#for they are without mercy or pity upon my weak mortal shell

[mamamittens]

In light of the realization that the 25th of November is literally Black Friday, I would like to push back the deadline for the December Raffle Event to the 26th of November.

I did not realize that was the date I was giving this event and if this caused any confusion I am so sorry. This raffle is free, no purchase of anything required, and is simply my way of enjoying the season with all of you in a hopefully less unhinged way than last year. I was literally coming down from some weird sinus infection at the time, and only just now thought to see if I didn't accidentally set it to Thanksgiving.

And as a warning, my workplace picks up insanely hard during the Cyber Monday Week and I will likely be dead in every sense of the word during a f by the end of it, so my expectation for response time for winners will be a bit more generous than previously stated as I, too, will be slow to respond 💀

I'd say pray for me but God or your religious equivalent of deity/guardian spirit/cryptid/Eldridge being can't hear me there and will likely respond the same to you about my state of being.

For those that have already entered:

@bookandyarndragon @spitfire-of-the-sea @sluttyseaslug

For mutuals/friends that may or may not be interested in the event and haven't been told/seen cause I've been very wonky and quiet for the past week (so sorry time hasn't felt real at all this month let alone this week😷):

@secretsnailor @cyborg-franky @tardiiart @cebwrites @rowan-rites

[dxviated-old]

Very often are games like “shogi” or “chess” used as metaphors to explain the movement and progression of one’s plans. This would be a poor fit for the recent events that were unfolding in Lugunica. To say it was either of these simple board games would imply that the other player was working with the same pieces, that they had the same insight and same ability to stand against his machinations. No no no, this was much more one sided. To call it a game to begin with was almost misleading.

After all, how can it be a game if barely anyone knows that you exist? That you’re even playing?

The presumption of his new title. The reawakening of his apostle. The tormenting of the vagrant oni. The strategic ransack of villages in the rural countryside. The amassing of power and creation of his ‘pieces’ were so scattered, so indirect, that it would take a stroke of great fortune to connect them all together. The hows. The wheres. The whys. The foreign being knew them all and played everything close to where he kept what remained of his heart.

There may have been one person in this plane of reality keen to his existence, but even he doubted how keen she may be to the plan he was spinning. The steps he was taking to claim the vault of power that was secreted away in this kingdom. He wondered if they knew that even she, a witch, had taken steps to bring his plans to fruition. 

Ah how wonderfully the dominoes fell. Each beautiful piece of ivory pushing the next into motion. And now the greatest of harvests was ready to take place after what had been hundreds of years, a moment had made itself available. A moment that he had taken full advantage of with the sacrifice of barely any effort or danger on his part.

If there was one thing that Zeyrfial abhorred, it was senseless violence.

The town of Asten had been rocked by incredible power, the decaying host of the Heart of Despair now a decimated husk barely clinging to existence at the center of the market district. Any individuals who had woken from their state of despair or injury suddenly found themselves lulled into sleep as a thick mist roiled and saturated the entire town. As it billowed and encompassed the area it was like time itself had stood still. Ah, if only it were so. Zeyrfial and time had a rather curious relationship.

His entry would be considered casual were there anyone conscious to witness it. The demonic archbishop manifests from a rift in the mist as he steps out across what remained of the stonework in town. The town had seen some damage, the boy who had done his dirty work having done so quite haphazardly. Each step of leviathan-hide boots carries him closer to the heart, the lingering ache of despair hanging in the air.

Nothing left to feed upon. Nothing left to sustain itself. It was a shell of its former self within that corpse of a woman. It’s with pity in his eyes that he looks down upon the tattered remains as ichor-filled eyes turn and revolve to regard the entity.

“How good to see you again, old friend.”

There is no mercy or concern in his shadowed features despite the apparent connection he implied between them. He sweeps clear a place on the ground from blood, gore, debris, and ichor so that he can kneel closer, giving the other a piercing smile as they stare past those eyes into the true entity that lay beneath the host.

