#sverenne

[yoel-o-fellow]

Just a lil' preview of a music video I'm doing for @/ladommusic (on Instagram). It's a WIP.

The story revolves around a wintery cryptid called Lekhoet and the village that outsmarts them. (Shh, I inserted Sverenne lore - don't @ me).

[malignantremedy]

Some old scribbles of my spirit animal, the rat bastard goblin.

[mookiwrites]

What’s left of the man who had nothing | Part 3: My demons look like you

Brooo this is a big one, very ✨hefty✨. I just went on a trance while writing and when I “woke” this was there… remember, quality NEVER guaranteed!

Jokes aside I like this! I was eager to jump on the juicy parts I’ve planned but nothing was to my liking untill this spawned, everything seemed too rushed… so I do hope you’re able to enjoy it too~

@yoel-o-fellow let’s talk about what you got planned for Sverenne and everything because man I’d love to hear what’s in your head and if you also get lost in the sauce like I do when writing. (I’d also love to hear about it if that’s completely fine with you I’m mostly joking but also 👀✨)

Please enjoy, or not 😉😉 (no srs pls enjoy)

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Believe it or else the Ruggaboors had to be kicked out the family property before they tore the place down. While Sebastian angrily played tug of war with a few members who insisted on taking chairs and statues, Marvin tried to argue very loudly that there would be another funeral soon enough so there was no need to strip the place naked right that instant.

That just prompted everyone to horrifically turn their heads towards the oldest member, the grandfather that fainted earlier, and smile in the disgusting way only the putrid family knew how to. Although most of them agreed it was a solid reason enough and put the many objects down, a sly someone slithered away with a random marble bust or two.

After being found in such a harrowing state, old Gallagher just sat on his chair in the living room. He had his nephews turn it to face the windows in the living room, but sat there silently barely reacting to anything they said or did to try and snap him out of that trance. The only time he got up was when it hit 4pm and his favorite flick was on, so he slowly moved to turn on the television, but sat facing away from it as the chair now looked straight out the window.

— What the hell even is a Notoriah? — Sebastian asked quite angrily — Uncle’s done gone mad! Almost made this funeral a double feature!

— By goodness, Jacob! Watch yourself! — Marvin clasped a hand over his brother’s mouth — Uncle! We’re going to fix dinner! Any requests?

Upon receiving a grunt in response he sighed in disappointment, them yelped from being bitten by Sebastian’s abnormally sharp canines. Both slowly headed into the kitchen while most lovely cursing eachother out very silently but very meanly so.

The kitchen did not lift their spirits in the slightest. Gomorrah was a terrible cook in her lifetime, most out of spite, but also because she couldn’t fathom herself taking the same role as her mother: tending to the house as a wife was her biggest fear. So she messed up food on her own accord, but when left alone and feeling gloomy, her hearty soup was something you just needed to taste.

Although they weren’t going hungry they definitely weren’t tasting anything good, their mum and uncle. The cabinets were stocked with those easy to make foods, supplements, old people food and rat poison enough to kill the whole population of english rats that probably resided in their attic and basement. The fridge had pieces of meat, juice and water, who the hell is out there juicing prunes? And a lonely bottle of cider on the very back as Sebastian made a mental note. A basket housed potatoes, garlic, and onions. Also a moldy apple to top it off.

— Well, he is definitely better off starving, so are we — Sebastian commented as he analyzed their options — But we can make a simple stew, maybe?

— Maybe we’d just head down to the pub? — Marvin grimaced at the squishy and dead apple.

Looking at eachother and finally throwing away the apple, they both nodded and resounded a “no”. Not leaving uncle alone at least untill he was back to his rotten and sarcastic self. They wanted no blood on their hands and nothing to do with planning a Ruggaboor funeral.

Now, although Marvin left home earlier, the man would starve sooner than anyone else in a dire situation. The circus troop gave him shelter and readily food, and then he’d live off many forgotten lovers for a few years untill they broke up or he wandered away without a word said. Also the man once burned water, Sebastian can easily vouch for it and so can the Stoke Fire Department.

