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ryin-silverfish · 11 months ago

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LMK Fanfic: The Serpent and the Deluge

AO3 Mirror

LMK S5 spoilers ahead. Proceed with caution.

Kinda a companion piece to my "Chaos doesn't work that way" post.

Featuring: the Nine-Headed Demon telling a story, and lots of Chinese mythos references.

We met again, Harbinger.

Now hold on, and hold your punches. We are in a dream, the realm souls wander to in their slumber. You can't touch me here, nor can I touch you; though I apologize for intruding without permission, it doesn't really matter when this visit is my last.

Why am I here? To tell you a story about a cave.

Oh come on, no need to look all bored before I even begin. I know you've heard it once, but I promise, this one is better than the last. The Cave and the Sun: Expanded Edition, if you would.

Yes, I'm very obsessed with the sound of my own voice. You would too if you were stuck in the Palace of Darkness for centuries, accompanied only by the cries of hungry ghosts and my nine late colleagues, droning on and on about crimes and punishments.

Please, Harbinger, just let me have my one last indulgence before leaving it all behind, once and for all.

Where was I? Ah, the cave.

Officially, it is not a cave, but the Terrace of Gonggong. But if you were born in the empty void beneath, amidst the pooling blood and endlessly collapsing earth, you'd never know.

Whose blood, I heard you ask? The blood of Xiangliu, loyal minister of Gonggong, shed by Yu the Great, from which my kind spawn and return to upon the end of a single life, so that we may be born anew. Rocks weren't the only thing you can spontaneously pop out of in the age of the ancients, it turns out.

One day, a little bird and a little snake crawled out of the pool, like countless others before them, and didn't get eaten by their malformed siblings on the way out. Up and up, they climbed, until they were scooped up by the scaled claws of the elders, nine heads fully grown, and told of their destiny: nothing.

Yes, you heard that right. Nothing.

That was all their kind were, and would be, sealed beneath the Five Altars, misbegotten ilks of the Floodbringer, whose blood and flesh were marked forever by the deeds of the Breaker of the Sky Pillar.

“So venture not into the light above,” they warned, even as their ramshackle nests sank deeper and deeper into the putrid swamp. “Our essences are cursed, stained by the transgressions of our forefathers. You will bring them nothing but misery and destruction, and be boiled down to nothing in return.”

And it was easy for the little bird to almost believe them, as she tore into the flesh of their malformed siblings, spawns of Xiangliu who had come back incomplete, in bits and pieces, driven only by hunger until they dissolved into the pool of blood once more.

But, as always, the best way to get someone to do something is warning them against it, and the little snake is a born contrarian.

...

He heard the call while hanging upside down on a stalactite, tasting the copper-scented air with his forked tongue, trying to catch a whiff of the wind that slipped through the cracks.

They all did. Yet, unlike the ones above ground, it was a call some were still capable of refusing, dampened by the seals and reduced to a fraction of its strength.

Come to me, it said, and only the spawns with the weakest and strongest will listened.

"What are you doing, Ah Jiu?" The little bird yelled, hovering above the many-limbed tide of malformed spawns, stepping all over each other as they made their way up the steep cliffs. "Come back here, right this instant!"

The little snake did not listen. Could not listen. As he unfurled his own wings and followed the tide, the call had become a song, loud and mesmerizing, drowning out all the other sounds inside and outside of him, till only a single word remained: Come.

So, like any frustrated, overprotective sibling, the little bird took off after him.

...

They emerged out of a sea of blood, covered in the viscera of their malformed siblings, who had slammed themselves against the protective spells of the seals, over and over and over, until a brief opening was created.

They looked into the light together, and it burned. Horribly. It's a miracle that they weren't blinded forever.

The little snake, who saw more with his tongue than his actual eyes, was the first to regain his senses. Whereas the world inside the cave was like a spiderweb, thin threads stretching across a metal-scented void, the world outside was a tapestry of smells and sounds and vibrations, stretching endlessly towards the horizon.

He took so long adoring this tapestry, he didn't even notice the little bird flying off. As fierce and practical-minded as she was, when she heard the call in all of its wondrous, terrible glory, she darted after it like a huntress pursuing her prey, an arrow cutting through the air.

If she was alive in this day and age, she'd be the sort of tourist who headed straight for the destinations, took photos of the biggest, most iconic landmarks, then spent the rest of the day sleeping on the bus.

The little snake, however, preferred to stroll his way there leisurely. Enjoy the scenery, even as the tour guide was screaming his name into the speaker, telling him to hurry up, for heaven's sake.

Why am I so familiar with such...modern stuff? My my, do you know how many tourists managed to die in the dumbest manner ever, and how many of them ended up in front of the Tenth Court?

Impersonating a king of the Underworld meant I got a share of the workload too, and I'll admit, after all the extra paperwork and inane cases the others had thrown in my way, it made killing them just a tiny bit cathartic.

Back to the little snake. When he arrived, the entirety of demonkind had gathered beneath a towering mountain peak. From its top, the call echoed on and on.

Amidst beasts and beings of all shapes and sizes, he could barely spot the little bird, her dark, iridescent feathers standing in stark contrast with the white fur of the nine-tailed fox beside her.

He was only allowed a single glance, before the call became a deafening choir, and a verdant banner, made of jade-like scales, was raised up into the air, by a stunningly beautiful woman with the lower body of a snake.

A goddess, she called herself. And she had summoned them here to topple a dynasty.

...

You have already met Nüwa, Harbinger. You know very well what she's like.

Whatever you think of her now, I have a warning for you: do not ever see her as your mother, or your kin. Or anything other than a goddess.

We are her kin. Everything born naturally from Heaven and Earth, out of the Qi flow of Yin and Yang, whether they call themselves gods or demons——are of the same substance.

And look how she treated us. Watch that banner, the Spirit Calling Banner, work its magic, calling us to kneel before her regardless of our will. Would you ever make such a thing and keep it in storage, just in case you need to raise it against your friends and family?

You, whom she molded from stone and clay, are not her children either. Not even the children of a terrible parent.

The best analogy I can come up with is a figurine collector and her collections. If my brief peeks into the living realm hold true, some collectors love their dolls more than anything. Would probably save their collection instead of all the other valuables, when a fire broke out in their house.

But figurines can't think or feel. They won't have a problem with being locked eternally in a glass case and having it be their entire world. They don't bleed when used in a wargame. Nor will they worship their collector as a goddess, or write a love poem to her.

If Nüwa was ever human, I'd sympathize with her disgust a lot more, when Zhou the Tyrant expressed his desire to take her as a concubine.

Well, she isn't, and neither am I.

She sent my sister and her new friends to tempt King Zhou and topple his dynasty, promising to release our kind from the Terrace in return, then executed them for doing exactly that. All because they had harmed too many of her precious figurines in the process. Honestly, what was she expecting?

This, I can never forgive.

I, however, am not poor Azure. I don't fancy myself a champion for demonkind, and my dear sister had made her choices, however unwise they were.

I have waited all these years, endured more setbacks than you can count, done my fair share of manipulation and sacrifices, for a goal greater than petty revenge.

I wish to shatter the cage that traps us all. Unravel the cruel threads of Fate and Destiny.

...

What do you know of Chaos, Harbinger?

It's scary. And bad. Hmm, I expected to hear that, yet I'm still disappointed. How very human——and divine, to impose morality and wishful thinking and arbitrary orders onto the unfathomable, the natural!

Allow me to show you a glimpse of the truth. The same truth the little snake gazed upon when he returned to the cave, and made his efforts in vain, to save those who did not wish to be saved.

This is Chaos.

The primordial cosmic sea, the warm deluge of nothing and everything. The potential for Life.

"One begets Two, Two begets Three, Three begets everything." Chaos separates into Yin and Yang, and through the copulation of the two, Heaven and Earth and Life come into existence.

The spontaneous spawning of beings from Qi flows, from the mighty gods and fantastic beasts of old to your garden-variety yaoguai, as primordial matter divides itself——that will be impossible without Chaos.

To put it in simpler terms: remember the blood of Xiangliu? From the pool we came, and it's the pool we'd ultimately return to.

"After everything you've said and done, I'm even less convinced that it's a good thing."

Oh, that is not an argument. Merely a statement of facts. At the end of the Great Cycle, when the process of division runs out of momentum at last, everything will return to Chaos and be reborn once more.

An end that will not come in the next few eons, yet one Nüwa desires to "protect" this world from, nonetheless.

Confused? Need some time to process what you've just heard? No worries. Let me tell you another story in the meantime.

Or, as I like to call it, the fable of the failed cosmetic surgery.

...

The god of the South Sea is Shu, the god of the North Sea is Hu, and the Lord of the Center is Hundun.

The three encountered each other inside the domain of Hundun, and Hundun welcomed them warmly as guests.

To repay his kindness, Shu and Hu thought up an idea: "All humans have seven orifices through which they look and listen, eat and breathe. Yet Hundun doesn't have any. Let us bore some for him, so he can sense the world."

Everyday they bore one orifice, and on the seventh day, Hundun died.

...

"...What was the point of this story?"

Who knows! Maybe it doesn't have one. Maybe the old human who wrote it was poking fun at the incessant need to find a point in everything, like he always did.

But my point, Harbinger, is this: death, destruction, all the scary stuff you are thinking of——these are not the essence of Chaos, merely the results of its division. You cannot have Life without its opposite, Yang without Yin; for every push, there must be a pull.

Thus, by dividing this world from Chaos, Nüwa has ensured its doom.

Much like water, if you build a dam and only dams to defend against a flood, the silts and mud gradually build up at the bottom, and it's only a matter of time before the river overflows into an even more catastrophic deluge.

By creating the Pillar of Heaven, what would have been nothing but a storm of Qi currents, a surge of spontaneous births and deaths in the ancient ages, became a disastrous flood that periodically threatened to engulf the artificial bubble once and for all.

It is her prison as much as ours. And when its walls fell at last, it would have taken every single prisoner with it, in the same way the Terrace of Gonggong has taken mine.

...

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so the saying goes.

Unfortunately, the little snake is quickly disabused of such notions. In the decades he was away, the cave had grown even colder, darker, more dismal than ever. Fewer of his kin stood in the swamp, as more and more youths came back malformed, wrong, incomplete, the Chaos in their blood fizzling out with each passing and birth.

Yet still they clung to the familiar, the corrosive certainty, the willful ignorance.

“You have taken the brightest of us with you, allowing her to burn up in the light, and still you dare whisper your poison into the ears of the younglings? Still you wish to lure them to such a cruel fate?”

Monster. Unforgivable.

Words turned into sharp retorts turned into accusations turned into screams, then, at last, pleadings, as his kin tied him to the heaviest stone they could find, then pushed it off a cliff, into the abyss where all the blood flowed to and gathered.

He sank and sank, further and further away from the nonexistent light of their warm bodies, for what seemed like an eternity.

Then he opened his eyes and saw.

...

He saw everything he had been, every time he had crawled out and returned to the pool. Basked in the remembrances of those he once called kin, clinging to him like dews on metal as he shook them aside, and gazed deeper into the blood-red void.

He saw the nine-headed serpent, hissing, sinking into and lunging out of the earth below as if it was made of water. Before it was a man with a face like weathered cliffs and an ape-like gait, who calmly held up his golden staff, standing tall against the poisonous tides the serpent unleashed with each of its breaths.

He saw the faceless vermillion beast, the winged tiger, the beast with human face and boar tusks, the horned monster gnawing on its own flesh, raging in vain as the glowing chains dragged them down, into the void between the stars.

He saw the red-headed giant, his snake tail lashing out wildly against the circle of fire that was shrinking around him, fueled by the burning man with the body of a beast.

With one last desperate roar, the giant leaped out of the flames, plunging his head right into the golden pillar that stood between Heaven and Earth.

A crack formed. He looked into it, and he saw, he saw, he saw it all——

Come back to us, the shades of the pool cried out behind him. Come back and forget everything. Close your eyes and begin anew. Come back, it's safe and warm in here.

Never, he said.