“I had warned you, had I not? That your freedom would only last so long. That you could only accomplish so much with these limitations. It’s a shame that I couldn’t just end this myself so long ago. I also told you that I am patient. And my forbearance now grants me you.”

He sweeps his cloak, the normally human like hand now cloaked in serpentine scales that ended in onyx talons. 

They dig only through the charred shell of the corpse, but into the ichor itself, seeping within the pool with that ever present smile on their features. The other’s inhuman eyes flare in anger, hate, they try to resist but they were rendered far too weak to do anything in the face of the man’s breadth of power.

There’s a pulse, a flurry of air, and where one moment the ichor and Despair were there, the next there was nothing. Just the hollowed and decimated corpse of the great healer once known as Eris. The mortal’s eyes clear of distortion, and for the briefest of moments she too perhaps experienced a light of freedom from the parasite that had consumed her. A final look up at the sunny sky before the lack of mana and decimated body sent her to a final slumber.

Eris, however, was of no interest to Zeyrfial. Her long awaited passing goes without witness, without care, with nobody in the world left to mourn her death. He stood from the now twice finished corpse, turning to admire the prize held within his grasp. A solid black tome with blackened pages and a liquid sheen to the cover. It pulses angrily, but a simple squeeze of the binding adds another set of wards to the book, icy white chains now binding through the cover and insetting themselves into the book, quelling the anger and forcing it into submission.

“Ahhhh, come now. You should be pleased with me, Hod, you may have not been able to claim that boy as your vessel, but I have been preparing something much more suitable to our needs. I’ll give you exactly what it is you seek, and I believe that eventually you will find it in yourself to thank me. And I will patiently await that day, my dear friend.”

He flips the book into the air, letting it vanish into mist as he too, disappears into nothingness, the mist and fog coming along with him. And only then, did Asten finally find peace that day.

[acupofnightshadetea]

A Cup of Nightshade Tea (I)

Here it is, what this blog was made for! First things first, I would like to give a special thank you to @whatzaoverwatch and @reapers-carino for inspiring me to come out of my shell and to try and show my works to the public. As well as @tacticalvisor76 who had made HCs of this prompt that helped me put it in motion (which can be found here). So without further rambling, here it is!

Near death, reader begs for mercy, only to find out that the one who granted their wish was a demon! Reader must now comply with the malevolent spirit’s demands if the contract is to be fulfilled so that they can be free. But sometimes deadmen can still tell tales... Demon!Hanzo X Fem!reader

Your vision was blurry, growing hazier and requiring a greater effort to stay up right and not fall over. It seemed so nice, so tempting. To lay down and rest, just for a little while.

Despite your body begging for a break you continued onwards. The rain was pelting; and if your wounds weren’t to be the death of you then the cold most certainly was. Legs struggling to keep you upright the constant barrage of fallen logs and protruding rocks showed no mercy to your disoriented condition. Almost as though wanting to keep you from ever finding your way out of the forest.

Internally you laughed at yourself for such a silly thought. Cold, hungry, and weak -anything would seem to be against you at the moment. It was foolish, but you still felt that way nonetheless.

Maybe it was out of spite, or maybe it was due to the fact that you weren’t paying attention that in your feeble steps one of them did more than a mere stumble. Falling face first to the ground you laid there as sharp pangs poked through the tenderness of your flesh. Too tired to cry out or to even wipe the dirt getting into your eyelashes it was everything your energy could handle to keep the feeling within your skin and not succumb to numbness.

The rain had coated rocks in a dark grey that scarlet streams swirled and diluted into, all the while flushing the various chlorophyll hues of the thick of the woods. Had it not been a bad day, you would’ve taken solace in gazing at their steady transition to autumn toned hues.

Your eyelids were heavy, oh so heavy. Maybe if they closed for but a moment, the cold would subside. And maybe the pain would too, just a little bit was all you asked for. What happened what they did, it was so horrid that you had to have been dreaming. Maybe if you went to sleep here you would wake back up in a warm bed that was dry and cozy.

