#its me im the tenno

[plastidgremlin]

"Flesh Loid hates that we call him Flesh Loid." -some Tenno, probably

[nochangeintheplan]

Jorilla

[kargaroc]

going through the jade shadows tag reveals a lot of people that should go and talk to a woman in real life

[a-tenno-called-prin]

Void Construct

[alteredsilicone]

the problem is, to truly explore the viriverse i would have to sit down, plan a set of characters and events, plot it all out and then write it (with some accompanying illustrations)

which will not happen in a billion years for several reasons (scale and evolving story line being one problem)

but a part of me wants to do it to prove something to myself, perhaps.

that said, i would need something more serious than the "viriverse" name for the AU, so i don't end up in a yanderedev situation

[derelicthorror]

sleepless || hayden tenno

[or, he needs all the rest he can get, and he isn’t getting any.]

[haydenfic 1/3, for @boredandblank.]

Hayden Tenno wakes, and he is alone.

This is not a surprise. He is, of course, one of the agency’s best wetworkers, reputation notwithstanding. Time and again, he’s proved his mettle in the field with nothing but a Browning, a target, and a rendezvous point once the deed was done. Being alone is not the problem here.

What is the problem is being alone, with no oncoming backup, a wound in his shoulder and a plague spreading rapidly through his system. Hayden is no germaphobe. He’s got baseline composure, sure, and more in reserve when he needs it.

But this is a wildly charted and debilitating virus, and he’s seen what it does to people. Seen the agony it brings, the loss of self. Seen ordinary people become reasonless, shambling things tearing themselves, their surroundings, and then others apart.

The briefings, he reflects, were very thorough. The preliminary tests and boosters had been doubly so.

But even with all the preparation, even knowing that he has been dropped in the middle of ground zero of an infestation and told, “Fix this,” by superiors who probably figured he had fair odds of success, it doesn’t change anything. He is alone, and he is infected, and he knows, he knows that he needs to take what hours of sleep he can get while the moon is high and the rain has settled somewhat, but it’s been a handful of fitful hours anyway and the safehouse he’s crashed in is barely safe or a house at all and –

Hayden lasts all of twelve minutes on the thin mattress at first. The floor is colder, flint-hard, but it’s grounding. Maybe it’ll help, he thinks.

It doesn’t. He always gets nightmares, but he’s never remembered them being so vivid before. They’re visceral, flash-bulb things – truncated snapshots of the brutality he’s witnessed and carried out with his own hands, and they are so striking that he could almost go so far as to call them painful.

But that’s the irony, isn’t it? What would he know?

He doesn’t feel things right. It’s, of course, a byproduct of his condition. Congenital analgesia, the doctors had said, once they’d figured it out: why he’d constantly run the gamut of injury ever since he was little: lacerations and burns and broken bones. Something about a mutation in one of his genes. A single, nigh-imperceptible difference.

An impossible, irreparable difference.

Hayden shivers, because there is a draft and the insensitivity doesn’t cover things like icy rain or windchill. He shivers and pretends that that’s all it is.

Just the cold.

Hayden wakes again. Barely a few minutes past the edge of sleep. When he sinks too deep, there’s this droning buzz in the back of his skull, and he’s jerked from his doze with nausea curling in his stomach. It’s both unnaturally foreign and distressingly familiar. He thinks, unbidden, of the grey of an interrogation room.

He doesn’t remember the snap. It’s easy to ice over and stare straight ahead when they bring up his sullied record. Official files always carry too many words for what is always ultimately a very simple story, and Hayden’s goes something like this:

He’s young, and fresh, and he’s learned a grace and a self-awareness that may seem excessive to others but is a bare minimum requirement for keeping himself unmangled with his condition. For all intents and purposes, Hayden Tenno is an ideal candidate for the special forces: they come calling because he’d come out of training without so much as a wince.

He serves several years as an operative, hits the ground running smoother with every mission; he takes the briefings and prep-sessions before each drop with straight-backed bearing. He takes IVs and medical scans poised, the way a good weaponized anomaly is expected to. It is soul-crushing, brutal work he has been asked to do, and he wonders years down the line how many people had seen it coming.

Because the entire time, something’s been building. It’s big and deep and wild, and it tastes vaguely of acrid guilt and seething rage and the marrow-deep understanding of the fact that he was a person once, and now he’s been stripped to base components, tainted at the core. What gets him later, though, is how subtle the cracks had crept in. He’s not stupid; never has been. He should’ve felt it, shouldn’t he? Should’ve known that with every life taken and interrogation conducted that he was fracturing and losing pieces and something was bound to give? He should have felt that pitch-dark wave, that terrible something that one day, some bright, crisp autumn morning, suddenly crested beyond what his emotional levee could take, and–

Well. Could he have?

Psychotic, the evaluations read. Stamped “Confidential.” Tucked in a dusty corner. Unfit for duty.

He’s been numb for a long time.

Hayden shivers.

He can’t quite remember how many people he killed then. He’d have to count on both hands, he’s sure, and not all of them were names in a dossier.