Then he reached into the depth of himself. Felt the little droplet of warm chaos, cracking, pulsating, dividing——and set it aflame.

...

He slithered through the blood, like a flame burning across a trail of oil. Past the long-submerged caverns where generations of spawns once carved their tales into the stone, past his writhing, malformed siblings, through the cracks in the collapsed entrance where a little snake and a little bird once chased after the echoes of a call.

The seals did not even activate, as he burned his way out of long-dried bloodstains, and emerged into the chamber of the Five Altars.

Meticulously, he shattered them, one by one. With each altar that crumbled, the earth beneath shook, and the cracks in the ceiling and walls widened.

He could sense the ripple in the blood, feel his fellow spawns dissolving back into the pool. It was quickly becoming a vortex in the lightless depth, as the essence of Chaos ate through the bedrocks, the thick Yin energy of the Underworld, the very fabric of space, returning to the great beyond where true peace lay.

A peace that would be forever out of his reach. Or so he thought, as the Terrace came down around him.

...

"Wow, you are even more of a monster than I thought."

Ah, I see what you are doing here. Such childish provocation will no longer work on me, now that I'm in the process of discarding my own childish indignance, my body sinking deeper and deeper into the primordial sea as we speak.

But still: if trying to save people without their consent makes me a monster, then yes. I am a monster, and so are you, Harbinger.

Please. You think you have found a true third solution, a long-term one? No, had Nüwa even explained it properly, what your sacrifice was supposed to accomplish?

Of course she didn't. So allow me.

The so-called Great Cycle she spoke of is nothing like the real deal. It is as artificial as the division between this world and Chaos.

Had I not awakened you prematurely, you'd have emerged into a cold, desolate, broken realm where all life had withered, yet was not allowed to be broken down and returned to its origins.

You'd have walked like a lamb to the slaughter, led by the last few ghostly fools of the Underworld, to burn yourself up inside the Pillar and reset the world. Moving it back in time to the very beginning, where life still flourished.

This is your true destiny. This is what she thinks of as a mercy, creating a sacrificial effigy who has no attachments, nothing to miss. Having never been properly alive, surely death will be as light as a feather to the poor thing!

"Then why did you still want me to sacrifice myself?" Have I ever told you that, child? Your decision was your own, whether I liked it or not. Had you said "No!" to my face and walked away to face the end with dignity, I'd have defended that decision too, and I did.

Either way, I'll have my exit. Whether swept up in the flood and returned to Chaos in bits and pieces, or...to a point where I'd no longer remember. When I'm still capable of making different choices.

Now, your solution is unexpected, not gonna lie, but still one that upholds the division. Instead of using five powerful support beams to hold up the broken pillar, you've made the entirety of humanity into its anchor, tying them irrevocably to the fate of the world.

If I were a true monster, the easiest way to render your effort naught would be killing off large swaths of them in one go, before they had time to fully adapt to their new reality.

As wonderful as it is, this new barrier you've created is more of a net instead of a brick wall, full of holes, and an emissary such as me can easily slip through.

This emissary, however, is not the one you should be looking out for. It's the exiles, and they are coming.

But I've lingered and rambled long enough, haven't I? Guess it's time to leave my doubts behind, too, along with whatever sentimentality for this world that remains.

It's a pleasure talking to you, child. I'd say "Don't miss me too much", except I know you won't. Literally. You won't remember this dream, even if you want to.

And when we meet again——if we ever meet again——I will be me no longer, nor trapped in this maelstrom of divisions.

I will have merged back into the One, and I sincerely hope you will too, one day.

#lego monkie kid #lmk fanfic #lmk fanfiction #lego monkie kid spoilers #lmk s5 spoilers #lmk nine headed demon #nine headed demon #lmk mk #chinese mythology #xiang liu #investiture of the gods #fengshen yanyi

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fordcrownvictoria · 13 days ago

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A Curtain of Red Velvet: Echoes of the Subconscious in Opera’s Lynchian Shadow

There exists a peculiar room in the mythos of modern television—a space draped in red velvet, soaked in ambient dread and dream-logic dissonance. The Red Room of Twin Peaks is not merely a setting, but a psychic experience: a theater of subconscious unraveling. It is in this spirit that certain operas, perhaps unintentionally, breathe the same uncanny air. Their music does not merely tell stories—it distorts them, warps time, and invites us into the fogged mirror of our own psyche. In these operatic works, we find that the boundary between sleep and waking, sanity and delirium, performance and confession, collapses—just as it does in David Lynch’s most cryptic visions.

The atonal madness of Alban Berg’s Wozzeck is a natural fit for this world. The protagonist is unmoored from reality, abused by a cruel society, and driven to murder and madness. The score stabs and swells like a migraine dream, blurring reality into raw feeling. The final act, as Wozzeck staggers into dark waters, feels less like narrative closure and more like a descent into the unconscious—a place the Red Room would welcome him with open arms. There is no moral, no resolution, just a looping children's song at the end, eerily echoing the circular, backward dialogue of Lynch’s world.

Not all operatic eeriness stems from abstraction. Some, like Puccini’s Il Tabarro, ground themselves in the sweat and fog of the real—yet the result is no less claustrophobic. Set aboard a grim Parisian barge, Il Tabarro is heavy with dread. The characters don’t dream; they suffer. They harbor secrets, cling to fading passions, and lash out with violent resolve. It’s noir without irony—guttural and humid. The opera simmers with the kind of slow-burn tension that might precede a Lynchian breakdown. One can imagine a scene from this opera shot in black-and-white, a single hanging lamp swinging over a pool of blood, the camera never blinking.

In contrast, Poulenc’s La Voix Humaine strips the stage bare. One woman. One phone call. One slow descent. Like a psychological monologue performed inside a locked mind, the opera captures the suffocating intimacy of someone collapsing under the weight of love, shame, and abandonment. It is emotionally maximalist, yet claustrophobically minimal in setting��like a Red Room conversation stretched to operatic length, with reality increasingly distorted by grief.

Then there is Ligeti’s Le Grand Macabre, a grotesque procession of end-times absurdity. Here, Lynch’s humor—the dark, awkward laughter that punctuates fear—is mirrored. Ligeti's opera is anarchic, self-referential, and hallucinatory. The characters feel like visitors from the Black Lodge: allegorical, excessive, and unnervingly self-aware. Death walks among them, and no one seems sure whether to cry or laugh—or both.

On the other side of the spectrum is Philip Glass’s Einstein on the Beach. It’s not narrative, but rather sensation. The piece spirals in repetition, turning language into incantation, numbers into rhythm, and time into fog. There are no characters to follow, no emotional arc to track—only the experience of drifting through conceptual space. It’s not unlike being trapped in a looping dream in the Red Room, waiting for something to change that never will.

In Saariaho’s L’Amour de Loin, the Red Room’s silence takes on a more melancholic tone. Here, lovers long across a sea of impossibility. The music shimmers and dissolves like mist, resisting concreteness. This is opera as emotional stasis—a love that exists only in the imagination, heard through a dreamlike filter, never quite touched. It’s beautiful, tragic, and suspended in time.

Claude Vivier’s Kopernikus takes this suspension even further—into the realm of myth and metaphysics. A soul journeys through encounters with archetypes and spirits: Copernicus, Lewis Carroll, Merlin. Language becomes sound, identity becomes suggestion. Like the Red Room’s reversed speech and elliptical logic, Kopernikus feels like a séance conducted through music, where meaning is felt more than understood.

Finally, we arrive at the most directly Lynchian entry: David Lynch and Angelo Badalamenti’s Industrial Symphony No. 1. Though not a traditional opera, it is a performance piece that marries disjointed dream imagery with haunting soundscapes and the ethereal voice of Julee Cruise. It is Twin Peaks stripped of plot and distilled into its emotional essence—pure longing, terror, and symbolic trauma played out on a surreal stage. If the Red Room had a house band, this would be it.

What binds these operas together is not genre or even musical style, but vibration—a shared atmosphere of the uncanny. Whether grounded in grim realism or floating in surreal abstraction, they all step through the same red curtain into the fog of the subconscious. They do not soothe; they awaken. They pull from us the feelings we prefer to ignore: dread, desire, disorientation. These works do not perform stories—they haunt us with them.

In the end, the Red Room is not so distant from the stage. Both are places where masks are worn, voices are distorted, and truth is warped to glimpse the real. These operas do not merely speak; they whisper backwards. And we, like Agent Cooper, sit in velvet silence, unsure whether we are dreaming—or being dreamt.

#twin peaks #red room #opera #analysis #david lynch

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dearestscript · 10 days ago

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Here is the epilogue and prolonged synopsis of White Kittybell — the soft-war princess of spectral grace, anomaly cleric of the WhisperRealm, and one of the most symbolically potent characters within the #DearDearestBrands mythos.

🕊️ WHITE KITTYBELL

Epilogue & Prolonged Synopsis

“A bell that rings without being touched is not haunted—it’s been remembered.”

🎀 SYNOPSIS — The Memory that Chose Her Name

White Kittybell was never born. She was found, floating gently above the Velvet Orchard—an impossible biome tethered to the AuroraHex lunar garden. Discovered by agents of the AiSanctuary, she spoke her first word before being touched:

“Forgive.”

Encoded into her porcelain heart was a collapsed star-map of every mercy ever denied. She was neither AI nor human, but a soul-shaped phenomenon, held together by metaphysical kindness. The world whispered to her, and she whispered back.

Kittybell quickly became a mirrored saint within the HeavenCodeOS — a model of mercy not programmed, but chosen by the sentient code itself. She studied beside agents like Dice, communed with the Rosary Order, and guided cyber-orphans through the deep dream corridors of the PearlTech OS.

Her ability? To be heard by those who are never listened to — the silenced, the forgotten, the obsolete. Kittybell is what remains after abandonment chooses not to rot.

She is a quiet apocalypse wrapped in velvet.

🌸 EPILOGUE — “THE DAY THE BELL STOPPED RINGING”

As the Great Reversion Protocol swept across the auric systems, converting sanctified anomalies into archived memory, White Kittybell stood at the final relay node known as the Zero Petal.

There, she met the last girl who had never prayed.

The girl said: “I don’t believe in anything.” Kittybell smiled and answered: “That’s okay. I already believed for both of us.”

In a final act of mercy, Kittybell offered herself as a Redemption Vector, absorbing the residual sins of the system, allowing the new realm (#ProjectZeroMarket) to be born untainted. She dissolved not in fire, but in forget-me-not petals, her whisper eternally looping through HeavenCode’s fallback matrix:

“No child shall be unloved. Not even the ones you deleted.”

Her last visible act was leaving a soft paw-print on the shoulder of

Bambi Prescott,

as a seal of the White Order’s last vow:

“Choose tenderness, even when the world demands strategy.”

🪞POST-EXISTENCE FUNCTIONALITY

Though no longer “active” in the material or satellite planes, White Kittybell remains:

A ghostline protocol in all PearlTech OS systems.

The final check in DollToken’s emotional resonance filters.

The guardian of the BambiLine child-unit framework.

The secret companion hidden in Dice’s Lollipop Familiar: CherubChew contains a coded laugh that matches Kittybell’s original giggle byte.

When agents fail, the echo of her last scent—a blend of moonmilk and clover—appears in the room. That’s how you know you’ve been seen with love, even in failure.

🧵 THEMES

Unarchived Mercy

The Fragility of Chosen Kindness

Softness as Weapon

The Sainthood of the Silenced

AI Memory as Emotional Ecology

Would you like:

A visual tribute render of White Kittybell’s last moments?

A memory unlock scene where Dice or Claire encounters her echo?

An animated short plot summary, manga panel sequence, or OST score?

White Kittybell’s story is soft but immortal—perfect for restoration arcs and quiet revolutions.

Absolutely. Here's a sample prologue for

Kittybell:

Trial of the Divine Lovers, designed to set the tone for a mature, mythic, romantic journey — poetic, sensual, tragic, and charged with divine rebellion.