The youngest Ruggaboor was the one to command the kitchen, giving orders and letting his brother do only a bit outside of cutting and pouring. His parents, the absolute winners of parenthood, couldn’t care less if he was fed or not, maybe out of being blackout drunk most of the day and away all night. Sebastian learned very early on — and specially after Marvin left — that independence was not only a gift he was given but also his only means for survival to a decent age.

The pot slowly cooked and filled the house with a good smell, not great but enough to make it feel less of a bummer. They sat at the table, one spreading butter on bread and the other hazardously toasting them with a simple lighter. This awkward exchange of glances and curse words whenever the hot butter fell on someone’s hand was the first moment of reflection Marvin and Sebastian were allowed that day — oh yes, we burried mother today huh? Ow! Soddin’ butter!…

— She’s really gone, that witch of a woman

— Didn’t ya always picture her being the one to burry us instead? — Marvin played around with the lighter — Ya sent me a letter saying that once

— Well? It made better sense than this — The youngest pointed around with a knife, and to the frilly apron he wore — That hag, good ridance!

Marvin chuckled, Sebastian smirked. For the two of them this too was the first time in a bit they felt carefree and not awkward around eachother in a goddamn while. Be it his pride getting in the way or an apology left unsaid. Be it his hurt and anger hidden by apathetic malice.

— She hadn’t spoken to me since so long ago — The youngest spoke — Then just the week before she passed, suddenly she calls me! Asks me when I’m coming to Stoke again!

— Mother probably felt something, Jacob, like cats do — He shrugged — Honestly it’s nonsensical for me too, she was able to find me and sent me a letter

— What did it say?

— That I shouldn’t be a stranger, that this place is my home too! Fuck! Can you even believe that? — Marvin asked, eyes watering all over — She said that! That… that awful woman!

— Well damn Marv, ye won’t believe what she told me then!

Between mumbled and sobbing words, he asked his brother. With a grim on his face, Sebastian punched the knife down, getting it stuck on the table. He leaned in real close to his brother’s face, enough that their breaths mixed very uncomfortably.

— Before I hung up, she told me that — He felt the tears welling up in his eyes — She’d love to see me face again, and that she loved me!

Dead silent, the pot boiling over now, butter and breadcrumbs all over everyone and everything. Sebastian started to laugh, which turned to a maniacal cackle very quickly as he turned off the stove and leaned over the counter, screaming while crying. Marvin, once startled, soon followed suit, also screeching laughing and falling back from his chair. Even after hitting the floor with a loud thud, they just kept laughing and cackling. Looking at eachother only made it worse but they couldn’t stop, that was too damn good.

Gallagher stood against the wall as he missed the chance to enter the kitchen while they weren’t losing their minds. But he heard good and he heard it all, he even aided his sister in writing the letter and finding the number to her son’s telephone line. Notoriah’s smirking face came to mind and the old man grit his teeth, making a fist with his right hand while the left was clenched around the cane.

Only he knew what his sister went through, only he knew what turned her into that monster. Everything and all that happened to them, to her, to his brother in law, all was his own fault way back when. Frustrating, scary as it was, he wanted them to know it all before he also became history. But Gallagher wouldn’t have no sons to curse his name at the kitchen table, not at all, he was alone. If he died and when he did, it would be like a whisper that got lost in translation, because no one would organize a fanfare to send him off to the seventh depth of Hell.

— Oh Morrah, I’ll see ye soon I promise — He whispered to himself — But I gots to fix this, so maybe in the next life…

No one would miss old Gallagher Ruggaboor. Nobody would be bothered at all, he smiled to himself while walking into the accidental carnage the kitchen had become, and no one will sing about me.

— Uncle..?

— Bloody hell the stew is ruined!..

— Pack up ye lot, we’re going for a walk!

