#skull sand skeletons

[tema-makes-art-sometimes]

if france isnt being really weirdly morbid about death and its beauty then whats the gosh darn diggity dang point.

[soullesssketches13]

INKTOBER DAY 30 : RUSH

[lazerswordweilder]

Okay this was under my tags, and I follow cw eyestrain because I like the art, but primarily Star Wars and Batfam stuff, and I’ve seen this about three times, and I thought it was Darth Vader?? I’m realising now it’s another character I don’t know very well, but he has the scar under his eye which I’m now realising are eye bags, the scars on his head I’m realising is a crack in his skull, the other side of his face is obscured so I can’t see his other scar, his hands are prosthetics which are actually bones, I was staring at the outfit trying to work it out before I looked at the tags and went OOHHHHH

Consume me, I'll be okay.

return of whatever this style is

[moineauz]

may i request a ticket for mosaic the memento with boothill?

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ THE HOUSE OF MUSICA PRESENTS... 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆ノ𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 — boothill !

synopsis: lovers that collect each other, piece by piece and display it in peculiar ways.

side comments: tysm for requesting!! I definitely had fun with this and boothill in general. I took the concept quite literally hehe.

extra: gn reader, angst & fluff, mentions of marriage, established relationship word count: 1, 184

When eyesight failed, you turned to the wind's caress, the hum of incessant chatter, and the mechanical click of Boothill's shoes like a heartbeat made of flesh and bone.

Penacony thrived and bounced with promise and prose that night, as it has every night; brimming with the convivial spirit of a cocktail. While morphing desire into the tangible.

Nevertheless, Penacony is a pest: a jewel sowing songs of seduction, Time spent in Penacony rots the living flesh.

"You're thinkin' too much again."

Languidly, you turn your head towards the man leaning against the door frame. His limbs slacken as a tender grin pressed onto his face. It was as beckoning as a blast of dust and powder. A soothing grace found in jagged cliffs.

"It's Penacony," you begin scrupulously, "It's difficult not to think of-"

A small nail bolt hits the ground, a ring reverberating throughout your hotel room: a sour psalm. Your eyes observe the nail as it spins toward the tip of your boot; halting it in its path.

Boothill scrutinizes your eyebrows and how they crease, your placid countenance replaced by blunt displeasure. You cast a faint sigh, rolling your wrists until you discerned a click. A practice Boothill has inscribed into your skin it seemed. To Boothill, your faint, pervasive sighs are like wisps of smoke billowing in feeble puffs. It is the kind that Boothill could keep within the biting palms of his hands like a cloud of mist rolling over a slumbering horizon.

"Boothill," you chide askance, the nail now tightly wrapped under the guileful length of your fingers, "You're falling apart, again."

Boothill emits a delicate laugh; carrying through the thick atmosphere of your hotel room like fog being pushed to the side. "Oh? It's Nothin' to worry bout'," he exclaims, his grin acute and unrelenting like a child.

You scoff, your face solemn. "You're a fool then."

Boohill raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "A fool?" he begins with a tone of toying inquisition, "And what kind of fool would I be then?"

"The kind that never listens," you seethed as you turned your back and rummaged through your satchel. The click and ring of colliding components rebound from the disquieting walls. "Tell me, is it that difficult to keep your gun down?"

Instead, Boothill's legs carry him to the side of your bed; hoisting himself up before lying down on his back, his right hand gingerly tapping against the plating of his chest. One beat after another, one rise of your chest like sundown, one click before the drop.

The room grows reticent as does Boothill's incessant chatter. You considered him like a fly; one swat never ceased his lingering. His buzz and wagers compelled you to an ineffable cusp of undoing. He tugged at your hair, sauntered over your plans and tenderly pressed his treasured gun against your skull like a prayer of undying fidelity: the kind that reaches from the mounds of soil, dust and dirt. A skeleton crawling on the face of the Earth.

However, you kept the bones of that same serrated skeleton in your coat pockets. When the night yielded its youth, you traced your glided hands over its ridges like one recites verses in a destitute, ceaseless pursuit for solace. You hauled the bones of your dead on your back, straggling through sand dunes and sun. Thus, you ensured the bones would never corrode or break. For safekeeping, you thought.

"It always surprises me," professed Boothill, his body still limp on your bed, "That you carry every part of me in that damn satchel of yours."

He then scoffs, amused, "It's ridiculous."

A subtle, witty smile unwinds on your lips before you exasperate, "Well, I find it more ridiculous that a full-grown man needs his spouse to cover his boo-boos."

"Ha!" exclaims Boothill, a smirk unveiling itself, "And what's so wrong bout' that?"

You simply hum at this question, still absorbed by the sensations of various metal pieces grazing against your skin. "Boothill," you betokened "Which wire is thinner? The one on the right or the one on the left?"

Boothill promptly glances at the side table, "The one on the right."

You reach for the wire on the right, no inkling of doubt smearing the page of your chest.

Boothill never pressed his knee down or slipped a circular piece of metal on your finger.

On the contrary, you professed your devotion while uncoiling the vast forests of his wires found in his spinal cord and replacing the plating of his shins. Like a doll being unwinded: its button eyes stitched concurrently to become whole.

Boothill pondered the concept of marriage and discerned it to be ludicrous. However, there was a peculiar charm found in the title "My spouse" like windchimes that crash and sway, casting their dreams into an afternoon breeze.

He reminisced how you ripped his chest open and raised his metal heart in the plane of your hands like an offering. He entrusted you.

You dismantled him with each screw and wire; rerouting and disconnecting nerve after nerve, daring not to draw a breath in fear of failure. His entire being rested upon the pull and press of your fingers and the thrust of your arms. Boothill observed beads of sweat trickling down your forehead and the tentative purses of your lips. He could recount the strands of hair that brushed against your cheek and the bitter pit of envy and spite that grew in him like a weed. The wind could stroke your cheek and the Earth could wrap you fold upon fold until you became the foundations of life itself. Nevertheless, Boothill comprehended how insatiable he was. He envied how the folds of death seemed to embrace you closer than he could ever offer you.