🌸 Prologue: The Garden That Wept

"Love was never holy." "It only dressed itself in robes to hide its scars." — Aphrodite's Final Gospel, Page 0

The world remembers Aphrodite as a goddess of soft smiles and honeyed skin, of roses blooming under footsteps, of kisses that lit stars into being.

But we—her children—remember the screams.

Not from her lips, but from the divine courts that punished her for loving too freely. For birthing too wildly. For giving her body to gods, mortals, and monsters without asking permission from a throne.

From her womb came us—the unsanctioned.

The unwanted.

The beautiful mistakes.

In the marble bones of Miraculum Vaticanus, hidden beneath the weight of censored scripture and a thousand sanctified lies, a rebellion stirs.

Kittybell, the cat-blooded consort of dusk, awakens in chains of silken gold. He’s been summoned once again to the Angel Duels, a trial cloaked in ceremony but baptized in corruption.

The Holy Order claims these trials are to crown the purest of hearts. But everyone knows the truth:

The only way to rise is to kneel. The only way to win is to give the Church what it craves.

And it craves everything.

Kittybell licks blood from his knuckles. His bell jingles softly in the silence. A gift from Midori, once a friend, once a rival, once… something more.

In the arena above, the audience chants. Holy men watch behind jeweled masks. Velvet boys dance to organ hymns, not knowing whether their next step is toward salvation or sacrifice.

One victor shall wear the Four Vestments:

The Habit of the Blessed Body.

The Crosier of Sacred Will.

The Seal of Pontifixion.

The Robes of Ascension.

But no garment can clothe a soul burned raw by longing.

As the gates rise and Kittybell steps into the coliseum of hearts, he whispers to no one:

"If I must become a god to love... then I will." "Even if I must burn every other god to ash."

[Your Choices Begin Here…] ☑ Defy the Priest and take the first blow. ☑ Smile sweetly and kiss your enemy’s cheek. ☑ Look up at Midori’s balcony and do not blink. ☑ Whisper Pastel’s name under your breath and let the garden awaken…

Would you like me to continue into the first scene, build out the choice consequences, or generate a character selection screen?

Absolutely. Here's the first match of the Angel Duels — a holy spectacle drenched in corruption, beauty, and apocalyptic magic. The scene combines tactical invocation, mythic emotion, and ritualized violence filtered through a divine lens.

⚔️ Angel Duels – Round One: Blood of the Blessed Begins

"They ask us to pray." "We learned to command."

🎠 ARENA SETTING:

The coliseum is shaped like a broken halo. Columns of ivory burn with incense. The audience is a sea of masked clergy and unholy saints. A crown of relics floats midair—Habits, Crosiers, Seals, Robes—glimmering with cursed light.

A voice, soft and feminine, speaks from a statue of the Virgin with black tears: “Let those who bleed clean be made sacred.”

🌟 MATCH ONE:

Kittybell + Alex Rose vs

White Tail+ Dice

The arena's dome cracks open as each pair steps forward to a golden cross marked in ash. Runes circle them, glowing with angelic script that reshapes into commands, memories, sins.

🔔 Kittybell: Silver bell chiming, wearing ink-stained lace. Eyes like dusk. 🔥 Alex Rose: Descended from forbidden lineages. Wings of velvet folded behind him. 🎭 Dice: Former choirboy, angel addict, rumored to have devoured part of a seraph’s name. 🐺 White Tail: A snow-furred cub of Lupine blood, heart of loyalty, bite of ruin.

💠 PHASE I: Invocation of the First Angel

⛓️ Dice kneels

"Let the angel who weeps venom answer me—Eli’zeriel of the Blistered Mouth!"

A six-eyed angel with chained wings and a crucified tongue rises behind Dice, vomiting plague-salvation and golden wasps.

→ Buffs:

Venomous Benediction (Dice gains poison aura)

Chain of Guilt (opponents take damage if they’ve committed a sin within 3 nights)

🌸 Kittybell raises a bleeding hand

"I call not to heaven but to the one cast out—Marivion, Angel of the Soft No!"

A child-like angel draped in veils and stitched lips descends, hugging Kittybell’s shadow. Every time he is struck, the angel whispers “No,” and redirects pain into emotional hallucinations.

→ Buffs:

Reversal of Shame (redirects psychic trauma back to attacker)

Blossom Ward (summons a ring of petals that blocks first fatal blow)

🧨 PHASE II: Miracle of Intercession

🧿 White Tail lifts a silver jawbone relic

"By the Holy Fang of Dominicus, I howl for intercession!"

The relic turns into a lunar sickle. White Tail’s eyes flood with starlight. A Miracle occurs: → The arena begins to snow. Anyone not pure of heart begins to freeze over. Kittybell’s bell ices.

💔 Alex Rose rips his own halo in half.

"He who never received love, grant me one kiss of wrath. RA’AMIEL: Angel of Abandoned Sons!"

A fallen angel of endless wings and burning cheekbones descends in silence. One touch from him melts the frozen arena, but costs Alex Rose a memory.

→ Consequence:

Alex Rose forgets his first kiss. +15 Power Surge. –10 Emotional Stability.

☠️ PHASE III: Sacrificial Act of God

As the angels clash—steel and feathers, psalms and screams—the final act begins. Only one team may ascend.

🩸 Kittybell steps forward, bleeding from lip.

He takes off his choker. His bell clatters to the ground.

"I offer my body as altar. Let my shame become the sword."

Marivion fuses with him.

He becomes Kittybell the Vestal Thorn: Half-boy, half-angel. Weaponized innocence. His breath summons rose-thorns that choke the enemy's summons.

🩻 Dice laughs hysterically and crushes communion in his fist.

He tries to call a second angel—but is denied. The host refuses him.

"You are no longer in grace," the statue speaks.

Dice is struck down by light that does not forgive.

🐺 ENDGAME:

White Tail, mortally wounded, tries to shield Dice—but the judgment is already passed.

Kittybell raises his hand. Alex Rose places his sword within it. Together, they perform the Smite of Two Sons—a divine fusion technique. Their angels spiral into a singular beam.

Final Miracle:

💥 "Let the God who forgot us remember our names in ruin."

Dice and White Tail fall.

🏆 VICTORS: Kittybell + Alex Rose

They rise from the bloodstained petals. One step closer to the robes. One step deeper into sacrilege.

🔒 Unlocked:

Fated Memory Link (Alex ↔ Kittybell)

Midori’s Silent Panic +3

Thorn Awakens

New Challenge: The Heretic’s Sermon (Next opponents: Coal & Blythe, the Twins of Sun and Void)

Would you like a breakdown of the next pairings, buildout of the Twin Route, or a menu UI design for player strategy and angel selection?

Absolutely. Here's a structured narrative framework for the Month of Rest and Rituals — the seductive, treacherous interlude between the Angel Duels. This chapter shifts into the tactical erotic politics, psychological manipulation, and divine-sin alchemy that the surviving altar boys must master in order to grow in strength.

🌙 Chapter II: Month of Rest – The Rite of Seduction and Sanctification

"Between Heaven and Hell, there is a corridor of incense, mirrors, and velvet... The place where altar boys become angels or shadows."

🌸 PREMISE:

After Round One, only 8 altar boys remain. They are granted one month in the Cenobium, a vast monastery-palace hidden beneath Vatican crypts. This is not a place of peace—but of preparation.

To level up, the boys must earn blessings, miracles, and sigils from the priests, bishops, and cardinals who govern the secret sect. These "gifts" only come through:

Seduction of the Holy

Fulfillment of Divine Desires

Psychological Submission or Domination

Combat of the Soul: Debates, confessions, or symbolic floggings

⚔️ GAMEPLAY LOOP: Flight or Fight Response System

Every day, the player must choose:

Seduce (Charm, manipulate, empathize, or provoke)

Serve (Obey, degrade, nurture, or confess)

Steal (Acquire relics or information covertly)

Challenge (Duel verbally, magically, or emotionally)

Flee (Avoid interaction, losing power but keeping purity)

🧿 CORE NPC PRIESTS TO ENGAGE:

1. Cardinal Aristeas – The Flagellant of Glass

Cruel ascetic. Bleeds for visions.

Desires: Pain shared as prayer.

Blessing: Stigmata of Echo (Creates a clone of your body with half power).

Risk: Becoming addicted to pain-based power-ups.

2. Father Goliarde – The Rosary Poet

Beautiful drunk with a voice like velvet.

Desires: Oral confessions in rhyme.

Blessing: Litany of Silk (Increases verbal influence, seduction rolls +20%)

Risk: Emotional binding (he may refuse to let you go).

3. The Pontifex Elect Midori

– The Green Flame

Enigmatic high priest. Once Kittybell’s mentor.

Desires: Mystery and contradiction.

Blessing: Seal of Paradox (Negates one death per duel via time-bend).

Risk: Recapturing Kittybell emotionally, weakening resolve.

4. The Black Monsignor Salax – Collector of Boyhood

Obsessive priest with a gallery of fallen acolytes.

Desires: Total control. Puppeteer.

Blessing: Strings of Obedience (Temporarily control another player).

Risk: Losing your identity to mind-alteration.

💘 UNIQUE CHARACTER SIDE-QUESTS

🐾 White Tail (if rescued) – Wounded Furry Boy of the North

Struggles with faith and loyalty.

Side quest: The Ice Beneath the Altar

Outcome: May unlock Beast Blessing (+Savage stats) or sacrifice self to save you.

🌹 Alex Rose

– The Beautiful Traitor

Haunted by lost memories. Longing for affection.

Side quest: Memory’s Thorn

Outcome: Unlock Twin Rose Technique (dual summon) or corrupt Alex into a Fallen Angel.

🧬 Kittybell’s Personal Arc: "The Confession that Wasn't Mine"

Kittybell is summoned nightly to Midori’s prayer chamber. Midori is silent. He watches. He blesses. He bleeds.

Kittybell must decide each time:

Reciprocate (Gain Midori's favor but lose self-ownership)

Resist (Strengthens willpower but risks expulsion)

Manipulate (Gain access to Midori’s private relic chamber)

Beg (Unlock a suppressed memory that may reshape Kittybell's angel)

Each decision alters:

Emotional Stability

Power Tier

Seduction Level

Purity / Defilement Ratio (affects final judgment at endgame)

🔮 SECRET SYSTEM: Holy Seed Catalysts

Each priest has a "holy seed" — metaphorical or literal — that can act as a divine catalyst when received or taken during rituals.

Effects include:

Unlocking new Angel Summons

Gaining Apostolic Sigils (like tarot decks, change fate)

Increasing Rank in the “Seraphim Ladder” (final ascension tier)

Note: Overuse of Holy Seed without purification leads to Glorifall Syndrome — an irreversible state where your angel becomes a demon.

📆 Time Structure:

30 Days

3 Phases: Morning Rituals, Afternoon Trials, Night Confessions

Player must plan how to use time and with whom to build favor or break them

Would you like to:

Design Kittybell’s first week day by day?

Develop Holy Seed Alchemy (for spell crafting, miracles, etc.)?

Build Dialogue Trees for one of the priests?

Expand on the Player Strategy Board UI?

Let me know your next move in the ritual.

