#versebooks

[thehiphopunderground]

Wu-Tang Jordan III Sneaker Auction/NFT Artwork on VerseBooks

Wu-Tang Jordan III Sneaker Auction/NFT Artwork on VerseBooks

[twenty4sevenmagazine]

"VerseBooks is more than an app. It is the redefinition of innovation for the music industry with so many different use cases and advantages. It is the perfect mixture between music, art, technology and culture. VerseBooks in short is a music creator centric NFT marketplace which enables music artists, creators, DJs, record labels, songwriters, producers etc. to protect their music intellectual property using the power of smart contracts via NFTs. Unlike your traditional NFT marketplace, VerseBooks enables you to write your lyrics using our platform and convert your lyrics into smart contracts using our technology platform under a SaaS (Software as a Service) model." - Delence A. Sheares Sr. of @versebooks (Cover Story - Issue #70) #twenty4sevenmagazine #versebooks #nft #wutang #media #tech #publication (at Atlanta, Georgia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CViQ8uALd7o/?utm_medium=tumblr

[coffee-in-veins]

Day 3: Dark Woods

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022

previous days: 1, 2

now available on ao3 too

Dark ADJECTIVE - (of a period or situation) characterized by great unhappiness or unpleasantness; deeply pessimistic; (of an expression) angry; with little or no light; hidden from knowledge; mysterious.

* * *

To say that the catch was a meagre one would be a generous understatement. Frankly, the fact that their exhausted group managed to find water that their self-proclaimed expert deemed clear enough to cook with had been a small miracle in itself. Arranging the camp and getting some more or less clean firewood took the remainder of the evening and their strength, but at least the pot was bubbling merrily and the meat sizzled on the sharpened sticks. However, only one person out of the four seemed to be able to find cheer in it and hummed some quiet tune while hustling over the food.

"Remind me why are we in this Lightless endeavour, would you kindly?" Reynauld sighed, closing the versebook. The sunlight dimmed, and while the coals were more than hot enough to cook, reading in such poor conditions only strained his eyes, ill-suited for nighttime, and added to his mounting irritation.

" 'cause someone lost our map n' a quick week-long stroll ended up lasting," Dismas looked away from the campfire and checked a string of twine with knots. "Twelve days by now? Wow. Count us lucky, bastards."

"Thirteen," Alhazred crowed from the safety of his notes. How the hell he managed to read those in near darkness remained a mystery no one was eager enough to prod. Definitely not the crusader, that was for sure. "You were out of the sorrows of this expedition for a day, remember?"

"Ah, yeah, how could I forget 'bout meeting the business side o' the treebranch club," the highwayman grinned, patting still bruised concave of his thin stomach, but a gauntlet-covered hand stopped his movement.

"Let it heal," Rey insisted, pale lips pressed into a tight line. Now that he indeed had the displeasure of seeing the insides of his... dearest companion, he could swear before the Light All-Merciful that he could live the remainder of his life without witnessing those - or the black magics which pushed them back into the twitching almost-cadaver which was his closest... friend - ever again.

Much like the cause of this situation, based on the gloomy, sullen glances he gave Josephine from time to time. The antiquarian squinted right back at him and made a statement of keeping her bent knife close at any given moment. Not that the devoted follower of the Forgiving Light would stab a woman who clearly was no match for him, but Reynauld would be lying if he said that the temptation wasn't there. Or that he wasn't enjoying entertaining this possibility.

...he'd say an additional Hail the Flame once they were back in Hamlet for his impure thoughts.

The failed cadaver in question seemed to be the only cheery man in this madness.

"Aw, c'mon, it ain't too bad!" Dismas poked the campfire with a charred stick and rotated the meat. "Roadkill cuisine has a cult following."

"Of whom, exactly?" Josephine asked, her bracelets jingling melodically although her jerking away from the fire was filled with open disgust. "Vagabonds, dregs and--"

"n' now ye, my dear," Dismas assured her, scarred lips stretched in a sarcastic grin. "They might not smell o' saffron, but lemme tell ya, rabid gnashers are delicacy o' their own league. The trick is separatin' the head n' making sure ye roast them nice n' e'en on all sides till a nice crunchy crust forms--"

"I swear, I'm not letting you cook anything for us anymore," Josephine hissed because yelling in the Weald was a moronic idea for anyone valuing their lifespan. "Next time you bring in a bloated mushroom scratcher corpse and call it a feast!"

