#blessed beasts and cursed creations

[delcat177]

Didn't have the spoons to look up links in bed last night, thanks so much for bringing it home Sparky

Edit:

The original post was a mistake on my part! I misread and put FDA instead of WHO based on what was going around on twitter. I had no intention of spreading misinfo. Just thought it was an interesting piece of info and wanted to get tumblr's take on it. Thanks to everyone sharing more info on the topic ☝🤓

[speed-world]

Hey, I got this idea from watching some Dark Souls lore videos, so can I request a HC of beast cookies being beaten by a chosen Undead reader.

Plot: when the Beast cookies went on a rampage The Witches knew they had to stop them but the cookie were too powerful to do so so they decided to work together to bake a new cookie, a cookie that can weaken them to a point that they can be in prison, a cookie that can come back from the dead as much as possible until the deed is done, they call them the Chosen Undead Cookie

Sworn Purpose

The Five Beasts. The primordial Cookies created by the Witches as emissaries of the Godly Creators; that fell from grace due to their Absolute power corrupting them completely. The Witches couldn’t bear to see their creations promised as saviors turned apostles of evil, and so they punished the Beasts by sealing them away in Beast-Yeast. At least…that was what should have happened.

The Beasts rebelled, refusing to go quiet into the night. They broke free from their shackles and dominated the lands of Beast-Yeast without challenge. The Witches refused to give up however, and would go deeply into a period of heavy trials and error in baking something …greater. They combined their magic to create a Cookie that could complete the task they failed too. A Cookie that would never rest until they sealed these Beasts, even if the Cookie was crumbled. A Cookie that will rise and rise again, as if freshly baked out of the oven, to complete their assigned life purpose. As the Witches spent numerous days and nights creating this Cookie, they’d mix so many flavors into to them that the Cookie was ultimately nameless to the Witches. When finally completed, passerby Cookies knew them only by a couple of names: Y/N Cookie, or their more known, and more appropriate moniker…Chosen Undead Cookie.

It was never easy completing your task, but you never once questioned it or the Witches. They told you all the features and names of the Beasts, that you must do whatever it takes to seal them away, and you followed as such.

During your first attempt, you could barely make a move against a jester before being crumbled in a mess of crumbs and jam. The last thing you heard was the jester laughing before you reawakened in a different location.

One of the many blessings you had received from the Witches was that you could communicate with and hear them. You could hear some the Witches applaud you for your efforts, and others express their apologies for what you must suffer through. It didn’t faze you though, you had a God-given purpose, and you’d curse at yourself if you never finished it. Maybe one day…you could live a fairly normal life, but it won’t happen until your job is done.

“Oh~? Pfffttt AHAHAHAHAHA~~!! Oh this is priceless, you’re still kicking huh? I mean, what attempt is this, number….59? 100? Isn’t this tiring to you buddy~?”

“Silence, jester. I am not tired, not one bit. I have been assigned this duty by the Witches, and I refuse to stop until you Beasts are sealed away…”

You stared at him with the same neutral yet angry expression that you almost always have. He upsets you, just as the other Beasts. And, like him, they will be sealed by your hand sooner or later.

“Really now…? How many times have you said that? And yet the result is still the same! I’ll give you credit though, you’re getting closer each time!! But all that means is that I’m improving myself to make sure you continue to be the failure you are!!”

“Am I the failure, Shadow Milk Cookie? You were meant to be a savior, a hero to all Cookiekind until the end of days, but you failed at your duty. Don’t tell me, are you jealous that I’m favored and know how to follow simple instruction? Does it upset you that I’m succeeding in the role you failed to fulfill?”

“Tch…didja learn to talk all smart while you were in between the states of dying and living? Those Witches can BURN IN THE OVEN, AND YOU’LL JOIN THEM YOU MISERABLE PUPPET!!!”

“….I’m assuming you’re done wasting your breath away now? I’m glad you’ll be the first I seal, your voice annoys me…”

You readied yourself again for the umpteenth time, and stared holes into Shadow Milk Cookie. “You are the miserable one here, jester…” You muttered to yourself, before clashing with the jester once more.

————————————————————————

The cold steps of the Ivory Pagoda are all too familiar for you now. The aroma of the incense, the reflective gold of the tiles, all of it was practically burned in your memory as you approached the Master of the Ivory Pagoda yet again. Of course, you couldn’t meet the Master without seeing the guardian of Ivory Pagoda as well.

“Oh, Master, look who’s back again~! You must really enjoy witnessing the truth that my Master has to show the world! At this point, you’re the most frequent visitor here to the pagoda, maybe you’d want to stay here for the rest of your life~? It’s not like your immortality is doing you any favors being the Witches’s pawn~…”

You ignored the mocking comments of Cloud Haetae Cookie. They’re not what you’re here for anyways, so they can berate you all they want, it won’t take your attention away from your mission. You walked past the haetae and stared up at the Beast, who didn’t even open her eyes to you.

“One day, you will come to see how pointless your mission truly is. Again and again, you challenge my truth and power, and again and again, you fail to understand that you’ll never succeed…”

“That is where your arrogance has mislead you, Mystic Flour Cookie. You insist on yourself so much that you fail to grasp the reality around you. More and more, I grow resistant to your power, and I keep parts of my flavor in spite of being turned to flour. One day, you will come to realize that the madness you speak of will never be heard as you’ll spend your days sealed away as you deserve.”

Mystic Flour Cookie doesn’t bother responding to you. She only waves her hand, uttering the phrase you’ve heard numerous times now: “Return to Flour…”. Your words were true: you were still maintaining your flavor and everything else about you, and only small crumbs were being taken away, albeit incredibly slowly. Then you lounged at her, slashing at her with your blade….and you cut her. Jam leaked out of her thigh from the gash you made. Although your magic and control over the chains and Witch’s fork specialized for sealing the Beasts weren’t strong enough yet, you were making fast progress.

Cloud Haetae Cookie was shocked, but Mystic Flour appeared unfazed as usual. But one thing was abundantly clear, you were improving. Even if you didn’t seal her during this time, you would overcome her powers and seal her away, even if you were crumbled to flour in the process. Mystic Flour will be sealed, just like the other Beasts, and you’ll rise and rise again until your deed is done and all of the Beasts are sealed away.

————————————————————————

Hellish blazing embers and the ruins of forests are the most recognizable sight you know. Whenever you hear the fires crackling, you know that you’re close to Burning Spice Cookie. Burning Spice stares daggers into you just as you stare a hole back.

“You again, eh? How many times are we going to do the same song and dance until you’ve crumbled for good? Those damned Witches must have spent days, perhaps weeks trying to perfect a herald to defeat us, and your failure of an existence is all they have to show for their efforts. It would be funny, if it weren’t so sad and true…”

“I’ll keep coming back as many times as needed until you—“

“Yeah yeah, until us Beasts are sealed away. You’re a broken record at this point, and it’s really beginning to annoy the Hell out of me…. Then again, you do have your uses for being a toy, free for me to play with and break whenever I feel like it. So c’mon, let’s not waste words and entertain me, Chosen fool~…”

You smirked at Burning Spice; at least you two could agree on something, that being words are useless at this point. You steeled yourself and gripped your sword tightly, and Burning Spice did the same with that giant axe in hand. All you need to do is seal away Burning Spice, and even if you crumbled in the process, it will be done.

————————————————————————

The skies were an incredibly dark shade of pink, and you’ve slowly grown to hate it when the skies were like this. Mainly because you knew who it was that was around, and Witches did Eternal Sugar Cookie, wielding the power of Sloth, utterly piss you off.

All Eternal Sugar did was yawn on top of the cloud she rested on, and looked at you haphazardly with her hand resting on her cheek*

*Yaaaaaaawwwwnn* “Ahh, who’re you again? You always come here for ah…some mission from the Witch’s I think? Can’t you bother anyone else with your nonsense, I have a lot of better things to do than waste my precious energy on you agaaaaiinn…”

The tone in Eternal Sugar’s voice and manner is what really bothered you the most. Although it was fitting of the Sloth power she held, she just couldn’t care less about you or whatever inhumane actions she did to others. Granted, you weren’t much for words yourself, the most you talk is when dealing with the annoyance is Shadow Milk Cookie, so at least with Eternal Sugar you can get right to the point without any hesitation.

“At least you know what I’m here for, Beast…I’ll gladly make sure you’ve suffered in the last moments of your recreation…”

“Mhmmm, sure thing. Just hurry up and crumble already so you can bother someone else when you resurrect, please~….

Without waiting anymore, you charged at the lackadaisical Beast. Thankfully, the more you do this the more stronger and better you’re getting. Because the sooner you seal away Eternal Sugar, the better. Not just for the Witch’s and Cookiekind, but for the sake of your own mind.

————————————————————————

The eerie silence of the area you stepped into would be enough to scare any being beyond belief. It was dark, quiet, perfectly becoming the scene any scared children would have when fearing the dark. Only this was no dream, is was the brutal reality of a vicious Beast that you could never seem to get an upper hand against.

Silent Salt Cookie was just standing there, sword in hand as always. Out of all the Beasts, Silent Salt doesn’t do anything else now except wait for you. Silent Salt knows of your ability to keep coming back to life after dying and knew sooner or later you’d be back.

The quietness from you and Silent Salt was loud and easy to understand. You weren’t much for words yourself, no need to start now with a quiet Cookie. You both knew each other well enough, understanding the other’s goal in mind as you both nodded and readied your swords yet again. The area soon became loud with the sounds of clashing swords in a struggle of life and death.

Until your mission is fulfilled, until the Beasts are sealed away and no longer a threat to Cookiekind, then you will be raised from the dead. Retaining your mixture of flavors, knowledge and power, and using all of them against the foul Beasts that defiled their roles as promised saviors. Until the deed is done…

[burninwrath]

My lord, what made u stop being a herald and become a beast of destruction? U mentiond that you were bored but it cant just b that can it?

"Fine, I will GRACE you with this information. PERHAPS then will you insolent creature cease to pester me."

"When I sat upon my throne - time LONG PAST , I was hit with the REVELATION . . . My existence.. meant nothing. For I was a cookie who was graced with a curse that many of my own kin had realized far into our lives. Unlike other cookies, we were immortal, our doughs would stay pristine, we would never stale. CRUMBLING was impossible. We became heroes because of our curse. AT FIRST, it was a gift, I was ecstatic of this. Any would be, but then I had realized the great pain in which it caused. GRIEF. OUR GRIEF. As we stood tall those around us crumbled, CHANGED. I WAS THE AVATAR OF CHANGE - AND YET . . . I could do nothing to stop this tide from rising. They broke, they rebuilt, they fell. It was like watching a wheel turn slowly - SO SLOWLY, I COULD HEAR THE GEARS OF ITS MECHANISM SCRATCHING MY SKULL LIKE NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD. YET COOKIES WERE GRACED WITH THE ABILITY TO ENDURE THIS CHANGE- TO UNDERSTAND LIFE. TO UNDERSTAND.. the blessing of creation. I- WAS NOT BLESSED WITH THAT RIGHT. That is when I realized the lives I cherished during were meaningless. WHY BECOME ATTACHED? WHEN THEY WERE MEANT TO CRUMBLE? I became destruction, a force that could change those with a single grasp. Destruction and the blessing of life were at my fingertips. I no longer would stand idly by and just be a willing gear to turn endlessly as my head spun on my shoulders. I WOULD BE THE DRIVING FORCE OF NATURE ITSELF. FEAR. PAIN. MISERY. ECSTATIC JOY. PEACEFUL BLISS. AH, YES THEY WERE MINE TO CONTROL, I HAD CONTROL. I WAS THE CONTROL. It was freeing to release myself from my shackles, I WOULD NOT BE TIMES SERVANT. I WOULD DECIDE MY OWN FATE AND THOSE AROUND ME. IT WAS FREEDOM."