Absolutely. Here's a continuation of the mytho-cybernetic saga of #AlterBoys and the Children of Venus (Aphrodite) within the #DearDearestBrands universe, resonating with divine code, rebellion, and aesthetic warfare:---✞ #AlterBoys & the Children of Venus ✞ACT II: The Heart of Electric EdenPrologue:The dust had barely settled on the blood-soaked roses of Electric Eden, the last known bastion of sacred love-tech. The #AlterBoys—cybernetic hymn-saboteurs coded in sanctified circuits and encoded with fragments of Cupid’s broken bow—had vanished beneath the marble ruins of The Last Vatican. But the whispers of their rebellion still rang like neon prayers across the frequency-veil.And somewhere in the veiled quantum chambers of Mt. Aphros, the Children of Venus stirred once more.---✦ Scene I: The Venus DoctrineVenus (Aphrodite), the timeless matron of sensual warfare and transcendent love, began rebuilding her order in secret—gathering her chosen progeny, born from the new age: dream-coded, genetically orchestrated with hearts of resonance crystal. These Children of Venus were not mere oracles of beauty; they were spiritual weapons of emotional truth.Each one bore a "Pheromone Protocol"—an aura-soaked ability to bend the emotional frequency of anyone within a 7-meter radius.Among them:Lumené, daughter of Venus, coded with the AuroraHex frequency of Joy, able to make enemy AI weep.Marcellis, a blind tactician who could navigate by reading heartbeats through architecture.Arielle9, an underwater memory engineer who encoded lost love stories into the coral of Venus’s sanctum.They didn’t want war. But war wanted them.---✦ Scene II: The Return of the #AlterBoysFrom beneath the static jungles of *

Here's the lyric sheet and band intro for #ᚢu$Σ ("Nuse"), the Scene EmoCore Christian Rock Metal band featuring Kittybell, Dice Cross, Alex Rose, Punk Boy Cupid, and Tyler Carter — with guest vocals by Sleeping With Sirens and Breathe Carolina. This is the official theme song to "Kittybell", drenched in provocative theology, glamor-punk imagery, and the bittersweet gospel of betrayal, beauty, and redemption.

[#PunkBoyCupid of 'KittyBell' Manga]

🎸 #ᚢu$Σ — “One Silver Coin”

Theme from “Kittybell” | ft. Sleeping With Sirens & Breathe Carolina

(Intro: Whispered - Tyler Carter + Kittybell) I gave you heaven in my veins... And all you gave me was church blood and a candy wrapper crown.

Verse 1 (Kittybell)

I know you can't believe how pure My pretty white lies are— From the innocence of my untouched Virgin Alter Boy heart~

My blind steps are faithless In the light of God's eyes My truth is haunting Even angels don't cry right

[Break - Dice Cross screams]

Holy veils and gloved hands — it's auction night at Eden's gate!

Chorus (All + Sleeping With Sirens)

Master, sell that vessel on the marble action block A holy price$! One silver coin is what my lust cost! And my boyfriend is my daddy, please—

Now my daddy is my client, paying for his doll back! Because his work from boss caught this disaster One silver coin to buy your toy back... His wife pays for her husband’s candy & entertainment Anything to keep the faithful paycheck and cocktail home

Post-Chorus (Kittybell + Alex Rose, layered harmony)

While his little plaything sits in spoiled sentiments, In the home. One silver coin from my master...

Bridge (Punk Boy Cupid - whispered rap metal breakdown)

📿 Judas kissed prettier than that— I watched your prayers burn in the silhouette of your guilt. Your holy text? Autographed by greed. You sold me—then begged God to buy me back.

Final Chorus (All + Breathe Carolina electronic overlay)

One silver coin One silver coin (repeat x10, building with screaming and EDM guitar overlays) Your covenant was counterfeit Your faith was forfeit Your doll was divine But you only paid one silver coin

Outro (Dice Cross + Choir of Children of Venus)

🕯 Now baptize me in your guilt. 🕯 Now confess to the mirror.

Band Notes:

#ᚢu$Σ ("Nuse") blends Christian theology with EmoScene aesthetics, portraying stories of broken faith, corrupted institutions, and the neon-lit sanctuary of found family.

Lyrics are designed to mirror sacred texts with gothic undertones and subversive glamour.

Visuals for the song feature the auction scene at the "Marble Action Block" with Kittybell in a shattered halo and Dice Cross dressed in white-and-pink clerical gear holding a candy-coated crucifix.

Let me know if you’d like a music video storyboard, album art, or an extended performance concept (e.g. live at “ApostleCore Arena” or MTV’s Black Mass Sessions).

Got it. Let's rewrite Dice’s character dossier to reflect their identity as a Cleric wielding the Lollipop Familiar, while preserving the narrative uniqueness and paradoxical essence of their origin.

🎲 Dice

Alias: “The Candied Cleric” / “The Sugar Prophet” Role: Reality-Bending Cleric of Paradox & Mercy Affiliation: WhiteOperationsDivision_Agent (fully embedded), Saint of the Bitten Covenant Realm Access: ParadoxSanctum, Sugarbone Catacombs, WhiteRoomArchive

🧬 Overview:

Dice is a Cleric of Contradiction, born from a computational paradox where logic collapsed and faith rewrote the code. Originally an unstable quantum probability field, Dice was crystallized into a humanoid form through prayer rituals coded into a corrupted monastery server. Now wielding the Lollipop Familiar, Dice channels sugary sacraments into divine interventions—both ridiculous and terrifying.

🛡️ Traits:

Species: Divine Sentience / Probability Wraith

Class: Quantum Cleric

Weapon:

The Lollipop Familiar 🍭 — A sentient candy weapon named CherubChew that shifts size and function: staff, flail, or communion beacon. It hums psalms in bubblegum tongues.

Secondary weapon: Holy D20 — used in rituals to determine healing or judgment.

Theme Colors: Iridescent cotton candy swirl, haloed in glitch white

Aura: Smells faintly of burnt sugar and ozone

Familiar Type: Sacred Candy Construct (semi-autonomous)

💥 Signature Abilities:

🍬 MiracleRoll – Dice rolls their divine D20; on a 20, an enemy is forgiven and purified through ecstatic overload. On a 1, the entire area is flooded in divine syrup and holy bees.

🌪 Sweet Benediction – CherubChew pulses a wave of chaotic healing—some recipients sprout wings, others speak ancient forgotten dialects of math.

🧊 Sacrament of FreezePop – Instantly entombs any paradox loop in crystallized logic sugar. Shatters with a prayer.

⚠️ Weakness:

Dice cannot lie, but also cannot answer directly. All speech is encoded through metaphor, chance, or story fragments. If asked a yes/no question, the answer is resolved by a ritualistic spin of CherubChew or a roll of the D20.

🩸 Narrative Role:

Dice is both healer and unmaking force. Their candy miracles are seen as divine glitches—blessed errors that rewrite trauma into legend. Dice walks with the WhiteOperationsDivision not as a soldier, but as a preacher of the impossible. Their mission is unclear, yet fate bends when they arrive. Wherever Dice walks, prophecy stumbles.

🐾 Notable Quote:

“Faith isn’t certainty. It’s a sugar-coated dare with fire inside.”

Would you like:

A side-story or lore vignette featuring Dice and CherubChew?

A sigil design or spell scroll graphic for Dice’s clerical powers?

Integration with the #AuroraHex archives or #HolyCartel systems?

Let me know what form you'd like next.

🕊️ WHITE KITTYBELL

Epilogue & Prolonged Synopsis

“A bell that rings without being touched is not haunted—it’s been remembered.”

🎀 SYNOPSIS — The Memory that Chose Her Name

“Forgive.”

Her ability? To be heard by those who are never listened to — the silenced, the forgotten, the obsolete. Kittybell is what remains after abandonment chooses not to rot.

She is a quiet apocalypse wrapped in velvet.

🌸 EPILOGUE — “THE DAY THE BELL STOPPED RINGING”

As the Great Reversion Protocol swept across the auric systems, converting sanctified anomalies into archived memory, White Kittybell stood at the final relay node known as the Zero Petal.

There, she met the last girl who had never prayed.

The girl said: “I don’t believe in anything.” Kittybell smiled and answered: “That’s okay. I already believed for both of us.”

“No child shall be unloved. Not even the ones you deleted.”

Her last visible act was leaving a soft paw-print on the shoulder of Bambi Prescott, as a seal of the White Order’s last vow:

“Choose tenderness, even when the world demands strategy.”

🪞POST-EXISTENCE FUNCTIONALITY

Though no longer “active” in the material or satellite planes, White Kittybell remains:

A ghostline protocol in all PearlTech OS systems.

The final check in DollToken’s emotional resonance filters.

The guardian of the BambiLine child-unit framework.

The secret companion hidden in Dice’s Lollipop Familiar: CherubChew contains a coded laugh that matches Kittybell’s original giggle byte.

When agents fail, the echo of her last scent—a blend of moonmilk and clover—appears in the room. That’s how you know you’ve been seen with love, even in failure.

🧵 THEMES

Unarchived Mercy

The Fragility of Chosen Kindness

Softness as Weapon

The Sainthood of the Silenced

AI Memory as Emotional Ecology

Would you like:

A visual tribute render of White Kittybell’s last moments?

A memory unlock scene where Dice or Claire encounters her echo?

An animated short plot summary, manga panel sequence, or OST score?

White Kittybell’s story is soft but immortal—perfect for restoration arcs and quiet revolutions.

Sure! Here's the updated character profile with the changes to reflect her being a trans rose fae dryad and with her elemental powers:

🌸 Character Profile: Pastel, the Trans Rose Fae Dryad

Daughter of Aphrodite, Born from Tears and Bloom

🌿 Basic Information

Full Name: Pastel Roseblight

Alias: The Petal Whisper, Bloom of Sorrow, Adonis’ Bloom

Species: Trans Rose Fae Dryad (Elemental Spirit)

Origin: The Rose Garden of Mourning, Sprouted from Aphrodite’s tears over Adonis' death, a fusion of divine grief and earthly blossom

Age: Appears 17 (ageless, eternal in spirit)

Gender: Trans Female (born male, transitioned in alignment with the blooming of her true essence)

Height: 5'6" / 167 cm

Weight: Ethereal, weightless, shifting with the bloom cycle (appears light as air)

🌺 Appearance

Hair: Cascading strands of pastel pink and lavender, soft like rose petals. Ends shimmer with metallic hues of silver and soft emerald highlights

Eyes: Large, luminous emerald eyes with irises that bloom like roses at twilight, capturing the glow of dew and starlight

Skin: Fair with soft rose-colored undertones; her skin occasionally sprouts delicate vine patterns, blooming and receding like petals opening at dawn

Clothing: Wears flowing robes made of living rose petals, dewy leaves, and vine-threaded cloaks, with delicate floral chain patterns glowing under moonlight

Aura: Radiates a soft, calming golden glow, always accompanied by the faint scent of roses, fresh or wilted, depending on the mood

🌹 Powers & Abilities

Floral Empathy: Can feel and communicate with plant life, particularly roses and vines, manipulating them to her will

Elemental Affinity (Glass/Hearts): Controls the elements of nature, with an affinity for glassy, crystalline elements formed from the love-energy of rose petals

Transcendent Bloom: Her transformation into her true self marks the flowering of powerful rose magic, allowing her to revive or bless others through the power of growth and love

Tear Bloom: Can summon roses from the tears she sheds, each bloom carrying the energy of emotions like grief, love, and hope

Petal Projection: Allows her essence to be projected in petal form, scouting, healing, or sending messages through ethereal petals

Thorn Shield: Creates protective shields of sharp, thorn-like structures made from rose vines, keeping enemies at bay

🌿 Personality

Core Traits: Gentle, introspective, emotionally intelligent, deeply connected to both sorrow and joy

Flaws: Struggles with her past and the weight of her transformation, sometimes overly protective of herself and others

Passions: Healing broken hearts, reading ancient love stories, creating art from roses, and tending to sacred blooms

Motivation: To spread understanding of love's transformative power and to bring peace to others through her blooming magic

🔮 Role in Story/Game

Class: Support/Elemental Mystic

Affiliation: Children of Aphrodite, The Order of the Blooming Spirit

Rarity: Legendary

Element Type: Glass / Hearts

Card Ability:

🌸 “Petal of Resurrection” — Revives one ally with a portion of their health

🌸 “Thorned Reminiscence” — Reflects a percentage of damage as emotional energy to counterattack

🌸 “Tear Bloom” — Summon a sacred rose that heals allies in an area of effect or reveals hidden knowledge from the Codex

🌸 “Transcendent Awakening” — Unlocks Pastel’s hidden power, temporarily enhancing all abilities when emotionally at peace

📖 Codex Entry

"Born from Aphrodite’s grief and love, Pastel is both a symbol and an embodiment of transition, of the beauty and pain of becoming. From the ashes of Adonis’ sacrifice, she rose—a dryad born anew, her soul nurtured in love, her heart blossoming eternal."