But you weren’t dreaming.

The rain pattering over your beaten frame was real. And so was the tremors that ached throughout your drenched bones. You didn’t need a mirror to see the purple swelling that replaced your skin, or the mud that replaced your clothes.

You were on the ground ever so slowly bleeding out -the same exact way they left you. New to the area you hadn’t the slightest clue in regards to gangs or the sort. Originally one man in your attack, upon being pulled out of the van another made himself present. The struggle was nearly over as quickly as it began, the offire of a gun piercing your side. Inherently seeing it fit they decided to leave you there as their purpose fulfilled -to die a pitiful and agonistic death.

Yet you managed to get up and found the willpower to seek help. You did it once.

And you were going to do it again.

Everything in your body protested. Jagged rocks suddenly became the best bed on the planet. Coughing and shaking, the action of getting onto your hands and knees was already a feat in itself. Now having a recognizable distance between your eyes and the ground you were able to see what you had stumbled upon.

An old pillar of stone had been long since knocked over from its erected stance. To the side of you you noticed an effigy in pieces adorning moss as a crown. You may not have known anything about this place, but the placement of a man made item was unmistakable.

And where there was one, there had to be another.

A sudden surge of adrenaline hoisted yourself up and went so far as to give you enough motivation to continue walking forward. It was a sliver of hope from a menial sign of human activity, but you’ll be damned if you stopped as soon as something was given to you.

By now the acoustics of the rain had become fine tuned. Ears being able to hear the various heights of which they hit leaves or to form a puddle in the mud. Your feet led you in what would have been the direction behind the stone pillar. And just as fate would have it the sound of hitting its target happened all at once, resembling that of a flat surface, such as a pavement.

Or possibly a roof.

Heart swelling you couldn’t control the tears at the sight of it. An old, abandoned shrine that had been long since put out of commission. Rotted out wood and withered away charms whose protection chants had been long since washed away.

It was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.

Limping your way there and inside you didn’t register the pair of eyes that were now watching you.

The sudden end to the berading rain felt odd to your skin, leaving a sheen gloss over your entire frame. Nostrils flared at the pungent, stagnant air. It was hollow and dark inside. Had you not been so disoriented you would’ve heard the ghostly moan that came from its shadows.

Still the eyes were watching.

Groaning yourself it was all you could do not to topple over again. Senses still together by a thread, your eyes looked around the place for any salvageable items. What you found was a desecrated space that not only held some degenerate’s graffiti but also a wrecked Deity figure. You couldn’t help but shake your head. Even in its state it still provided for a mere mortal, despite the gross disrespect that was done to it.

You knew you had to pay some form of homage to the Deity of which the shrine was devoted to. It was the bare minimum you could do if you wanted to stay there.

Unbeknownst to you a different spirit now took over the residence. One whom was the definition of a nightmare to someone as vulnerable and defenseless as you.

And it was not happy.

Not only did it hate being disturbed, but it was hungry and yet to eat anything in the better part of a century.

Did you ever smell so sweet.

An appealing place to rest for a bandit or some other criminal the spirit took a special liking to comprising a horde of their weapons after consuming them. Taking their possessions as a sign of dominance what little they had now its. An ornate, delicately crafted bow and quiver was a particular favorite.

Getting into the nasty habit of playing with their food the spirit began to tantalize its victims. The smell of fear growing intoxicating, releasing a special high in the hopeless dread and helplessness that was at its sole disposal.

But right as it was about to release the string’s tension it stopped, eyes watching.

On your knees you were fiddling with abstract objects until finally a wisp of smoke began to float upwards. Amongst broken panels you managed to find remnants of what used to be used for the shrine’s ceremonies. Right in front of it you had placed three little mushrooms and a handful of berries you randomly found in hopes to serve as food. Pressing forehead to the ground you began to pray, or rather, beg for mercy.

What were you doing?