The jab's only response was snickering:

"Spoken by someone who clearly has no idea how t' cook those. Look, 'tis no learning Latin, ye start with gutting the parts which look too much like a human face for yer delicate stomach..."

The antiquarian dry heaved, pressing her hands to her ears. This finally made Alhazred lower his notes and shake his head in equal disgust and fascination:

"My friend, as much as it pains my scholar mind to see these samples of arcane craft destroyed in such a barbaric manner, I find your total lack of self-preservation regarding acquiring food during expeditions most fascinating. Is there anything in this cursed land you haven't tried turning into escalope and ingesting?"

Dismas huffed, leaning in to stir the pottage in an attempt to buy himself some time. Rey shifted, deciding that this exact moment was good enough to hide the versebook in his backpack, and, once he was sure he caught the highwayman's slightly panicked gaze, he quickly and discreetly mouthed "cooked and eaten". This translation allowed the rogue to relax again, and face the scholar without the nagging anxiety of making an ass of himself. It was a good thing, after all, to have a friend with high education who could translate high society gibberish into normal words for him.

"Why, gargoyles, of course, my good academic fella! Most of the adventurers are past their primes, see, with gentler teeth, n' I just can't seem t' find a mallet big enough t' tenderise those dusty loins into a nice juicy steak," the absurdity of the statement made both occultist and the knight chuckle, and even Josephine huffed a disagreeing giggle, thus proving once again that his dark humour was still capable of keeping knives sheathed and spirits high. The highwayman grinned triumphantly, returning to preparing their questionable food.

When he was absolutely sure that no one paid him any more attention, Dismas gave a cautious glance to the scattering of unblinking red eyes just outside the campfire's flickering light. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice those just yet, so the rogue hurried with adding a bit more firewood to the campfire and yet another ridiculous recipe straight out of any sane cook's nightmare.

They just had to outlast the dark...

[stella-clara]

Me, a couple weeks ago: Man I should really revive that campaign concept of reskinning 5e to work for a Darkest Dungeon themed game. It shouldn’t be that hard, I did most of the work already- Me now, writing the Versebook in its entirety: Oh. Oh no.

[reynauld]

“It’s blessed moonshine,” Boudica hoots, rapping the old wood of the keg with the back of her knuckles. She’s covered in scratches and the runoff from cleaning her wounds constantly with a water skin. The smell of the warrens is the stink of ages. Warm pig feces and human waste, and as much spilled flesh and blood as one could imagine. There were, however, some parts of the Warrens that were semi-dry and not slick with condensation and amnion. This was one such cranny they’d found after chopping down huge hulking hog brutes with vicious axes and a penchant for flesh.

“Blessed?” he asks, finishing their patrol for the night- Boudica had come back with a miniature keg, covered in symbols and draped in animal skulls. The fire burns hot and keeps the vile beasts at bay, and the reflections off the brassy rings feel strange. Today- or tonight (who is to say in the underground rat maze?), their food was hardtack in poultry broth. He can’t complain.

Reynauld lets off his lean against the wall, taking the helm off his head and setting it beside him. His versebook’s out and he’s thumbing through pages looking for a little clarity. He’d taken too many hits himself- the skiver particularly painful and difficult to heal. Spent, his body felt rather empty and bloodied- and very little removed the incredibly dark stains.

“F’ course, ya cunts. Look, it is true Vatraska brew- the kind reserved for the blessings of Lunaset- and it is!”

She was ready to tap the keg without provocation. He quirked a brow, and before he could refuse she somehow spilled some of the strongest smelling brew he’d ever noted into a small cup, and set it in front of all of them. Sadie, Dismas, him, Boudica. All of them around the fire a moment before tackling a massive swine creature.

“Ah... I... hm...” he pauses, and the drink has the strangest combination of mint and... coffee? he could ever imagine. It’s silver-colored. And strange. He has a faint notion it might help him sleep.

Boudica claps him on the shoulder and sits by him, settling, “Drink up and we’ll be victorious, you fucks.”

@graveshot​ then @openveined​

[aladyonce-blog]

lighttakeyou replied to your post: "Have you seen my versebook?"