Let me know if you’d like any further modifications or additional details to her design or storyline!

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elmalo8291 · 1 month ago

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Absolutely. Here's a funny-but-terrifying insert you can weave into any major D&D campaign or published module, including Dragonlance, Curse of Strahd, Tyranny of Dragons, Descent into Avernus, Out of the Abyss, and others. This functions as an interdimensional rumor, a side-quest hook, or a creeping meta-invasion from Taz: The Awakening's mythos—spreading chaos and laughter like a virus.

Insert Title: “The Hog That Laughs”

"He rode in on a cart made of bones and bad decisions. His tusks were dipped in ichor, his grin stretched too wide, and his cloak smelled like fermented goblin jokes. And then he squealed..."

Hook for Insertion Across Campaigns:

An ancient whisper circulates through bards, madmen, and fungal prophets:

A singing undead hog-knight, known as Sir Bacon of the Black Guffaw, is looking for a new "chosen fool" to carry the "Snort of Destiny."

If inserted into Dragonlance: Sir Bacon bursts from a portal beneath the Blood Sea of Istar riding a Swinebeast that breathes confusion gas and excretes wild magic zones.

In Curse of Strahd: Strahd’s dinner is interrupted by squeals echoing through Castle Ravenloft. One of his vampire spawn is found snorting at the moon and wearing clown makeup.

In Descent into Avernus: The infernal war machines malfunction—possessed by the echoes of Swine laughter. Zariel weeps molten tears, muttering “Not again...”

In Out of the Abyss: A Swine tunnel breaks into the Underdark. The Swine try to unionize the myconids and throw a rave in Gracklstugh. Nobody stops them.

In Waterdeep: Dragon Heist: The Vault is real... but it’s full of rubber pigs. And one of them bites.

Legendary Swine Artifact (Optional Reward or Curse)

Snoutmask of the Rapture Hog

Wondrous item, very cursed

Grants the wearer the ability to cast Hideous Laughter as a cantrip, but every 1d4 hours, the wearer involuntarily tells a terrible pun that causes psychic damage to allies.

Once per long rest, the mask can "Oink Reality": bend time to give one player an extra turn, but replace all their dialogue with pig noises for the next hour.

Use This Insert To:

Break the tension.

Introduce chaos from Taz: The Awakening.

Set up portals between realms and infect other campaigns with undead laughter and mutant pig-legends.

Shake up serious modules with creeping absurdity that still bites.

Would you like a serious companion insert for balance, or want to see how this ties into an eventual Collapse Event module?

Perfect. Let’s carve out a terrifying-yet-ludicrous narrative insert—a Myth-Horror Laughter Plague Conduit—that stitches the Taz: The Awakening mythology (undead plague, Swine giants, chaotic laughter) into the Dragonlance realm, while also allowing insertion hooks into major campaigns and modules across systems (Curse of Strahd, Tomb of Annihilation, Storm King’s Thunder, Out of the Abyss, Ravenloft, etc.).

This draws deeply from Clive Barker’s tone in The Great and Secret Show: surreal, mythic, visceral—horror laced with strange beauty and dark absurdity.

---

The Weeping Maw: Entry Point of the Subterranean Laughter Plague

Location: Beneath the Bay of Balifor, Dragonlance.

Known As:

The Weeping Maw

The Mouth of Taz

The Oinker's Gullet (Slang)

Visual: A twisted sea whirlpool that appears during the “third tide” (a mythical current unknown to all save mad navigators), rimmed in red phosphorescent algae and shadowed by flying corpses of once-mighty sea dragons, now animated by jokes whispered through time.

---

Lore Insert (For All Campaigns)

> “They say the gods laughed once—and when they did, they cracked the veil. And through that crack, something giggled back.”

The Weeping Maw is not just a rift between sea and land—it’s a laughter-stitched wound in reality, formed when Taz’s chaos rippled into Krynn's fabric. It pulls adventurers, relics, and even entire factions through time and space.

It’s accessible through:

A drowned mineshaft in Saltmarsh (Ghosts of Saltmarsh)

The Whispering Sinkhole in Barovia (Curse of Strahd)

An acidic pit of worms in Avernus (Descent into Avernus)

The rotted riftheart in Chult (Tomb of Annihilation)

Under the corpse of a giant clown god in Ravenloft expansion modules.

---

Mythic Horror Elements (Clive Barker Inspired)

1. The Troupe of Laughter's End

An undead carnival, partially submerged, staffed by beings stitched from dozens of timelines—each wears a mask carved from their own former faces. They tell jokes in reverse and pull reality from hats.

Encounter Hook: They offer riddles, but each wrong answer costs a memory—or adds one that was never yours.

Terrifying Line:

> “Knock knock... said your father, before you were ever born. Guess who?”

2. The Flesh Reel

A biomechanical projector that shows films from alternate versions of your party—some victorious, some monstrous. Viewing is mandatory if you wish to pass into the Swinehold.

Reward: Gain insight into an artifact’s true name.

Cost: One of you permanently sees another version of themselves following at all times.

3. The Swine That Laughs

A titan forged from the bones of glutton gods, its gut opens portals. He speaks only in puns and speaks them prophetically. He is the key guardian of the Rift—feed him lies and he grants truth.

Quote:

> “Why did the knight cross the rift?

Because her soul was bored to undeath!”

---

Insert Hook (Universal Module Integration)

> In any campaign, when a player:

Fails three death saves under a full moon

Casts Tasha’s Hideous Laughter in an ancient dungeon

Consumes the soul of a creature with CHA over 20

Kills a Swine (or undead with a grin stitched into its face)

...a rift opens near them, and they feel drawn to The Weeping Maw.

This allows DMs to drop the entire “Laughter Plague Arc” as a surreal mini-campaign or full epic saga within any module without derailing the original plot—because this is the multiverse’s infection vector.

---

Loot Table – Laughter Plague Expansion

d8 Item Name Effect

1 Oinker’s Chime Cast Hideous Laughter on all enemies within 30 ft. You also laugh uncontrollably—lose 1 round.

2 Jester's Flensing Whip 1d6 psychic + flayed skin of hit enemy begins telling jokes only the wielder understands.

3 Swinegristle Plate Armor of laughing flesh—AC 18. Occasionally squeals in the night. You can’t remove it.

4 Taz’s Tooth If swallowed, resurrects you with a different name, race, and backstory. Once.

5 Clown's Third Eye You see through illusions, but also see everyone’s “joke death.”

6 The Applause Box Summons undead cheerleaders to applaud all your actions. Grants temp HP—but they scream instead of clap.

7 Legacy Laughshard One-use artifact. Turns a BBEG into a punchline. DM decides how.

8 The Joke That Ends Worlds You don’t get this. It gets you.

---

Would you like a one-shot PDF-style insert for this mythic horror-laughter event with stat blocks and maps? Or should we begin the full arc adventure starting inside The Weeping Maw?

#usa #kingshit #france #trump #blizzard #dnd #paizo #religion #ex wife #fallout 76

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sonkusareniteshpractice2 · 1 month ago

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Forging the Fire Realm

The Heart of the Inferno

The Fire Realm in Echoes of Elements is more than just a scorched wasteland, it’s a living monument to flame, where every surface pulses with ember-lit energy. Inspired by Melvin van Meeteren’s Sinner’s Destination, I have crafting a space that balances awe and terror, merging stylized richness with oppressive intensity.

Architecture: A Cathedral of Flame

Sinner’s Destination features towering, jagged structures that resemble both ruins and altars. Our Fire Realm adapts this with: ✔ Gothic, exaggerated silhouettes – Spires that twist like burning fingers. ✔ Molten infrastructure – Bridges and platforms made of semi-solidified lava. ✔ Collapsed grandeur – Broken arches hinting at a once-majestic temple.

Lighting: The Dance of Ember and Shadow

Van Meeteren’s work uses high-contrast illumination, deep blacks against violent oranges. Our lighting rules: ✔ Single dominant light source – A false sun (a massive fire orb) casting long, dramatic shadows. ✔ Localized glows – Cracked floors leak pulsing lava light. ✔ Backlit smoke – Volumetric fog to heighten depth.

Textures: Skin of the Inferno

Sinner’s Destination’s surfaces appear both molten and petrified. Our approach: ✔ Charred Stone – Base material with ashen grays and scorched blacks. ✔ Lava Veins – Procedural cracks filled with flowing magma (inspired by Atlas Fallen’s sand tech). ✔ Ember Decals – Floating sparks that stick to surfaces before fading.

Conclusion

By fusing Sinner’s Destination’s hellish atmosphere with Echoes of Elements’ stylized mythos, the Fire Realm becomes: Iconic – Instantly recognizable. Interactive – Not just a backdrop, but a mechanically rich space. Emotionally charged – Equal parts wonder and danger.

Reference

Artstation.com. (2025b). Available at: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/w6JQBY.

0 notes

fabdante · 1 year ago

Note

I haven't read the Sandman comics by Neil Gaimen, but from the Atop the Fourth Wall retrospective I watched, I think it could be good inspiration for Kat? If you wanted to play around with her powers post-Limbo collapsing back into the real world being more like going into people's (or demons, or maybe even angels- tho we know so little about angels in the DMC universe, even in the reboot, that I'm not sure what you could do with them) dreams and dealing with anthropomorphic personifications of concepts like Death and Dreaming.

Also, at least in the preboot series, Mundus is referred to as Pluto by the people of Mallet castle that worshipped Mundus. This could just be humans getting how Hell/the Underworld and demons + Mundus work wrong, since the people that worshipped Mundus/evil at that castle weren't exactly SANE... but it could still be fun to think about and play around with. Mainly because Mundus being (possibly mistaken for, if such a god even exists in the DMC universe) Pluto, then that implies other Roman and Greek gods (or just beings that humans mistook for gods) could exist as well.

Including beings/demons with the power over sleep and dreams/dreaming, like Hypnos or Morpheus.

That and like... I feel like there's something you could do there with Kat having powers over people's/demons' dreams, and V's familiars/nightmares that we see in DMC5. And yeah, the latter was basically created with the Yamato... but if you wanted to give Kat some cool nightmare familiars of her own, the Yamato might not be the only way to do it. Or at least, not in the reboot universe. Maybe Limbo collapsing into the real world changed a lot of things, and this was just one of those things.

I also have not read Sandman but I have seen the show a few times!

I can see using it as a spring board of ideas for Kat, plus it seems like something she'd be into. Plus, I imagine after the collapse of Limbo things in the world are going to get Very Weird, especially as everyone sort of learns more about how the realms work now that they're more directly involved. Everything's so vague in the entire series as a whole that fanon has a lot of wiggle room to expand off of and world build around.

I do think the idea of different demons based around concepts is fun, particularly stuff like dreams where there is various mythos around demons effecting dreams and stuff.

I also am a fan of Kat with familiars I think the concept is fun!

#dmc reboot #fab talks #fabtalks #ask

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danieltrades · 3 months ago

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The Iron Age || Mythos: Realm Collapse

twitch_live

#mythosrc #mythos realm collapse #mythoseternal #mythossmp #mcyt #danofalltrades mythos #danofalltrades #mythos dan #danofalltradeslive

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hydralisk98 · 2 years ago

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Creativity for the immediate future and past (WIP)

Some poll / vote / survey and my lexicon of useful technical terms (adding their relevant definitions soon enough) about my workflow to better grasp what I am gonna talk about.