More amused with the theatrics you were putting on the spirit refrained from making you its next meal -for now that is. Crossing grey toned arms the cooled skin would’ve made the wood shiver could it feel. White glowing eyes stuck to your every move.

Watching the wracking shiver tremor through your body, noting every quiver of your lips as you whispered. Never before did he have a problem with playing with his food before devouring it -matter of fact savored the extra taste despair brought.

But this was different.

Something made you different.

Maybe it was because those before were unashamed sinners. Or perhaps it was that your helplessness was not because of him, but of some other monster that was too sloppy with their food to let it get away. Whatever the cause, the spirit didn’t act. But instead became flattered when you went so far as trying to tidy up the shrine’s space.

It wasn’t much, and truth be told you did it more so to see if any animals were in there than anything else. The rain outside continued in torrents, its ferocity unforgiving and unrelenting. Shuffling the things about you you were able to determine a dry enough spot away from the roof’s leaks.

Time went by as slowly as it ever did. Bugs began their racket and the howling of wolves could be heard somewhere in the distance, though if they had smelled your blood they never came closer. Well knowing who ruled these woods.

The smell of weakness grew stronger, grew sweeter. The spirit licked his lips. The mere act of abstaining for this long made it that much more enticing. In this air of uncertainty a sense of delicacy came over you. A purity that the faintest touch from his hands would taint. Mortals were always fragile, but never serene while so.

Too used to thinking of one as food, when lowly spirits came to bring your soul across the threshold he forgot completely what happened when he didn’t consume their soul. It finally occurred to the spirit that you were now only a breath away from death, from slipping from some kind a tangible grasp he had of you here. Seeing the lowly servants set up their chains to take you away put a swelling anger in his chest.

This was his domain. They didn’t have the right to touch you.

Flicking his wrist those beneath him vanished back to whence they came. It was silent amongst the storm raging outside. A pain hit him upon hearing the agonistic groan escape from your lips. Then just as before the lowly spirits appeared once again to bring you death.

At this point it would have been a mercy. To end you suffering. The God that used to reside here would have granted it. Except it wasn’t and in its place here he stood. He wasn’t a benevolent spirit, either.

He was selfish.

Sending them away once more the spirit took a step to be beside you. Kneeling he took your chin in one large hand. Eyes glazed over incapable of recognizing reality your ultimate demise was imminent, he was no fool.

And yet what was this he was feeling?

Pity?

Sorrow?

Such mortal emotions. But here they were, all the same. Glowing eyes glanced over where the offering still lay. Then slowly, back towards you.

Cold fingers went over and petted the sopping wet mess that was your hair. You were so weak that you didn’t even register the presence of another entity. Eyes never leaving you his mind went back and forth as to what to do. An intriguing specimen, you had stricken his fancy long enough not be eaten, but if that was not to be your fate then something else must be done.

Meanwhile the servants began to to grow impatient. If the spirit wasn’t going to eat you then they had to take you away. Souls couldn’t be kept as pets (well, not here anyways). It wasn’t until a verbal fight broke out between the two did he finally make up his mind.

Gracing the softness of your features one more time the spirit placed a hand on your unmoving body. Being from nother-realm it was difficult to describe the feeling of a spirit leaving a spirit. It didn’t dissipate, there was no feeling of loss or emptiness. Instead it was simply.. Somewhere else. At first it was nothing, until the sensation of being soaked to the bone became his own.

And lungs that he never had a use for burned and began to thrash with the violent shivers returning to your body. Filled with just enough life, the lowly servants went away on their own accord this time.

The night was still long and dark. The spirit knew that though you returned now, it was only a matter of time before you went straight back to the same fate. Something more needed to be done.

Groans whimpered from your lips as something began to take a hold of you. Tired and deranged, nothing made sense anymore. The only thing that could be comprehended was a sense of safety that was being projected onto you by an external force.

