#morgant

[cassettebeastssource]

To celebrate the 1-year anniversary of Cassette Beasts' release, Jay Baylis of Bytten Studio has made a Twitter thread to share some behind-the-scenes stuff about Archangels:

[mxtwister]

WHY DO THEY LOOK SO GOOFY

[kozy4stuff]

What I expected from Cassette Beasts:

What I got:

[Transcript]

[First image: Me holding up a peace sign with a Candevil from Cassete Beasts.

Caption: Hanging with the bestie!]

[Second image: I stand in front of a giant shattered figure of a woman with floating hands.

Caption: There are Archangels in the subway stations]

[Third image: I have turned into a traffic cone.

Caption: I turned into a traffic cone to try and stop them]

[pokemonbattletournament]

We have Pokémon at Home!

Round 1 matchup 29

Propaganda for Morgante:

"i just think shes neat :)"

Propaganda for Anatan:

"They evolved through the power of love and they are the indominable backbone of my team :)"

More info under the cut

More information about Morgante:

More information about Anatan:

[demispark]

Ain't it interesting that Aleph's head is made of glass, and his ex-wife Morgante's attacks are centered around broken glass?

[yakitori-queen]

simpler times

[kanohivolitakk]

Friendly reminder that not only do these two share a voice actor, their voice actor is Tara Platt...aka for anyone who has played Fire Emblem Three Houses, Edelgards VA.

As someone who has dedicated most of the last five years of her life to Three Houses I find this factoid deeply amusing. Like when I went to the wiki and found out Morgante was voiced by Tara Platt I fucking screamed.

Honestly Morgante does have similar voice to Edelgard...Kuneko, not so much

[taliesin-the-bored]

Hi :) Could I have the source for "wherever Arthur walks, plants die"? That's very "Holly King" coded of him

Sure thing! It's from Triad 23 in the Red Book of Hergest. Here's a translation by John Rhŷs and John Gwenogvryn Evans:

Three Red Ravagers of the Island of Britain: Rhun son of Beli, and Lleu Skilful Hand, and Morgant the Wealthy. But there was one who was a Red Ravager greater than all three: Arthur was his name. For a year neither grass nor plants used to spring up where one of the three would walk; but where Arthur went, not for seven years.

Peniarth MS 54 lists "{t}hree red-spotted ones of the Island of Prydain. Arthur; and Run son of Beli; and Morgant Mwynfawr" (W.F. Skene's translation), which probably means the same thing, since both include Arthur, Rhun son of Beli, and someone named Morgant. In Welsh, "Morgant the Wealthy" is Morgant Hael, and I haven't been able to determine whether he and Morgant Myfanwyr are the same person.

Thanks for the ask!

[eggchjf]

i feel like i'm just bullying her at this point

[lunarprincegarbo]

Cracked out Morgante

[seyenna-stuff]

Morgante is so fucking cool I wanna be her

[nyxitycatboy]

playing cassette beasts, its fun ^w^

tldr of that junk \/ the parrelles btween this and lennas inception are very interesting and makes me scared in the excited kinda way for how this game'll go

[offwilds]

      Close to the Belleteyn, the sun barely rises, skims the heads of skeletal trees, and drops— its faint light a summon to the old blood of the sacred night; a summon to Maiden, Mother and Crone.