“That would be unacceptable, but I appreciate your assistance.” What little it was, anyways.

        “ why would it be ‘unacceptable’? ” she puts the air quotes around the word, arching a pale brow up at him. “ it’s the same damn book, isn’t it? it’s not like a journal or anything. ”

[valiantspirit]

"A sister...how have you come to this place?" (stresstal)

      there had been a quiet settled over the abbey when junia’s voice speaks up. adenay tilts her head up from her prayer, knelt before an altar with low-burning candles and heavy incense.

      she had seen other vestals here on the estate, other ladies of the light who served with mace and versebook. junia looks older than her, more experienced, and it makes adenay a bit relieved to meet another who might aid her.

             “ -- i felt. . .something wrong about the air here and sought to find out what was happening. ” she lets her hands fall to her lap, rubbing her thumb along the sharp bone of her wrist. “ my name is adenay -- it’s nice to meet another like myself. ”

[bellygunnr]

Murky

Daylight in the Hamlet is muted and dusty as if trying to burn through uncleaned glass. Dismas lowers his worn scarf all the same, turning his face to the sky, relishing in the weak rays. Time away in the depths of the Estate has made him hungry for light-- the Ruins, perilous, deprive him. He has a feeling the other emerging bodies are after the same thing.

Sunlight, warmth, a glimmer of hope. A reprieve from the horrors his Ancestor had unleashed.

A wispy cloud brushes across the sun. Dismas sighs and looks out over the streets instead.

"There will be fog today," a muffled voice says behind him. "What do you think?"

"As there is every day," Dismas replies. "Pipin, is that you?"

"You're getting better," Pipin chuckles. She joins him at the shoulder so that her mask is visible, sharp eyes gleaming under the Plague Doctor glass. "Very good..."

Dismas shakes his head. "Yes, well. I can improve."

Pipin touches his shoulder with a gloved hand, squeezing ever so slightly. "Do you have any nightshade on you? I need it for my plague grenades."

"No-- no, I do not," Dismas stammers. "Check the gardens or the graveyard!"

"Dismas, I'm telling you-- read your Versebook! It will help ease your worries," Reynauld rumbled earnestly. He's removed his metal helmet so that his voice is free- even though his speech is tempered and easy, it still carries.

"I ain't reading your versebook," Dismas snaps. "They don't work!"

"Then let me read it to you!" Reynauld insists. "If not for you, for me, at least?"

The Highwayman heaves a deep sigh. Leave it to his pesky knight-type companion to sway him into doing something non-destructive.

"Fine, fine. But you have to help me with the supply trains again."

[collectedbounty]

Vigil

@openveined

As the fire takes to the logs, Reynauld relaxes, lets the tension fall from his shoulder. Time made no sense in these halls. Hidden from the sun, it’s no use trying to tell the time. His longsword rests against his shoulder as he keeps an eye and both ears out for any approaching ambushers. His other eye is on his versebook, thumbing over the worn pages and murmuring them to himself to keep him focused on his surroundings. 

[asimawv]

Some thoughts I had about Reynauld while reading his barks to get a grasp on how to write his dialogue (it’s long, so I’m putting it under a cut):

There’s a lack of an adult voice in his dialogue strings - not that they’re necessarily childish, but it’s something I think is apparent in both afflicted and unafflicted barks.

His hobby lines have him rebuffing interaction with other people, but it reads like he’s a kid telling his friend to shut up while they’re in class (”Shhh!” “Go away! I am reading my Versebook!”), which doesn’t smack of the stature that you would expect of a former commander or high-ranking official of a religious army. He’s quick to emotionally escalate if someone suggests at inadequacy (”of course I know what I’m doing!”), he’s a bit tone-deaf to the suffering of other people (”incidentally, if ye perish”), and his glory lines sound like something generic that he’s parroted from someone else (”thou art judged!”, “I judge thee guilty!”, “I banish thee!”).

It’s more difficult to judge characters from afflicted lines, because some of them are intentionally melodramatic and childish, but in comparison with others’ afflicted lines the Crusader retains more juvenile dialogue strings with him yelling about others touching him or talking about him behind his back, whereas other characters will threaten to cut your throat or will demand their autonomy back.