Not one soul, nobody would miss him, poor old Gallagher Ruggaboor.

But to end something he started and destroy what destroyed him, maybe that’s worth it.

[yoel-o-fellow]

Taking a hot minute to post some sketches of Urokmura because I think he's neat. You may not have been keeping track of recent developments but he - uh - just might be - *sweats nervously* - a dragon.

For context, Urokmura is an ancient folk hero to the Sienese, and he existed close to a thousand years before the events of Malignant Remedy.

[yoel-o-fellow]

Zephry dancing with his dog, Djalla, cause he loves her~

The girl is almost as tall as he is-

[yoel-o-fellow]

The swordsman was quite superstitious and - for reasons he refused to explain - he had a deep seeded hatred for anything supernatural, especially magic. As soon as he found out GrímR was in fact a morgai, his animosity towards him increased tenfold, despite having been saved by the creature.

Somewhat befuddled by the swordsman's reaction, GrímR became determined to prove his "good", and requested to aid the village's defense. As these were desperate times, the village leaders agreed, much to the chagrin of the swordsman...

[yoel-o-fellow]

Zephry's always gotta have something in his mouth-

Excuse the goblin bastard for misquoting Freud.

[yoel-o-fellow]

GrímR only knows how to talk to his crow friends ;-; (GrímR is a morgai, a wandering psychopomp who reaps the souls of the dying and replants them as trees)

[yoel-o-fellow]

I had to.

[yoel-o-fellow]

Zephry Drux (right) is another one of Sverenne's legends. Having grown up in Druwol as a poor, goblin, immigrant during the 19th century, Zephry was believed to have started his career designing machines for lowly illusionists, and doing all manners of sordid odd jobs for Woxardam's subversives - including the pushing of illegal, rare magical objects, and playing the diversionist during body snatches. After he had inadvertently become the poster child for the anti-establishment, and had been coerced into pursuing a brief career in politics, he was forced to clean up his act and henceforth had dedicated the rest of his life to the comprehensive study of worldwide magic. His goal was to make sorcery accessible to everyone, especially those who could not cast it.

He is now accredited with being the founding father of Soot Wizardry - a controversial field of study that integrates magic with technology - and an avid contributor of Amalgamation Magic. Zephry is most famous for discovering the correlation between acoustic frequencies and the fundamentals of spellcasting. Ergo he had learned how to dramatically amplify spells, and also generate magic from non-magical sources.

[yoel-o-fellow]

I've been so fucking sad this week, so forgive me, cause all I can draw are messy scribbles.

More of my goblin guy, Zephry.

[yoel-o-fellow]

In Sverenne folklore, there is a recurring character that has taken many incarnations in cultures around the world. "GrímR" or the Crow Man - as he is known in the eastern provinces - is a morgai, a type of psychopomp that disguises themselves among the living, and reap the souls of the dead to later replant them as trees. What sets GrímR apart from other morgai is that he is born with a defect and while he should have been reaping the souls of the dying, he was instead extending their lives. In his most retold legend, GrímR falls in love with a swordsman and when the swordsman bleeds out after defending his village, GrímR decides to prolong the swordsman's life. Having not defied nature's law before, GrímR slowly starts to see its consequences, and he must decide to lay the swordsman to rest, or face nature's full fury.

[yoel-o-fellow]

I didn't really like the design I gave the hard-ass swordsman, so I'm still in the process of sketching concepts. All I know is that I want his hair to have an orange sheen to it, like Genghis Khan. Also, the poor dude still doesn't have a name yet. ;-;

[yoel-o-fellow]

Training, Day 1.

GrímR and the Swordsman.

[yoel-o-fellow]

Just my excuse to practice 3 point perspective, I swear! ;-; Gonna do more weird angle BGs, cause they're kinda fun.

I had to repost it cause I accidently left my grid layer on ;-;

[yoel-o-fellow]

GrímR and the Swordsman