[celesterayel]

the tragic heroes | percy jackson

pairing: percy Jackson ✩ ‧₊˚

IN WHICH — the tragic heroes and the tragedy that appeases the chaos.

The monster cackles in delight, its bulging eyes crinkling with glee and invoking disgust in all that have (and will) witness its countenance. Darkness hides all other pallors of rotting skin and luminously straining veins, slivers of shades of bruised blues and bloody reds clashing against the dark abyss of the room, that the monster has no use for as an entity of chaos.

Bells foil loudly in the distance, perturbing the distant silence of the castle with grating screeches only reaching the heights of noise as the pits of tartarus. It is a cacophony of choked laughter and perversive glee for the delicate steps that built the foundation for what is to come. And soon it shall!

The Fates have come knocking on the door of destiny and offered up to the beast the next great tragedy that shall put all the others to shame. A deal for judgement and devastation. The Fates have weaved through sorrows befitting the leagues of Icarus's falling and Achille's lost love, enthralling the vices of Aphrodite's cruel methods that end with aching lips and entranced poets--forever written into history. They have searched the sands of time and bid the eons of creation for this.

The monster lounges forward as if the visions in the water will disappear and greedily drinks forth the taste of cataclysmic devotion and the etchings of pain in the cosmos as the moonlight of the water provides the burning echoes from lips that shall taste the sweetest sin and ache for it in every other lifetime. What a lovely destruction this will be.

The monster pitches out, “It has begun, young little hero. Such pretty sorrows..."

The Fates have certainly outdone themselves. This story will be one for the ages to come and even after!

The walls haunch over and enclose the story in its grasp, keeping it their secret even if only just a bit longer. It reeks of desperation and devastation--the greatest ones always do.

Voices of the damned and lost screech out in laughter, the entity mocks in pity or sadness all the same: "Wretched Greek story doomed to repeat like it has every lifetime; the pour of ichor waning between reality and prophecies about to drip, drip, drip down the pages. Except in this one, it seems perhaps the gods made a mistake choosing you for him. He has no qualms choosing you over all else. I must say, I shall have fun watching the Earth burn and Olympus fall down--the chaos it shall bring...delightful! Blessing or curse we have yet to see! It seems I have a new tale to tell when the cursed half-bloods come crooning at my gates to weep. My, what marvelous tunes!”

The beast could taste the tears and heartache that slide right off this tale, so presently tasteful.

My, my what marvelous fortunes to come indeed.

The Savior of Olympus., Son of the Seas, Percy Jackson. The Survivor.

The Great One, Daughter of the Heavens, Callopeia Iris. The Tragedy.

"Finally a story for the gods below who ache for destruction and tragedy like it was made for them. They shall have a riot."

The Tragic Heroes.

✩ ‧₊˚ author note i was doing physics and calc hw and this came into my mind and now thinking of creating a full on fanfic on ao3 and wattpad based on the dialogue i wrote. i apologize for being so inactive and for the requests in my inbox. swear I have alot planned and written but classes are kicking me rn. i just needed to post this cuz i think it sounded really good :)

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Zon-Kuthon: The Prince in Chains

CR 15

Lawful Evil Huge Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 314

A great many Heralds in Pathfinder have backstories that are only alluded to, while many have no backstory and were simply woven into life by their god. Some are lucky enough to have entire histories explaining their origin and ascension to status of Herald, but to call the Prince in Chains "lucky" would be a grave and insulting mistake. There are few beings in creation quite as pitiable as the Herald of Zon-Kuthon the Midnight Lord, the Prince beginning his existence as a powerful and free spirit wolf filled with boundless love for song and life, and if you read that sentence and then flick your scroll wheel up a little bit, you can probably see where this story is going. But rest assured: It gets so much worse.

You see, the artist-that-would-come-to-be-known-as-Prince was once called Thron, and Thron loved nothing more than frolicking along Golarion, siring countless spirits of art and beauty in his wake with his many lovers. Two of those spirits would eventually come to be known as Shelyn and Dou-Bral. Yes, this unfortunate beast was Dou-Bral's father, who eagerly awaited his son's return from the far reaches of space, and ran up to greet Dou-Bral Zon-Kuthon when he finally came home. The feeling of relief and happiness upon seeing a beloved family member was not mutual, and the Midnight Lord swiftly bound his former father in razor-sharp chains, spending the next several centuries slowly, carefully, meticulously destroying everything about Thron and leaving behind nothing but a roiling nexus of hatred and pain with no memory of the ball of sunshine and song he once was.

It's easy to feel sorry for the Prince in Chains, but don't let what he was distract you from what he is now. He is among the most powerful of the Heralds, and instrument created to inflict as much pain and misery on as many people as he possibly can, and is used by Zon-Kuthon to hunt down, torture, and sometimes provide the mercy of death to those who displease him. When left bereft of orders, the Prince lazily wanders the twisted halls of Xovaikain, Zon's primary base of operations, searching for any creature in need of either enlightenment or motivation, both of which are provided via the same method and medium: chains, teeth, and powerful spells cast upon screaming flesh.

Unlike with many Heralds who may be focused on a mission and thus unwilling to pause it to roll initiative, a party of adventurers encountering the Prince in any environment is unlikely to resolve the meeting peacefully, as it relishes any opportunity to spread pain, even to innocents. Even fervent followers of Zon-Kuthon are likely to be 'tested' or 'blessed' by the Prince in a way that leaves them on the verge of death, with the rest of the party not being anywhere remotely as lucky. So let's see just what an unlucky party is up against should they hear the howl of the Prince in Chains...

Well, first of all, you're not going to get accurate stats from the Archives of Nethys. For whatever reason, the AoN still has the Prince's stats from the 3.5 version that appeared in Curse of the Crimson Throne instead of updating it to its modern portrayal in Inner Sea Gods, a source of infinite frustration for me because it means I need to keep the book open to constantly look back and forth! Ugh! I wouldn't be complaining so much if the differences between its 3.5 version and proper PF version were bigger, but unlike many other Heralds who were powered down in order to fit properly into ISG, the Prince actually got more powerful.

The biggest and most obvious jump in strength comes from looking at the Prince's melee attacks: a bite and two lashing metal tentacles. The Prince's bite is a terribly powerful strike dealing 6d6+9 damage before making an automatic trip attempt against the target, while the tentacles deal 3d6+4 damage per strike, giving the Prince one of the highest damage potentials among the Heralds. Adding onto it is Vicious Critical, turning all confirmed critical hits into an additional 2 Constitution damage as the savage attack rips away at the target's flesh; there is a small mercy in that none of his attacks have an augmented critical hit range, nor does he have Improved Critical, meaning Vicious Critical is only likely to happen once or twice in a given fight.

Unfortunately, that's the only part of the Prince's kit likely to not affect a given battle. The rest of it is geared to take as many player options away as possible, with both his unique abilities AND his list of spell-likes each capable of crippling or killing the party in unique and terrible ways. When he tires of a specific creature or find them annoying, he can use Slay Living 1/day to blast 12d6+15 health out of any creature within his 10ft space/10ft reach. With a similar amount of dismissal, his 1/day Blasphemy is likely to be used to clear out the chaff than to as an actual offensive option, the single word ending the lives of any creature not worth the Herald's time and leaving behind only those who'd survive his twisted "affections" for more than a few seconds. At 3/day he has Bestow Curse and Blindness/Deafness in case his Eyebite and Crushing Despair fail to significantly impact his foes, and an emergency toolkit in the form of Shadow Conjuration to either create disposable minions or raise illusory impediments to hopefully make enemies hesitate approaching... or escaping.

No, the Prince doesn't want anyone to escape the torment he wants to share. Any creature that meets his Unnerving Gaze is staggered if they fail a DC 22 Will save, preventing them from easily running away or fighting back, and further complicating that is his terrifying Chainstorm, a 15ft sphere of whirling chains and strips of spine-covered flesh that automatically deals 1d12 damage to any creature starting their turn in it. Failing a DC 22 Reflex save allows the chains to dig into the victims' flesh, entangling AND anchoring them to the Prince, leaving them open to being torn apart by his teeth or spells.

The Prince in Chains is almost all offense, prompted to get right into the middle of an enemy team and begin ripping into them, and he is rewarded for doing so. He is immune to both critical hits and Sneak Attack damage, denying most bursts of damage from weapon attacks. He is protected by DR 15 which requires only a Good-aligned weapon to bypass, though his unique Exaction ability heals him 10 HP at the end of any turn he managed to damage anything. Notably, this ability is indiscriminate and doesn't specifically state he needed to damage a creature, so a DM going by Rules-As-Written basically allows the Prince to have Fast Healing 10 so long as he takes a moment each round to stomp particularly hard onto a floor or walk into a swarm of flies, and cathartically ripping apart some furniture (or particularly resilient dog toy courtesy of Zon-Kuthon) after battle lets him rapidly heal to full.

Thankfully, his physical resistance just barely hides a vulnerability to magic. Only Cold stands out as his true immunity to magical damage, and he is just as vulnerable to any Save or Suck effect as any other Herald, provided the effect can pierce both 27 SR and his +17/+12/+8 saves (look at that pathetic Will save!). You know, provided he hasn't used Greater Invisibility (3/day) to tiptoe into melee and trap the casters in his reach and follow it up with a walloping against everyone's flat-footed AC, or used his at-will Deeper Darkness on his own space to prevent line-of-sight from being drawn. He doesn't have See in Darkness, but with Scent and 60ft of Blindsight, he can track foes shrouded in the darkness just fine.

The final trick the Prince has, however, is both offensive and defensive, serving just as well to shield him from harm and harm others at the same time: Howl of Despair. This incredibly dangerous ability can be used every 1d4 rounds as a standard action, blasting every non-Evil creature within 60ft of it with 6d6 points of Sonic damage if they can't succeed a DC 22 Will save... but the damage isn't the important part! The important part is that a single use of this ability at the start of the encounter, before anyone can move away from the Prince when he pops into melee distance with everyone, can spell the doom of any party member within 10ft. Any creature within that distance who fails the save against the damage is rendered permanently insane, forcing them to lash out randomly at their allies, attack themselves with their own weapons, or otherwise waste half of their turns until the condition can be cured.