Brown eyes, on one. Gasping, from another. The last hadn't even seen him coming, but there was nothing to be done…

Hayden wakes.

Call him capable all they like, they’ve sent him here to die, he’s sure. One final, impossible task: stop this infestation, Hayden. Your life is forfeit now, so burn what remains of it trying to solve this. It will be the death of you, and isn’t that only fair? The bitterness at that comes easier than anger does, right now, but above both of those things he is just so very tired and he keeps seeing his hands, bleeding, every time he tries to sleep. He keeps tasting metal. Keeps hearing soft cries.

He’d blame that on the cold, too, but that’s a much harder sell.

Sunlight on the barrel of a pistol. Spatter on the walls. The insistent, searing heat in his veins growing louder and more fervent as the virus tears through him. The pulse in his throat beats like war drums.

“So think about something else, Tenno,” he hisses to himself, screwing his eyes tightly shut. The pressure in his head is distracting in the worst way. Heavy. He’s never excelled at counting sheep or making idle lists, but he can feel himself growing hollow from stress and anxiety and lack of rest and…

When I was six, I dragged my knuckles against the walls until I left red smears behind.

When I was eight, I broke an arm falling out of a tree, and immediately tried to climb it again.

When I was nine, I stood in the bonfire and watched the cuffs of my jeans blacken and I was more fascinated by that than cognizant of how panicked my mother sounded.

When I was thirteen…

And he’s not sleeping, and it’s not helping. Mostly he’s just uncomfortably aware that maybe his whole life has been a lead-up to this, and it’s not helping.

So he just quietly shakes, instead. He tucks his clenched fists under his arms (one gone unnervingly grey, with a chitin-roughness and metallic sheen) and presses his cheek to the gritty concrete below him. The prickle of small stones digs into his skin. That break in the rafters is allowing an icy spray from the persistent rain, and he grits his teeth, mindful not to press too hard or catch part of his cheek or tongue between his molars. He wouldn’t feel anything but pressure – the ragged texture of broken flesh – but he’s been knocked around enough on this assignment. Stressed and acutely anxious as he is, it won’t do if he can’t speak because he’s inflicted too much damage on his own mouth.

When I was twenty-eight, I entered a fugue state mid-op and I did a very bad thing.

Stop thinking about that. Why are you thinking about that? Is it worse that you can’t remember it, or that you still feel numb? Like you never left that haze? Stop thinking.

As if he could.

Maybe it’s that something he’s always lacked that’s made him so distant. Off-kilter, like a long-abandoned instrument. Maybe it’s what landed him here, after one too many mistakes and bad turns and people (those were just people) dead by his hands and something had to have changed in the weeks leading up to that singular moment – something had to have directly caused that final fracture in his head.

Why did you do it?

What made you do it, Hayden?

That’s not his voice. That’s his therapist’s, or his case handler’s, or his mother’s, and either way it doesn’t matter and he’s alone and no one is coming so what does it matter that he answers aloud?

“I don’t know,” Hayden says quietly.

I don’t know why but I never get it right. I never read things correctly. I never tap out when I should and I never take a second to think and now I am stuck alone in this godforsaken quarantine zone and this thing is replacing me or changing me or killing me or –

Copper.

He unclenches his jaw. Scrubbing a hand, then two, over his face, his palms come back tracked with red. When he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he can feel splits and tears and tooth-tracks. The blood in his mouth has taken on an acetone edge, an undertone like the smell of formaldehyde. He doesn’t even want to look at the state of his arm.

Hayden Tenno lays resolutely curled into himself, on the floor of a safehouse in a very unsafe place. He stares into the opposite wall until the rainfall dies down and he’s ready to try sleeping again. He shuts his eyes, breathes out something more than a sigh but less than a sob. The thrumming in his blood is back again, and louder, and so like the drone of ancient words.

Hayden wakes.

[satellite-slickers]

some headcanon on Warframe creation and the like.

when we make a warframe we arent actually making a warframe, missions that give you warframe blueprints are actually you recovering actual parts of destroyed warframe from long ago.

we know that Natah talks a lot about how "tenno" are captured or found by various factions across the system, which to me reads as factions finding the remnants of warframes and hording them for whatever reason, and we're hunting them back down

we also know that a warframes are immortal in one of the highest calibers of the term, Umbra was im actual chunks when we found him and helminth had no trouble stitching him back together to the point the guy was ready to throw hands within no time at all

when you make the frame youre basically just giving everyones favorite sentient slime mold helminth the pieces of whoever it was that was destroyed in the past thousand years for whatever reason, along with whatever materials the thing needs to fix them up and get them going again

we know from Varzia that the Orokin would use aya and relics and whatever as basically the warehouse from the end of indana jones and the lost arc. anything they wanted to brush under the rug they would trap in the shrodingers cat weirdness of their relics, which raises some very interesting questions about why the prime frames were sealed away like that. We and the frames were their special little pet project super soldiers so why would they take the even better version of them and hide them away like that?

again, all of the warframes you can actually find in the system proper and recover are the baseline models, every single prime is from a relic, which again, the orokin used to hide things theyd rather forget existed.