The vibrations of your proposal still ring in his head and run up his spine with the zeal of electricity and the parting words of tenderness. Thus, how could he ever say no?

"I'm almost done with your leg," you muse, your eyes bouncing from Boothill's reposed face and the length of his leg.

"Why'd you ask to become my spouse, ( Name )?"

You blink, the movements of your hands paused while the clock continues to cast its familiar tick-tok. "Don't call me that," you remarked indifferently, your hands promptly resuming their work.

"Then what do I call you?" drawls Boothill, his eyes fixated on the tenacious shifts of your expression.

You emit a half-amused scoff before avowing, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

"Alright then," teases Boothill, "We can play it that way." He pauses, then prompts, "Why'd you ask to become my spouse, doll?"

With that simple phrase, you gingerly place your tools down and lean forward. The poignant warmth of your breath skimming over Boothill's smooth cheek. A blinding smile tugs at the corners of your lips and the placid facade carved in your face broke with brilliance like the yolk of an egg. The corners of Boothill's eyes pooled with awe.

"Because I was tired of carrying pieces of you in my pockets."

general masterlist. request page for event.

[theverynothumankai]

some things i find species affirming/euphoric:

beanie cat hat

arm warmers

walking through forests and feeling a little lost sometimes

playing in sand or in puddles or even in streams/rivers

shark tooth necklace

climbing to the top of trees or climbing things in general

jumping down from high places

rolling down hills

collecting rocks/feathers/seashells/animal skulls/bones/skeletons

trying to take care of insects as pets

[abandonambition]

Are you high tide, or low tide?

High tide low tide Capricorns

[dmwrites]

When everyone was finally dead, the final body slumped to the ground, the world went a bit funny. There was a pause as the world went silent for the first time in weeks. Blood ran, soaking the ground red, as everything lay in horrible, grizzly stillness.

And then, the glitches came out, first slinking in the shadows at night, and gradually getting more and more braver when there were no repercussions. Horrible things, scavengers that resembled wolves, dark and twitching, made from the static of the world boarder. They feasted on the bodies left behind, half rotted, pierced by arrows and swords and all numbers of other things.

And when the bones had been licked clean and scattered, that’s when the cleaning lady came to put the world back together.

Pearl hadn’t called herself the cleaning lady back when she’d started. She had been selected, invited, whatever you wanted to call it- they’d remembered her. You’re Grian’s sister, right? They weren’t related, but Pearl didn’t like to piss them off like Grian had, so she had just nodded. We have a job for you.

The job was simple, horrible. A game had been played, the watchers explained, a game of three lives. When the players go red on their third life, they become bloodthirsty animals, killing for the entertainment of the watchers, although the players hasn’t known there was an audience. The stage had been sullied now, and they needed someone to make it fresh. For the next time, the watchers said, and Pearl wondered what a next time would entail. But she had been plucked from her world and brought here, pat on the head and given brooms and buckets, and told to get to work. It wasn’t like she had another option, so she did.

She stood in a rather unremarkable grove, but gunpowder purfumed the air heavily. With her buckets and shovels in hand, she made her way through the world, and soon found evidence of the battles that had taken place and marred the landscape. Craters from explosions, a village torn apart. Bits of bone and cloth scattered. And blood, blood everywhere, a portrait of bitter ends. A desert so torn apart that the stone underneath bled through like the bones of some slain beast.

Pearl hiked up a sandy dune to an odd formation of cactus. They seemed to encircle the bloodiest part of the whole world. There was a skeleton’s head lodged right in the middle, and it looked like it was smirking at her. Other bones, bleached white by the sun, were scattered within that circle. And the blood, dried as it was, had dyed the sand a deep red.

Pearl stood beside one of the cacti for a moment, looking in on the scene like the watchful cacti were. The desert was so quiet, only the sigh of sand moved by the wind. This must have been one of those fights to the death the Watchers had told her about. A bad one too. She felt watched as she stepped into the circle, like this was the real stage.

Pearl picked up the skull, brushed off the sand that stuck to it. Its gaping grin unnerved her, but still, she felt bad. She smoothed the jaw of the skull unnecessarily, then set it to one side. In the pile went all the other bones too, teeth and ribs and pelvis. When she’d picked all she could find, she pulled out her bucket to wash the sand down with.

As she set the bucket spilling down the embankment, she saw another skeleton appear from under the cliff’s edge- had someone jumped? She watched it move about with the stream of water, and then caught sight of a bit of fabric stuck to some of the ribs. Red. Not like the dried blood, but bright red. A familiar red.

Heart in her mouth, Pearl slid down the sandy dune, clumsily making her way to the skeleton. She recognized the fabric, even frayed as it was.

“Gri?”

Her voice echoed, distorted, across the sand, and suddenly she was floating in the air, looking down onto two figures climbing their way to the cactus circle. She moved closer. Grian was there, his sweater frayed and damaged, with some other man with grey skin slick with sweat. They talked- it was muffled- Grian smiling so painfully. He looked so tired. And then, he struck the other man hard across the jaw. The two fought, Grian punching the other again and again, the other man not really fighting back. There was a bolt of lightning, and the other man was dead. Grian was laughing. Grian was crying. His mouth was open in some kind of horrible scream. And then, he turned and jumped off the side of the sandy embankment.

Pearl jolted back to the present, tears in her eyes. “Grian, no!” She pulled the skeleton towards her, and it fell apart in her arms. Her heart ached with a loss she hadn’t even realized she’d needed to have. She didn’t have the energy to cry, she just stared at the bones that had made up her friend.

“I thought he was one of you!” Pearl called to the sky. “It is him, isn’t it?”

He won.

“Won? Does this look like winning to you?” Pearl shrieked, grabbing Grian’s skull unceremoniously and thrusting it towards the sky. Sand trickled down her forearm, dislodged from Grian’s skull. Off in the distance, thunder rolled, suddenly and angrily. Pearl lowered the skull and put it gently down next to the pile of bones that had made up the winner. She almost smiled. If anyone had to win, it would have to be him, wouldn’t it.