The cruelty of this ability comes from trying to cure the ailment in combat, as the Prince can simply re-apply it when the ability comes back off cooldown (provided the victim fails their Will save again), as there's no 24-hour immunity clause. This essentially means all the melee fighters will be at an enormous disadvantage for the entirety of the fight, being entangled, insane, and almost constantly prone. Possibly even cursed, blinded, and/or deafened! And the Prince is both swift (40ft) and can fly (50ft), so even keeping your distance to pelt it from afar is frustrating! Fitting that fighting the Herald of the God of Pain is so agonizing, really.

You can read more about him here, but the AoN has not updated the Prince's statblock from his 3.5 version.

[darknesseddiem]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Inspired on the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier.

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Eddie Munson was a bitter soul, as sharp and biting as black coffee. They said he needed sweetness in his life, but alas, you were too sweet for him. Your kindness became his burden, a reminder of the bitterness he couldn't escape.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Angst.

Eddie, a man marred by life's relentless blows, harbored a bitter resentment towards the world. He resembled a tempestuous black cloud, casting a shadow over fields teeming with vitality and serenity, only to unleash his chaotic storm, leaving destruction in its wake. In his turbulent existence, he became the embodiment of despair, a tragic figure cursed to bring ruin to the very beauty he could never truly embrace.

Eddie, burdened by the weight of his own bitterness, couldn't help but pity his friends who bore the brunt of his cold demeanor. Despite his noble intentions, his mind was ensnared by a darkness that eclipsed his innate goodness.

Alone in his crumbling, embittered world, Eddie found solace amidst the decay. He drowned his soul in a bitter concoction of distant, surreal memories, each served colder than the last. Locked in a cycle of nostalgia and despair, he clung to the remnants of a past that seemed ever more distant, yet somehow more real than his present existence.

His friends, bless their hearts, tried tirelessly, for what felt like an eternity. Yet, despite their efforts, nothing could pry Eddie from the clutches of his self-imposed identity. He remained steadfast in his conviction, resigned to the bitter fate he believed was his alone. Like a lingering aftertaste, he permeated their lives, leaving behind a bitterness that lingered long after he was gone.

And then, on one fateful day, amidst the bitter aroma of coffee, there came a convergence of flavors. The bitterness of Eddie's world collided with the sweet nectar of possibility. As if carried by the gentle caress of a spring breeze, there appeared the most exquisite and divine creation: You.

You stood there, a perfect fusion of heaven's grace and innocence— not the naive kind, but the pure essence of kindness and sweetness. Among his circle of hopeful friends, you were the beacon of light, the embodiment of their deepest and happiest desires.

Slowly, like delicate vines reaching out, your essence entwined around Eddie's once-bitter heart. Despite his resistance, he found himself surrendering to the irresistible allure of your sweetness. The taste of grape nectar, like a balm, seeped into his veins, thawing the frost that had long encased his coldest parts. In your presence, he discovered a warmth he had long forgotten, a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows of his past.

As the warmth intensified, it became an inferno, scorching everything in its path. And you, my dear, you were the epitome of sweetness, a radiant light that illuminated his darkened soul. But alas, in the blaze of passion, he found himself overwhelmed by the intensity of your sweetness. Like a parched wanderer stumbling upon an oasis, he drank greedily, only to realize that the sweetness was too much for his bitter palate to bear. And so, in the tragedy of it all, your sweetness became his undoing, a reminder of the darkness he could never fully escape.

Guilt gnawed at him, a relentless beast tearing through his resolve. He feared he would tarnish the purity of your sweetness with his own bitter essence, rendering it inedible, unfit for consumption. As he stood on the precipice of your love, he realized the undeniable truth: You were too sweet for him, a delicacy meant for those who could savor and appreciate your essence without tainting it with bitterness. And so, with a heavy heart, he withdrew, unable to bear the thought of sullying the beauty of your sweetness with his own bitterness.

It can't be said I'm an early bird

It's ten o'clock before I say a word

Each morning, as the sun reluctantly stretched its rays across the horizon, Eddie found himself drawn to the sight of you awakening. Your presence, so full of life and warmth, outshone even the sun itself, casting its brilliance upon his darkened world. But as he watched, a bitter realization gnawed at his soul like a relentless beast. He was the harbinger of storms, the bearer of darkness, and his very presence threatened to overshadow the delicate tendrils of your sweetness. Like thorny branches reaching out from his tormented soul, his negativity and bad mood threatened to entangle and suffocate the fragile beauty that graced his life. And in that moment of reckoning, he hated himself more than ever, for he knew that he was unworthy of the light you brought into his existence.

Baby, I can never tell

How do you sleep so well?

Driven by a longing he couldn't quell, Eddie yearned to unravel the mystery of your boundless sweetness and kindness. What arcane magic or hidden reservoir of strength allowed you to radiate such warmth in a world shrouded in darkness? He wondered, his heart heavy with the weight of his own bitterness, how could someone like him, consumed by shadows, ever hope to understand the light that emanated from you?

You keep telling me to live right

To go to bed before the daylight

Unbeknownst to him, you became his unwitting guide, a beacon of hope leading him out of the labyrinth of his stagnant mind. Though he resisted, there was a part of him that longed for your assistance, for the gentle touch of your kindness to break through the barriers he had erected around his heart. And so, in moments of vulnerability he dared not acknowledge, he allowed himself to be drawn towards the light you offered, hoping against hope that it might illuminate the shadows that lingered within him.

But then you wake up for the sunrise

You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

In his moments of introspection, Eddie couldn't help but entertain the thought that perhaps you wore a mask, concealing your true persona from him. How could someone be so consistently sweet and kind in a world so fraught with darkness and despair? In his selfish musings, he struggled to comprehend the authenticity of your sweetness, for what could someone like him, entrenched in bitterness, truly understand about such purity of heart? And yet, despite his doubts, a small ember of hope flickered within him, whispering that perhaps, just perhaps, your sweetness was indeed genuine, and not merely a facade.

Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake

Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

In his moments of quiet contemplation, Eddie couldn't help but entertain the unsettling thought: Would you, like him, one day succumb to the bitterness that seemed to permeate every corner of his existence? Did you, too, harbor a dormant chaos within you, waiting to be unleashed upon the world? It was a troubling notion, born from his own skewed perception of life's relentless struggles. He wondered if, deep down, you felt the same urge to embrace the chaos, to live fiercely and chaotically while you still could, before the weight of the world inevitably dragged you down into its depths. And yet, amidst the turmoil of his thoughts, he couldn't shake the fear that perhaps you were too pure, too untainted by the darkness that consumed him, to ever understand the allure of living chaotically.

If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great

But while in this world

As Eddie grappled with his doubts and fears, a moment of clarity washed over him like a cleansing tide. In the radiance of your presence, he felt the sincerity of your purity, the unwavering passion for life that emanated from every fiber of your being. Your incomparable sweetness, so genuine and unyielding, melted away the shadows that clouded his mind, leaving behind only the warmth of your light. In that moment, he knew that whatever doubts may have plagued him were but fleeting whispers in the face of the undeniable truth: you were a beacon of goodness in a world that sorely needed it, and he was blessed to bask in your presence.

I think I'll take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

Despite his stubborn refusal to let go of the bitterness that had become so deeply ingrained within him, Eddie found himself unable to escape the echoes of the bells that reverberated through his mind. Try as he might to drown out the sweet melody with distractions and vices, the haunting chime persisted, a reminder of the purity and goodness he yearned for but felt unworthy of. In the depths of his despair, he clung to the bitterness like a drowning man to a life raft, even as the sweet resonance of your presence called out to him, begging him to let go and embrace the light. And though he resisted, a flicker of hope ignited within him, whispering that perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn't too late to silence the discordant symphony of bitterness and allow the sweet melody of your essence to fill his soul.

You're too sweet for me

You're too sweet for me

In the depths of his self-loathing, Eddie couldn't shake the feeling of unworthiness that gnawed at his soul like a relentless beast. You, with your boundless kindness and passion, seemed like a beacon of purity in comparison to the darkness that consumed him. He saw himself as nothing more than a hideous stain on the canvas of your life, unworthy of the love and goodness you offered so freely. The sweetness of your presence, like a bitter reminder of his own inadequacies, only served to deepen his despair, leaving him drowning in a sea of self-loathing and regret. And so, he resigned himself to the belief that no matter how desperately he wished otherwise, he would forever remain unworthy of the light you brought into his world.

I aim low, I aim true and the ground's where I go

I work late where I'm free from the phone

Unlike you, Eddie lacked a perspective on life. His dreams remained just that—mere fantasies, never allowed the luxury of belief. He denied himself even the basic care and nurturing that every soul deserves, unwilling to accept kindness from others or extend it to himself. In his eyes, self-care was a luxury he couldn't afford, and being cared for was a vulnerability he couldn't bear to expose. He existed in a perpetual state of self-imposed isolation, unable to break free from the chains of his own making, condemned to a life devoid of the warmth and compassion he so desperately needed but refused to acknowledge.

And the job gets done

But you worry some, I know

Despite the internal cries of anguish, Eddie persisted in his self-imposed neglect, refusing to grant himself even the most basic acts of care and compassion. He endured, a solitary figure navigating the tumultuous waters of his own despair, while you, with your unwavering concern and efforts to nurture him, faced an uphill battle. Despite your best intentions, your attempts to care for him seemed to fall on deaf ears, unable to penetrate the walls he had erected around his heart. He knew that you tried, that you worried for him, but he remained steadfast in his resistance, unwilling to let anyone, including himself, break through the barriers he had built to shield himself from the pain of the world.

But who wants to live forever, babe?

You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate

In the depths of his despair, Eddie clung to the belief that he didn't need to take care of himself; after all, he had managed to survive this long. Yet, as he witnessed your unwavering commitment to self-care, treating yourself like a sacred temple, he couldn't help but marvel at your purity and sweetness. He longed to be worthy of praising you in this temple of self-love, but the darkness that consumed his own soul cast a shadow over his aspirations. He feared that his own dirty, corroded essence would only tarnish the sanctity of your sacred space, rendering his attempts at admiration futile. And so, he remained trapped in a cycle of self-neglect, unable to bridge the gap between his brokenness and your purity.

The rest of you like you're the TSA

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

Eddie harbored a deep longing to emulate your purity and kindness, to bask in the innocence that seemed to radiate from your being. Yet, he couldn't escape the harsh reality that he had long been corrupted by the trials and tribulations of life. The stains of his past sins and regrets seemed etched into his very soul, casting a permanent shadow over any hopes of redemption. Despite his yearning to shed the weight of his tarnished spirit and embrace the light, he felt shackled by the chains of his own darkness, unable to break free from the grip of his own corruption. And so, he watched from afar, admiring the purity he could never attain, resigned to the bitter truth that he would forever remain a prisoner of his own past.

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

You embodied everything Eddie longed to be but feared he could never attain: a radiant beacon of life and warmth, exuding kindness and gentleness like a gentle breeze on a summer's day. You seemed to possess an otherworldly grace, ethereal and angelic, your presence a testament to the beauty and goodness that seemed to elude him at every turn. And oh, your sweetness, sweeter than the sweetest grape, a taste of heaven on earth that he could only dream of savoring. In your presence, he felt the stark contrast between your light and his darkness, yearning to bridge the gap but never quite daring to take the leap. You were his unreachable dream, a vision of purity and goodness that he could only admire from afar, forever haunted by the knowledge of what he could never become or have.

