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virtues-end · 9 months ago

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Hello hello! I'm a new reader and I have to say I've become obsessed with your story (may or may not have had dreams about shea......)

I wanted to ask what made you write virtues end? And have you made anything else? Just wondering if there's more goodies out there 👀

Ps which pronouns do you go by?

Hello! Welcome!

Firstly, feel free to use any pronouns. I'm pretty GNC so everything goes. 🤙

I first started working on Virtue's End in early 2020. Pandemic had just started, lock-downs in full swing, and I really was looking for some sort of escape. I've always loved reading, and writing, ever since I could, basically. So I started writing. Just some silly little scifi story that was entirely too dramatic, lol. But I found that I liked it.

And then one evening I discovered interactive novels on Steam. I stayed up late reading several very well-known staples of the genre, and I was hooked. And I'm the kind of person who, when discovering something new, really wants to try it out for themselves. So pretty much the next day, I started figuring out how these things were made, and learning how to code, all that.

At the time, I was also working on a setting for a tabletop rpg campaign. I've always wanted to DM, but I wasn't really comfortable sitting at the head of the table, and just generally being the centre of attention and just... having to do a lot of talking. So I converted some of the setting to fit the interactive game I was working on, and the beginnings of Virtue's End were born. :-)

Many of the themes prevalent in the story are things that I've always felt drawn to. Writing it just felt very natural. The words flowed. Dark (fantasy) settings have always been a big inspiration for me; anime like Berserk, Claymore, and Hellsing, games such as Dark Souls/Bloodborne (and later Elden Ring), Dragon Age, and Darkest Dungeon, books from writers such as Joe Abercrombie, Robin Hobb, G.R.R. Martin, and Sapkowski... just to name a few.

Well, I realised I just wrote an entire essay, lol. But basically I am a little dark fantasy nerd and writing is my form of escapism. 👍

As for your other question, I'm currently only working on Virtue's End, though I've also been brewing a more 'realistic' story set in medieval times featuring knights and royalty and betrayal and all that good stuff--though I suspect it'll be a while before it sees the light of day.

#thank you for the question #sorry I started rambling lol #orz #asks

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quantum-temporal-anomaly · 3 months ago

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There will be no more darkness I fear

This is the final happy ending for me

yknow how the protege is meant to mirror the ancestor.

ive thought about how at the "end" of the ancestor's life, he shoots himself in the head after writing his memoirs(presumably he wrote them before seeing the thing considering he has memoir text for all the darkest dungeon missions minus the last one.) AFTER running away from the great thing he unleashed upon the world, and while the towns folk started raiding his house for the awful he has done. in my mind the protege was also trying to make a memoir type document, a document where he confesses all the wrong he has done (sorta like the the confessions we see in the game but like, where he doesnt really take accountability to his actions) but he couldnt do it (IE all the crumpled up drafts of his confession) i think the protege was planning on offing himself in one way or another(probably by pistol considering the parallels to the heir and the ancestor) but the academic(or at least a memory of him) shows up to steer him into a more positive direction, perhaps this is what a virtue looks like, considering the only in cannon one we see is second hand from the ancestor.

one last hope to keep going.

cough also some of my HC for protege(like him painting) comes from Cadmium Colors by Jamie Paige. also where my brain association between protege and teto comes from. ill do a more breakdown how i feel about this song when i get to making the protege playlist

youtube

#darkest dungeon #darkest dungeon 2 #dd protege #Youtube

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murderlade · 1 year ago

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Me, looking at my monster boyfriend cock: 😍

The ancestor from darkest dungeon in my mind: Monstrous Size Has No Intrinsic Merit, Unless Inordinate Exsanguination Be Considered A Virtue

Me, looking at my now disappointing monster boyfriend cock: 😒

#darkest dungeon #text #tactical disadvantage

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will-bite-if-given-the-chance · 2 months ago

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“In the darkness lived only the darkest side of my soul. And it survived only for revenge. I was like a red-hot stove, and the moment I reconnected with my good side, it was as if someone poured a bucket of ice water over me. Now I'm thinking more soberly. But there... I was so furious, consumed by hatred.”