Time blurred as Pearl hurried herself in her cleaning. The more she was here, walking this land, the more connected she felt, the more heartbreak she experienced. She talked to Grian to keep her sane, or, at least, the skull of Grian she attached to her belt with rope. She did smile at the idea of Grian seeing this somehow, complaining about being hip-height to her. Land was terraformed, sculpted into groves of trees, a huge, jutting mountain. The blood was washed clean with water and scrub brushes. The sand, what was left of it at least, was confined to river beds and shallow ponds.

And when it was done, she went back to that small grove, now a flat, grassy hill surrounded by trees, and called to the Watchers above.

“I’ve done it, no thanks to you lot. You can take me away now.”

Not finished.

“What? I’ve done what you asked!” Pearl was so tired. She could collapse here, and die like the rest, but she knew the Watchers would never allow that.

We need our players.

“What?”

Assemble the performers, and the game can start once again.

There was a stuttering, pained growl from behind her. Pearl turned around and froze in fright as a creature came slinking out of the woods, a dog-like thing that usually scavenged in packs at night. Made of the things of the world boarder, hardly keeping shape, Pearl had nicknamed them glitches. Pearl had seen them from the house she’d slept in at night. They were vicious with each other, fighting for the precious few resources left, but let her be usually. And now, one was here, slinking into the sunlight, holding a bone in its mouth. It dropped the bone, and scrambled away.

“Assemble the performers… no…” Pearl whispered, reaching down and taking the bone in her hand. Thunder rumbled, and Pearl sank to her knees. “That’s… horrible. You want me to make these skeletons… whole again? I don’t even know…”

She trailed off, because there was another growl. And another. Glitches were all around her, bringing thigh bones and ribs and skulls. Dropping them around her, retreating into thr forest, watching her. They were quiet, as quiet as glitches could be, almost as if they were sorry.

And so, Pearl began her final task. With help from the glitches, who came closer and closer each day, delivering bones, she assembled bodies. She fitted parts of the body together, hoped they were right. It was a complicated puzzle that she didn’t have the right answers to. She didn’t even know how many people there had been. She worked day and night, just wanting it to be over.

Sixteen skeletons lay before her, sixteen actors in the Watcher’s sick play. Pearl held the final puzzle peice in her hands, looking at all she had done. She kissed the top of Grian’s skull, and placed it gently on the top of the final body. The glitches stood around her, gazing up to the sky with her.

“I’m done now.”

You’ve set our stage well, cleaning lady. We can begin now.

There was a sizzle of pure power from all around her, and the glitches melted into the air, forming a translucent force field around the arena. Pearl hoped they’d be okay. A light shone down onto the bodies on the hill, so bright that Pearl was blinded. She closed her eyes, waiting to be taken away.

And when she opened her eyes again, sixteen people were standing around a square of bedrock. A single enchanting table sat right in the middle. Everyone was quiet, eyes closed, breathing softly.

“Wait, I’m still here! Why… I get to leave now, right?” Pearl asked, a shake in her voice.

Play well, Pearlescentmoon.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: For those who are dangerously curious and greed for their appearance.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Yandere Themes.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪ��ᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

A creature of the unknown. No one knows where it comes from. No one knows where it goes or spawns. No one even knows what it looks like; not having a chance to return back alive with nothing but a ripped rope and a bloody end. Its patrols a waste land beneath an abandoned aquarium, the cold and dark seabed filled with nothing but a few rock, smoothness sand and skeletons of its prime victims of the deep. Something they can’t classify as well, never having a chance to.

One might say it has two or one pair of arms; base off of camera evidence that quickly gets distorted and destroyed. When in reality it’s both. It’s has two pairs of arms that smooth perfectly into a bulky one, white and grey scales shifting around to connect the two together with a shark like tail providing all the more strength to launch itself at its opponent. Its eyes would probably be the most capturing part of this creature, its glowing white eyes luring you in like an anglerfish. Non can look away until it’s too late. Despite it having a shark-like tail, this beast is heavily armored with his own scales shifting along his body, distorting the water around it. So, it is best to never encounter such a creature for it will have you before you will have it.

𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

Protec, protec, protec! This Solor here is all about protecting you; since you nearly died in his domain to one of those deep creatures he hunts. He is not taking that chance again! He feels like he must protect your vulnerable skin with his much stronger scales. Having himself wrapped around you anytime he could get, or just hover over your shoulder. He doesn’t mind either one.

At least this sea monster doesn’t regurgitate its food and hunts for it instead. Extending his clawed hands out at you showing you 4 different fish species to pick from and he’ll just eat the other three or store them. Watching curiously on how these humans eat. What if he fed you mouth to mouth? Would you like that?

To go to sleep without Solor around is impossible. He is always wrapped around you when you’re sleeping. His head close to your chest, listening to your heartbeat as he would purr out in content. You are not hurt or dying under his watch, good. That means you are doing well underneath his care and protection. Not to mention your body is warmer to his colder scales. He could stay wrapped around you all day if he could.

Will offer the skeletons of the deep to present to you. His chest puffing out more if it a much bigger and newer one. You have no idea where you would put this skull of this horrid creature that bit your shoulder off, but if it makes Solor happy that you’ll take it? That’s all that matters. Maybe you can escape out quicker? Ah, nope, nope. He still caught you and grounded you in his nest, low rumbling sounds coming out of Solor as he wraps himself around you once more. You know you are getting scolded by him, but you can’t understand him. So it’s mostly him talking to himself.

Fun is not exactly this sea monsters… behavior, but if he must entertain you he’ll try having you hunt with him, but quickly figures out you are not… hunter material. Hmm, perhaps his little maiden would like to explore the dark depths under the aquarium? Yes? Just don’t leave you? Little maiden, he will never leave you. You are his little mate after all.

𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

When he first smelt your arousal this beast nearly pounced on you from the shadows, but watched with curiosity when you seemed to be pleasuring yourself in his nest when he goes out. Coating your scent over his and he purrs at the sight, spooking you when you gasp and turn away from him your skin turning red. Don’t hide from him, little maiden. He only wishes to fulfill your desires in his nest where both of your scents will wrap around one another.