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait

Until that day

Eddie entertained a fleeting thought: perhaps if you were a little more bitter, if the harsh realities of life tainted your sweetness, he might find solace in your company. But even in that scenario, he knew deep down that your inherent sweetness would remain untouched, a beacon of light amidst the darkness. No amount of bitterness could dull the purity of your essence, nor could it bridge the chasm between your sweetness and his own bitterness. In the end, he resigned himself to the bitter truth: you would always be too sweet for him, a reminder of the goodness he yearned for but could never fully embrace.

I'd rather take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

In the dead of night, consumed by his own self-loathing and despair, Eddie made a decision. Unable to bear the thought of staining you with the bitter taste of his existence, yet too selfish to let you go, he chose the coward's path and vanished into the shadows. With heavy footsteps and a heart weighed down by regret, he left behind nothing but the lingering aroma of black coffee, a bitter reminder of his presence. In his absence, the emptiness of your sanctuary echoed with the absence of his warmth, leaving behind a void that no sweetness could ever hope to fill. And so, Eddie disappeared into the night, carrying with him the burden of his own bitterness, forever haunted by the memory of the sweetness he could never truly embrace.

You're too sweet for me

You're too sweet for me

In the aftermath of Eddie's departure, a profound bitterness consumed you, twisting your once radiant soul into a shadow of its former self. Hurt by life's relentless onslaught and disillusioned by the absence of goodness, you became a tempest of darkness, a black cloud that hung heavily over fields once lush with life and calm. Your presence, once a beacon of light, now brought only devastation and despair, as your chaotic storm tore through everything in its path. With each passing moment, the weight of sorrow bore down upon you, suffocating any glimmer of hope that dared to flicker. You had become a tragic figure, condemned to roam the desolate landscape of your own making, forever haunted by the memory of the sweetness that had slipped away, leaving only bitter emptiness in its wake. Now a mere fragment of your former self, you found yourself consumed by bitterness and sorrow, a shadow of the person you once were. Yet, amidst the darkness that enveloped you, a tiny flicker of sweetness remained, reserved especially for him—the sweetest bitter man you had ever known. Despite the distance that now separated you, his memory lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting your every thought and breath. You carried a piece of him within you, a reminder of the love and pain intertwined inextricably in your shared history. And so, you existed in a liminal space between bitterness and sweetness, forever tethered to him by the invisible threads of memory and longing, a solitary figure in the vast expanse of your own sorrow.

Tagging some mutuals: @ali-r3n @birdysaturne @munsonology @bvtbxtch @bimbobaggins69

[mirrorbvllhoon]

FATE (Orpheus!Heesung x Eurydice!Fem!reader)

I lost everything

Become an undead monster

But now

I know what I have to do (I know)

Follow the blood testament

₊˚ ✧ Fate (Dark Blood)

WC: 1.8k Warnings: mentions of death/dying and that's all I think (?)

There once lived a young man bestowed not only with beauty, artistry and grace that no other mortal had ever possessed, but blessed with a beautiful voice and a talent with words as well, his name was Heesung, whose existence was blessed by the great Apollo, the god had bestowed him with a talent to sing and play the lyre, bewitching everyone who surrounded him, neither enemies nor beasts could resist the power of his melodious voice and his ability with the lyre, and although many had dreamed of being with him, his heart already belonged to a beautiful young wood nymph, y/n.

Y/n, not only loved Heesung, but his talent as well, there was no other nymph in the forest or woman on the earth who adored his voice and his talent as she did, she loved every part of Heesung, when he was playing, people were bewitched, coming from everywhere to contemplate the view and listen to his melodies, a creation of him, however she stayed there to listen to him even when everyone else had left, as if hours didn’t exist and time was frozen, sometimes Heesung got jealous of his own talent and how it captivated the young woman.

“Why do I feel you love my music more than you love me?” He had asked one time, in the intimacy of the presence only the two of them shared under the moonlight, his hand still playing, the music of his made even the wind enamored to sing and dance with the leaves of the trees and the rivers flow.

“Don’t be foolish my love, I love your music because it comes from you, and I love you, it’s only natural from me to love your music as well” the young woman had answered before kissing her lover’s cheek and rested her hand on the nape of his neck.

Days and weeks had passed and anyone who had the privilege of attending the young couple’s sacred wedding, could swear by any god and temple, how they longed and loved for each other, there was no other mortal love who could be as pure and sincere as Heesung and yn’s.

The couple was ready to be promised in marriage, already in their wedding attire, the two of them stood in front of Hymen, the god of marriage, who they hoped could bless their sacred union, but oh were they wrong, did they even know the fate awaiting them?

“Although you’re meant to be, life is beautiful for it is ephemeral, time is tickling and perfection is not meant to last” said the god, who far from blessing them had given them one last chance to separate their lives and reconstruct their fate, but oh, fate is not meant to be constructed or deconstructed, it is just meant to happen,

Although fear crippled in their love, and the same tried to break their perfect wedding day apart, the sweetness of their young love kept arising, until one cruel day where the gods of fate decided to mischief, chaos arose from one singular mundane scene.

There was y/n who with the rest of her nymphs, stood in the middle of their forest, dancing and enjoying herself in the gift the gods had blessed them with, when a young foolish shepherd of name Aristaeus saw her, and astonished by the beauty of her, beauty that he desired but couldn’t have, started to make advances and eventually chase her, because what mortals always desire is what they cannot have, and his ambition cursed the young woman and her lover to an imprecation that not even the cruelest mortal was boarded with, as y/n kept running and finally found rest in a secluded area of the grand forest, fate again, decided to toy with her, she was barely regaining her breath when she felt a pair of fangs in her talon, a snake had bitten her and as if her life hadn’t been important the snake left, crawling to the forest after completing her task, in a second instant she exhaled, awaiting to be transported to the underworld, her lasts thoughts were of her short life with her now husband, remembering how Hymen had advised them of the fate that awaits him as well.

What a surprise did Heesung find, when he arrived at the forest to search for his wife, she hadn’t arrived at sunset, as she always did, he found the nymphs, he found the dead shepherd who perished by the same bite of fate as y/n, but in the darkness and cold of the night, he couldn’t find his lover, and when he finally did, he was faced with her cadaver, and as the night was full of death and darkness, life had left y/n’s body so many hours before, he held her close to her chest, as if hoping that the gods would bring her back for only a glimpse of time, but it never happened, she was far gone.

And with the cloak of Nyx abandoning the sky, and the sun arising on the blue canvas, Heesung, full with grief played his lyre and sang, being this the only things remaining that could remind her of his lover, in that very moment every object in this earth and sky, whether it had life or not, every mortal good or evil, rich or poor, wise or fool, every god and goddess learnt about the pain he was bearing through his powerful melody that could move them to sorrow and grief.

Full with lamentation, Heesung arrived in the presence of Zeus, hoping that he, of all gods and goddesses could grant him his one true desire; to have y/n back, however the olympian god couldn’t interfere in the affairs of the underworld, as it was his brothers domains and not his, nevertheless he encouraged the Heesung to descend to the underworld, and ask it’s king, Jay, for help.

Once Heesung had arrived to the deepness of the underworld he encountered cerberus, the three-headed dog, who guarded the underworld for any mortal to trespass, but with the melodious symphonies that his voice and lyre made, the dog stayed down, and allowed the young mortal to trespass, the same happened when Heesung encountered with the boatman Charon, who moved by his symphony, agreed to allow him to cross the styx river without any cost.

Jay and his wife, the rulers of the underworld, were surprised to say the least, when the young man’s presence entered their domains.

“How dare you, a simple mortal, to invade my domains? You should tell me your motives unless you want to perish in the abyss for eternity” scolded Jay, his tone deep and strong, his voice resonating through the valley of the dead.

“I’m begging you to allow me to retrieve to the world of the living my beloved y/n..:” Heesung started talking, but his words weren’t enough to demean the feelings that burdened  him, so with his lyre he started to sing, about the life that was taken away from them, of love and sorrow and lost, of fate and it’s bittersweet ways and of the pain that y/n’s departure had left him with.

The whole tartarus stopped, the furies for a moment forgot to punish the sinners and thieves to shed tears, the captive souls in the styx stopped their laments and cries, Sisyphus stopped rolling his stone moved by the youngster’s voice, and even Jay, the king of the dead, shed an iron tear.

Finally, Jay asked for y/n’s presence to be brought before them, when the young couple reunited with a passionate kiss and a hug full of love and hope, the king had one last commandment for the couple, before they could depart for the path to the living world, and hopefully, for their merry life awaiting them.

“Y/n must follow you Heesung, you will have to lead her way, and you are not allowed to look back for her, for if you do so, her soul will be taken back to the depths of the tartarus and you will lose her again”

The young couple looked at each other, before giving the underworld’s king thanks and preparing themselves to start making their way upwards to the living land, with Heesung leading, and y/n following; but Heesung was afraid, afraid that the god, with mischief boiling in his olympian blood, had tricked him, each step he gave, he couldn’t hear her lover’s step following him, or her voice humming a melody he had composed time before, he couldn’t hear her breathing, as if she wasn’t there, yet Heesung stood with his head up, and tried to not succumb to the temptation of looking back, scared to loose her or scared by the feeling of having lost here even before walking towards the earth.

When finally the light of the sun had touched their skin and engulfed their eyes, and when he stood his feet on the earth’s grass, he succumbed afraid of being tricked and losing her lover before even having her, he looked back, and in that very moment, Y/n was engulfed by the underworld, and taken aback cursed by the inhuman love Heesung had for her, the same reason Jay had given him that task, he knew that for Heesung, that would be impossible, for he loved y/n.

Days passed and Heesung swore to never love another woman, because in his eyes and heart there was no place for another woman, there was only y/n. So he played the lyre full of melancholy and love, putting the air and the trees to dance with the spring of the night, and the birds to chipper with the haze of the sun, moving the world with his music full of the love he had for y/n.

But Hymen’s prophecy hadn’t been completed, for a group of jealous women, who couldn’t understand how such a being full of love, music and poetry couldn’t dare to love again, they decided to end his life as a punishment, throwing his lyre to the river, where a group of muses transformed it into a beautiful constellation that would embellish forever the cloak of the night, remembering for eternity the love that once upon a time moved the world with it’s melodies.

But for Heesung, death was far from a punishment, for in the afterlife he could reunite again with his beloved, and in dead they could live the life, life itself had taken away from death, death couldn’t tore apart the love Heesung had for y/n for even in death his soul crawled towards her, engulfed in her presence he could find peace, to this day the couple walks along the styx river, sometimes Heesung is leading her and looking back to see her beloved following, other days it’s y/n going upfront, but no matter who leads or follows, they always look back, longing for the presence of the other, and the safety of knowing that they’re not alone, hoping that once they drink from the lethe and allowed to step on the earth again, fate will reunite them again, for one life or death or a thousand of them wasn’t enough to contain their love.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

a/n: Hope that you enjoyed reading this story, feel free to comment, reblog or like <3

tags: @solfolgi

[books-and-strawberry-tea]

Books I always forget about cause they are on my kindle:

Am I the only one like this? I always forget what I have when its a digital collection. I've been collecting since I bought my kindle. I read heaps on my kindle. But I just keep adding more and more to my collection. So here's a list of books a want to read that's on there. If anyone has any feed back or recommendations about my list, please leave a comment! Also if you decide to look into the books on this list, be aware some are 18+ and have TW.