Hello children, I bring the fourth redesign and first major character, which is Malbonte! He was quite of a tough nut, so much that I had to start over at one point, but I’m happy with how he turned out!

I feel like harmony bearers get both a sin and a virtue and Malbonte broke his virtue by getting Laura, Sammy and Winchesto killed for his own gain.

When Vicky first met Bont, she thought he was an unclaimed, since he had no halo. Even if you break your virtue as an angel, your halo turns black— you still have it. The reason Bont doesn’t have a halo is because he’s not a full person, he’s pure good and therefore he can’t uphold a virtue properly.

Mal, on the other hand, got corrupted by Shephamalum. His mind got twisted in the dungeon, full of pure hatred. The darkness inside Malbonte is like a disease, and he’s barely fighting it.

What I listened to while making this:

Speed paint: (watch me struggle)

Tags: @dutifullynuttywitch

#I also listened to the sound on the timelapse #if today’s angels are influenced by human fashion trends then why wouldn’t be the few thousand years older Malbonte?#I wanted him to look a bit scary a bit sickly but still hot #romance club #heavens secret #rc hs2 #heaven's secret 2 #heaven's secret #rc hs #art #malbonte hs #rc malbonte #Spotify

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mara-xx217 · 1 year ago

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Ending H (Fear & Hunger) Ch. 12- (Night Lurch) A Fistful of Silver

He was once sentenced to the prisons. He used to lust to hurt women. Now he is an epitome of his perversions. - The New Gods when asked about the Night lurch.

Warnings: Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Torture/Blood, Anal Rape, Monstrous Creature, Monster Penis, Internal Trauma, Character Death

The people of Rondon cautioned their wives and daughters of a dreaded wolf that prowled the streets.

A beast it was, though not one that skulked about on all fours, rather one that danced in the shadows, taking the shape of a man, one of a well bred and trusting face that morphs and changes with the flickering torch and moonlight.

He seeks lone girls of all stations, be they of the upper class or merely a lowly waif, as they wander the city streets after sunset.

He lures them not but accosts them with sudden vigor and savagery, pulling young maidens, especially the virgin and yet to reach marrying age, into the darkest of alleyways so he can violate them in the foulest and cruelty of ways.

Maidens wearing of white have been found wandering the streets, dresses stained red-brown, a token of the depravity they were subjected to plain for all to see.

None know of who attacks the young girls of Rondon and thus tales of “The Little Maiden Dressed in White” begin to spread.

Little maiden, dressed in white, take to your grandmother loaves of bread and wine of red.

Little maiden, dressed in white, linger not among the cobbled streets, lest someone unsavoury you will meet.

Little maiden, dressed in white, a hand will grab you with a devil’s might, pulling you deeper into the night.

Sequestered away from the light, oh, little maiden, dressed in white, how you will cry, your screams of pain would be mistaken for delight.

Little maiden, once dressed in white, released from the devil you will wander, your precious flower of virtue squandered.

The wolf absconds with your purity, vanishing beyond sight into obscurity.

Little maiden, no longer dressed in white, never will you be wed, for the Lord witnessed how you bled.

Little maiden, now dressed in red, how you will wish that you were simply just dead.

The perpetrator would be found and he would be tried for his crimes. He never denied committing the atrocities levied against him and so justice was swift for the people of Rondon and all the girls and women he had violated during his reign over the empty alleyways and nighttime streets.

Death would be the punishment for many that were guilty of even one of the many crimes that man committed, they would be sentenced to death. But to be accused of hundreds of different sodomizations and to not even deny it? He would be sentenced to the only fate worse than death that the government of Rondon could bear down onto such a monster.

The serial rapist of Rondon, the Night Lurch, was sentenced until the conclusion of his natural life in the Dungeon of Fear & Hunger.

He was to rot away and die, forgotten in the black of that terrible place and he did, though die, he did not.

Like everything in that place, the black changed him. He was already twisted and corrupt, the change to a monster was already complete in mind and soul though not yet in his body. That would take time, which was all that the rapist had in the Dungeon of Fear & Hunger. He was forgotten by the people, by the government and even by the guards meant to ensure his slow demise. He didn’t need food or water to sustain himself any longer, only the pain and suffering of those around him, things in vast quantities in that terrible dungeon. It might have starved and withered his body but it did anything but weaken him.