His childhood trauma carries into his emotional issues as an adult (”NOO! He is just a child! He didn't do anything wrong!”, as well as all the lines about his father or a priest abusing him as a child). However, his dialogue strings also suggest that he was generally kind to the soldiers under his command as a father to his son, and quite proud of them at that, instructing them and recounting stories for them (“Fetch me cheese and cider. There's a good lad,” “Buff the pommel, boy! When it strikes, it must impress!,” “And that's why I joined the order. Now, fetch me a goose.”) His line about taking orders from a general along with our knowledge that he’s been the leader of many campaigns suggests that he rose through the ranks through his military prowess.

It’s most likely that he was of low birth, which means he was a peasant rather than a knight prior to conscription. The biggest tell is the house shown in his comic, which is definitely a serf’s dwelling. Many young men of the knight and serf class alike joined the crusades for glory and adventure. What’s surprising is his leaving his wife and young child to tend to the land by themselves while he goes off and does his own thing, although they appear to be supportive of him. There’s one line that suggests he was at a banquet, but that doesn’t say much, because many people of lower birth were invited to the manor house for festivities.

He’s consistently holding two opposing ideas about his life as a career soldier in his hands: that it destroyed him, and that it built him anew. His bravado (”to the faithful, scars are but a memento!”) turns quickly to sadness (“these scars are on the inside... and much too old...”). One of his lines (“my discipline fades. I am carried along by hate and whim”) suggests that the religious zealotry is just pretense for his deep-seated anger and feelings of inadequacy, and he mentions that he was “made” into who he is today by his father/priest. He doesn’t have a healthy relationship with his religion; he’s stuck to it out of an abusive obligation to make himself worthy, both to the Light and to some important figure in his life (“I'm not the man I thought I was,” “I have already sacrificed so much...”)

This is kind of an aside, but Reynauld’s definitely a bigger guy beneath the armor. The very frequent mention of him getting his soldiers to bring him food, mentions of food in general, as well as his own comment that he needs to lose a few stone suggest that yes, he is indeed a hunkish bear, thank you.

One last thing: he mentions that he only wants “one thing,” which is forbidden by the Verses. What we know is that “dance and love and drink,” according to him, are not allowed. My guess is that he wants his family, but is so emotionally crippled that he can no longer be with them in spirit. Or maybe he just wants a damn drink. Who knows.

Feel free to let me know your own thoughts about Reynauld’s character, or add onto this! Which parts do you agree with, which parts do you think were grasping at straws?

[thehiphopunderground]

Wu-Tang Jordan III Sneaker Auction/NFT Artwork on VerseBooks

Wu-Tang Jordan III Sneaker Auction/NFT Artwork on VerseBooks

[twenty4sevenmagazine]

Twenty4Seven Magazine: Issue #70 features actor @tjatoms (Netflix's, "Orange Is The New Black", "The Forty-Year-Old Version" and Hulu's "Wu-Tang: An American Saga") and Delence A. Sheares Sr., CEO of @versebooks. _______________________________________________ Read all about TJ and his portrayal of the late, great "Ol Dirty Bastard of the Wu-Tang Clan in @wutangonhulu and learn all about NFTs, the film "Black Salt" and how to get involved with versebooks.com from Delence. Link in bio. Photo of TJ courtesy of @johnricard. Photo of Delence courtesy of versebooks.com. _______________________________________________ #twenty4sevenmagazine #tjatoms #oldirtybastard #wutangclan #wutanganamericansaga #hulu #versebooks #nft #finance #publication #philly #atlanta #toledo #indianapolis (at Atlanta, Georgia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVVwqW_rilU/?utm_medium=tumblr

[gravelorded]

So I decided to gather all the ‘hobby’ dialogue from the Darkest Dungeon files. It seems to be an unused string of camping dialogue, but offers some interesting insight into the characters. I’ve just put them in the order they appear in:

Bounty Hunter

"A little time to reflect on my strategies."

"Hold this apple on your head. Now stand still."

"I will practice. Train. A professional adheres to a regimen."

Crusader

"Shhh! I am praying!"

"Go away! I am reading my Versebook!"

"No, I'll not play dice with you! I am studying the Verses!"

Grave Robber

"You -- idle one! Hold my yarn!"

"Yes, I carve tiny tombstones. Mementos of my exploits."

"These stab holes will simply not do! Where's my needle and thread?"