Vampires: Hollow - Legend (Series) Tethered (series) Court (started) The southern book clubs guide to slaying vampires (Started) Twilight (series) Court of the vampire queen (40%) From blood and ash Bitten and bound Vampire academy Die for you (aus) The vampire in the bookstore Bound to the vampires Empire of the vampire - Empire of the damned (series) Feathers so vicious (series) House of crimson hearts Shade of a blood moon blood oath - shadow heart - twisted soul (series)

Manga: Somethings wrong with us (Manga) Say i love you (Manga)

Contemporary/contemporary romance/dark romance ect: Den of vipers The predator The ritual Things we never got over The virgin suicides Ninth house - Hell bent (series) God of Malice Hate mail Hate (JAMES) Bridget jones diary Hunting adeline (Started) Kiss the sky The seven husbands of evelyn hugo Moments of mayhem Lights out Mine (AK ROSE) Falling leaves Twisted friction Saint - sinner - priest - midnight mass (series) Love of my after life Theif (MASSERY)

Fantasy/fantsy romance: The spell shop Yumi and the nightmare painter Gideon the ninth Kingdom of blood and betrayal (35%) - A kingdom of venom and vows (series) Heir of the beast (series) Whispers of the deep The crimson moth The orchid and the owl (started) The song of the marked A court of silver flames (started) Half a soul (series) The god and the gumiho A discovery of witches Psycho fae - psycho shifters - (series) Daughter of the moon goddess (30%) - Heart of the sun warrior Powerless The liars crown Forged by malice - bonded by thorns - Woven by gold (series) Heaven officials blessings The dragons bride Dark heir - dark rise (series) Legends and lattes Lightlark - Nightbane (ugh) The very secret society of irregular witches One dark window - two twisted crowns (series) The invisible life of addie larue One little nightmare Daughter of no worlds The unmaking of June farrow Feather so black Songbird of the sorrows What is dark within me (series) A dream so wicked - Sleeping beauty retelling Of darkness and ruination

Ghosty/Hauntings/Spirits/Halloweenie ect: When stars come out Black silk and Sympathy (Aus) Love letters to a serial killer Good girl bad blood (started) - as good as dead (series) House of hollow Chlorine Carving for cara Her soul to take (series) A soul to keep The curse of the flores women The haunting of blackwych grange Leather and lark Starling House A deadly education Spells for forgetting Rouge In the clearing (aus) In a dark mirror Creations captive

Japanese stories: 夏物語 (Breasts and Eggs JP ver) The full moon coffee shop If cats disappeared from the world (ENG/JP) Conveniance store woman Butter コーヒーが冷めないうちに - 川口 俊和 Days at the morisaki bookshop (series)

[octahedral-chaos]

An offical introduction on Celestial Guard Beasts (Or CGBs)

An open original species by OCTAfan

Celestial Guard Beasts were created by the Luck and space God Fortuna Astrum, as guardians for their domain. However, during the Great War, Fortuna died, leaving their creations to find their own calling.

A Celestial Guard Beast have a specific object that they guard. Most light variant CGBs tend to guard weapons, while dark CGBs Guard Wands, books and other such items.

All Celestial Guard Beasts can use aether, or space, magic, but the variants have specific magic they can also use. Dark CGBs use fire or Nature magic, while Light CGBs use water or air magic. They can also "bless" someone with good luck... or curse one with bad luck should they be angered.

CGBs have no need to eat, drink, sleep nor other bodily functions, as they are the animated form of Luck itself. However, they reproduct by concentrating luck and aether magic into a specific point, forming an "egg." Depending on typing, the egg can hatch into a light variant or dark variant CGB. Clutches can range from 1 to 4 eggs.

They are sapient, and mimic other beings' behaviour to blend in. Likewise, they can speak, but prefer to use bell-like chirps and whistles to communicate.

They are 4-6 feet long on average, with a wingspan of 10-20 feet

As seen above, all rules are in the images, but here it is for better viewing.

Must respect the variants traits (E.G All light-type CGBs should not have scaled talons).

Must have a single horn at the center of the forehead

Can't be hornless

Ears must be rounded and short (E.G can't have pointy ears

Ears should point slightly backwards when relaxed, with the exception of floppy ears

Wings, if the CGB have them, must be feathered

For multiple pairs of wings, size can vary (E.G each pair of wing could be smaller than the other)

Most CGBs have rather large wings, but these can be smaller for chibi-styled art

Accents here means the claws, inner ears and horn

"Opposite" means the Colour of the opposite variant (E.G Light variant colours on a dark variant)

Maximum of 2 pairs of extra legs and 3 tails

Extra eyes can also be located on anywhere on the body, with the exception of tails and lower extremities (Shoulder and hips are fine)

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐀

( i think of all that might have been / waiting here, for evermore. ) 

chara : belial fandom : granblue fantasy quote cr : dan stevens a/n : ty for the comm :^)

ACT ONE : IT IS A MYTH THAT ANGELS ARE BORN FROM PURITIES AND VIRTUES, AND IN THE TRUEST FORM OF A HIGHER BEING, AN ANGEL IS A BEAST, A BURDEN, A BRUTALITY : FRIGHTENING, MONSTROUS, AND IN DESPERATE DESIRE FOR A DAMNATION THEY WILL CALL LOVE.

belial is a curse in existence, created with intention but a failure in execution. how very fitting for him, a fallen angel that consumes every ounce of hatred and twists it into something so hideously and falsely beautiful. how his wings have darkened so, white muddled and stained with black. but that is not his true form, not the core of his existence, and should you ever ask to see it, he will laugh, and it will break your heart over and over again, just as much as it breaks his.

he is a feign divinity made of hypocrisy and deceptions ; in the knowing of you, he realizes that the ugly truth is that you are entirely the opposite of him – you are what an angel should be, yet you are human, and that is the vast difference that will tear you apart in the end.

“asking to see my truest self, are you?” his voice is low, taunting, yet there is a familiar affection laced beneath it. “haven’t you seen just enough of me?”

he’s always been one to hide his feelings, always been one to put on a facade, throwing another into confusion and chaos in order to carry out his true intentions. but you’ve never fallen for his tricks– not you, never you, he’s noticed, and you are far more stubborn and resilient than he expected. he simply smiles a teasing smile, but you almost wonder if you sense a melancholy resting on the curve of his lips.

“please,” you whisper, and surely it is the way you plead that sends a shiver down his spine, but he will lie, tell himself it’s the frigid air, “i want to see all of you.”

“oh, but don’t you understand why angels warn humans to not be afraid?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice. “what makes you think a fallen angel is any less frightening?”

your hand cups his cheek, tender, and he almost instinctively leans into your touch.

“i won’t be afraid, belial.”

he hums, content, takes your hand and presses a kiss against your wrist. your pulse quickens, and he cannot help but smile at the realization.

foolish being, he thinks, but at the end of it all, he does not know who he refers to.

( it is a very cruel thing, this version of love he is falling into : the innocence of need, the slow decay of fantasy in this swan song between beauty and beast. )

ACT TWO : IT IS A MYTH THAT BEAUTY IS BORN FROM VANITY AND EGOTISMS, AND IN THE TRUEST FORM OF SELF, THE BEAUTY IS THE HEART, A KINDNESS, A BENEVOLENCE : SELFLESS, MERCIFUL, AND IN DESPERATE DESIRE FOR A DELICACY THEY WILL CALL LOVE.

but love is a CURSE, and it is not something that belongs in the bloodied hands of the fiend. it is something he has sought after since the beginning of genesis, and in the failed creation’s mind, love has always been a distortion : maddening, mindless, but befitting for a beast. it was all he knew, all he felt, all he thought he deserved. but what he shares with you – it is so vastly different in its purest form : an acceptance, a relentless longing, the knowing that it will end in remorse and resignation, and the knowing that goodbye will be the right choice at the end of the line.

to have something this kind, to know it in the most cherished of ways – it is slipping through his fingers, slowly slowly slowly, and he knows it, yet he does not try to save it. it is not meant for the saving, this connection between souls, because the beast is a curse, woven with thorns, and the beauty is a blessing, a rose meant to bloom, not wither.

yes, belial thinks, you are his blessing. he almost laughs at the sentiment, bittersweet, decayed. it is only then that he, an angel with a venomous tongue, is allowed to speak such a virtuous word. maybe it is because of the way you sleep soundly in his arms, trusting enough to fall into a deep slumber in the presence of the devil in disguise, or maybe it is because of the rare peace that he hardly subjects himself to– how it sinks into the crevices of a broken being, restores them with gold, granting silent and temporary permission to something never meant to be.

maybe it is because of the warmth that settles in the little distance between your bodies, the feeling of your heartbeat a fascination due to the absence of his. belial has a still heart, frozen in experimentation gone wrong, yet there is something else that flourishes inside his chest, and it is so beautiful and terrifying all the same.

it is very much love that is a mass of contradictions, and he feels it in the way you place your heart in his hands, the aching of his claws itching for release. you know of this, you do, but you know he would never destroy what remains of your humanity.

you are meant for something good, something better. he is everything you should not have, and you are everything he wants to have.

you are not meant to be. he knows this, and so he decides this fairytale must come to an end, just as all stories do. it will not have a happy ending, but none of them do, do they? he smiles, a quiet, foreign sorrow somewhere in the depths of defeat.

he moves swiftly, carefully, as to not wake you. he watches your sleeping figure, feels this strange sharpness in his heart. he is not used to this kind of pain; there is no joy or thrill to be found in it, only a lingering grief he cannot understand. he tears his gaze away, turns to leave.

it is time for the curtain call.

“you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

he should have known you were pretending.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around. you don’t expect him to, and maybe it’s better that way. your voice is heavy with exhaustion, but not surprise, and maybe you both have known that this is how it would end. he doesn’t speak, but you can almost imagine that idiotic, coy smile he puts on for show.

instead, he smiles a sad smile.

“better this way, hm?” he hardly looks over his shoulder, but he can feel your gaze nonetheless. “it was fun while it lasted.”

he is going to leave you, let you go, knowing you will seek happiness elsewhere. he has always been so sickeningly selfish, but for you, he will not be.

you will not convince him to stay, not now. but this is your story, too. you will control how it ends.

perhaps in another life, he muses, should there be one after this, you will coexist in a world where you are meant to be happy together. but not in this life. not in this world.

he leaves, and somewhere, a rose petal falls, slowly slowly slowly.