The black made him into the embodiment of what he was: his perversions. Sadistic and cruel, his body was made to inflict pain. It mattered not to who, men, women, children, other prisoners, animals… The Night Lurch was a being made to torture.

And he would, time and time again.

You wouldn’t be the first and certainly not the last. You heard the sinister clicking of teeth against teeth, claws against stone. Of all the monstrosities in this terrible place, you didn’t think it possible it could get any worse. Everything here thrived off of cruelty and perversion. You have seen terrible things, been subjected to terrible things…

All your companions had succumbed to the darkness in some way, be it death or madness. You were close behind them, wavering in between despair and hysteria. You staggered in the dark, blind and down to your last tinderbox. Your hands shook with terror, unable to strike a light in spite of your best efforts to hold back your panic. A torch was held in between your knees, the moisture of the stonework seeping into your trousers as you furiously strike the tinderbox over and over and over and over again.

The noise grew louder, that awful clicking. It sounded like it was mocking your attempts to beat back the darkness.

click

Click

CLICK

Why wouldn’t it stop?

CLICK

You couldn’t stop your chest from heaving.

CLICK

The cloth affixed around the stick in between your legs burst alight, momentarily blinding you. In the moments that it took your eyes to readjust to the harsh torchlight, you screamed as you were tackled to the ground by something that lingered in the darkness before you.

All it took was for you to produce light for him to find you. He didn’t need the light, for his eyes were mutilated beyond recognition. Porcelain-white skin reflected the light of your fallen torch, grey-black teeth coated in blood and saliva flashing as the creature licked his nonexistent lips. Long, blade-like claws pinned your arms to the cold ground, slicing through your leather armour as though it were wet parchment.

Deep gashes splintered your skin apart, allowing river falls of blood to seep out from beneath your armour. You desperately kick out your legs, screaming as you realize that this thing was much, much stronger than he appeared. He was bone thin, with every rib evident and skin barely clinging onto his body, yet he was as strong as a healthy, well defined man in his youth. No, worse, it was supernatural. The panic you displayed only seemed to excite the creature, as he nearly purred with hideous laughter as something thick and sharp began to poke against the crotch of your trousers.

“G-GODS-!!! N-NOOO!!! D-DON’T-! PLEASE!!!” Terror raised the pitch of your voice. It was ear piercing and music to the creature’s ears. A long, thick grey tongue lashed out and licked up your tears of fear. You waited for him to tear your face off, to slice you to ribbons, to do… something. Anything! But shockingly-

He allowed you to struggle free.

You didn’t think, didn’t take a moment to consider why, your body moved with a will of its own. Fight, flight, freeze was cycling through your veins up until the moment that creature lessened its weight off your arms and you simply… Reacted.

Your legs kicked the monstrosity in the abdomen and you pulled yourself out from underneath his body, panting and screaming even though your lungs screamed for air. Your diaphragm cramped, forcing out any breath that you tried to take. You managed to rise to your feet with startling speed, tripping over your own limbs as you did so.

If you had your wits about you, perhaps you would have realized just how odd it was that the creature had allowed you to flee at all. If you weren’t in hysterics, perhaps you could have capitalized on the fact that the monster couldn’t actually see you, only hear you and your panicked breaths as you stumbled away from him. With your footsteps retreating, it gave the Night Lurch the exact opportunity that he was waiting for.

A scream dies in your throat as you are knocked off your feet. The Night Lurch had tackled you from behind, sucking on his teeth and producing that terrible clicking noise somewhere within his throat. In the fraction of a second that it took you to fall to the ground, the creature managed to force his sharp, barbarous member into your anus.

The thick padding of your reinforced trousers did nothing to stop or even slow the Night Lurch as he sodomized you. It was like the blade of a knife was slicing you open from the inside out. Instantly you were bleeding, screaming as one of the most sensitive parts of your body was brutalized over and over again. The creature’s hips jerked and bucked with little grace or rhythm, merely responding to the stimulus of your agony and acting according to his own lust to hurt another.