Speaking of wrapping, since this Solor likes to wrap around you so much, he likes to keep you in place there too with his double cock pleasuring you in both holes. His chest up against your smaller, softer back with a set of arms on your waist and his other set of arms massaging your plump breasts. His sharp teeth attacking your neck as you would cry out to him, your head throwing back into his shoulder giving him more access to mark you up as his.

Sea monster loves to mark you up anyway that he can whether it would be visible or not. Inside of you are not. He’s marking you up and down. From his little nips and hickys from your inner thighs, all the way up to your already marked up neck. You are not escaping his hold or his domain.

If you do manage to escape his grasp. Do be careful of which waters you tread into or remotely close to. That little disorientation in the water he does also affects how he senses things. So don’t be surprised when he suddenly bursts out of the water and pins you to the ground, snarling all sorts of “nonsense” into your skin while he fucks you anyway he likes. Bent? Curled? On his face? He’s making you too weak to move on him again, and he won’t mind doing it again too.

When he said you were his mate? He really, really meant it. He wants to court you, breed you. He’ll have you stuffed with his clutch in no time when his rut/mating times comes. That urge to breed you over and over again coming at him full force. You’ll be nest bound for the next… however long the eggs decide to stay in your womb. Within that time, Solor is overly affectionate, providing you all your favorite fish and more of his semen to keep you nice and full and fertilized for your possible younglings.

[tu-es-gegg]

MISSA

(i am obsessed, i made him kinda based on la catrina at least the original sketch, with some inspo from sugar skulls to make his skull prettier, hes a soul sand skeleton reaper of nether where his body is just held together with soul ashe and hsi hair is soul fire (an escuse to make his hair like his icon))

[aylish91]

aughhhh i've been loving your short stories smmm!! if it's not too much work, may i request reader making nightmare flustered?<3

Sorry it's been such a hot minute! Summer is killer (not the good kind) around here. Was stuck traveling for almost 30 hours this last week alone. (Bad weather does not a short plane ride make, plus driving. So much driving...)

But I managed to get this put together for you! Thank you so much for reading!!! You guys are always so amazing!

Gods Too Need Rest

The study was quiet except for a slight shuffling and the scratch of a pen. Crumpled papers and several stacks of fallen books scattered across the normally pristine room. Draped over a table was the giant map usually taking up the better portion of the wall, the workings of an inkwell and feather pen resting on the old paper. It looked as though several new areas had been added judging by the loose sand still sprinkled over various areas.

Nightmare hunched over an old leather-bound book on his desk, searching its pages while occasionally switching books and taking notes. You could only shake your head. Pushing past the door with a tray of his preferred tea and a few finger foods, you made your way across the rather large expanse.

Nightmare’s eyelight narrowed at your footsteps, pausing long enough to watch your approach. You ignored it, continuing forward to clear a space for the tray. 

His words were low from his barely contained annoyance. “I will have you know, that if it had been any other, they would not have made it past that door. Consider this a privilege few possess." 

Ignoring him again, you busied yourself with the tea set, turning to force the cup into his hands. Sputtering, he dropped his quill in order not to spill the still steaming beverage. 

“You have secluded yourself in here for days.” Grabbing a little sandwich, you offered it. “It’s time you take a break.”

His answer was almost a growl as he waved your hand away, wiping the stray crumbs from his work. “There is too much left to do. I cannot simply stop on the whims of a…" 

Placing the sandwich down, you were far from impressed. Walking around, you kissed the side of his skull, managing to catch the skeleton off guard by delicately cupping his jaw and whispering next to where his ears would have been.

“The others worry about you. I, am worried about you.” Slowly, you stood up, fingers trailing away as he looked up with a wide socket. “I cannot force you to do anything that you don’t want to, but you should at least have a little something before you continue. If not for you, then for everyone else's peace of mind. It might do you more good than you think.”

You watched his eyelight dilate and constrict a few times as he tried and failed to speak. Eventually, he forced a clearing of his throat.

You weren’t sure if his face always had that much color, or if it was just a trick of the light.

“Yes, well… It is foolish to…” More color seemed to creep down his neck as he huffed and stood, noticeably looking away. “If that is all, I need to finish. You may go.”

You looked him over before reluctantly bowing your head. “Of course, my King. I wish you well.” Making your way back to the door, you paused. “You know, no one would think any worse of you. Even gods need their rest.” With a final nod, you passed through the door. You never got to hear his response.

…

“Such a bold little thing…”

…

No more than ten minutes later, you and the boys were more than pleased when Nightmare joined everyone in the living room with his tea and sandwiches in tow.

[tellioari]

Cerulean dye, blueberries, black beans, and the Soulbloom!

Blueberries are found in colder biomes, and function much the same to sweet berry bushes. They take a bit longer to grow compared to sweet berries, but are slightly more nutritious. You can make the dye, blueberry pie and bluberry muffins with them, or combine then with sweet berries and wheat to make a blueberry pancake!

Black beans are a new type of crop found in tropical regions. After being baked, they are able to be crafted into cerulean dye or eaten. They can be used in tacos or black bean curry, two new nutritious food dishes.

Finally, there is the Soulbloom - a plant that grows in Soul Sand Valleys. This flower can be turned into the dye and emits a bit of light, but when combined with a Wither Rose it creates a "Revived Rose" - which, when held in the offhand slot, increases the chance of a wither skeleton skull dropping from wither skeletons.

[multifunctionalnitroglycerin]

The Locked Tomb Series Names and Symbolism #4

Hiya folks! Hope you are all doing fine and dandy. This series ofc couldn’t be complete without our beloved Sex-Pal in the count. Now according to wiki there are two figures that inspired the Master Warden, Παλαμήδης, the Greek mythological hero that took part in the Trojan war, and Palamedes the Arthurian knight. I am more well-versed in the Greek myths than I am in Medieval plays, I admit, but I will do my best to do justice by both these inspirations.

