an overwhelming anger," she uttered, her words dripping with a profound understanding of his inner turmoil. Yet, her demeanor remained unyielding, devoid of any trace of warmth that could have offered solace in his moment of vulnerability. “—Something that does you a great deal of disservice, Arullio. If you’re going to die, die with a modicum of honor.”

"What do you know of honor?" Arullio venomously spat toward her.

"My personal ethos isn't the one in question here." Ondrea remained composed and in control, her gaze shifting towards the guards flanking Arullio. In a silent exchange, she communicated her desire for them to intervene, and they quickly moved to restrain him.

The two Crimson Guards, with their unwavering determination, swiftly executed their duty of subduing him, leaving no room for resistance. However, their approach was not merely efficient, but rather deliberate and forceful, as if they intended to make a lasting impression. The tightness with which they bound his wrists to the unforgiving earth was bound to inflict discomfort. Ondrea knew that the saltwater would undoubtedly intensify his agony, adding a searing sting to his already vulnerable state once the tide came in. “The Watchers will have you!” Arullio's voice reverberated through the air, his words laced with a sense of perseverance and foreboding. With fiery eyes that seemed to pierce through the very soul, his gaze remained fixated on Ondrea, as if he held the power to alter her fate. The weight of his proclamation hung heavy in the air which served a chilling reminder of the impending danger that loomed over her bloodline. The Watchers, relentless and merciless, would stop at nothing to extinguish every trace of her existence. Their sinister intentions echoed in Arullio's words.

Ondrea gracefully descended, her lithe figure bending down once more, ensuring that she was in perfect alignment with the man before her. The air was heavy with the scent of his arduous journey, a pungent reminder of the countless weeks he had endured. His breath was entirely unpleasant, though it paled in comparison to the overwhelming stench that enveloped them both, a putrid miasma that seemed to cling to the ether. With an air of confidence, Ondrea's voice resonated through the stillness, her words dripping with a mix of defiance and finality. "Let them come," she declared, her eyes ablaze with determination, "for this shall be your last glimpse of the sun's descent." The weight of her words hung in the air, a proclamation that echoed with the certainty of his impending doom. Ondrea, in her wordless elegance, stood with her commanding presence. With a mere gesture, she effortlessly summoned their unwavering attention, causing the guards to stand tall and resolute, their eyes fixed upon her. With a graceful turn on her heel, Ondrea directed her gaze towards the rowboat nestled gently upon the shore. The stage was set, and Ondrea was ready to embark on a journey that would test her mettle and define her legacy.

[dustedmagazine]

Centipede—Septober Energy (Esoteric)

In June of 1971, the impossible happened, or maybe it’s just impossible now. An aggregate residing under the rather misleading, or at least incomplete, moniker “big band” converged on Wessex Sound Studios in London and recorded, under the direction of Keith Tippett and for a major label, the diverse and ultimately indescribable music comprising Septober Energy. It was to be the only album by Centipede, performing Tippett’s variously organized compositions, and it has now been reissued from the original tapes in a package that should prove as definitive as the disparately fragmenting and congealing sound-energies swirling from the speakers.

Listing the musicians would be a fruitless task; just check out the album’s Wikipedia entry for full details. Suffice it to say here that core membership from King Crimson, Soft Machine and Nucleus forms the heart of the venture, which was also produced by Robert Fripp. While he doesn’t play, Brian Godding, guitarist from Blossom Toes (whose albums have also enjoyed recent deluxe Esoteric reissues) provides still underappreciated distorted riffage, especially on the second piece. Even to cite those three groups as the orchestra’s power nexus is far from complete, as the personnel list comprises many of the finest improvisers on the English scene at the time, including Paul Rutherford, Maggie Nicols, Mongezi Feza, Dudu Pukwana, Harry Miller and so many others. Their ensemble and individual contributions fuse all manner of transcultural classical, jazz and prog influence to form the four-part epic, each piece one side of the double album.