I think the answer is that the orokin regreted making the primes, they werent controllable enough and they were afraid of them, so they locked them away and went back to making the less powerful frames, which were in use until we entered the second dream for a thousand years.

we know from the rhino delio that warframes weren't always passive and almost puppetlike as they are in the modern era, and balas himself says that our ability to preform transference with warframes is at its core because we are able to empathetically connect with the person inside the warframe and sync our minds with them, which doesn't mesh with the idea that our warframes except umbra are all mindless puppets.

I think the answer to what changed is just the sheer amount of time. the thousands of years between the old war and when natah wakes us up again isn't something that attention is given to but that is a monumental span of time. even for an immortal supersoldier. especially when you no longer have that mind meld connection with the godling whos void powers let you preform physics breaking feats.

i think that they just, as to quote jojo, "eventually, he stopped thinking".

they got broken, and were like that doe thousands of years, unlike umbra who was basically being constantly tortured with the memory of being forced to kill his own son and unable to go to sleep in the same way.

we give them to helminth to heal them and make them combat ready but they're still effectively in a coma, sleeping just like we used to be

[malzykins]

GIVES US THE VOID HAND FREAKS LORE!!! (You dont have to if you dont want to)

OH BOY. well with a nice little request like that how can i say no 😇 

HUGE preface that this is very AU-heavy because. like I got no beef with the actual canon but I just want to play around with my favourite characters like little dollies if that is okay. :]

To even get to the freaks though we do have to start at the beginning of this for it all to make even a lick of sense and to me anyway it feels like a lot.. warning not one centimeter of this is without some form of mental degradation and shameless self-indulgence (<- failing to cope with the lasting effects of cringe culture)

absolutely MASSIVE text post belo im dead serious:

Nothing much really differs from the origin of the Operator/Drifter themselves, all the Zariman shit still happens etc. Operator was kind of a bastard child (shes 12 most of them are, but i digress LOL), very much the kinda person to stick their nose in everyone’s business and try to “fix” all their problems if she thought something could be gained from it (sound familiar?), be it a compensation from the people themselves or from her seniors getting basically surface-level information about it all and being like aww what a good kid!! and gassing her up with all this praise. Most other kids definitely knew what she was doing, or at least didnt like her or the vibe she put off, but it didnt really stop her cause that’s not whose opinion she necessarily cared about the most.

When the Zariman incident happened, her ENTIRE support group became her enemy and she was left with nothing. She got her just desserts alright and it broke her, like really broke her, like watching a spoiled brat finally get what’s coming to em and she genuinely did like a total heel-turn in terms of personality temperament etc. She became a lottt more prone to acting childish and favoured emotional outbursts over rational thinking, since she didnt have her people that she looked up to anymore, she didnt have her Glue so to speak. She went from main character syndrome to acting how a 12 year old would probably realistically act in a fr life-or-death scenario overnight

Being a child in a traumatizing situation she latched onto really anything she could get. any distraction. desperately wanting something or someone to trust. so when that damnable doppelganger shows its face, behaving exactly how she used to behave towards other kids (not that she had the self-awareness to deduce that at the time), she instantly ate from the hand that feeds. And there was that :)

Nothing strays from canon between this point and the First Dream. Shes still very much a petulant crybaby and kind of sucks at being a Tenno but thats neither here nor there,, in the Dream, though, is when things start to REALLY deviate.

During the years of war and strife and child-soldier-ism with everyone else, she had a lot of time to think. Shes well aware that all this void power shit wasnt possible before their time on the Zariman, and as far as she was aware she was pretty certain that didnt change the moment they boarded. Over time she fights the memory suppression of her traumas to dig up answers and narrows it right down to that moment she shook hands with herself, something clearly odd and nonsensical, now viewing it with a bit more clarity of mind and basically coming to the epiphany of Oh You Motherfucker. theres no way it was not you. theres no way ALL OF THIS (the existence of the tenno and by extension their eventual drafting into the war, and all of the bullshit that follows that) was not because of you. And when they get told that theyre all going to be put into a cryosleep, because theyre more trouble than theyre worth, really, to just to give everyone around them more peace of mind well. shes quite upset about it. She and other kids definitely try to fight their way out of it (they dont make it far) and rest assured theres no shortness of bawling and sobbing, but deep in there there is anger. She starts to get real pissed off about this whole ordeal and honestly just fucking everything that has lead to it, that piece of her old self that had the capacity for rage and ambition bubbling through the surface.

When she was placed into the First Dream, that quickly manifested well outside of her control. She herself was entirely lacking in conscience, but that essence of herself that existed just beyond her own grasp, that metaphorical spirit that whatever youd want to call it, began to fester in some crevice deep in the Void, not having truly left the place after the events of the Zariman unfolded. It festered and festered and grew until every horrible negative emotion that she Could Not experience in her current state snapped free and went on a violent witch hunt for exactly who the hell made her this way and WHEN she found It, that manifestation didnt relent in the slightest as it quite literally beat the absolute ever-loving dogshit out of the Indifference and (taking some of the various Murmur codex entries very literally) lashed its very flesh apart like a goddamn. kindergarten art project.