            But first things first, some etymology. There are two most prominent versions for the etymology of the name Palamedes or well, Παλαμήδης. In the first one, it’s a derivative of the verb παλαμάομαι meaning devise/contrive and invent. Aka the inventor that devises plans (Or concocts schemes, depending on how you want to see it). In the second one it is believed to derive from the verb παλαίω => παλεύω aka fight and μήδομαι => σκέφτομαι, συμβουλεύω aka think and advise. So, Palamedes would be the one that thinks abt the battle and gives advice for it. Both etymologies I feel fit our inventive strategist, The Master Warden of the Sixth, to a t.

Let us now begin with the Greek hero from the Trojan war. And no my pals, this is not yet another Iliad reference, for our proclaimed hero does not actually appear in the Iliad. His first appearance is in what has been known as the Κύπρια, a well-known epic of the ancient Greek literature that despite being quite famous during the classical period, has been lost to the sands of time. Long story short, this epic is a part of the Trojan circle and follows the conclusion of the Iliad. Palamedes’ story is one of many included in the epic that counts I think 11 books.

            Truth to be told, Mythological Palamedes did star in quite a few epics, tragedies and other works that refer to the Trojan war or the time after it, but for the sake of keeping the post relatively short, and since I do not quite have the time to hunt down every ancient text reference and draw a parallel to the Master Warden, we’ll mostly reference the most relative ones and I’ll leave a list in the end, in case some of you do want to go hunting ancient texts.

            I’ll start with a fun fact. According to a Trojan priest of Hephestus, Dares the Phrygian, Palamedes was described as tall, slender, wise, magnanimous, and charming. Now I cannot speak for everyone, but well, to me that sounds like Palamedes Sextus.

            In general, there are not many direct parallels that I can make between Palamedes the Euboian and Palamedes Sextus, bar for the most obvious one, that they are both ingenious. Palamedes the mythological figure was accredited with inventing part of the Greek Alphabet, lighthouses, navigation, coins, the division of time into months days and hours and a few board games, with κύβοι being one of the most prominent (to my understanding it’s the equivalent to dice). Palamedes Sextus on the other hand, figured out the secret to Lyctorhood, necromantically bound his soul to his skeleton, saw through Cytherea’s ploy, exploded himself, created a bubble in the River in which he persevered until Camila could glue his skull back together and he figured out a way to co-exist with her, in her own body, without killing them both, plus the Grand Lysis and Paul’s creation.

            What mostly sticks with me from the above, among others, is navigation. One Palamedes is the inventor of it, and the other, though by that point is Paul, seems to know a way to the Tomb via the River. The river that even God struggles navigating – at least with other people on the way. So, could it be, that Palamedes -that beat even Cassiopeia in time survived in the River – figures out a way to truly navigate this sea of the dead?

            Two smaller parallels we could draw from mythological Palamedes are 1. Pal seeing through Cytherea’s ploy, the same way that Palamedes the Euboian saw through Odysseus’ ploy when he wanted to avoid fighting in Troy and played mad, plowing the earth with a horse and an ox throwing salt in the holes.   2. The syphoning challenge. This story also includes Palamedes butting heads with Odysseus – not going to lie to you, they were evenly matched in genius – although according to some accounts it’s Palamedes who was the brightest and most ingenious of the Greeks - , but Odysseus never forgave him for uncovering his ploy and may or may not have orchestrated Palamedes’ murder – only in this analogy Pal is Odysseus. In a time of great hunger for the Achaeans, Odysseus was sent to Thrace to find wheat and returned empty-handed. Palamedes mocked him, and Odysseus replied that for all his ingenuity he too would return emptyhanded. Palamedes did embark on the quest and was successful, returning with shiploads of supplies. In the syphoning challenge, Pal is Odysseus, the one who turns up empty handed, refusing to risk Camila’s well-being once he figured out how the test worked. And he is also the one that tries to talk Harrow out of completing the challenge. Harrow much like the mythological Palamedes jumps in the opportunity to prove herself – through the challenge’s objective had little to do with proving one’s self, as we saw – and succeeds, obtaining the key.

            All in all, the biggest parallel’s we can draw here, is that Pal like his mythological namesake is a genius inventor and strategist, a bright necromancer and brighter scholar still. He is the Odysseus in Harrow’s Palamedes and vice versa.

            And now that I drew the parallel with Odysseus I cannot unsee it. He made his body the Trojan horse that exploded in Cytherea’s face. He was stranded in the River – the sea of the undead, of the souls and corpses and all that nice stuff – for however long it took Camilla to piece the skull together, like Odysseus lost in the seas. He found his Ogygia in Camila’s mind where he stays safely stored until his stop in the island of the Phaeacians – Naberius’ body. A brief stop gathering supplies, gathering courage before going home. Back to Camilla, but now as one. There is no him and her anymore. They have had a home in each other, and it’s time he returned to it, burning down the ruins of the past, and getting reborn as something new, together, as one. (Cam and Pal are a phoenix metaphor if I have ever seen one.)

            Onto the Arthurian Palamedes now, our friend was a knight of the round table, and makes his first appearance in an expansion of the Tristan and Iseult legend, as a knight vying for the princess’ hand, much like our beloved Sex-Pal wanted Dulcinea’s affections. There are no Trsitans in this world however, merely Cytherea as an imposter.

            Now what is interesting about the Arthurian Palamedes, is that according to various tales he is the hunter of the Questing Beast – a multi animal snake like monster that he, Percival and Galahad are tasked with exterminating. In most versions the hunt is futile and bears no results. After Palamedes converts to Christianity however, releasing himself from the worldly entanglements, he is finally able to slay the beast after the other two trap it in a lake. My theory here is that the Questing Beast, Beast Glatisant or whatever you want to call it, is a Resurrection Beast, perhaps even Varun the Eater. And the Warden has “converted to Christianity” by ascending, aka completing the Lyctorhood process. He shed his mortal shell, disentangled himself from the coils of mortality and worldly needs, becoming very much the equivalent of the “converted Palamedes”.