Feebly accepting its embrace there was not much else you were capable of doing. You wished you had enough strength to voice your eternal gratitude but any sound was cut off by aches and pains. Unable to keep yourself oriented eyelids gradually commanded themselves shut. Allowing for the blackness to consume you with nothing else there except for the arms of an Angel.

Or, quite possibly,

A Demon.

Eyyyy so there it is! Please keep in mind that this isn’t polished and it’s my first time making a serious attempt at writing. All in all I hope you didn’t think it was too bad and that you liked it! Thank you!!

[ohgoddard]

Storyteller Short. Unguided Ambition and its Consequences.

“I find myself standing atop my castle, the crown jewel of my conquests. I have laid waste to all I have known and claimed it as my own, no one could have stood between me and my ambition. It has always been this way, a constant need for greater desires. I could not ever wallow in the sty of my previous holdings, for it was beneath me to put myself on the level of someone else. No one should see eye to eye with me, any creature who dared no longer walks this plane without a limp or loss. In my ears I only hear the beating drums that I have always heard.

I look out over the lands I have taken, me and me alone. No army was worth taking with me, none could match my drive. My determination was intimidating, those who had tried to mantle it have found themselves dissolved into nothingness. But not me. My name is forever etched into the histories. Elders shudder when they tell my name to their young, towns abandon themselves when word of my arrival comes upon them. They scatter like cockroaches exposed to light. The light of a more deserving man.

My castle, of which I am unsure to name yet, stands atop a jagged rock and overlooks its domain with a watchful gaze. Under its previous owners it was always a symbol of safety, knowing the monarchs could see the people and protect them from their warring neighbors. Oh how foolish they were to believe that only stone and mud could halt the advance of one who has long surpassed the constraints of regular management. For now, as the paid price for their folly, their once safe beacon has now turned into the eyes and ears of the malevolent.

Me.

The room and its occupants I had slaughtered lay in disarray behind me, the colors of chaos creating a painting all to familiar to me. A brilliant swath of crimson and burgundy across all manners. A tapestry of artistic prowess, soiled with the iron rich paint I seem to spawn around me. The wondrous gold goblets and chalices the rich and powerful always seem to adorn and surround themselves with are filled with a red wine that is far thicker than normal.

I am not a monster, no I am a bored god. Though I was born man, I found that to be too limiting. So I gave my humanity away. I sold it to the highest bidder, to whomever wanted my eternal being. I haggled and bartered with beings that would have turned lesser men’s minds to sludge, and came out on top. I destroy all any and all now, but I look back on that deal. That handshake with the crooked smiling man who had approached me in the night. He appeared out of nowhere, was dressed in nothing and everything at once, and spoke the exact words I needed to hear. When he left I felt empty, but my shell was no longer a weak one.”

I turn from the balcony, overlooking miles of burnt crops and fires dancing over villages and homesteads. Before me, across the room of the pitiful monarchs I had given the mercy of death, stands an orc. In his hands he holds a hefty ax, one nearly clipping the door frame he had walked through. He stands near seven feet tall, and was built like the castle I stood upon. What he wore and how he wore it was interesting to me though. A barbarian’s kit , to be sure, furs stick out of metal shoulder pads and chest plate, and his legs are protected by nothing but a tattered cloth. 

“I say all this, brute, so that you understand that you have committed a folly in your own right. By not only showing up with a weapon and dressed the way you are, you have certainly come here to try and kill me. And ,like the others, you will fail too.”

I was nothing like the orc before me. I was a foot shorter, a few hundred pounds lighter, and I carry no weapon. I dress in nothing but pants and shoes, letting the scars upon my chest be all the covering I need. I do not need to carry a weapon. I am far more dangerous than any machination of the mortal realm.

The orc smiled, and with his off hand stroked a short and spiked black beard. “Ya think highly of yourself, huh? All big ‘n mighty atop yer throne of shattered bones ‘n what-not?” The orc gave a loud laughed and slapped his knee, erupting into a fit as he whipped a tear away from his eye. My blood started to boil, how dare a lesser thing like him dare to say this?!