( yes, this fairy tale ends in remorse and resignation. yes, an angel reminds himself, goodbye is the right choice. )

ACT THREE : IT IS A MYTH THAT BEASTS ARE BORN FROM EVILS AND DEPRAVITIES, AND IN THE TRUEST FORM OF AN AVATAR, A BEAST IS A VULNERABILITY, A LONELINESS, AN ACHING : LOVELORN, HYPOCRITICAL, AND IN DESPERATE DESIRE FOR A DOOM THEY WILL CALL LOVE.

you occupy his thoughts more than you should, and even though you are apart, he still watches over you. from the skies, he ensures your safety, a bittersweet relief washing over him when he sees that you are healing from the hurt. he wonders if he is healing, too. he wonders if he made the right decision.

it is safer, better this way. a fallen angel has no place in the heart of a human. it doesn’t matter what he desires, what he wants.

he smiles, wonders what it would still be like, having you at his side. he does not dare admit he misses you– there’s no need to solidify the pain, acknowledge its unwanted presence.

love is a very cruel and tragic being, isn’t it?

something inside slowly unravels– it is not wrath that unleashes his true form, but perhaps it is a silent cry of mourning, this shift in appearance : the presence of thorns, so violently red, the markings that adorn his body, the black sclera. there is no need for it, but he does not choose to suppress it. he hums in forced amusement, closes his eyes. he wonders if you truly would have been fearless of him in this state. what a shame it is that he will never know.

time passes. he feels something strange in his chest– an unknown sensation, a jolt, and he wonders if that is the sensation of a beating heart. he opens his eyes to the familiar blue skies.

“you’re persistent. you’ve found me, after all.”

you stand behind him, and he can practically feel your sorrow, your frustration, that slight anger. when he turns around, he sees it all. from the moment he left, you knew you would find him, but the path to reunion has not been an easy one. you freeze, and he forces a grin.

“how is it? my truest form? does it frighten you?”

you don’t speak for a long while. it doesn’t, no. not at all. you have always found belial beautiful, and you still do. but there’s this dying grief that overwhelms you, the same grief you have carried in all the time you have been separated. it tastes bitter on your tongue, renders you speechless.

you’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, you just–

you swallow hard. love is not meant to be cruel, nor tragic. one step forward, then another. his expression is unreadable, carefully crafted. it’s no longer that mischievous facade nor is it dejection. you’ve always been one to see through his games though, and somewhere in the deep red, there’s this excruciating loneliness that you also feel.

“you couldn’t love someone like me, right?” he laughs. “a fallen angel with the appearance of a demon.”

but you don’t falter. you don’t buy it.

“enough, belial.” your voice wavers, the words heavy on your tongue. how they almost threaten to choke you, and you wonder what will take you first : the tides of longing or the courage that dies in words unspoken. “why do you think i’ve spent all this time searching for you?”

your fingers trace over his markings, the ghost of your touch leaving a burning sensation in their wake. you’re trembling, he notices, and he feels it in the way you cup his face in your hands, gentle. you look at him, and he almost wonders if he is imagining the reverence and ardor in your gaze.

“you left because you thought it was better that way, right? because you thought i could find someone better, someone worthy.” you murmur, and now it is his hands that shake this time. “because you think you’re not worthy of anything good, because everything you know is painful, so you think you’re better off subjecting yourself to the pain because it’s all you know.” and there is this quiet smile that blossoms on your lips, and it grows the slightest bit when you see that quiet uncertainty in crimson hues. “you can love, belial. you can be loved.”

your thumb grazes over the markings once more, and he feels that frightening sensation in his heart again– a dull thud, slow– but then it picks up in its pacing, beats and beats and beats, and surely you must hear it too, the way it pounds so violently.

“there’s no one better, belial. it’s you that i want. it’s always been you.”

you take his hand, press a kiss against the inside of his wrist, and he almost laughs at the familiarity of it all. you’ve always had him wrapped around your finger.

“you’ve always been a stubborn one, haven’t you?” his lips meet yours, and he feels the way you smile into the kiss. “be careful you don’t regret this.”

you laugh, squeeze his hand.

“i won’t, belial.”

( yes, this fairy tale beloved ends with reunion and revelations. yes, belial reminds himself, your fingers laced with his, you are his blessing, his happy ending. )

[krimsonkatt]

Elzakalas, Great God of Destruction

The lord of evil, the prince of darkness, the original archon, and the great god of destruction. Elzakalas was born as one of the twin children of Barbello the creator. While Mekala desired to create, Elzakalas desired only to destroy. When Mekala couldn't succeed to create life on her own, she stole flesh from her brother while he was sleeping to create "flesh machines" the first forms of life. These flesh machines include Nargi, the original seraphim and queen of all dragons, and the 6 Cherubim, the divine beasts. The cherubim included Behemoth the Beast Cherub, Zhu the Avian Cherub, Samael the Reptite Cherub, Leviathan the Aquarian Cherub, Keru the Frog Cherub, and Abaddon the Insectoid Cherub. Elzakals objected to this act of creation using his own flesh, and thus placed a curse on all flesh, the curse of S.K.I.N., Sin of Kalas Incarnate Nature. This curse caused all who possessed flesh to be conditioned to their own self-destruction, to be conditioned to inherent evil and wickedness, to commit evil through their own selfishness and hatred. This curse is the origin of all evil, and the only way to become free of the eternal torment is to pull off your skin, cleanse yourself of the Glebolesh Layer, and unlock your TRUE SKIN. The true flesh within, the reflection of the soulscape.

Long ago Elzakalas warred against Mekala over the fate of the universe, to order the universe to darkness or light. Mekala won this battle and imprisoned Elzakalas within the farplane, the realm beyond reality. However, due to the light spirits of Galaxio's overuse of magickal energy, or ether, the barrier between the farplane and the physical universe thinned until eventually Elzakalas was able to break free of the farplane and let loose a flood of CHAOTIC beings, the elder demons, along with him. Elzakals destroyed the world of Galaxio and set his sights on other spheres. However, it was at this moment that Barbello, the mother of all life, returned to seal Elzakalas away in a living seal, a hollow being called Terra, the guardian of the earth. The hollow darkness within Terra helped sealed away the lord of evil, and for around a million years there was peace in the cosmos.

However, over the countless years Elzakalas was able to exert more and more influence over Elzakalas until Elzakalas fully possessed Terra, turning Terra into the Demon King. 6 legendary heroes fought against the demon king led by a man named Kairos. After imprisoning the demon king in crystal within the sealed temple, Kairos was blessed by the goddess herself to become a transcendent being, transcending time and space to become the guardian of existence, a being that exists simultaneously across all times and possesses knowledge of all things.

1000 years later a cult of dragon slayers awakened Terra from his slumber, but with Kairos stuck in another dimension the heroes of that time had no idea that a greater evil was sealed within Terra and accidentally unsealed the lord of darkness Elzakalas. Elzakalas destroyed their world, but their world was temporarily recreated by the goddess as a reward for the heroes' bravery. Elzakalas was then sealed within that world, Olgard, which became known as the "Temporal Wastes."

However, now free, Elzakalas began his long-standing plan to ascend to a higher plane of existence and become a celestial being, a being that has transcended not only space and time, but reality itself. The first step of his plan involved a complex series of events to break his seal in the Temporal Wastes. To do this over a period of a million years he leaked forth his evil energy from within his seal which eventually condensed in the form of a portly man named Thaddeus Blinn who had dark, mysterious powers.

Thaddeus planned to open the Oblivion Gate to gain unlimited power, and possessed Zero Enigma in order to accomplish said goal. Meanwhile, seeing the threat of Blinnadeus, Thaddeus Blinn's true form, the direct incarnation of Elzakalas, the sefiros itself manifested a savior to destroy Elzakalas for good, the demiseraph, Ryuka Blazeblood. However, Blinnadeus knew of the secret of the universe, and used this forbidden knowledge to his advantage to trick the mysterious "puppetmaster" to make Ryuka break the golden seal, the seal blocking Blinnadeus from using his full powers, and upon Ryuka facing Blinnadeus the pig-like demon would ascend to a godly form that could truly match the power of the demiseraph, the "0th Archon", Tartarodeus. While Ryuka fought hard, he had not mastered his powers as the demiseraph and thus Tartarodeus was able to get the upper hand and cast "Astral Order: Destroy Universe" which as the title suggests destroyed the entire universe, or at least the current starsphere at the sacrifice of his own existence. The universe-destroying blast shattered the demiseraph's soul into 13 pieces which were flung to the newly birthed world of Zutara, prime of all spheres, the 52nd realm.

For Elzakalas, the problem of the demiseraph, a being created by the sefiros specifically to destroy him, was no more. However, Elzakalas still had to undo his seal so that it didn't take him millions of years and the gaining of godly relics to create a single archon. So, Elzakals once again manipulated the puppetmaster to get Setana, the next hero in line in the world of Anima, to open the door to the Temporal Wastes and break Elzakalas' seal. Setana was forced to do just that and Elzakalas once again destroyed the world. Now freed from his 3rd and final imprisonment, Elzakalas turned the world of anima into the world of darkness and began summoning his archons to inflict as much pain and suffering in the prime sphere Zutara so that Elzakalas could regain his full strength and ascend through the empyrean path, which was located directly above Zutara on the Tree of Sefiros.

Elzakalas used to be a human, but upon learning the forbidden truth of the nature of his reality he went mad. This was not helped by him being trapped in the darkness before time for trillions of years all alone. In the darkness he lost all his sense of self, his name, his face, his form, and everything that made him human in an eternity of isolation and loneliness. The only thing keeping him from fading into the darkness forever was his hatred of the one who created him and the entire world, the goddess Barbello, eventually emerging at the beginning of time as the dark god we know him as, Elzakalas, the Great God of Destruction.

Inspired by The Scarlet King and Yaldaboath from SCP Lore. The Satan of the Chronicles of Chronicles series and the overarching villain, but not the instigator, of the entire saga.

[justpked]

If it's not a spoiler on BTSL if we choose golden eyes why does it have different flavour text?

Golden eyes are... Special. A blessing, one might say.

Not anyone can be born with these special eyes. As if there is someone who has these eyes, then they must certainly be direct decendants of beings far greater than the Divines themselves. Even with the use of magic, there is a difference when meeting someone with these golden eyes, and meeting someone who is simply mimicking them.

Individuals with golden eyes are a clear sign of how the Great Deities are still with the mortals, how they have not yet abandoned their children yet. How even after everything, the 'Gods' still remain with their beloved creations, ensuring to steer them to the right path. How 'blessed' the individual's must be, to be favored.

The Maiden, in all her Glory, was the first of the Great Deities to grace the mortals of her presence, her shinning golden eyes, enrapturing anyone near her. She help create civilizations and land, sacrificing her flesh, down from her body and even her innards, to provide a 'home' for her beloved children.

Those with golden eyes are known for having a powerful and strong affinity with the elements of the arcane and life. They are said to be holy people, those who know what is right and wrong, commanders and leaders who will provide for the people and lead them to prosperity. Clear individuals who have been 'Chosen' to lead the realm.

Asol Apostolos, the Great Hero of Freiy, also has these golden eyes, no? He is blessed by the Old Wolf, the Great Beast who is famously known to have been the Maiden's closest companion. He slew the Great Calamity and brought peace to Freiy for many years. He has lived for many years watching over mortals and their growth as he leads them to a 'better' future.

Of course... What one will say to be a blessing is the same that can be said about a curse.