 Practically, to sum up, Pal through Lyctorhood and Paul could be the one to slay the Resurrection Beast that is Varun the Eater. With the help of two other individuals – for some reason I feel one of them would be Pyrrha – they trap Varun in a “lake” – could be the Tomb, could be the First, could be yet another metaphorical body of water – and he is the one who end the RB that allegedly killed and consumed Cassiopeia the First.

That’s the post folks, now the list of ancient Lit that I promised:

Ἀπολλωδώρου, Βιβλιοθήκης Ἐπιτομή, 3.7 /  Apollodorus, library epitome 3.7 (But he, not wishing to go to the war, feigned madness. However, Palamedes, son of Nauplius, proved his madness to be fictitious; and when Ulysses pretended to rave, Palamedes followed him, and snatching Telemachus from Penelope's bosom, drew his sword as if he would kill him. And in his fear for the child Ulysses confessed that his madness was pretended, and he went to the war)

Ὑγίνου, Μύθοι, 105/ Hyginus' fabulae 105

Παυσανίου Ελλάδος Περιήγησις,/ Pausanias' guide to Greece

Γοργίας, Υπέρ Παλαμήδους Απολογία / Gorgias Palamedes’ Defense

Ovid, Metamorphoses pp. 13.34-60, 308-312

Virgil, Aeneid pp. 2.81-85

Plato, Apology 41b

Take care of yourselves! See ya on the next one!

[54625]

Okay so I over fried the image; as far as I can tell here is everything that is in the sand:

A danger sign

An iron pickaxe

An oak log

A piece of flint

2 diamonds

A diamond chest plate

A bottle o' enchanting

A trident

Two pieces of bread

A diamond sword

An iron sword

A book and quill

A block of tnt

A skeleton skull

2 blocks of redstone (I believe, one on either side of the image)

Tell me if I missed anything or got anything wrong

(I have seen a theory that this is a dead body, a player having dropped their items; an interesting concept, however that isn't how players die on the qsmp, they have actual dead bodies. Either way, I don't see any other explanation. I did immediately think that 7 was a very random number, and one extra dead player would add up to 8, which matches the ice chamber. The skull may back up the theory of a dead player, because everything else is something that a person would be likely to drop, but the skull stands out to me. Maybe it's someone who has been dead a very long time? So long that their dead body has actually rotted into a skeleton? It is in the desert. Some kind of old federation ruin in the desert that a traveler got trapped in a long time ago?)

[darklordazalin]

Trinkets Chart for Darkon

I enjoy making trinket charts for DnD. I made this d100 one for my DnD game that's set entirely in Darkon, which I've called The Iron Crown. There's a lot of easter eggs in here, but thought this could be a fun thing to share on a Friday morning while I ignore my actual job.

01-02

A star chart contained within the face of an ornate compass. A question mark is placed where the moon should be.

03-04

A frail bit of parchment containing a half-created new and highly complex summoning spell.

05-06

A flute carved from the charred remains of a human tibia.

07-08

A cane topped with a silver owl that is cold to the touch.

09-10

A silver charm bracelet that contains the following charms: an ornate eye surrounded by flames, a crown set with a single amber gemstone, a skull with small garnets in its eye sockets, and a closed book.

11-12

A vial of cloudy red blood labeled “LvZ”.

13-14

A wooden box engraved with the letter “S” containing a shimmering black, outlandish traveling cloak; brimmed hat, great cloak, and silvery skull-like mask.

15-16

An ebony brooch in the shape of a dragon that does not reflect light.

17-18

A hand mirror that sometimes reflects the translucent image of a young man instead of your own image.

19-20

A mummified hand holding a black candle that cannot be lit.

21-22

A cloak that leaves tendrils of mists in your wake.

23-24

A ring in the shape of a human skull. The skull opens to reveal a coil of coppery reddish hair.

25-26

A set of dice that always roll snake eyes.

27-28

A leather hand cuff engraved with the symbols associated with each school of magic. When someone wearing it casts a spell, the associated symbol glows.  

29-30

A ticket for free admission to The Carnival

31-32

A blanket in which silently screaming faces appear under the light of the moon.

33-34

A belt that changes color and size to match any outfit.

35-36

A finger puppet of a piebald raven.

37-38

A scabbard that always keeps the blade within sharp and clean.

39-40

A plush of a skeleton wearing a crown with the label “Is No Fun, is No Blinsky!” on it.

41-42

An hour glass containing black sand that quickens the closer one is to their own death.

43-44

A green gemstone containing the spirit of an unknown entity.

45-46

Incomplete sheet music for the song ‘The King of the Dead’ written by Andres Duvall

47-48

A tarnished wedding band with the words “Life Eternal” carved on the inner band.

49-50

Long, thin, curved blade with a handle carved from a stag’s antler that inspires its owner to take up the craft of wood carving.

51-52

A silver pendant of a raven that you are loathed to part with.

53-54

An invitation to Neverwere Manor signed by Baron Eversong.

55-56

A porcelain doll with eyes that seem to follow you wherever you turn.

57-58

A bell carved from bone that makes a sound only spirits of unrest can hear.

59-60

A monocle that, when viewed through, shows every humanoid in the form of a hybrid lycanthrope.

61-62

A burial shroud that never frays.

63-64

A tea kettle that singles a funeral dirge when the water within boils.

65-66

A blood red candle that produces a black flame.

67-68

Eye glasses that, when worn, change one’s eye color to red.

69-70

A rose made of obsidian that cannot break.

71-72

A music box that, when open, plays an eerie melody as a miniature ballerina wearing a blood-stained tutu dances.

73-74

An amulet that absorbs blood.

75-76

The fingerbone of an unconsecrated skeleton.

77-78

Strange smelling perfume from Borca contained in a glass bottle in the shape of an apple.

79-80

A lantern containing floating dim, phosphorescent lights that constantly change from green to blue to purple.

81-82

A book entitled “An Herbalists Guide to the Shadow Rift” that contains alien-like drawings of bizarre plants and plant monsters.

83-84

A pair of cufflinks shaped like skulls that glow purple during a thunderstorm.

85-86

A magnifying glass that shows the user ghostly footprints on any surface they examine.