Once all of her anger was spent and she realized that didnt actually fix any of her problems, and the bastard was busy reeling for a while because, what in the fuck was all that about, she was left just a lonely, sad empty husk. And because of the Void’s receptivity with negative emotion, it did something with that, taking those lacerated fragments and turning them into something greater, turning them into companions to fill that lonely gap, into the Murmur. they are very No Thoughts creatures and dont understand what existence really is, and like most freshly borned creatures they imprint on the first thing they see (the Indifference) though they know at least the smell of who ultimately made them and are constantly chasing that trail to find the source (hence their appearance in reality in the albrecht labs because we dont really Know in canon what theyre looking for in there exactly (afaik) so I’m justttt rewriting that. for me 😇)

Once they inevitably have their cool reunion or whatever (which takes place a lot sooner than the normal story progression, I just am not sure on where to put a pin) Operator latches onto them just as much as they latch onto her, their Maker, and she ends up neglecting a lot of her responsibilities to just run and play with the little freaks all day ^-^ which really pisses off the Drifter. and makes HER take up the Operator’s mantle, a good chunk of the normal questline being done by her instead.

NOW. for what you ACTUALLY asked for. Im so sorry 😭

THESE three bastards: Prodah, Nahkip, Vedah, in that order. In this little AU thing, Murmur fragments have this little bit of individuality to them in the form of those lighter blue stripes or “veins”, which are more like indentations in their skin that faintly glow with their Void energy. The more a fragment has or the more unique they are, the more respected the individual is in a sort of innate social hierarchy system. If a fragment is born with no veins whatsoever, if they are unmarred and “perfect” so to speak, they are essentially bullied and outcasted to some unloved corner of the Great Indifference to wallow alone, and for a faction all about unity and working together that isnt very nice. :)

Vedah and Nahkip are the two I probably have the least juice for. Not that I dont like them (far from it) I just have yet to reeeeally get to them ;; I at LEAST have personalities and such down

Vedah is like a curious naive little dog. It’s very erratic and jumpy and is more often a follower than a leader. It loves games but gets bored easily, and loves trying to make friends. It definitely makes the most racket out of the three, big chatterbox this one (I love the sounds the fragments make... they are such screechy little creatures it's soooo cute)

Nahkip is probably the most “normal” out of them. It doesn’t vocalize often and carries itself in a bit of a high regard (not necessarily in a conceited way, moreso it is aware that it is of a somewhat higher caliber than most and incidentally behaves as such). It’ll politely listen to others and offer input when it’s spoken to, but once all is said and done, it returns to pretending you don’t exist, going about its own business.

Prodah, the last fellow, is (was?) one of those unfortunate veinless souls. It often found itself a victim of many fights, and it quickly learned that trying to defend itself only made matters substantially worse. In one particularly nasty scenario, its ring and pinky finger were completely snapped off by an attacker and ground to dust. It tried to fight its way out of exile often, but eventually succumbed to the hand it’d been dealt, fleeing to some unaccompanied outcropping overlooking the Void.

Vedah found it, eventually, having sniffed it out and tracked it from where it hid buried in the sand for god knows. Prodah of course, very angry and scared and traumatized all at once, didnt take too kindly to the ordeal, but Vedah’s “people skills” and a rare instance of patience helped bring the guy just enough out of its shell to at least stop regressing into fight-or-flight everytime it (Vedah) moved :] Still VERY skittery and non-trusting. just a bit more… tolerable.

Vedah and Nahkip are friends. or. at least Vedah sees it that way. Nahkip tolerates it but could really give or take. Vedah always wants to show around its new friends to its current friends, and Prodah is not an exception even if it really should be (hence the naivety; you can’t “look guys it’s cool dont be mean okay :D” your way out of everything girl)

LUCKILY Nahkip seems to not gaf. At least not in a bad way. No it actually definitely gaf because it’s been ages since it’s last seen a veinless fragment still kicking around (esp since there is essentially no reproduction of these creatures, whatever exists is all that will ever be (unless MITW feels like getting flayed again. for some reason) so once you’re killed or whatever it’s gg) and is very surprised that one is still alive, figured over time it should have just gone feral and torn itself apart from insanity or decomposed on its own, but it didn’t. and Nahkip is a bit of a studious fellow. so it is very interested in this creature.