The monster’s skin was clammy against your own, sticking to the few bare patches of your skin that was exposed from the hole that was torn into your trousers. Hot blood poured in between your legs, starkly contrasting the cold sweat that seeped through your pores as you began to vomit in between screams of torment. Your sword had fallen just out your reach and mocked you in your rapidly fading torchlight. It glimmered and shined, much like the claws that pinned your arms to your sides as the Night Lurch shredded your insides with his mutated cock.

It was like you were being raped with the blade of a sword… The Night Lurch’s crotch horn might not have been as large as some of the other denizens’ members but it might have been even more deadly for how hard, curved and sharp it was. It was totally inflexible, unyielding towards the soft, thin walls of your anus, hooking upwards and carving its way through your body.

You reacted violently to the pain, choking on bile in between shrieks of pain. You struggled and fought for your life, kicking and thrashing like a wild, rabid animal that was caged against its will. You were exactly that, a little rodent that was trapped under the paw of a mighty predator, being batted around and toyed with before you were to be devoured. The Night Lurch had no need to eat your flesh though he would consume you just as he had when he was the wolf of Rondon.

The serial rapist drank in your guttural cries, hissing and clicking as your body squeezed down on him in spite of your best efforts to pull away from his thrusts. Your body rocked in forceful waves, your screams waxing and waning along with it. You never fell silent, even after you screamed your throat bloody raw. Your extremities would cool and become numb long before you would ultimately succumb to your extensive internal injuries. With the blood having drained from the wounds you sustained from such a brutal sodomization, you would die from the massive hemorrhaging in your anus.

Your last moments were spent in agony as one of the most infamous criminals in all of Rondon’s sordid history repeatedly abused your mangled body. Long before your death, the torch you were only just able to light had died, leaving you to suffer in the cold and the black without any comfort whatsoever. Even after you lost all feeling in your body, you were still aware of that creature’s presence, the awful clicking and clattering of something precious being discarded onto the cold ground as the violent assault continued, long after your final death.

Ending H- A Fistful of Silver

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather, @horny-3

#fear and hunger #fear & hunger #fear & hunger x reader #fear & hunger ending h #fear & hunger night lurch #dead dove #please adhere to the warnings

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darknesseddiem · 1 year ago

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𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Sutenankh, once revered for valor, finds himself ensnared in the ethereal confines of divine justice. As he awaits his fate within the celestial sanctum of Horus, his heart heavy with remorse, the gods decree eternal imprisonment. Meanwhile, a clandestine pact between Anubis and Horus births a prophecy of hope for a future liberator. Betrayal, anguish, and the weight of celestial retribution collide in a tale where virtue and destiny intertwine.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, Eddie's first name is Sutenankh, violence, torture, betrayal, mentions of a curse, mention of slavery, allusion to death and living mummification.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so excited to post this!!! I have always loved Egyptian culture and almost burst with happiness when the opportunity to write arose. I hope you are prepared to follow the journey of our demi-god warrior.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

Bound by celestial chains, bewildered and wounded, Sutenankh finds himself ensnared within the ethereal confines of divine justice, awaiting the inexorable decree of his final destiny.

Once a beacon of valor and righteousness, Sutenankh's descent into the abyss of moral decay stands as a harrowing testament to the seductive allure of human frailty. Seduced by the siren call of ambition and ensnared by the tendrils of avarice, he succumbed to the darkest recesses of his soul, forfeiting his noble mantle to the corrupt machinations of mortal desires.

The weight of his transgressions hangs heavy upon him, an invisible shroud woven from the lamentations of the oppressed and the anguished cries of the forsaken. In his folly, he granted dominion to the vilest of mortals, unwittingly bestowing power upon those whose hearts were blackened by greed and malice. Innocents languished in chains, their freedoms bartered for the fleeting promises of false prophets, while the opulent revelry of the elite cast a pall of despair upon the land.

Now, within the hallowed halls of Horus, where the celestial firmament meets the mortal realm, Sutenankh stands as a penitent supplicant before the divine tribunal. Here, the very essence of justice is palpable, manifesting as a sublime tapestry woven from threads of golden light and azure hues, a testament to the immutable balance of the cosmos.