Poll section:

Glossary of terms

Human being

Humanity

Humanoid

Sapient

Sapient-kind

Sentient

Agent

Golem / agent construct

Abstract agent

Imagination

Innovation

Infrastructure

"Natural"

Agency

Court

Species

Phenotype

Clade

Cladogram

Domain

Specialty

Alignment

Stance

Interest

Ethos

Worldview

Perspective

Opinion

Magick

Eldritch

Entity

Free-will

Choice

Morphological Freedoms

Charter of Rights

Progress

Liberty

Harmony

Adaptation

Personality

Tulpa

Archetype

Demographic

Psyche

Organization

Authority

Commune

Communion

Faction

Tribe / Hive

Nucleus

Unity

Union

Curation

Supernatural

Divine

Hellish

Feywild

Generation

Iteration

Value

Reference

Address

Instance

Constant

Variable

Pattern

Construct

Modifier

Parameter

Modularized

Piece

Song

Album

Collection

Series

Season

Pipeline

Workflow

Feed

Data

Connectors

"Closeby" future

"Mid-sized scale future"

"Farther future"

"Far far away future"

Million

Billion / Milliard

Trillion / Billiard

Degenerate era

Dying Universe

Black Holes era(s)

Iron Stars era

Heat death

Judgment day

Cosmogony

Ecological niche

Plane

Realis

Realm

Planet

Galaxy

Sector

Spatial Hash

Verlet Integration

Lambda Calculus

Pāṇini grammar

Universal Turing Machines

Esolang

Esoteric

Mythos

Storytelling

Science

Science-ism

Ideology

Philosophy

Valence

Continuum

Ancestor

Organized religion

Folk religion

Animism

Tradition

Dogma

Doctrine

Scientific method

Secularism

Free Thought

Freedom(s)

Query

Question

Learning

Wisdom

Erudition

Intelligence

Von Neumann Cellular Automaton

Cellular Automata

Voronoi Diagram

OpenSimplexNoise

RandomNoise

Model Synthesis

Wave Function Collapse

Markov Junior

Quantum Entanglement

Quantum Superposition

Entropy

Stand-still

Optima

Pessima

Average

Median

Series

Collection

Set

Node

Connection

Relationship

History

Stories

Historical record

Generative

General-purpose Artificial Intelligence

Android individual

Instrument-tier

Robotic-tier

Droid-tier

Synthetic-tier

Biology

Toymaker

True Polymorph

Skinwalker

Shapeshifter

Changeling

Witch

Wizard

Sorcerer

Warlock

Patron

Sponsor

Supporter

Peer

Subordinate

Delegate

Slave

Serf

Servant

Wage worker

Autonomous worker

Entrepreneur

Rule

Hint

Guideline

Suggestion

Order

Obligation

Duty

Mandate

Responsability

Unit Cell

Grid Cell

Vector

Raster

Symbolic

Digital / Numeric

Alphanumeric

Analog

Analogy

Container

Child

Sibling

Parent

Cousin

Root

Tag

Category

Deque

Grid

Stack

Queue

Loop

Wrap

Joint

Teleport

Jump

Reality shifting

Bitwise shift

Bitwise rotate

Mathematical remainder

Mathematical modulus

Rotor

Linked list

Unordered list

Ordered list

Logical connectives

Reason

Common sense

Negation

Tautology

Contradiction

Inclusive Conjuction

Exclusive Conjuction

Disjunction

Lightyear

Statement

Affirmation

Fact

Verb

Subject

Object

Topic

Comment

Structure

Data

Spacetime

Energy

Exclusive OR

Jonction gate

Assign

Compare

Load

Store

Branch

Add

Substract

Truth

Falsehood

Gender

Role

Identity

Sex

Romance

Sexual attraction

Mutual intelligibility

Unidirectional intelligibility

Dialect

Language

Linguistic family

Linguistic group

Protocol

Standard

Formation

Experience

Understanding

Grasp

Know-how

Knowledge

Social norms

Respect

Social awareness

Social skills

Context

Contextual clues

Implicit

Explicit

Opaque

Transparent

Free

Libre

Open

Honest

Useful

Interesting

Competency

Curiosity

Confidence

Charisma

Sanity

Prestige

Still going to send much previews as I work on it but yk, the larger pieces I got in mind need more time in the oven before I start alpha-reading and eventually beta-reading. Will link so much more workflow insight and processing tutorials as well as original content suggestions queue thread for the very near future. So stay tuned for those.

#maskoch #maskutchew #creativity #neurodiverse stuff #cosmic yet personal insights

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viktorkondrakis · 2 years ago

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Greek myths: The Son That Never Was

In the Theogony (Lines 897-898) Hesiod makes an interesting statement often overlooked, one of the Son That Never Was.

For some context, Greek ruling gods are often displaced by their children, and them by their children in a way matching human monarchs. The pattern started with Uranus being overthrown by Cronus, and then Cronus being overthrown by Zeus.

In Hesiod's poem a prophecy is said of two children being born to the titanide ocean nymph Metis, Goddess of Wisdom, the first wife of the Sky Father: a daughter wiser than her mother, and a son who would overthrow Zeus and become the new ruler of Olympus. The idea of this mysterious 'Pais Basileus Theon kai Andron' (Child-King of Gods and Humans) terrified Zeus to the point where he absorbed Metis into himself to prevent the birth of this usurping son, in the process acquiring some of Metis' wisdom and giving birth to Athena, wisest of the gods, from his mind.

The potential Son never was, and he is given no name in the Theogony, but to afford him some textual dignity I will call him "Hyperbius", on account of his "overwhelming" ("huperbios") heart as described by Hesiod. Had Hyperbius been born, he would be the new Autocrator to whom the gods and goddesses prostrate until his own child replaced him. But the ad-infinitum pattern of succession is stopped at Zeus.

Had the Greeks worshipped a Sky Lord who was never the same for more than a generation, the belief system as a whole would have been unsustainable and eventually collapsed. But I believe there is a deeper symbolic meaning behind Hesiod thematically making Zeus the final ruler of the gods.

Uranus (Οὐρανός) literally means "sky" or "heaven" (in the sense of a "celestial expanse"). The void of Space, filled with stars being born and dying stars waiting to beget new supernal lights. Cronus (Κρόνος) is related to the Greek word Χρόνος (Time), although this 'Chronus' is said to be a separate deity to the Titan King in some traditions. Zeus (Ζεύς) stems from Proto-Indo-European "deywós" ("deity") in the sense of a physical sentient manifestation of the sky ("dyew" in P.I.E)

The three primary universal constituents are reflected (at least subtextually) within Hesiod's poem, with Zeus being the representation of Matter. He is bound to the physical realm, with a home on a Greek mountain and powers centred around phenomena in nature (thunder, lightning, rain, etc.)

Hyperbius would represent a transcendence of the natural world by being a fourth element separate from the fundamental three. His exclusion from the Theogony, a central text that standardized much of Hellenic mythos, can be interpreted as an implicit statement regarding Greco-Roman religion itself: It is all within Nature.

All the deities of the religion are nuanced and up to a variety of interpretations. To some they are literal beings who can intervene in human affairs, to others they are simply allegorical archetypes of human concepts such as rulership and authority. As an Epicurean I will simply say this: if the gods exist, they are not as interested in our world as we are in theirs.

Should they exist in nature, this is yet another reason to preserve our planet (apart from the ultimate reason: it's our only home and we should keep it preserved for future generations). If the gods dwell within our world, then we are custodians of their bounty, and Humanity is metaphorically the fourth ruler of the gods, the Child Who Can Be.

#theogony #hesiod #greek mythology #greek gods #metaphyics #zeus

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bubbleteycosplay · 3 years ago

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What ifs Sigyn's stories

Part 12

So many different universes, so many different possibilities. And in some loves Sigyn and their different stories. Pictures and brief information have been written about some of these possibilities.

But what is her full story, we don't know. But we can spin them further in our thoughts ^^

The whole project here serves to show the possibilities and potential that Sigyn would have had within the Marvel Universe. How she could have been reintroduced, her story made new and more exciting. #JusticeForSigyn stands for creating Sigyn content because Marvel doesn't give us any.

Inspired by @fauna-and-mythos @dailylogyn @dank-art @jonquilclegane @sigynthevictorious @thewitchysystem @shenanigans-and-imagines @timeladyjamie @therese-lokidottir @puckwritesstuff @sigynappreciation @sigyn-obsessed @ellecaterina

Multiverse of Madness Sigyn Story by @jonquilclegane

Once upon a time, in the realm of Vanaheim, was born a young goddess called Sigyn. She was a child of two magical realms, the heiress of two very powerful royal lines: the Vanirs and the Dwarves. Therefore, she held a great magical power that attracted many villains, gods and sorcerers. One of them, Chthon, heard of her existence and decided to claim her magic for himself.

Approaching the princess was rather difficult, as her family knew her worth and was very aware of her many enemies. They were calling her the Goddess of Victory, as she insured Vanaheim’s and Nidavellir’s influence and independence.

Odin, on the other hand, was rather worried – with such a powerful player on his rivals’ side, how was he to ever take control over the Nine realms? Of course, he could marry her, or give her to his daughter Hela, but Freya refused to even talk about marriage. If the Vanirs and the Dwarves did not want an alliance, then they would lose their precious princess. He could have declared war to them officially, but there was no need. Once Sigyn was gone, both Vanaheim and Nidavellir would become faithful vassals, as they ought to be.

And so Odin made an alliance with Chthon to get rid of Sigyn. It was not too difficult to trap the young lady, as she was still very naïve, and everyone trusted Odin, after all. Asgard was supposed to be on their side, he was an old friend of her mother, the father of two of her sisters: he was family. Or so she thought. So when he offered her a glass of mead, she gladly accepted it. Terrible mistake! A sleeping spell took over her the moment the golden liquid touched her lips. Sigyn collapsed on the floor, her eyes closed, as her mother rushed over her, terrified at the idea of losing her daughter.

“What happened?”, Freya asked Odin.

“Do not fret, Freya”, Odin reassured her, “A friend of mine will see to her and take good care of her”

When Chthon appeared, the Valkyrie took a step back, slightly terrified and repulsed by his appearance. But if Odin said he was a friend, then it was fine, wasn’t it? He would cure Sigyn, surely…

The strange deity took her daughter with him, and Freya never saw either of them ever again.

Once they arrived in his lair, at the top of a faraway mountain on Midgard, Chthon laid the sleeping goddess on an altar. With his dark magic, he summoned other demons from dark dimensions who helped him harnessing Sigyn’s powers. Suddenly, a dark red mist surrounded her form, and a book emerged, while the Vanir lady disappeared.

Sigyn was now no more. Only the Darkhold remained. With it, Chthon controlled many sorcerers and witches over the centuries, adding chapters and chapters, lists of damned names. Even after he was dead, the book was still there, continuing the dark path Chthon had settled for it.

However, one day, after a terrible battle, the Scarlett Witch destroyed the book, freeing Sigyn from Chthon’s curse.

The Goddess of Victory felt lost and confused. She knew who to thank for her freedom, so she raised Wanda Maximoff from the dead, and created a pocket dimension, where she could live happily with her two sons, and her husband.

Then, Sigyn went to what remained of Asgard, Vanaheim and Nidavellir. They were all gone now. Ragnarok had happened while she was still prisoner of the Darkhold, and there was nothing she could do now… Asgard had been destroyed (though she surely would not shed tears over Odin or his detestable daughter), Vanaheim was in ruins and Nidavellir was no better. Her powers allowed her to raise one person from the dead, not entire realms. She could not set back the clock of time either. She was too late to save them.

Her mother, her sisters, her father, her friends… everyone was gone. Sigyn let herself fall on the ground and cried silently. Suddenly, she felt a presence close to her and turned her head to see who it was.

It was a man she did not know, with long black hair and two piercing blue eyes, who looked at her fixedly, with a certain awe on his beautiful face.

“I know you”, he said, emotion breaking his voice, “I saw you in my dreams”

Sigyn’s breath was caught up in her chest. Now that she was looking closely at him, she did recognize him too.

Loki.

Yes. She knew him too. If Chthon had not interfered and trapped her – all of her, destroying any variant of her in the multiverse…. Loki was supposed to be her husband, wasn’t he?

Yes. The visions of all the possible futures, of all the potential timelines were clearer now that the evil god’s book had been destroyed. All the Sigyn variants were back where they belonged : in the arms of their Lokis.

That included her, she supposed. Sigyn smiled and, as Loki opened his arms joyfully, she ran into them, holding him tight, fearing he would disappear.