There isn’t too much coherent lore after this.. lots of bits and bobs and meat and potatoes but not the most fleshed-out explanation for it all? At some point the three become close enough with one another (maybe more spiritually than anything, cause it likely isn’t so apparent from an outside perspective) that they form a Severed Warden like some sort of Digimon evolution or whatever 😇 There is some large gap of time where the Operator does not see them, the entire Prodah arc happening under her nose so when she next greets them they are together as the Warden and shes so proud of em ;; she doesnt really understand how it happened/works but she knows Vedah and Nahkip are in there and they do their best to introduce Prodah to her. After some coaxing it uncurls itself to meet her and she's absolutely appalled to see a friend in such a sorry state (being a Warden didn’t heal old scars), and figured that wasn’t any way for someone to live. so she removes her gloves and gently holds its hand in her own Void-corrupted ones (that I’m sure most Operators have anyway; shes extremely self-conscious about people seeing them but the Murmur are similar to her, in a way, so with them she relents) to offer that connection and comfort with it. In the same motion, some transfer of power takes place and after a brief moment, Prodah finds itself whole again with two new fingers to replace its lost ones, brimming with the light of Void energy. IN TURN, though, not such is without consequence, the Operator now missing those exact same digits that Prodah initially lacked. She quite literally gave it her own (which is why its lighter-colored fingers in the image do not have the standard issue Murmur claws. also this throws the Indifference for a loop because ??? bastard child I gave you that for YOU. not for you to just give handouts to thralls 😐). This is a complete heel turn for Prodah because while it was initially a perfect, veinless creature and demonized to all hell and back.. to receive marks from the Maker itself??? WILDLY different story. Okay we respect you now. like a lot. like A LOT a lot.

I absolutely had plans to include The Fragmented One in my little repertoire of creatures as well :3c For this I’m going to pull directly from my brief lore document instead of just reiterating what is perfectly fine to copy-paste instead, if no one minds:

“To make an example for the Operator, the Drifter assists Loid in secret in purging the Laboratories of Murmur presence, but ends up slaying the Warden of Vedah, Nahkip, and Prodah in the process. The Operator’s heartrending grief at their passing draws uneasiness from the Indifference itself, and her dormant, volatile energy involuntarily wrenches forth their fragments from the afterlife, as if they had never perished at all (this is unknown to her; her döppelganger is the one to impart this information, yet not knowledge of their whereabouts). She dedicates restless hours to searching for them, neglecting her own health, too nerve-wracked to properly eat or sleep. It is after a week’s passing that the Operator discovers an odd formation within The Great Indifference and, upon touching its surface, the structure breathes in new life, lost fragments rising from beneath the sand to create the One. Upon spotting Vedah, Nahkip, and Prodah atop the bow of the amalgamation, she becomes overjoyed at their revivification, triggering a transference of power between them; the Operator’s Void energy unknowingly begins to bleed over into the One, a deadly power donation creating an impossibly cataclysmic entity with capabilities yet to be measured. In anointment, the Operator honorably dubs the creature Fronrein—’tandem roar’—and it is forever at her beck and call.”

this Fragmented One is no stronger than the one you face normally. I just wanted to squeeze in something for my lore that could possibly explain why that fucker is SO god damn brutal in Steel Path.

Lastly (thank Christ right), something I haven’t yet fully fleshed out is that I want to pull the consciousness of the main fragments into the Operator’s warframes. Likely happened at some point during Fronrein’s birth. it’d be neat for these friends to exist in two places at once :) seems totally feasible to me given how freaky the Void gets. Vedah inhabits her Wisp, Nahkip her Protea, and Prodah her Harrow. None of this is planned, it just sort of Happens. the fourth arm of the One also gets dragged into this (dont have much for it. similar mannerisms to Nahkip I know at least), being placed into the Drifter’s Chroma, and she is NOT happy about it. very peeved actually. She hates these fucking things and to now have them basically be sentient frames walking and (telepathically) talking around the ship MUST be some sort of cruel divine punishment. She mellows out though, after some grueling amount of time, becoming a bit more platonic with her Chroma after slowly letting her own defenses down and just bonding and talking with the guy (now that these Murmurs can actually do that), but still is a bit standoffish with the Operator’s frames.

Operator thinks it’s cool as all hell. She’s brainstorming what all frames she could possibly get next and then try to shove Murmurs into those ones too. MUCH to the Drifter’s chagrin. god help them.

ANYWAY. I dont want to beta read this again I just hope it makes sense. Above all I hope it satisfies your ask ;; this is nearing 3,000 on the word count and actually took multiple days to write LOL /// thank you for giving me the opportunity to spill about these guys :’]

[chronicler-of-narrative]

Rejoice, Warframe fans, for I have returned (aka finally thought of what I wanna post), and this time I bring you yet another Warframe oc

Ok, so im actually doing this because I managed to finish a chapter of a fic of mine where he's properly introduced, so I figured I'd introduce him here too, as well as take the time to ask whether or not you'd want me to post that fic to my blog (as my previous attempts have been...rather unsuccessful).

But in any case, let us set that aside for now and focus on the oc himself: Lavius (and ???)

To start off, allow me to showcase him in all his splendor in two different forms.

Firstly, his "cannon accurate" form, made in game (and slightly changed in the two years i have had this image/him as an oc, however the changes are only minute and thus I can't be bothered to fiddle around in captura when I already have the older images)

And Secondly, a sort of reimagined form, illustrated by the wonderful @goldenboikuvasauce

Now, with his looks done, let us move onto Lavius's personality.