Yes, there was a previous CD version taken from the master tapes, but there’s something richer about the sonorities here, something full, dark and sparkling by turn, presenting all instrumental and vocal details with new depth and amazing perspective. What now emerges with the most stunning clarity are the dynamic extremes. Godding’s raunchy lines blast their way onto the soundstage as wasn’t even the case with the first vinyl issue, but the album’s opening moments ring forth with crystal percussive clarity. Ditto the third part’s inaugural minutes, the vocals floating over the silence in something conjoining icy serenity and anticipation, and then those sinewy and delicious percussion dialogues, courtesy of Robert Wyatt and John Marshall, thrum, rush and roar only to fade, making room for a fusion of military and circus as exciting as it is confounding, as if Charles Ives had contributed passages to King Crimson’s Lizard. Best of all is the droning sections bookending the first piece, somehow raw and delicate, a foundation of tone transformation supporting constantly changing color and ensemble size, the initial six-minute arc anticipating the kaleidoscopic freakout and ritualistic repetitions to follow. Equally poignant are Keith Tippett’s effortless piano arpeggiations and the meditative unisons of Nicols and Julie Tippetts voices as they buoy shimmering string harmonics later in the track.

The album is a minor miracle of constantly morphing acoustic space, and this must be a consequence of Fripp’s production, which can now be appreciated afresh. Even beyond that, it cries freedom, a communal salute to a point in time when the enthusiasm underpinning such multileveled cross-reference and the projects housing it was real and immediate, perhaps less defined but inimitably palpable. If excess occasionally looms large, it is always tempered by a chamber-music veracity as the never-murky waves and rivulets ebb, flow and trickle in majestic succession. Syd Smith’s superb liner notes set the stage and spin the narrative yarn in his typically engaging and inclusive fashion. Taken as a whole, the package speaks to a time and a musical environment in which anything seemed not only to be possible but in reach, nearly tangible, the proximate dawn of another day that cycles through Julie Tippetts’ lyrics manifest. The organization gave several concerts; were any of them preserved? Either way, with the exception of Carla Bley’s monumental Escalator Over the Hill, it is difficult to think of another album encapsulating so completely the diversity in unity occurring when so many talented musicians gather in creative celebration. The fact that it is now reissued with the care it deserves is heart-warming. 

Marc Medwin

[metalsongoftheday]

Monday, October 3: Soilwork, “Forever Lost in Vain”

R.I.P. David Andersson (1975-2022)

If The Living Infinite was a logical culmination of how Soilwork’s sound had developed over the previous decade, the subsequent Beyond the Infinite EP indicated they were beginning to evolve.  Although it was recorded during the same sessions as The Living Infinite, “Forever Lost in Vain” was something of a bridge track: the song had many of the melodic death metal trademarks that Soilwork was known for, but between Jens Bogren’s smooth production and the ebb and flow of the arrangement, there was also something more esoteric and progressive happening here.  It was here that then-new guitarist David Andersson really announced himself- he largely played it straight on the double album, but on Beyond the Infinite he was more present as a lyricist and driving force, pushing Björn “Speed” Strid to try new approaches with both his vocals and the music (Strid actually wrote the music, but somehow Andersson’s influence was more clearly felt).  It wasn’t longer than usual, but “Forever Lost in Vain” wasn’t as linear and felt more layered and dynamic in its construction, and as a result was less conventionally metal than expected from Soilwork.  In that respect, the track was an early indication that the band was ready to evolve beyond where they had gone (“beyond the infinite”, as it were), and that’s what ended up happening, more or less.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

You don't know when you went to sleep or how long you've been unconscious for, time flows differently in the Corridors, but you wake up in Peepo's coils surrounded by all manner of dust bunny and couch snake feeling extremely hungover. 

You sit up a little too fast and the resulting wave of pain and nausea rips through you so hard that you freeze in place for a solid several minutes until it ebbs away and it's safe enough to move. 

Memories of the frenzy back in that fake Candyland come back to you, and you feel your empty stomach spasm angrily on reflex. 

It's been ages since you've felt this sick.

You never want to see or taste another piece of candy in your life.

But that's unimportant. 

You came down here for a reason and something tells you that your time outside the game unharmed is very limited. 

It takes some jostling to get Peepo going, with him giving you baleful looks the entire time as if to say "18 years, you don't call, you don't write and yet you expect me to get up and go like old times… just like that! You're lucky I love you."

Peepo doesn't talk, he just makes faces at you and by some miracle of understanding you can decipher entire sentences from each minute expression. The rules that govern Imaginary Friends are even more ineffable and esoteric than normal magic and you've made no attempt to understand either. 

It's awhile before you find what you're looking for. 

The Corridors that run beneath (well "beneath") your house specifically. They're so clotted with mucuslike strands and dried clumps of nightmare fluid that they resemble a nose with allergies. The smell of damp places and blood is overwhelming and threatens to bring up what little you have left in your stomach.

Still, you press on.

Peepo refuses to follow you in, giving you a skeptical glare that very clearly asks if you're insane and then says not to answer that because of course you are, who could be sane and Imagine ME?