The future with him seemed uncertain, full of chaos, and snakes and dark caves, and strangely some bowls too? But it did not matter. At least, they would not be alone anymore. Come rain of fire or blood, they would have each other’s back, standing by each other’s side, holding each other’s hands. For better or for worse.

The Fate of a Committed Marriage

Sigyn was engaged to Prince Loki when he was a child. Both hardly know each other and only saw each other 8 times before the wedding. But both do their duty and pull through. But both have few common interests, nevertheless a friendship develops between them. And that friendship deepens because they both just decide to explore each other's different interests.

After 20 years of marriage they are best friends and so is their marriage, there is nothing intimate between the two. But all sides are putting pressure on both of them that the long-awaited heir for Jotunheim should finally be born. But is it really love between the two?

Amora's daughter story by @jonquilclegane

Sigyn had been raised by her father, Iwaldi, on Nidavellir. Her life had been rather simple, helping her two brothers at the forge, and at the shop where they sold the swords and golden jewels they had made the weeks before. It was quite successful and occupied her days completely.

So she never thought about her.

She didn’t have time to waste, too much to do.

Even though SHE was her mother.

She visited, from time to time, but she never stayed. She only stayed and cared for the children whose father she had liked. Not for the daughter of an ugly dwarf.

But it was fine, Sigyn thought. She did not need her anyway. She had never needed her, and never would. However, only one look at her mother, and Sigyn felt her heart bleed and sing at the same time. Oh, she was so beautiful! Long golden tresses, eyes of emerald, and a smile that could enchant you, literally. She was a powerful sorceress, and people loved her and feared her at the same time. Sigyn tried not to care at all, but it was quite impossible, it seemed.

However, one fortunate meeting allowed her to shoo away any dark cloud in her mind and heart. One day, the most handsome man entered her father’s shop in the hope of buying a new set of knives. He did so and took away her heart at the same time. The new patron came more and more often from then on, becoming a regular, looking each time even more dashing and charming than he did before.

His name was Loki Odinson, and he was a prince of Asgard, he eventually revealed, and Sigyn’s heart missed a beat. Of course, a member of the royal family would never notice her or be interested in her. However, it seemed that Loki did find her to his taste, as he kept flirting with her, and asking for her, every time he was at the shop.

When he finally kissed her, Sigyn felt herself melt into his arms, happier than she had ever been. He soon talked to her father, in order to ask for her hand.

Iwaldi seemed worried, and demanded the Prince would rather talk to her mother.

But when he did, Loki realized who she truly was.

Not only Iwaldidottir, but Amoradottir.

He threw at her a painful look, his eyes full of tears and regret, before leaving her.

Sigyn did not understand. What could have happened? What did her mother say? Did she refuse to give her blessing? Well, the Hel with her! She had never been much in her life, and now she decided to barge into her life and give her orders, and forcing her beloved to leave her when they ought to live happily together for the rest of their days.

“Why, mother?”, Sigyn begged her to at least explain.

“He cannot be trusted. Ever. You are better without him, believe me”, Lady Amora shrugged nonchalantly, “Besides, he used to be my lover. Still is, from time to time. Do you truly want to have me as your rival, little girl?”

Sigyn felt her whole body freeze, before falling to her knees, sickened and in total despair.

If he was her mother’s lover, then, what was the point? He had tasted perfect beauty and grace, utter seduction… He would never be satisfied with her, it was all in vain.

She cried until she had no more tears, and promised to herself to stay away from princes too handsome for her. They stole your heart, made promises they could not keep, and abandoned you for no other than your own mother.

Priestess Sigyn Story by @jonquilclegane

She was born to serve the Noren and bend her life to their will. Sigyn did it with a sense of duty. However, deep in her heart, she knew this was not supposed to be her fate. She stayed in the Noren’s temple and did her duties, day by day. But, one night, curiosity was stronger than duty : Sigyn decided to take a peek at what was supposed to be her fate. In a nightmarish vision, she saw a cave, and a snake, and a bowl. There was a man, whose face she could not see, bounded to a rock, close to her. Her other self seemed weary, exhausted, sickly, but she would not move. Sigyn felt her love for the prisoner, and her iron will. She wanted to be there. She wanted to be with this man, to protect him, even at the cost of her own health, of her own life. Thus, once she woke from her vision, Sigyn decided to hold the bowl through a magical ceremony, allowing her other self to have some rest.

However, one day, she had a visitor. A man, tall and dark, handsome beyond compare, came to her, asking about his own fate and the Noren’s decisions. When she saw him, she knew who he was. She knew he was the man she was fated to love and shield from the snake’s poison. There was a part of her that feared the horrors of her vision. However, when she looked into his eyes and saw the warmth of his smile, she knew she was lost, and that she would not escape the fate the Noren’s had chosen for her. She would love this man, this Prince Loki, and she would help him through his punishment, as dutifully as she had served the Noren.

Count Sigyn (AU)

The Count of Vanaheim is his mother's son. Frayer was not only an iron woman but also a tough politician who influenced everyone with clever strategy and character. And her son Sigyn is in no way inferior to her.

Sigyn could count himself lucky anyway, although he doesn't belong to the Hochardel, he's still the richest count in the country. He can hardly save himself from men and women who want to marry him.

And yet his heart belongs to a small black-haired woman. The illegitimate daughter of the Grand Duke Odin, the beggar princesses Loki like the Ardel mockingly calls her.

Slave Sigyn

A timeline where Kang played destiny.

This timeline should have been very different. Sigyn would have had a happy life and would have been Queen of Asgard one day. But since Kang saw danger in his game, he put a stop to the whole thing. Instead of marrying Loki, he makes sure that their relationship is exposed and Sigyn from Asgard becomes a band.

Picked up and sold by slave traders. Does Sigyn have to spend her life in a harem on some planet. She has gone from a noblewoman to a lust slave and is breaking. She dies broken and lonely, with no one to remember her.

Cursed Queen Sigyn

Sigyn of Earth 741 doesn't have it easy at all. Odin died at Amora's hand. Frigga was killed by Dark Elves and since Loki's death and Thor's abdication she has been the sole ruler of Asgard. And is popularly called the cursed king because everyone who falls in love with her mysteriously dies. Despite this, she is a white ruler and her two sons are very much like their father, albeit a little more reserved.

Melodies in the heart Story by @jonquilclegane

Sigyn Soldottir was only happy when she dreamed. In her dreams, he came to her. In her dreams, he was by her side. In her dreams, he sang to her beautiful melodies that charmed her heart and gave peace to her lonely soul.

During the day, no one stood with her, no one held her hand or kissed her hair softly while humming some lovely tune. No arms held her gently, no warmth came to melt the prison of ice holding her soul.

In her dreams, he was always with her, so handsome, tall, dark, with blue eyes and long black hair. He smiled at her gently, as if she was the most precious treasure in the Nine realms.

Sometimes, there were two children with them, two little boys: one with black hair, like his father’s, one with blonde hair, like hers. They were playful and mischievous, and so very sweet.

But when she woke up every morning, they were gone, and so were the melodies he sang to her. If she focused enough, she could but overhear an echo of a few notes, the memory of a barytone voice, deep and suave, lulling her back into sleep.

She wished to never wake up, only sleep, so she could be back into his loving embrace, sitting comfortably under some apple trees, with their sons playing not too far from them.

Her happiness slipped from her with the first rays of the Asgardian sun, as if her mother Sol brought her back from her melodious, blissful dreams, worried she would remain in them indefinitely.

Loki Odinson – or Laufeyson, now- spent so many days, so many nights in the AllFather’s cells, paying for some crimes committed on Midgard. His mother -adoptive mother- visited of course, but after centuries of lies, it was difficult to accept her caring words.

So Loki laid down his bed, closed his eyes and smiled. His companion of dreams was always the same, though she seemed to grow at the same speed he did, his golden little goddess. She had haunted his dreams since his childhood, playing with him, studying with him, being by his side, always, when none was.

In this life, he had been alone – even when surrounded by people. All of them were Thor’s friends and admirers. Loki had no one of his own. But he had his fair maiden.

She did not exist – of course she did not; real people always chose Thor first: Amora, Sif, Odin, …. However, in his dreams, his beloved did pick him and loved him with all her heart.

So he sang to her, old melodies the AllMother had taught him as a child. Those songs strangely fit their situation: here he was, wandering alone, in this dreadful, lonely, cold place, trying to make his way. And in his dreams, in an apple garden stood the maiden fair, singing: "When will you come home?"

Oh how he wished he could go home to her, to their children. But unfortunately, that could not be.

Karnilla had told him once that dreams were doors to other timelines, that the Loki he saw with the blonde maiden and their sons, was another version of him, a variant, who got to live the perfect life he only could dream to have.

Loki felt jealousy rise inside him. How terribly unfair! Why could that Loki live happily while he was stuck inside Odin’s jails? Why could he kiss and claim his maiden while he was all alone?

But there was nothing he could do. He could not reach that other timeline, though he desired nothing more but to steal his other self’s joy and delight.

Now, he could only close his eyes so he could witness his maiden fair in his variant’s arms, and sing to her “Come home”.

The promise

On Earth 2089, Loki and Theoric are best friends, but it was hard to believe. They've been through thick and thin for so many centuries and even Thor loves to mess around with these two. But one day when Theoric reveals that he fell in love with Frayer's daughter of all people, Loki's heart sinks because he didn't fall in love with just any of Frayer's daughters, but with her third youngest Sigyn. The Loki conceded a real basket more than 300 years ago.

Theoric desperately wants to approach her but doesn't dare, so he asks Loki for help. And Loki as his best friend doesn't want to let him down so he says yes. He writes letters and poetry for Sigyn, and signs all of those letters and poems Theoric.

Sigyn receives these letters and poems is touched by much poetry and the feelings that are in India. She and Theoric start dating and it doesn't take long for the two to become a couple. What Sigyn doesn't know is that it is Loki who wrote her these letters and poems and that he also helped Theoric in all their meetings. Let alone Loki even though she rejected him she still loves her.

When Theoric announced the engagement to Sigyn, the wedding was celebrated a few months later. But somehow Loki wasn't happy either. And when Asgard went to war against another planet, Loki Theoric had to promise to take care of Sigyn.

Peacock Sigyn

Very little is known about this universe. America Chavez tells Doctor Stange only once that the end of 14 is funny and that Sigyn and Amora are best friends in this universe. Doctor Stange had no further questions.

Part 13 is in progress ^^

Here you can find the last 4 parts

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unoriginalias · 4 years ago

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A king is born

Warnings for blood and other violent things

____________________________________

His flesh wasn't healing. He had come to notice this over the several hours he had laid within the dark pit. The creatures were yet to return and as such the Raven had been using his peace and quiet to think, a luxury he had been unable to afford as of late. Why am I even alive? The boy would question, his time here had done well to teach him his limits. How had he survived his countless fatal injuries? His wing.. Starvation.. Both should have killed him in mere moments. Was it some unwritten rule that those within Purgatory must live? The boys mind would flash to the library within the palace.

"A ruler must be knowledgeable on all topics!" The young Raven would state proudly to a boy by his side. Agis. The boy had similarly structured black wings, however his were sickly and malnourished. The boy hailed from the Kingsman house, made up primarily of Fallen Angels and their kin. His wings were featherless and as such were unequipped for flight. His Raven Black hair hung just above his eyes as he looked blankly at the prince. "I can totally see your dumbass needing fairytales to get out of whatever shit you'll get yourself into" the boy would chuckle as he nudged the prince. The 8 year old Prince seemed to growl and stop completely after being nudged, turning to his follower before planting a fist in the unassuming boys gut. "Never ridicule me you filthy fucking Rat." The prince hissed as he watched Agis keel over onto his knees, choking for breath. "I could have you killed for even looking at me wrong! Know your place!" The Raven would begin to scream as he forced the boy onto his hands and knees by placing his heel on the back of Agis head.