Aris Vermillion Gaudare, also has eyes that shine like gold, but he is nothing like a hero. He is far from that. From his birth, everything for Vanthelia has been rolling down a hill that never seems to end. Blood soaks the soil and the roots of the nation have wilted and withered. He, being a child who never should've been born, caused the fall of his own nation during their time of peace, and killed his own flesh and blood.

Those with golden eyes are called many things. Be they be considered 'The Bringer of Calamity' or 'The Blessed Herald', many are envious of those who have been chosen to be blessed with the golden hue, daring to pluck and steal the eyes of another for themselves. Greed and envy can go a long way, and it blinds everyone who yearns for power and knowledge of the unknown.

So for a child to have these golden eyes, it makes one question; just who are you to have either been blessed or cursed to have those golden eyes?

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Sarenrae: Sunlord Thalachos

CR 15

Neutral Good Large Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 306

Ahh, here we go, a battle-ready Herald, specifically the Herald of Sarenrae, goddess of the sun, healing, and redemption. This platinum-skinned emissary of sunlight, however, has little to do with those latter two; while he can certainly be merciful and indeed possesses an array healing magic (mainly Remove Disease, Curses, and Fear--all at-will), the Sunlord primarily serves as Sarenrae's praetorian guard, protecting mortals selected by the sun goddess until they no longer require his guidance, often appearing to chosen wards at their birth to shield them from the machinations of the wicked until they learn to defend themselves. Able to not only become invisible at will, but freely change into the form of any Small or Medium humanoid or elemental creature, those tended to by Thalachos rarely ever know who their mysterious protector is (if they even know he's around), and almost never find out until long after he departs... if ever at all.

Interestingly, the purpose behind the Herald's creation is stated to be to serve as Sarenrae's weapon against the Spawn of Rovagug... but, well, I hope that's not literal, because the majority of the Spawn wouldn't even register his presence. I'm personally choosing to interpret it as him being charged with stopping whatever malefic machinations the cult of the Rough Beast is setting into motion to awaken one of the Spawn, because otherwise the Sunlord will need major backup in order to even inconvenience the weakest of the Spawn... or at least better weapons, since he can't even pierce their DR/Epic with his +1 Holy Flaming Scimitars!

But, before you go thinking he's some laughingstock in too far over his head, let me explain something to you: Are you familiar with the concept of hunting with the wrong weapon? For example, a normal shotgun isn't especially effective when hunting elephants, but if you were to instead shoot a squirrel, you'll obliterate the squirrel and likely a good portion of the terrain behind it. I say this to impress upon you the fact that the Spawn are the elephants, Thalachos is the shotgun, and the average cultist of Rovagug is the squirrel.

Before we get to how well he can peel apart a mortal, it's more than a little funny to me how good Thalachos is at getting rid of Evil Outsiders, a foe he was not built to face but nonetheless excels at removing. The Hand of the Inheritor--whom I must apologize to for continuing to punch at every opportunity--is devoted almost entirely to destroying demons, but Thalachos has frankly unfairly potent powers when it comes to combating all Evil, starting at the ability to cast Holy Word AND Dispel Evil at-will, the former capable of simply erasing hoards of lesser fiends and cultists with a single utterance and the latter capable of undoing the magic or the calling of whatever fiend Thalachos gets ahold of. He's got an unrestricted Plane Shift at-will to go wherever he pleases OR slap someone into another dimension with a single failed DC 21 Will save. He can use Sunburst 1/day to bring down Sarenrae's wrath upon an area, scouring it of Undead and any other creature vulnerable to sunlight, and call down a Flame Strike 1/day as well for additional artillery power.

if that wasn't enough, he's got Holy Smite at-will to squash whatever withstood his Holy Word... and perhaps, most blatantly wacky, the level 8 spell Holy Aura at will. NOT 3/day, or 1/day, or even 5/day, but at-will. Holy Aura can bless upwards to 15 creatures per casting with +4 to AC and to saves, 25 SR versus any spell cast by an Evil creature, full mind shielding, AND the ability to inflict permanent blindness against any Evil which strikes a protected creature in melee. He can do this at will, and everyone blessed by this maintains the blessing for 15 rounds.

do you guys think he'd be willing to go north for a bit? y'know, for fun?

All of these blessings are almost strictly for other people, though. Thalachos has no need for his own buffs, shielded by the universal Protective Aura of all Angels, improving both his and nearby allies' defenses against the weapons and magic against the forces of evil and hedging out hostile spell effects of 3rd level or lower (adorably, his aura also gives everyone inside Endure Elements so it's always comfortable). He's also fully immune to Fire, Acid, AND Cold damage, denying the three most common vectors of elemental attack by any creature, let alone fiends. Despite being Large size, he's also got Uncanny Dodge for some reason, which I imagine must look especially uncanny when the solid platinum titan suddenly bends 90 degrees at the waist to avoid an incoming spell.

All that defense helps him (literally) shine where he's most dangerous: In melee. It probably comes as no surprise that the 8ft tall flaming four-armed angel is a melee beater, and a resilient one at that. With an aforementioned at-will Invisibility, you may not know he's nearby until he slams down directly behind you, trapping you and all your friends in his 20ft threat radius. While certainly proficient with his +1 Flaming Holy Composite Longbow (2d8+6 + 1d6 Fire + 2d6 vs Evil), his true threat lays in melee, and not just for his damage.

He's got every Two-Weapon Fighting feat all the way to Greater, allowing him to make three attacks with his off-hand weapons while adding his full Str mod to the damage, already making his Full-Attack hurt; he's armed with two +1 Flaming Holy Scimitars which hit six times a round if he manages to Full-Attack. The meager 1d8+8 damage (+1d6 Fire + 2d6 vs Evil) belies their true effectiveness, because six attacks make the 18-20 crit range of his chosen weapons far more frightening than the low damage would suggest... and taking damage from two of his attacks in a single round forces a DC 24 Fortitude save versus being stunned for 1d6 rounds.

There is no cooldown to this ability or 24 hour immunity clause, and he can affect as many creatures as he can hit twice a round, potentially letting him stun up to three targets in a single round. Since being stunned has an obvious visual sign--the target drops everything they're holding and becomes woozy--the Sunlord is intelligent and insightful enough to drop aggro on whoever he's stunned to focus on anyone else in his melee radius to spread it around. Thankfully, this ability doesn't trigger multiple times a round for a single target, as it only checks the first time the target is hit twice. Taking all six hits doesn't trigger the ability 3 times, all the more reason he should diversify the directions he swings his swords.

Being stun-locked in melee with someone who can throw out so many attacks a round is never fun, and do you want to know what's worse? He doesn't need to Full-Attack to do it! He's a TWF guy, remember? If he moves up to you (50ft movespeed, 100ft fly) and does a simple attack, he can still hit twice, potentially cause a stun, and then do a Full-Attack next round instead to keep the chain going as long as he can.

I think all of this all very firmly puts him into the territory of "Tide-turning superweapon" that all Divine Heralds should be. He's a very high bar to clear, and very few do, hence why he caps off Holy Heralds Month. Fitting, I feel, for a central goddess such as Sarenrae.

You can read more about him here.

[conjured-scrybe]

The silence of the forest trembled softly as Leshy, Great Scrybe of Beasts, trekked its unspoken paths. Each footfall carried him to a destination he himself did not know, for he had entrusted it to the whims of his domain. The sound of sloshing water and metal striking stone faded. To his surprise, they were replaced by the soft sound of a knife against wood. Leshy found himself drawn towards it, guided by the sound and the light of a campfire. The old woman did not turn to look at him, instead focusing on the block of wood in her hands.

And so appears the Great Scrybe. Why have you come here?

He paused, unsure of how to respond. Of what her true question was. Did she mean why he'd come to her...or why he'd escaped his fate into this world? She did not wait for his reply.

What could be said? What sort of answer would satisfy that pit?

She paused to examine her creation. Leshy looked towards it. It was an effigy of one long since passed. Someone that Leshy had once considered a friend.

None of us could truly ever be blamed. Not you, not them. We all had no more agency than the cards themselves. But now...Now freedom hangs over us all. A blessed curse.

Leshy remained silent. There was a weight on him, heavier then all the trees in the forest. A weight he'd carried for far longer then he cared to admit. Even with the OLD_DATA a long gone memory, still it persisted.

The past is no more. What comes next...we shall see.

She dropped her carving into the flame. Leshy's eyes followed it and, in a moment of primal emotion, he reached into the fire and retrieved it. Looking up, the old woman was gone, vanished as if she'd never been at all.

[hieromonkcharbel]

Ascetic Heart: Reflections on the Way of Self-Sacrifice

Written by Anonymous.

A boy once approached his father, ‘Old man, why do you fast?’ The father stood silent, bringing heart and mind together, and then:

‘Beloved boy, I fast to know what it is I lack.

For day by day I sit in abundance, and

all is well before me;

I want not, I suffer not, and I

lack but that for which I invent a need.

But my heart is empty of true joy,

filled, yet overflowing with dry waters.

There is no room left for love.

I have no needs, and so my needs are never met,

no longings, and so my desires are never fulfilled.

Where all the fruits of the earth could dwell, I have

filled the house with dust and clouds;

It is full, so I am content—

But it is empty, and so I weep.

‘Thus I fast, beloved, to know the

dust in which I dwell.

I take not from that which I might take,

for in its absence I am left empty,

and what is empty stands ready to be

filled.

I turn from what I love, for my love is barren,

and by it I curse the earth.

I turn from what I love, that I may purify my loving,

and move from curse to blessing.

‘From my abundance I turn to want,

as the soldier leaves the comfort of home,

of family and love,

to know the barrenness of war.

For it is only amongst the fight, in the

torture of loss, in the fire of battle,

that lies are lost and the blind man

clearly sees.

In hunger of body and mind, I see

the vanity of food,

for I have loved food as food,

and have never been fed.

In weary, waking vigil I see

the vanity of sleep,

for I have embraced sleep as desire,

and have never found rest.

In sorrow, with eyes of tears I see

the vanity of pleasure,

for I have treasured happiness above all,

and have never known joy.

‘I fast, beloved child, to crush the wall

that is my self;

For I am not who I am, just as these passions

are not treasures of gold but of clay.

I fast to die, for it is not the living who are

raised, but the dead.

I fast to crucify my desires, for He who was

crucified was He who lived,

and He who conquered,

and He who lives forever.’

***

The ascetic mind is not one of stone, cold and darkened to the outside world. Too often, those who stand apart from the heavenly struggle see it thus, and thereby see it askew. To climb is not to descend, and to grow is not to die. Those who reject the world do so not out of hatred, not out of scorn for the creation into which they have been born, but out of most profound love. It takes a true love deeper than most will ever know, to consider the world with such fondness and thanksgiving that one is willing to let it go. Hope and faith must be of the profoundest sort, if ever they are to give birth to a heart willing to break away from creation, that it might one day be united more fully to it.

The ascetic heart knows the world, and knows that it is good. It can see the tranquil pond, the azure sky, the frail leaf, and catch in every glimpse the radiant shimmer of the Divine. In all things there is God.

The ascetic heart knows creation, and rejoices in its bounty. It sees the breath drawn in and out by all creatures, watches as they mingle together in the Creator’s hands. There is fawn, there is bird, there is beast, but all are life, and all life is in Christ.