The Corridors pulsate like intestines undergoing peristalsis, veins of Nightmare webbing the walls and adding an uncomfortably organic quality to the space.

It's warm here, too warm for the Corridors. 

And humid, like the sour breath of a sick person.

You peer from the shadows into the light places of your house and feel your little watch-heart ache so profoundly that it stops momentarily. 

Egg lays sleeping on her little toast bed on the floor of her bedroom. Someone has thrown a blanket over her, but it's much too big so it rises in soft peaks behind her before sprawling across the floor. 

All her plush toys are wrapped in plastic and spell-tape to prevent the infection from spreading to them, so she's holding her rope toy close the way a normal kid might hold a teddy bear. Her nails are getting long, they'll need to be trimmed soon and someone hasn't been washing her face enough. 

You can see the familiar crust around her eyes from here.

Harmless brown eye boogers like small dogs have. Egg has a medicated face wash and some drops to help with it, but they only work if they're used regularly. 

You want to hold her. 

Tuck your face between her ears and breathe in her baby shampoo and sour milk smell while she purrs and squirms and tries to bite your face. 

She's so much bigger than when you saw her last and want with every fiber of your being for that to be due to a growth spurt and not you shrinking. 

It feels like tearing your own guts out when you turn away and keep walking on.

Cereza, your wife, is asleep when you find her. Half curled in the big armchair by the kitchen hearth with two more of your children dreaming in her lap.

You try to ignore the trickle of black goo running from her left eye and down her cheek. 

Your son, Ambrose, is sitting in the hearth wreathed in his usual bruise colored flames. Being a ghost type pokemon, you aren't sure he actually can sleep but he seems to enjoy pretending. 

Even though you haven't made a sound this entire time, Ambrose stares directly at you from the fire and gives you an excited wave. You watch in horror as he crawls towards the shadows you're hiding in.

You stare at each other for awhile.

Ambrose lays on the ground and curls up, thumb in his mouth, thick waxy bangs melting over one bright yellow eye. 

"Hi bud," you whisper, keeping your distance, you don't want him to touch you and possibly get sick,  "you doing ok?"

Ambrose nods enthusiastically. 

You smile, "Good good, are your moms OK? And your dads? What about Nonna?"

Wavy noncommittal hand motions. 

"Sounds about right, can you do me a favor?"

Nod.

"Make sure Egg's washing her face really good, and that someone cuts her nails, ok?"

Nod nod.

"Good." You start to sink back into the shadows, Ambrose makes a little noise in his throat but doesn't move. Closing his big yellow eyes and pretending to sleep. 

Right.

One more stop, then you have to go.

Something glitters in the tunnel up ahead, the desiccated corpse of a dust bunny hangs from a gooey strand, still stubbornly clutching an earring in its paws.

You recognize that earring, it belongs to your wife Jeanne. 

It's as old as she is, and dreadfully important to her.

She's been looking for it for months.

…OK, two more stops AND THEN you have to leave. 

You find Jeanne on her way to bed, dark circles under her eyes, one of the cats at her heels. You slide the earring into her path and hope she doesn't step on it.

She stops in her tracks, gazing at the earring in confusion before picking it up and inspecting it. 

Her eyebrows knit and she drops to the floor in a crouch, looking under furniture. You clap both paws over your mouth and duck back into deeper shadows before she can find your hiding place. 

She peers under the couch that you're hidden beneath, but doesn't see you.

You want her to.

You want her to find you so bad. 

To take you into her arms and crush you in a hug until there is nothing left but you and her and warmth and love.

She's so close.

Beautiful gray eyes boring into the dark inches away from you.

You could reach out and touch her if you really wanted. 

But you don't. 

You stay still and quiet until she mutters something under her breath about Brownies and goes back to whatever it was she was doing. 

You crawl away towards your last stop and ignore the fat tears rolling down your face. 

Your real body is chained to a hospital bed in deep quarantine, fitted with IVs, a feeding tube and a number of beeping machines dedicated to keeping you alive with as little human intervention as possible. 

Your eyes are caked shut with nightmare fluid, nose and mouth crusted over like scabs. It's even coming out of your ears. 

The bruises on your skin tell a clear story about just how many times your meat suit has gotten the fine idea to try and get up on its own. 

It hurts to look at, so you don't stay here long. 

Making your way back to Peepo in a daze, you climb onto his back and slither off in no particular direction. 

You need to find your brother. 

And even though you have no idea where he could be. 

Sleeping dragons are rarely ever subtle.