87-88

A miniature stone dragon egg engulfed in shadowy tendrils.

89-90

A quill pen that contains red ink that refills whenever someone writes with it.

91-92

A cloak clasp in the shape of a moon that changes to match the moon’s current phase.

93-94

A book entitled “Van Richten’s Guide to the Hunter” which contains a ‘how to’ guide for monsters dealing with hunters written in a comedic and often snarky voice.

95-96

A hood that, when worn, gives one a skeletal-like appearance.

97-98

A green leather pouch containing soil from an unmarked grave.

99-100

A pendant in the shape of a golden dragon skull that occasionally speaks into your mind in an unknown tongue.

[losingmymindrn]

District Four's Market

𓆟 𓆜 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆜

꒰ 🪸 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ Main shops:

Fish Market stalls: buys fish from the fishermen. Their stock is often common sea fish including blackfin tuna, bluefin tuna, redfish, red grouper, salmon, and king Marckerel. The capital had alternated most fish species to be able to live by District four, which is why there is many varieties of fish. Stalls often near the pier

Seashell sellers: they collect and sell seashells from the beach. All of their shells have to be full, non broken, and pretty. They sometimes have have dried out seastars, washed up urchins, and sand dollars. They have small buildings near the peir, sometimes more inland, but not often.

Ship repairs, wood: they repair old wooden pirate like ships before they embark on their journey out sea. They are paid by the government, but not much as wooden pirate ships aren't, in the captial's words, good enough in comparison to the metal ones. Little do they know, the most successful fishers have had more luck on wooden ships than metal. They are on the edges of docks and peirs, close to ships.

Ship repairs, metal: like the wooden boat repairs, they repair the metal fishing boats. They are given more money by the government, but their ships aren't the best repaired, which is why sailors use the wooden ships more often. Again, they are near the peir and docks.

Net stalls: they hand weave all types of nets. To keep them dry, they set up stalls more inland. The higher quality nets are sold in upper class areas.

Hooks and baits shops: nice, small buildings that sell hand crafted hooks and fish baits. Most hooks and baits shops don't have high quality products, but if you live in the upper class areas you will find better hooks, and sometimes rarer baits. They are all over district four.

boat shops: there is only 3 of these buildings, as the boats take a very long time to make. They are on pairs, so you can take your boat out the moment you get them.

Deep sea creature buildings: these make money. They buy lobsters, red crabs, oysters, squid and octopus. These are typically very expensive, so residents of district four have to be "wealthy" to be able to buy some. These shops are in high class areas.

miscellaneous items: these are most likely necklaces, messages in bottles, pieces of coral that wasn't wanted by seashell sellers, pendants, ships in bottles, books, maps of the sea, candles, or fables for children. Found everywhere.

Different types of food is found everywhere

꒰ 🪸 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ Black market, Skull and Bones territory:

Exotic fish: Saliors who fish up any exotic or weird creatures, sell them to these buyers, who in turn sell them to any brave person. In the deeper parts of the Black Market.

"bewitched" items: a monkey's paw, a large shark tooth, messages from pirates years ago, all things that may be considered cursed is found here. there is only one of these stalls, so if you want a cursed item you better get it fast.

prostitutes: the women, or men, desperate for money may become prostitutes. Buildings holding them are found at the middle of the Skull and Bones territory.

Bones: many types of bones are sold in the Skull and bone territory. There are shark jaws, fish skeletons, "mermaid tails", and rarely human bones. Stalls found in the back.

tonics: these are commonly made medicines that are needed. Found in the front of the black market.

Tattoo shops: Tattoos are huge in District Four. To get a tattoo, you must have a story to tell, and someone to back it up. They can tell if your lying. Found everywhere, only opens in night and early morning hours.

꒰ 🪸 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ Bars:

The Trench: District Four has many bars, but this is the most popular. This is a bar and diner with a stage for music or magic shows to be held. They have a variety of great tasting drinks and food. Saliors spend most of their free time here, sometimes they even bring their familes. Found close to the sea, free to enter.

Mermaid Cove: a less popular yet nice bar. This is for people 15 and up, as it's mainly drinking and gambling for pearls and coins. Found in the middle class area.

Davy Jone's locker: the most popular bar in the Skull and Bones territory. They sell drinks that are very questionable to drink. Some food, but not much. Found in the middle of the Skull and Bones territory

The Black Pearl: Has hard drinks that make you believe nothing is real. It has a dark, wet, and cold atmosphere. A popular bar in the Skull and Bones territory. It is found near the beach closest to the territory

I hope you like this^^

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Be it from the services of her silver tongue or her presentation, Laudna is not out of place on the deck - welcomed aboard, with her skeleton rendered in driftwood and encrusted with barnacles.

The veil is back.

It shrouds her face and billows with the same breath as the tattered ship-sails.

Imogen wasn’t certain that she had seen it. Her eyesight bein’ a little dodgy at the best of times-

Fog rolls

Laudna’s chest pulled open by her own hand, ribs piercing from out of fabric and skin-

That wasn’t unusual. Not now, anyway. The blood-wet snout and teeth bared from torn and blistered flesh and gums, the jaw that would open on two hinges from a central axis as a guttural howl leaking with gore emerged along with the leap of the hound-

Except no hound came.

Laudna holds the captain’s hand between both her own,

encourages it into the newly opened cavity,

Imogen squints through the fog for any sight of a dim-green glow-

the veil is back.

What if Laudna’s hands weren’t moving of their own dictation? Crushing rock and crumpling robot-skull-

She isn’t certain, but the captain’s hand is on her heart, marrow ghostly and cursed.

Laudna should be free.

Imogen knows the taste of her own jealousy.

A store room - a cramped old pantry - provisions that had rotted so long ago that they had solidified all over again, like pearls from sand in oyster shells or however it works, cartilage rendered into putrid gemstone and shelves made from wood so soft that maybe at one point if daylight were to ever have made it into the hull the seeds of the bloated apples and oranges could have grown between the decomposing woodgrain.

Their room for the night, for the upcoming nights.