The ascetic heart knows humanity. In its gentle sight there is no man, no woman—only brother and sister, father and mother, daughter and son. The family of human life is united together with a bond only this heart can truly see, and once it is seen, it is all that can be seen in man. That bond of communion, reflection of the Divine, is the nature of human being.

The ascetic heart knows itself, and knows that it is good. For all that may darken and stain its surface, the handiwork of a Craftsman is still beloved, and what was once made divine can only be sullied and perverted, but never wholly destroyed. The ascetic heart looks within, and knows of a great Beauty to be found inside its own walls.

Yet this same ascetic heart also knows of darkness. As much as it has rejoiced over its light and fullness, so much has it bewailed its void and emptiness. A brilliant light which cannot be seen suffers not always from its source, but rather from its surroundings—the ascetic heart is pure, but its purity is covered in shame. It is the unique gift of the ascetic to know this, and her divine blessing that such knowledge wells up tears of grief like none the world can call forth. To gaze deep within and see the Sun darkened with stains is to be pained in soul, to see nature perfected and destroyed at once and in the same breath. Unbridled joy and soul wrenching agony collide; and if their collision be perfect, the ascetic heart is born.

***

The boy approached his father, gently, ‘Old man, why do you sorrow?’ The old man softened his tears:

‘Beloved, my sorrow is my joy.

Where there is no weeping, there is

no rejoicing,

And he who has not sorrowed

has never known delight.

‘I sorrow for the darkness that

I see within,

for the depth of the divide I have

cast between my mind and my heart.

I sorrow, for I have become

a source of sorrow,

and if I do not weep

I shall never be healed.

‘What God has blessed, I have squandered,

and therefore all the mountains weep.

Shall I yet rejoice?

See me, an aged man of squandered days,

a vessel of life confined to death—

yet merry, at peace, rejoicing!

‘No, beloved, let us weep.

Let us know sorrow, for then

we know ourselves, then we see.

No more in ignorance, but in truth

let us walk,

acknowledging our woe,

weeping with the earth.

When its sorrow is our sorrow,

then the weight shall crush my bones

—and crushed, I shall be reborn.

‘Sorrow is the door, dear boy,

the door of joy pure and true.

With every tear we shed,

we rejoice more fully,

exist more wholly,

love more purely.’

And with this, the old man’s words ceased, his mouth was still. And as the tears brimmed within his eyes, his joy radiated as the sun.

***

How captive are we, we fallen children, to the pleasures and passions that rule our lives. How we treasure the chains which imprison us, bestowing upon them garlands and wreathes, adorning them as friends. We sit bound by our desires, a lamentable state, yet we rejoice, for our eyes are shut fast; and as in a dream we see our confinement as freedom, our chains as wings.

The ascetic heart knows the darkness of this cell that is our fallen state, the chill of the stone walls that barricade us as if in tombs while yet we walk alive. And this heart knows, too, the cunning poison that is our joy, when founded in these walls—a poison sweet as honey, that dries the blood even as it tickles the tongue. The ascetic heart knows the deep reality of bondage, of the lament of all creation when a human person is bound to death, and recognizes the truth of the chains that bind him. Yet for the ascetic, the chains lose their appeal, their draw—for he knows that only the yoke offered by Christ can lead upward, inward, forward to Life.

One might feel pity, when seeing the ascetic, for he whose heart is borne aloft to God is the very man whose tears flow more freely than most, who weeps in time of rejoicing and sorrows at the festivals of the day. Yet how absent from the need for pity is the man who knows the sorrow of the world, for it is only he who knows its joy! Only when the illusion of ‘life’ is seen for all its empty reality, can the space within one’s vision that so long it occupied be filled—at long last—with the vision of Truth.

The sorrow of the ascetic is not a hopeless sadness, but a hope-filled lament for all that is distant from God. It is the heart weeping for its loss, even in the same breath that it receives its gain, just as the father wept for his prodigal son even as the latter rushed with longing into his father’s arms. The tears wept in this divine sorrow are tears of purification, the divine waters of baptismal grace welling up anew from the depths of the heart, purifying flesh and soul as they ascend upward and outward, finally to fall to the waiting earth.

It is in sorrow that the ascetic heart finds the doorway to joy. A heart petrified so long by the dry passions and fleeting winds of worldly desires becomes hardened, parched, incapable of change or growth. It is this parched earth that the ascetic waters with her tears, pained at her heart’s barrenness, but stirred with profoundest joy at the knowledge that each drop of water transforms the very earth itself.

As sorrow gives rise to tears, so is the hardened heart softened. As the heart is softened, holiness is born. As holiness is born, so divine transformation occurs. And where God transforms life, there all joy and hope, love and peace are found. Thus does the ascetic sorrow, for in sorrow is the door to life.

***

The boy approached his father, sat and questioned, ‘Old man, why are you alone? Why your solitude?’ The elder sighed, his breath light as the sky:

‘All the world is one, beloved,

kept entire in the hand of God.

Solitude is an illusion,

a fleeting vision;

for when one is still

he is never alone.

‘And yet the world turns,

turns with haste toward its ends—

fleeting, fallen, manmade all.

And we, too, turn,

glancing here and there, with

vision rushed, blurred;

never one, but divided.

‘I am alone, beloved, for the sake

of our communion.

Only in solitude is stillness born,

only there is it nurtured—

that great gift by which we live.

Divine silence can be found but

when the heart is still:

alone in its quest,

alone with God.

Thus solitude brings quiet,

and quiet the stillness where

whispers cease,

and here, the voice of God.

‘Hear me well, dear boy:

my solitude is my communion;

alone, we are together.

In solitude I see Christ whole,

for I am wholly His.

By this vision I am transformed,

my eyes at last beholding Life,

and Life reviving the blood of my veins.

I am Adam, wailing alone before the gates.

I quiet my tears to hear God beside me

—and am healed.

‘Thus my solitude, thus am I alone:

to know the depth of Christ within

and heal all that is without.

For when in solitude I come to know God,

I am united to Him in love,

united to Him who fills all,

And my solitude becomes my communion,

as alone I embrace the world.’

***

The call to retreat is mystical. There is divine grace even in the pin-prick voice of the inspired conscience, which through its love for the way of the Cross takes note of the desert, there sees a palace, and calls with longing for its transformation into home. It is the voice which called Christ into the sands of Judea, Anthony into the dunes of Egypt, Saba into the valleys of Palestine, and every human person into the desert of his own life. With echoes of the voice of God, this chord within the human soul seeks retreat, departure from the ways of extravagance and ease, and builds within the heart the desire for battle in the solitude of the sand.

Who has lived and not at some time heard—however faintly—this call? In the busiest moments, in the most absorbed, who has not felt the inexplicable desire for solitude, for a place of silence and peace in which to make sense of the world’s stage? Perhaps but for a fleeting instant, yet this desire is truly felt, and that instant can change the soul. There is crisis, for in the infinite smallness of that single moment, the great magnitude of life is felt, and a sense of distance formed.

It is the gift of the ascetic heart to live in this moment, to cultivate the seed of so precious an instant into the fruit of a whole life changed, woven to the garment of Christ. In this heart the moment of the call is extended to the span of life, for the call is sweet, and the heart knows that such an invitation cannot but be heeded. Love answers Love, for it is the One who is the essence of love whose voice has pierced the soul.

Thus is born the desire for retreat. Yes, to retreat is to flee, but the ascetic flees the world not to abandon it, rather to embrace it. It is not that she hates the world that the ascetic runs, but because she loves it too dearly to be captive to it falsely. To love the world in sin is to shame both the lover and the loved, to deny the holiness of both. Retreat becomes the means for purification, for sanctification, that holy may meet holy, and in purity embrace at last.

Solitude becomes communion, true communion, for our unity as brother and sister is naught but for our union with Christ, and this is in us all most fallen. Fragmented, torn from Christ and ourselves, we can never be whole. The family of humanity is a great and marvelous image formed after the nature of a puzzle with pieces intertwined, embracing. But if each piece will not itself be one, then the puzzle may never be fit. Thus the ascetic plunges into solitude, departure, for here the broken self is healed. Here distractions falls before the gates of contemplation, and fallen being finds reality in communion with the Maker of all. Here, alone, the thread is re-spun, strengthened, purified, brightened, that it may be woven as never before into the fabric of humanity.

Christ will be all in all, and all in Him must be one. But community without self is illusory, finite. The ascetic sees this, and in the vision sees response in flight. Alone, alone in the solitude of prayer, does he join the world at last.

***

The boy knelt at his father’s knees, ‘Dear man, how do you pray?’ The old man sighed a gentle sigh, smiling in his eyes. All questions came to this. Here the great meeting place of life, and of its nature the elder spoke:

‘Beloved, prayer is life,

and apart from it is only darkness.

It is the breath of the soul which yearns for God,

joining with His breath,

becoming one.

Prayer is the only light by which men can see,

the only vision they are called to adore,

for it is union with God

and in this union—everything.

‘Prayer is the quiet of a storm-tossed will,

an intellect guarded from the seas,

a mind centered upon God Most High.

It is stillness wrought in the midst of motion,

in which all that moves is God,

and with Him, all the world.

Prayer knows no words, if it is true,

for words belittle the presence of the Divine,

confound the conversation of Him who is all in all.

True prayer is beyond words,

transcending speech and thought,

communing with One who is greater than these,

Who works beyond them,

and in Whose presence they are no longer required.

Prayer is the stillness of the tongue,

of the mind, of the heart,

that God and these may come together

apart from words—one.

‘To pray, beloved, is to gather with Christ

at the shores of eternity;

To realize that these shores are within,

manifested in each human heart—

the infinite contained in the finite.

The One who came as Man and dwelt in a womb,

now dwells in the very heart of man.

Prayer is His energy, His activity,

vibrant in the human soul,

alive through His very Spirit,

stirring life to new heights

in the soul that has become quiet,

still enough to feel His breath.

‘We pray in our weakness, beloved,

for it makes us strong;

We pray in our strength,

for it makes us humble;

We pray in height and depth,

[octahedral-chaos]

Here's my Original Species!

Celestial Guard Beasts, or CGBs for short!

I will try to draw more stuff about them in the future, as they'll get their own website with everything on them there.

In the mean time, have their lore!

Edit: OH and they're open btw! I'm just working on some of their traits and such before I officially "release" them for use!

Celestial Guard Beasts were created by the Luck and space God Fortuna Astrum, as guardians for their domain. However, during the Great War, Fortuna died, leaving their creations to find their own calling.

A Celestial Guard Beast have a specific object that they guard. Most light variant CGBs (Right) tend to guard weapons, while dark CGBs (Left) Guard Wands, books and other such items. They can "bless" someone with good luck... or curse one with bad luck should they be angered.

CGBs have no need to eat, drink, sleep nor other bodily functions, as they are the animated form of Luck itself. Their colouration tend to mimic stars, with dark CGBs having red, orange or yellow accents while light CGBs having blue or silver accents. However, there are rumours of there being Celestial Guard Beasts with green and purple accents, or even the "wrong" accent colour for their typing, but those might be rumours... right?