Many words can be used to describe Lavius, but chief among them include Pretentious, Pompous, Extremely Violent and Short-Tempered.

Whether he's serving his Executor master (another oc who serves as a side character and thus shall only be mentioned as Aeidon, the Executor with four arms), or the Empire as a whole, Lavius stands as both Guardian (of the elite) and Executioner (of the lowly). He cares not what horrors he will commit in the name of his Golden Lords, in fact, they oftentimes underestimate how far he takes his butchery. Be it by freezing an entire rebelling town into a ghastly ice sculpture exhibit or by performing public executions of even the highest-ranking Dax (on his own accord), he will do everything to both keep his Gods in power while simultaneously quenching his ravenous bloodlust. A true symbol of Orokin oppression.

Though, the keen among you have noticed that despite my usual preference for more humanoid ocs, be they Tenno or otherwise, that Lavius here is a warframe (specifically a Frost Prime). This is where we set up the main mystery of Lavius: How is he sentient? And moreover, how does he keep his booming, pretentious voice despite being made of infested matter?

While you will have to tune in and see, I can provide a little hint: It is said that those who have managed to defy Lavius's aggression and fight back managed to witness something akin to an...apparatition. A child, manifesting alongside the supposedly self-suficient frame, appearing in tandom with Lavius's unaided movement. Every time it has been glimpsed, the apparition only appears for a second or two, using some form of void devilry to disorient or stagger the warframe's foe, just enough time to eliminate any advantage said foe may have had. Stranger still, those who have glimpsed this child claim it is nothing like the frame which it aids: In contrast to Lavius's violent tendencies and horrible attitude, the child appears to be calm, collected, and silent, appearing more like a living statue than any Tenno, completely devoid of any emotion behind its serious expression.

And yea, that's about all of the basic info you need for Lavius and his mysterious companion. Feel free to stop reading here, but should you hunger for more, I do have a small question to ask of you, dear reader:

Ill leave the poll up for a day, however if you're seeing this after the poll has completed, you can always leave your answer in a reply or reblog.

In any case, thank you for reading and I wish you a great day!

[little-red-fool]

Ok, have some basic wf tips with some questions regarding socialization at the bottom:

-Best early game warframes are Rhino and literally every Warframe you can get from the Tenno Lab of a Clan Dojo. You can check guides to see how each frame is built, but i can also give you an overview directly if any warframe specifically catches your eye.

-Level up your damage mods and elemental damage mods. They will get you through with your weapons.

-Each weapon has either a higher crit chance or a higher status chance. Build either a full crit build for a weapon or a status build with elemental mods (best are viral, corrosive against grineer, heat and slash) depending on which stat is higher for your weapon. (Btw, you normally get weapons by buying their blueprints from the market for credits, yes for credits not plat, then building it wih the right materials. Same for Warframes, but you need to craft their components first which drop from their own places before you can craft the blueprint for the warframe itself)

-Experiment, get slots from Nightwave or by buying them with plat (if you still have starter plat remaining), and stick with weapons you enjoy using the most rather than whats meta or good. You can get an Mk-1 strun (a very bad weapon for all but the very early game) to kill level 100+ enemies, so meta is a suggestion. (Also, theres a set of mk-1 weapons you can buy for credits which are slightly worse versions of the same weapon without the mk-1 prefix. They serve as intro weapons and consider buying them, but remember to sell them if you need slots/get their base counterpart or a better weapon)

-Progress through the starchart at your own pace. All Warframe content since 2022 and probably forever will be locked behind the New War quest. Do not fret over this, Warframe is not made to be rushed. Play at your pace, everything can be earned.

-Prime gear is not necessary to do good in Warframe, it is a bonus

-If youre confused by the story, thats normal

-if you ever get stuck, the wiki is your friend (but i am also available, being a veteran of the game)

So, yea, that should be all you need to know to get started. Now, onto questions regarfing your interaction with the community:

1. How much do you usually interact with other fandoms youre in?

2. Do you even wish to be a part of the Waframe fandom?

3. Do you prefer to stay at a distance or would you like to interact a bit more? (Asking cause if its the latter, I can offer to be your training wheels considering the sheer number of people in the warframe community im actively friends with).

Ok, thats about all of the questions i can think of right now, but heres one more thing:

Warframe is a game filled to the brim with customization and fashion. It is an oc creator's wet dream. So just saying, if you like making ocs like your blog suggest you do, you will not wanna miss out on the later content in Warframe, trust me. As a proud owner of a bunch of ocs made over the course of multiple years...I would know

Ahh thank you so much this will probably help me a lot! (genuinely had no clue what I was doing in game lmao) I’ll have a look into these when I next log on because I’ll most likely need to change and upgrade stuff like mods, and I’ll try to acquire more Warframes since Excalibur’s the only one I’ve got right now. Also you’re 100% right about the OCs when I saw the amount of customisation options I was so excited lol

In terms of interacting with fandoms whilst I’d like to be able to be more social in the future I’m mostly just a casual observer at the moment, the extent of my interaction is usually just drawing and reblogging fanart, occasionally coming up with theories if I’m really invested in the story but that’s about as much as I interact most of the time and I’ll probably be like that for a while longer knowing me.