Imogen lays out her bedroll on the floor, attempts to make space to spread Laudna’s next to it but the stack of hemp sacks labelled as oats have turned to bricks.

It’s not like they’re not used to sharing a single bed.

It had only been so many nights, but Laudna's routine had changed now that she got her new attire - that old routine being one of not getting undressed for bed. Now she hangs her dress when she can, over the back of a chair or sometimes using the immovable rod as a sort of travelling coat-hanger - ‘wouldn’t want any creases’ - despite the still present ichor and the filth they find themselves in and how either of them could still prestidigitate the fabrics clean again. Maybe it’s ‘cause they changed themselves on that same day Laudna bought the dress, just before it, maybe there was intention to the new presentation beyond retail therapy. New routine. Maybe. A shift in self-worth. It’s only been a handful of nights. Imogen isn’t sure. She can’t hear Laudna's thoughts anymore. And some things it feels too soon to ask, she doesn’t want to stumble Laudna with the call out of her behaviours-

but she can lie back, head propped on hands weaved and cradling behind her head as Laudna undresses, can watch as she goes about her new-nightly routine.

Pate and his birdhouse get allocated to a clearing on a higher shelf, the belts of red ribbon that have replaced the ones given to her to outfit her as her death sentence are unravelled, ceremoniously rolled again and placed with scissors neatly aligned to the side of the wooden house, and the bunting of bones displayed like a necklace on a velvet cushion of an old cigar box.

Naked, she tip-toes around the floor, between Imogen's outstretched legs and their belongings.

Laudna's skin is cloudy like the fog that surrounds the islands.

What Imogen saw through it-

Imogen’s eyes fixate on the scar that runs down in front of Laudna’s sternum, the one Otohan had left the Hells to stitch, the one Laudna unthreads the seams from each time she calls forth her hound-

The captain’s hand on her heart.

Does it hurt?

Laudna pauses her movements, ready to turn and crouch at her backpack to retrieve her nightgown.

I’m sorry?

When ya…when you tear your chest open and that.

Imogen sits up from the bedroll, her spine leaning against the wall sodden with algae.

Laudna visibly considers her answer.

It doesn’t physically damage me, it’s all magic and illusion I suppose.

But when you’re like that, it’s real, right? I’ve felt it before. You’re occupyin’ that space.

Yes, but it abides by different rules and logic. That’s the fun of it; I get to play around with my ideas and surroundings.

You’re real good at that.

Thank you.

Laudna carries on, shimmying dress over her shoulders and pinning the many sections of hair that have fallen stray back into the bun.

The lace that wraps from neck to corset obfuscates it somewhat -the imprint of the noose that is, same for the mark from Otohan, same as Imogen's scars under the sheer fabric of her sleeves that now spill over her chest. Covered, but not hidden anymore.

They have bared themselves to each other a couple of times by now.

Imogen isn’t certain, but she has to know.

Could you feel it- did you feel it when he touched your heart?

Laudna pauses again. This time her look is calculated - calculating, assessing Imogen on the floor in front of her. Part of Imogen wants to take the circlet off, get back into an old routine of her own.

Imogen knows the taste of her own jealousy. She wonders if Laudna could discern the palette on her lips.

The shadows in the room shift, and there are plenty of them, the only light given by a dull but unnaturally white glow from a brass lantern hanging in the middle of the ceiling.

The shadows stain the fabric of Laudna's nightgown first, shredding into tatters and peeling off into a gauzy swatch that drapes over her head.

Her arms and legs and spine extend, the joints bending unnaturally, backwards and crooked and almost arachnid, the bones lancing through the fog-grey flesh, and the bone is indeed bleached and brittle like driftwood, barnacles and limpets where there had before been sprouting shoots and flowers, her body creaks and groans (or maybe it’s the ship) as she leans down towards Imogen, crouches over and up to her, her form almost as hulking as the most Imogen had seen it as such, when they had jumped down from the tower ruins together and Imogen woke to Laudna snarling and braced over her.

Imogen sinks back down to the floor, Laudna's arms (she thinks it’s her arms) bracketing either side of her head.

Through the veil she sees the rows of teeth, the formations on her forehead and high cheekbones looking like fossils left in rocks

her eyes holding Imogen still in place.

And maybe it isn’t her arms either side of her head, but ruptured bones of petrified wood, splintering out in all directions as talons that are made of the shrapnel of razor-clam shells cut through the linen covering Laudna’s chest, flaying flesh and severing sinew made of seaweed, her ribcage pulling apart (again, Imogen knew she had seen it), except this time each rib seems to elongate, definitely does so, piercing into the bedroll around Imogen and locking her in her own cage, sinking further and pinning fabric through and into the floorboards.

Her chest held open, it drips with briny ichor that Imogen can smell the salt of, eyes transfixed on the slow undulation of all of her innards exposed, lungs that branch off into seaweed and intestines tangled like the eels displayed curled up in shallow cases at the market

Her heart a clump of coral, deep red and its surface a complex fractal pattern, arms of sea urchins reaching across it for arteries.

It’s yours, if you want to hold it.

If Imogen takes long enough, Laudna will transform back; Imogen's hand imbedded in its grip permanent, the stretched and skewed rules of magic thrown and bastardised as muscle and bone and organ materialise around her wrist, Imogen able to influence the beat of blood around Laudna's body by the clench of a fist-

The captain’s hand in all of its platinum rings, greedy, blindly driven. Delilah and her hold, a boiling heartbeat, controlling. Imogen wants to be better, wants the feel of coral against her palm.

I want to…

Then I do too.

Imogen lifts the veil.

Barnacles scrape at the swell of her cheek, sharp teeth nick her tongue and Laudna’s mouth tastes like saltwater, blends with the iron of her own blood, the acid of her jealousy.

Imogen's fingers cover the rough surface of coral, sink into the spaces between it and seaweed-lungs. It swells in her hand, kicks, beats. A minute must be nearing over. It beats again, and Laudna holds her, pinned under her cage of ribs.

Her eyes flutter and she lets out a dripping melodious chuckle.

I can feel it.