As I open my mouth to speak, he cuts me off. “I’ve ‘eard it all before. A divine blesses you with the unimaginable, yah? You go on a big rampage and think yerself the top o’ the world, but always settle down in the seat of power where you belong, huh?” The orc lifts the ax from the ground and holds it in two hands, the laughing face falling. It was as if a different person was behind those suns of gold he called eyes.

“This is where I come in. You put a bad name on conquest. Destruction for the sake of destroying is a disgrace to creation. My own conquest cannot go on with this tumor you’ve created growing next to me. So, I challenge you for all your worldly possessions. Your empire, your wealth. All of it.” The orc takes his stance before me, and readies his weapon. “I avenge those who have sworn their oaths to me, and I will do the same here. I am Gukrag the Undefeated. You will fall before me.”

He then rushes me. And I must admit, he truly had angered me.Never before had such a mortal made me feel emotion, especially anger. I had always felt boredom, never anger. I would savor this fight. I rush forward to meet his charge, my fists primed before me. When we make contact in the middle of the room he swings his ax with lighting speed, but I dodge it just the same. I level a punch straight for his head.

The sounds of bone cracking and pure pain erupt within my arm as I hit the ground. My back hits the floor and I raise my hand in astonishment, seeing how mangled it has become before me. I look up in abject horror upon my attacker. Someone...is stronger than me?

He looks different. His aura was visible,t he space around him seemed to bend into him, creating a warped perception. His body glowed red and I could hear the drums.. but they had left my ears. 

I hear them from his.

“No godly help in this one, Knuckleduster.” After that his ax swings, and my world as I knew it ends.

Except.

I wake up, surrounded by darkness. My skin feels heavy, my bones feel hollow. I attempt to raise my hands but find I cannot. I lay upon stone, its coldness on my back the only thing I feel. Around me, though I cannot move my head I know what it is, are walls of glyphs and runes. Their power keeps me restrained in this coffin. My skin does not grow to fix itself,my bones do not heal,my thirst and hunger do not satiate themselves. My eyes do not water, for their lids have been torn from me.These runes keep me in a state of defeat and eternal pain. But that is not the only thing they do. They emit a low blue light, one that shows a message engraved into the lid above my eyes.

“For each life you have taken, I will take a decade of yours.” - G

I vow when I escape, for it is a when not an if, I will destroy all of which Gokrug has built. I will destroy the world he created and all who dare to do so with him. I swear upon my new name, the moniker he had given me as an insult. The world will know to fear me.

They will fear Knuckleduster.

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“Hey Armak, why are avoiding this castle here? There’s probably some good stuff we can find! I mean, depending on its age there can be untold number of books and knowledge that-”

“We will not walk anywhere near it.”

Holly and Armak were cutting across a large field near the very south of the continent, making their way to Clearmont in a straight line. Beyond the foothills and resting atop a jagged rock lays a castle, obviously uncared for and decrepit. Its towering figure overlooks all for miles, and Holly had been staring at it for a few days now. Something about it just seemed so...calling.

Holly gave Armak one of her signature pouty faces. “Pleaaseee? Our last adventure was a huge bust, I mean come on a vampire who thinks they can run an entire kingdom just by themselves and the occasional traveling band of merchants? Totally boring! This castle just seems so -”

“Holly, no.” Armak had not once looked at this castle, at least when Holly could see him, since they had come across its watchful visage. His voice sounds out with decisiveness. “That castle is only home to dust, destruction, and demons. No treasure rests behind those walls.”

“Well how do you know?”

Armak turns to look at Holly with a far away look, as if recalling a fond memory for the first time in a while. His silence is broken after a smile slowly forms across his face.”An old friend told me. Now, lets cut the chatter. Clearmont’s annual collapse of government is about to happen and I’ll be damned if I miss it again.” The duo continued their walking then, moving on to different topics. And after a while the castle faded from view. But it never left Armak’s mind.