That being said I really appreciate the offer and I’m very grateful for the help you’ve given me, thank you so much! :)

[lncarnon]

warning i am absolutely going to be knees deep in warframe after this quest, im gonna yell spoilers under a cut of this post lol

love that the corpus can tell who he is when he is on a ship like 'ah yes, let that dude just do his thing maybe he'll kill the tenno for us'

BRO GET OFF MY SHIP WHAT THE FUCK WE DID THIS SONG AND DANCE ALREADY ONCE LOL

why did it reset my operator appearance omg help im ugly

AWWW he's love....

its hilarious to me that this corpus lady is trying to get up in his business like ma'am this guy kills the things that you are scared of are you sure about this

aww him angy..

operator get out of his girlfriend

oh my god oh my god he's feeling help- WHAT A BABY ?

WHAT LMAO WHAAAAAT happy father's day stalker

love that his home is down in the ocean of uranus

aww the corpus lady has a heart

these corpus techs look really cool

also do the grineer just not care that there is a big ass corpus ship hanging out on their occupied planet lol

oh he is breaking my heart help meeee

YOOO ME AND THE KID CAN SHARE NAMES LETS GOOOOO

oh that was short and sweet i loved it but i need MORE ANSWERS

oh hi hunhow, cant wait for stalker to kick my ass for running around as jade

[shdwtouch]

soooooo I have some thoughts and feelings regarding Lotus Eaters ; ; obvs light spoilers and discussion ahead re: this quest and warframe lore

they wouldn't kill off the lotus... would they ?

as far as a prologue goes its just. forging a link to the next big chapter, quite literally. but how did lotus get the phone ? why is she specifically being called to the past ? by the way she speaks I can't tell if the "he" she refers to is entrati or the man in the wall; I guess it makes sense that "he" is entrati and what follows him is the man in the wall. or maybe she's referring to the man in the wall and there is something else at play, like with the murmur. idk. it makes me both excited and nervous for 1999.

also its like. the fact that both tenno and drifter showed the fuck up and you got to choose options for both of them !!! I don't know if its meant to be like a dream sequence etc where it isn't representing true lore but if it IS this confirms some ideas I had regarding drifters place in this timeline. which makes me think that both lotus and drifter are kinda... transients in this timeline, since they both technically existed at multiple points (her hand, specifically). idk like. its late so its hard to like. describe exactly what I think. but its also like. idk.

we need to consider what she said. that the call was telling her to... destroy the tenno ? (her CHILD) and that drifter needed to answer / seek out the call (her CHAMPION). idk I just have emotions about this. I feel like there is a lot of symbolism being thrown around in this short af quest, makes me sad I can't replay the prologue.

also Loid mentions that the daughter of Hunhow heard the call. like. this is obviously pointing fingers at her sentient lineage. so was that targeted, or was SHE targeted ? IDK IM JUST REELING RN YALL

[operat0r]

causality

"So. What changed your mind?"

A greater thing rests between them than their meal and than their silence. The Tenno raises a cup to his lips and drinks and ponders the impossibly familiar taste. The scrubbers do their work but they rob even water of its essence, leaves it somehow stale and dry on his tongue. It is nothing like the golden chalices of Orokin moons and stations. It slides over tongue and throat and reminds the Tenno of things he's kept carefully, carefully locked away.

Not that it matters now. The dormizone is familiar, even with its grave-dust air. He knows this place as well as he knows the man who sits opposite him now, this man who looks at him with a stern, bullish familiarity he has not yet earned.

Between them languishes a platter of food cubes, which neither party picks at with much enthusiasm. Between them, a rift wound through time and distance and sheer [im]possibility. Perhaps it is another part of the eternal dream, some lonely delusion that's somehow managed to break the seal the Tenno keeps on past and memory. He is child but not, eternal but not, he who is fourteen or sixteen or eight-or-nine hundred. Why in all of creation would he chose, then, to imagine the tired face before him?

They've the same eyes, regardless: like suns, corona-bright, tired in their way. He knows without knowing and in this, perhaps, the distance between them is made lesser.

He says, "I don't know what you mean," and the other -- this Drifter, unbound from paradox by paradox itself -- frowns with disapproval and impatience both.

"Yeah, I think you do. Come on. What's the point in lying to me?"

They bristle as they chew, reflections of one another. There's no metal in or on the Drifter's face but his nose is bent a little too much to the left and there is a single, deep gouge taken from just below the left cheekbone.

The Tenno says tartly, "I do not answer to you."

"But you do answer to her," the Drifter says, and here the Tenno lifts his eyes. It's an expression he knows well enough, one the Drifter himself has flashed to many a shade and ghost, Dax and King in the moments before and after the blade. Their eyes burn in mutual distrust, smoldering with an anger that has plagued them both, two sides of a singular, unpleasant soul.

"Not anymore."

"Bullshit."