Mother gathers the terrors of the night in the curve of her palm, stretches her arms toward the sky, over rivers of blood and the dark woods, singing with all her skin and bone and sacred body, ancient chants and invokations, her body brimming with arcane powers; when the moon is blood and she, no more than a white shadow, bloodless as a moon on lakewater, she brings her to the woods, to the altar they have made— the both of them— to worship and do Frigg and Freya homage— her, Maiden, daughter of Chaos, her, borne of a bloodless womb, brought to the Goddess wreathed in starlight, in whistling winds; fear her, always — Morgante, whispers, lays her down amid the grass, wet with dew and ice-cold, the dark, rushing river that spills like threads of silver moonlight under the grove in which they pray, in which they spill their blood and make themselves an offering to the Goddess — Mother, bright-coiffed and tall and terrible, whispers in ancient, forgotten tongues, brings out her silver knife— the ceremonial blade they have too oft in the past used to make their offerings; Nereinne offers her hand in quiet devotion, bows her head over the shrine; a tomb-shrine she will later call it, that dark, cold place ablaze with a cold, white fire that burned in the middle of the glade,  a cairn of bleached bones, and as Mother chants and whispers ancient spells, as she spills her blood into a phylactery and binds life and death together, she stares blindly ahead, at the stars rising cold above the hills. The world seems narrowed to the tug of the knife in her hand, the faint scraping noise it makes as it slices through the flesh of her palm; she gasps, and pulls her hand away- only, she cannot move now, she realises, some thing cold and dark holding her down, its touch hollow, and she, a nothing, a gatherer of death, only, laying there, unfeeling, numb and cold as Morgante looms tall and  dreadful over her, spills her wisps of magic over her body,  something fragrant with rot coming to rest near her - and Goddess, she thinks, a frantic, wild thing - Goddess, I come to you wreathed in tears, shield me, your daughter, from The Mother, shield me, your daughter from The Crone -  and as Morgante moves and spills more of her blood into that sacred phylactery, Nereinne begins to feel her senses blur and fade; she screams, but neither voice nor sound comes out, her throat a tight, heavy thing, and, my pulse is hers, my water is hers, Morgante chants into her ear, and she feels her blood go rushing deep beneath her, a river of darkness, her heart beat pounding in the ground and it feels as though she is no longer flesh and bone, only a white shadow, brimming with death, that rot, that growth, the decay - death, her death or another’s, she does not know, she only knows, she is dripping in that blue-white fire now, she is howling but her mouth is shut, her bones are dust and light, she is leaving, she is going away, and then- then all is bright and then smolder-green black, a crow’s cries filling her ears- a woman, she thinks - a hag. Her voice is like nothing she has ever heard before. It seems to be coming from miles away, lacquered and greasy, and she feels it coursing through her like her own blood, feels her eyes burn with the sudden burst and blaze of lightning, rising in her again and again, burning her face. And then - she is gone, and Mother with her.

She lays there, from dawn to night fall, she, cold ancestor. Bloodless daughter of Chaos.  

When she wakes again, she is laying on the banks of a river, half naked and ice cold, her body wreathed in wisps of the pale blue mists moving across the waters. When she awakes, her blood is on her mouth, red and terrible, and she is flying through the trees, energy and magic both rolling off of her slight form in frantic and kinetic waves that have the skies rumbling with the promise of a storm and rain ready to pour down from the heavens. 

And she, no longer Maiden; she, only daughter of Chaos, touched by bright, endless Death, a frazzled, tragic mess of a creature - eyes shining and cheeks uncharacteristically flush as she runs and runs and runs, and never stops, 

Has never stopped, shall never stop, until Mother is given that which she desires, that which she is bearing for her: until that bloodless womb is filled once more with that which she shall summon for her— dry rot and everflowing death, the pulse of the Maiden inter-weaved with  that of the Crone's.

[yakitori-queen]

same old story

[designedparadigm]

designation: 

ISABEL  MARY  MORGANTE

codename: 

DEMONIA

notes:

morgante  was  effective  above  all  else.  raising  into  the  black  ops  sect;  she  was  sent  on  all  kinds  of  dirty  under  the  table  missions.  until  they  reviewed  her  psych  file  and  discharged  her.  despite  being  put  in  heavy  therapy,  it  didn't  stop  demonia.  you  don't  just  open  pandora's  box  and  shove  it  back  in.  morgante  took  it  upon  herself  to  form  her  own  pmc,  able  to  get  several  talented  ex-military  personnel  to  agree  to  sign  on  under  her  banner.  seventh  circle  is  proudly  owned  and  lead  by  morgante.  morgante  herself  excels  in  brutality  -  often  using  it  for  interrogations  to  get  answers.  she  is  uncanny  with  her  ability  to  tell  when  someone  is  lying;  she  is  an  impeccable  read  on  others  emotions  while  masking  her  own  effortlessly.  those  who  know  her  true  nature  do  fear  her  -  but  those  are  the  ones  she  is  most  loyal  to.  loyalty  is  not  a  concept  lost  on  her.