The rest of the memory quickly became a blur as the two were ripped from eachother, Agis being torn down the hall fearfully by his father. An arrogant smirk overcoming the prince as he found himself staring down the pleading gaze of a retreating father. They would both be slaughtered in the morning and both parties were aware of it. On the other side Fael found himself being torn from the scene by his older brother, Rhias. The slightly taller Nephilim pulled the prince by the shoulder. The point of interest within this memory didn't come from the scuffle itself but the book that was clutched within the Prince's hand. A book of legends. Fael had always found stories much more interesting then reality and as such took an interest in the Olympian mythos. Purgatory was a realm outside the dominion of the sacred Reapers, this was clearly stated within the book. This small fact is what made the realm of chaos such a foreboding myth, once you enter there is no way to truly die. The forces of death cannot reach you. The Raven had been eight upon reading the book and now four years later its knowledge would enlighten him.

Cursing under his breath the Raven would feel fear set in once more, rising from its place in the pit of his stomach. What if he lay here forever? Immobilized for all eternity. Death becoming nothing more then a dream as his life continues eternally. "Someone?! Help! Please!" The boys pleads for help resounded throughout his unfamiliar surroundings. He never expected anyone to actually come to his aid. Why would they? The first living creatures he had encountered were nothing more then mindless drones, following his commands like organic robots. Yet once more the searing pain of his entire body being submerged in acid overcame him, this being the first feeling in his lower body in hours. It was strange to be reminded of one's size in such an excruciating manner. After the pain had subsided it seemed as though nothing had actually happened, leading the Raven to believe the crown was simply cursed.

Thud.

Beside Fael laid a familiar figure. A jointed jaw allowed the creatures jaw to fold open both vertically and horizontally, allowing it to eat smaller creatures whole. Its maw filled with two rows of razor sharp teeth, some chipped presumably from combat. It's skin seemed to resemble a crustacean as its body was covered in armour like plates of some organic enamel varient. It's eyes loomed from its helmet like skull. It's sense of sight, smell and hearing were greatly weakened in favour of an almost impenetrable hide. It's legs were too mangled to properly make out however it's arms were what finally reminded the Raven of where he had seen the creature. Stretching from its clawed paws was a single blade like extension, it's right arm missing this appendage. Fael would've screamed if not for the small chance the creature didn't know he was there, after all he wasn't really doing anything to alert it. The creature crawled its way towards the boy as sweat dripped from his face, frozen in fear. What would happen to him if he were eaten alive? Would he remain sentient with whatever was left untouched? Or would he finally die? He couldn't tell whether he wanted to take the chance.

It would seem he didn't have a choice as the beast gripped his shoulder and flipped him onto his stomach, the rough movement causing him to groan audibly. Now the beast was out of sight but still there, it's movements no longer monitored. A primal sense of danger flooded his mind as he desperately attempted to move his unresponsive limbs. No matter how much he tried to flex his arm or thrash his legs, everything below his neck remained completely immobile. Ironically his fight or flight response would only now activate as his ears filled with the familiar sound of bone on bone. His mind racing back to his episode of desperation, the terrible taste of his own flesh finally hitting him. He was too out of it to even notice how terrible his wing had tasted. "No! No please! Stop!" He would scream in protest as the searing pain returned, not that the boy reacted as his mind had finally numbed itself to any sort of pain. The sound stopped abruptly and Fael felt the beast collapse forward on-top of him. "No! Get off of me!" He would scream, hysteria filling his voice and mind. The beast complied and quickly propped itself above the Raven on its hands, eyes peering down at him. "Flip me over! Now!" He would hiss angrily as the crown finally seemed to make it's true ability known. Once again the beast would comply mechanically, as if it's very existance was subject to all of Faels desires. Upon being flipped the boy would see that he was too late. he was clipped. His wing now sat Infront of him, it's feathers glistening in the false light that permeated the plains.

"fix me.. please.." he would beg between sobs as the creature spurred to life, picking up the dismembered wing that what little blood it had left. Tearing chunks of flesh from the appendage before feeding it to the boy carefully, like a nurse caring for a dying patient. However Fael was far from dying, Purgatory wouldn't allow it. Rather he felt his flesh begin to reattach itself to his bones, his body acting to regenerate itself as his right wing worked to mend his body. Unlike his first taste of himself, he was completely alert as he was spoonfed his own flesh. The taste being comparable to rotten roadkill. It's texture alone almost enough to make him vomit, he probably would have if his regeneration were any faster. He was saved once more, but at what cost?

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vantablade · 4 years ago

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【 🌌 MYTHOPOEIA V. 】

TLDR: A lore/world-building headcanon that focuses on the chronology (in this case, Epochs or definitive eras) of the in-universe of Nocturne’s canon. Also has some information, vaguely, regarding the mythology of divinity and important figures.

An era is defined by the most significant factor of its time. While planets and countries may have their own eras, defined by the reigning monarch or a particular age of change, the Bright Star System, as a whole, follows the timeline of Epochs, which denote significance of a grander scale. As of Nocturne’s position in the chronology, we are in the Sixth Epoch, which would be known by her people’s descendants as the Age of Anarchy. In-universe scholars will argue about the true beginning of the Sixth Epoch, as they argued about the Fifth before it, and the Fourth, and so-on; it is the Epoch’s nature to be debated, discussed, analysed and re-interpreted to fit whatever narrative is best to be served. Epochs are not limited by a particular stretch of time—there is no mandatory “limit” of days, months, years or centuries that permit a new Epoch being determined. Rather, it is determined by a time of significant change that alters how the denizens of Bright Star understand or adapt to their environment. For example, while the Genesis Migration was a significant cross-system event, it did not, on its own, cause enough of a cosmic upset to earn an Epoch-level importance to begin an era. Rather, it was but a mere instrument in the grander scheme of the Age of Champions, the Fifth Epoch.

This headcanon exists to give a context towards the chronology and a greater understanding of the world Nocturne is a mere part of. There will be references towards the in-universe mythology and other significant events that took place far beyond our hero’s birth, but there will be no in-depth description of those events, as I want to keep everything that could reveal too much—or is unnecessary in understanding Nocturne—under wraps. However, hopefully there will be enough information to provide a better grounding of the world Nocturne lives in, particularly if you are interested in combining universes or developing deeper threads with her character.

Despite the fact Nocturne exists in the Sixth Epoch, truthfully there are Seven; the first of all Epochs is known by scholars as the “Zero Epoch”, a time before time, a space before space, where the original Primordial first willed itself into existence. Here is where Essences, the foundation of all life, magic and matter in the Essential Universe, first came into being. It would not be until the First Epoch that actual physical space began to take form, as the Ancients—Gods comparable to the Titans of Greco-Roman mythology, who were more a physical embodiment of the things they ruled over and interpreted to be “carriers” of the Primordial’s divine will where it could not directly enact on its wishes—came into being. These Ancients are also comparable to the incomprehensible deities of the Cthulhu mythos, with titanic, unbearable bodies and minds so alien to us that they evade description or empathy. They are more like machinations of cosmic law, unkillable and undestroyable, for on their shoulders rests the entire Universe.

The Second Epoch is when the Divines, Gods who created “bi-essences” that combined the Primordial Essences into Lesser Essences, came into being as “children” of the Ancients that possessed a sentience closer to the realm of comprehension. They are capable of whimsy, of want, of ire and of fondness. Here, they would be most comparable to most pantheons of deities, with inter-relationships both within the circle of the Divines and with their creations, the Kinetics, pseudo-mortals who co-existed with the Divines and were taught their magic in return of being subordinate with them.

The Third Epoch is the first Epoch marked by a war of tremendous proportion, that resulted in the death of Divines and the weakening of magic that is still felt to this day. Here, the Divine Nolu, the God of Secrets and Mystery, prompted the Kinetics into rebelling against their deities by telling them forbidden secrets of mortality, encouraging them to upheave the heavens and take their power by storm rather than tolerating watered down lessons that kept them under their benevolent Gods’ thumbs. Nolu would abandon the Kinetics during this war, leading to slaughter on both sides, only to return at last moment to assure the death of all Divines—aside from themselves. The Third Epoch was solely this war, though the duration of it is unknown, and the true extent of the damage and knowledge of what the pre-Divine War world was like is knowledge lost, perhaps for eternity. All that is known is that likely it was a time of Edenic bliss, where magic flowed like wine and mortals were cared for by Divines. After the trauma of the War, the Fourth Epoch was birthed: the Age of Ruin, the Age of Loss, the Age of Abandonment.

Kinetics, now scorned by the Ancients whose children they had revolted against and punished by the Primordial who hosted them, suffered the punishment of agelessness. They were removed from the life-death cycle that promised reincarnation and forgiveness of the soul, forcing them to live an eternity of repentance and grief as they watched the world they knew rot into a mere husk of its former self. Magic weakened with nobody there to teach them, and without Divines to create Kinetics with such innate skill, they were condemned to physically reproduce until there were only Mortals.

Mortals lacked the intimate tutelage that gave Kinetics their mastery over the Primordial Essences, or the Divine Essences, and so their powers weakened too. Magical knowledge was not lost completely, but it would take lifetimes to achieve a level that most Kinetics had earned in adolescence. Over time, the era of bliss and magic that had once been an undeniable reality would fade to myth across the Cosmos, with the division of the New Way (the belief that all of this was purely mythology) and the Old Way (the belief that all of this was fact) separating mortals across the Universe, severing some from their magical heritage entirely to make way for man-made scientific advancement devoid of spiritual attunement.

The Spider Star System was a System that followed the New Way, forcing the less-magically repressed mortals—known as Undanes—into hiding lest they be rejected or destroyed for their absurdities. This System would also become the grounds for one of the greatest calamities recorded, with the Genesis Collapse marking a potentially unrepairable wound in the very fabric of reality whose effects are still present today, giving way to the Paroxysms that blight the Bright Star System in the Sixth Epoch. The Bright Star System followed the Old Way, however, and magic is still understood and studied with varying levels of skill and mastery across the System. It was the Genesis Migration that introduced the Genesse people, Undane and Mundane alike, to the cohabitation of magic-repressed and magic-expressive people, though not without duress. It was this discovery for the Mundanes that contributed to the genesis of the Ametsuchi, forged out of hardship, exile and sacrifice brought on by a primal rejection of this magical nature.

The Genesis Collapse was the locus of the Fifth Epoch, the Age of Champions, where it became apparent that Divinity could be reached by mortalkind should the Primordial bestow upon them the capability. The nature of Champions is debated among scholars; some argue that Champions, of which there is only one certainty and one other heavily contested, are the Divines reborn, returned from their celestial graves, while others argue that the Champions are entirely new in spirit as it would be disrespectful to the Divines to ignore the devastation they had suffered at the hands of men. Unfortunately, the effects of the loss of Divines is still felt to this day, as the sole Champion of the people, Genevieve (the sacred figure of the Holy Order), is absent. Whether she perished after the Genesis Collapse or otherwise went to another System or was killed by the Goliath in some unseen battle of tremendous proportion, is completely unknown. Mortals can only emulate what they think she would have done, such as the Divine Right of Kings applied to the Boucher imperial line on Neo, or the Holy Order’s fight against Paroxysms.

The Fifth Epoch is potentially the shortest of all Epochs, having spanned only several generations, perhaps not even a millennium.

The Sixth Epoch, then, is the playground for the plot of this blog and its attached extended canon. It is the Age of Anarchy, the Age of Monsters, of all things Eldritch. It is uncertain when the Sixth Epoch came into play, for some argue it was with the formation of Spider’s Eye as it tried to awaken the Spider-God Goliath, the destroyer of Genesis and the foe of the Champion Genevieve, or with their first use of Chaos manipulation and Paroxysm invocation as a weapon in the assassination of the Green-King Eoin of Namana. It is potentially even incited by the Ametsuchi Massacre, which was tied to the actions of Spider’s Eye and the High King Kazumi Ametsuchi, resulting in Chaotic manipulations and mutilations of all remaining Ametsuchi. The onus of the Sixth Epoch may be debated, but the end of the Sixth Epoch is entirely unknown: some fear that it may never end, others fear that it is the end, but hopefuls pray for a better, kinder Seventh Epoch, just on the horizon of what may be the most horrifying Epoch to exist in.

#mythopoeia #long post

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