The Tenno's lip curls. His hands are pale, the flesh beneath nails the black-violet of deep bruises. Ballas called them devils and their violence is perhaps the single greatest legend that remains of the old empire. With but a flick of his malnourished little wrist, the Tenno could turn the Drifter to dust, or worse. He knows it as well as he knows that on the other side of the room there is a photograph he cannot allow himself to look at -- and knows that on the other side of the mirror, the Tenno probably has done just that to someone else bearing his resemblance while the Zariman drifted through the Void.

"Not anymore," the Tenno says again with practiced evenness, as if he were the adult here at their shared table and not this stranger wearing his face. "She is gone."

"She's not gone, kid--"

Chopsticks clack, nearly snapping by the force with which they are slammed upon the table. This small violence startles the Drifter and so the Tenno leans forward in challenge. "Do not," the Tenno hisses, "Call me that." His eyes shine dangerously. "She is gone, and for the life of me, I do not know why you cling to her so."

"It's because we have that in common."

The lines upon the Drifter's face are tense. Neither of them are strangers to their violence, the Tenno realizes, but only one of them has ever had the advantage of the Void and the curse it bestows upon those it touches. Across from him sits a man who has had to cut his teeth on the pedestrian ways in which people unlike him do: through sweat and blood and battered knuckles, with blades that have cut him as often as his foes. No doubt beneath his jumpsuit, the Drifter wears plain the full weight of his own wars.

"Like it or not," the Drifter continues, taking a breath, "She's saved us both. You know that as well as I do. So there's got to be an answer. What changed, between you out there and me in here? What's happened that makes you hate her like your life depends on it?"

Between them lurks a standstill. Slow and careful, the Tenno takes another drink of water, takes up his chopsticks again, and marvels briefly at the slight bite of well-worn wood against his fingers. He keeps his eyes low but for the brief flick from beneath his brows, and the Drifter knows he being appraised.

"You might be right," says the Tenno, adding a blue cube of food to his plate and then a green one. "I do not know who has it worse."

---

It was foolish to even try, the Tenno decides. The Lotus -- no, Natah -- bears him love only because it is what her own ghost commands of her. There is nothing, he decides, that shines behind her eyes while she dangles from his grasp and bids him let her go.

It is his lapse of judgement that undoes him, he's certain. It is fleeting sentimentality, a moment where he forgets himself and all he's become with or without her meddling. He does not recall when Margulis was mangled and robbed of her sight, nor does he recall when or how exactly it was that she was taken from them entirely, but he is certain, so certain, that he could not have possibly wept.

And when the blade cuts through him, when Eternity at last lays claim upon that which should have died and vanished upon the Zariman all those years ago, he is certain he does not hear her scream.

---

In the end, the Drifter realizes the Tenno cannot be moved. His disappointment is palpable. The Zariman is home now only to the dead, fated to remain as a grave of unspeakable size, the first of many the children of the Ten-Zero would ultimately create with their void-witched hands.

The Tenno is unbothered by ghosts. But when the Drifter leaves him, pausing just the once in the doorway before electing not to look at him after all, he leaves something behind that unnerves his younger-but-not self.

Life support still wheezes to life in regular intervals, rattling through her tremendous broken bones. Something has come loose in an air vent a room or two down the hall. He's heard the sound from hundreds of those he's cut down himself: wind desperate to find some place to go, pressed through lungs on the razor edge of collapse.

It is not this that unsettles. He sits alone, the Tenno, the seat opposite him emptied and pushed away from the table. Its much more quiet than the Orbiter even without Ordis chattering at him. But neither is it this solitude that disquiets.

There is a saying he has heard more than a few times in his travels, often muttered fearfully by those with superstition in their hearts. They say, "I feel like someone's just walked over my grave," and sometimes they move their hands or bow their heads or give the Tenno a knowing look that he simply cannot return. Up until recently, he has never died -- not in a way that mattered, in any case. Not in a way that stuck.

In the Drifter's wake, something changes. Maybe he sees the lights dim just a shade closer to grey or feels the air chill by a degree or two. Maybe he is dead this time. Maybe Ballas was right and this place is the hell to which he belongs. The Tenno feels the cup between his hands, tastes the unpleasantly tasteless water that slides down his throat. And as it goes, it chills him and at last he understands: there is someone walking over his grave and, for the first time since he's surfaced from the dream, he is well and truly alone.

[holistichiatus]

public relic runs

[pristine-starlight]

oc x canon is a wholeass phrase and there’s that one post about, so to say, oc vs canon, but where’s the talk for oc & canon

it’s been a Very long time since i’ve put ocs into another canon and it’s a Process beating the cringe culture out of myself about it, but i’m slooowly growing into it with my warframe ocs

there’s no telling how much of it will ever see the light of day, but it’s bringing me joy, so that’s something

anyway here’s to oc & canon stuff bc plopping your ocs into a setting isn’t always about kisses and/or violence

[viper-menae]

Sorry I’ve been a lil mia, I caught a nasty flu and haven’t been able to draw for dayssss. I was able to muster up some energy to draw some good ol’ self-indulgent art for new years though =v=