The architecture of the celestial sanctum is a symphony of celestial grandeur, crafted by the hands of divine artisans whose skill transcends mortal comprehension. Pillars of alabaster rise like towering sentinels, their surfaces adorned with intricate reliefs depicting the triumphs and tribulations of mortal existence. Canopies of celestial silk, woven from threads of purest light, billow gently in the ethereal breeze, their iridescent fibers shimmering with the radiance of a thousand suns.

At the heart of the sanctum lies a pool of crystalline waters, its surface a mirror to the heavens above. Here, the waters of life flow in eternal abundance, their purity a testament to the divine benevolence that sustains all creation. Statues of Horus, resplendent in their majesty, gaze down upon the scene with eyes that blaze like fiery beacons, their vigilance an ever-present reminder of the omnipotence of the divine will.

In this sanctum of celestial splendor, Sutenankh awaits his fate with a heart heavy with remorse and contrition, hoping against hope that the scales of justice may yet tip in his favor, and that the divine mercy may shine upon his tarnished soul once more.

In the labyrinthine depths of Seth and Sekhmet's dungeons, the unfortunate youth languished in an unyielding grip of torment, ensnared by the relentless passage of time. Each day unfurled as an eternity of unspeakable agony, punctuated by tortures as cruel as they were unrelenting.

From the moment his shackles were fastened, a profound silence enveloped him, stifling any attempt at lamentation or supplication. His tongue, deftly severed, became a mute testament to the futility of speech in the presence of the divine. He grasped, in that harrowing moment, the futility of attempting to justify his existence before the omnipotence of Amon-Ra.

With a perverse fervor, Seth extracted one of his eyes, offering it as a grim tribute to the celestial pantheon, while Sekhmet, thirsting for accolades, seized his chestnut tresses as though they were a trophy to be displayed for all eternity.

In this abyssal expanse of despair, where even the most compassionate deities dared not intrude, Anubis, Osiris, Horus, and Bastet stood as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the suffering of Sutenankh, their progeny. A pall of mournful resignation hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the impotence that beset them in the face of such wanton cruelty.

In the cavernous halls of anguish, where shadows whispered of treachery and hearts bled with the sting of betrayal, his soul convulsed with the agony of deception. Betrayed by a friend once held dear, and by those he had revered as guardians and mentors, his spirit quivered with a sorrow deep as the abyss.

As fate wove its cruel tapestry, his path was entrusted to the hands of Anubis, the jackal-headed deity known for his tender regard for the departed and infirm. Anubis, whose visage was often shrouded in enigma, now found his resolve faltering at the sight of his beloved son ensnared in the tendrils of despair.

With the weight of eternity hanging heavy upon his shoulders, Anubis grappled with the burden of decision. In a realm where time itself seemed to hold its breath, he deliberated, his gaze piercing through the veil of uncertainty. Ultimately, he chose the path of utmost severity, yet one suffused with a measure of mercy: eternal imprisonment—a fate both cruel and, in its own twisted way, mercifully devoid of physical pain.

In a somber tableau of divine decree, the semi-divine warrior, bereft of strength to battle against fate's inexorable hand, acquiesced to the harrowing ritual of being mummified alive. The torturous ordeal, though agonizing beyond measure, paled in comparison to the anguish that rent his heart asunder. With a final, labored exhalation, he yielded to the embrace of death, his essence consigned to the frigid depths of the sarcophagus, where the stygian river of darkness awaited.

Apprehensive of the titanic power veiled within his enigmatic form, the gods ordained the sealing of the lid upon the sarcophagus, a vessel wrought from obsidian-black stone, its form adorned with meticulously carved motifs of solid gold—a sepulcher befitting the noblest of sovereigns.

Fearing the latent potential of his reawakening, Amon, Seth, Sekhmet, Osiris, and Bastet invoked a curse of dire consequence upon any audacious enough to trespass upon the sanctity of the celestial warrior's resting place. Theirs was a sentence of eternal repose, a somber penance for the folly of disturbing the peace of the divine.

Unbeknownst to the pantheon of gods, a clandestine pact had been forged between Anubis and Horus, their hearts weighed heavy with sorrow for the fate that had befallen their celestial kin. Together, they clandestinely inscribed a prophecy upon the annals of human history, its verses a beacon of hope for a future where a soul of true virtue would emerge, destined to liberate the celestial warrior from his timeless slumber.

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