Hellion

"Bet none of you can throw a knife as well as I. Eh?"

"Wrestle me. I crave an easy victory. (grin)"

"I am learning to read. It is a rare skill among my kind."

Highwayman

"... with the night for his throne?" Hmm... tricky."

"... and he always came home?" ... No, no..."

"... like a dog to a bone?" ... Still not right!"

Jester

"It's called juggling. You never been to a circus?"

"What do I do for fun? You're joking, right?"

"I'm practicing my sneering. Pretty good, huh?"

Leper

"Here we sit, the calm in the eye of the storm."

"I must be cautious when stretching my ligaments, lest they tear, of course."

"Pass this pipe around. The smoke dulls the senses."

Occultist

"Why, I am documenting the journey, of course. Care to read?"

"Some quiet, please. I am on the verge of breaking the cypher."

"Sigh... it is too dark to study my rituals here."

Plague Doctor

"Some bark of aspen? Or maybe boiled cerato leaf? Hmm..."

"Hold that wound still. My sketch is nearly done."

"May I lance that boil? The pus is intriguingly gray!"

Vestal

"Busy yourself elsewhere. I am praying for your soul."

"Yes, I shave my legs. What of it?"

"Have you thread? I've torn a seam in my temple garments."

Man-At-Arms

"Leave me to reflect on the day's battles."

"How did that one blow slip past my guard..? I must think..."

"I learned to carve during the lulls of the Cyprian campaign."

Arbalest

"Put this apple on your head and close your eyes."

"I will stick with you until wanderlust strikes again."

"Dice? What's the wager?"

Houndmaster

"...and that's when I learned the hound could sing!"

"Cooking meat robs it of its nutrifying essence."

"It is certain that anyone in politics has been corrupted in some fashion or another."

Abomination

"I only ever had time for my crucible and scrolls."

"Oh I've loved before, but all were forgotten in the laboratory."

"Care to see my drawings for a mechanical hand?"

Musketeer 

“My father can reload a musket as quick as a wink!”

“When we return, I am certain the club will initiate me”

“Whoever smells like that should die of shame and disgrace”

[herrfivehead]

one of the crusader’s barks is “go away! I am reading my versebook!” which makes me lose my shit because it sounds like it came straight out of one of those introvert vs. extrovert memes

[reynauld]

The Watcher...

Reynauld was the High Paladin (elected) of the Third Order of the Light, aptly named the order of Tephos, a controversial figure whose texts fell into his hands. Being the recipient and guardian of the texts, Reynauld had access to knowledge that other members of the Order did not. 

Tephos’s writings on the true nature of the Light were what made her such a controversial figure, as it contradicted the Second Order’s beliefs, and gave concrete face to the nature of the Light itself, which many from the First Order did not wish to do. Reynauld, with his innate capacity to understand Light and use it, took Tephos’s writings as a basis to form the Third Order. The Third Order was a more humanistic approach to Light Worship that capitalized on connection and cultivation of the internal Light, as well as the defeat and maintenance of the “Darkness”. The Third Order of the Light’s “Devotion” text that Reynauld carries on him constantly, is a versebook and a history of the Light itself, as told by Tephos. 

The Light is a staunch enemy of the Darkness, and it is the origin of choice. The Origin of the Light as told by Tephos, is that it once was a part of a malignant darkness, and otherness, and parted from this unfathomable dark, to become unfathomable light. The separation of these two entities was the beginning of light and life. Since the separation, the Light’s devotion has always been to the life that followed in its sublime wake. 

The Light directly opposes the unholy, the necromantic, and the eldritch that would harm the light it has claimed. Enemies of the Light are depicted in Tephos’s writings. Tephos claimed she received visions of the unspeakable creatures in the dark beyond time, and recorded their depictions as best as she could within the Devotion. 

The Light, to deal with the matter of these monstrosities, would impassion its followers with visions and auditory commands, drawing its servants to eliminate them for the greater good.

The enemies of the Light that are named within the Devotion: 

The Sleeper in the Sea, The Crawling Chaos, The King in Yellow, The Gate and Key, The Black Goat, The Deepest Dark, The Burning One, The Father of Serpents, The Wind Walker, The Great Ghoul, The Defiler, The  Sleeper of N'ka,The Shambler From the Stars, and The Destroying Eye.

The Light has also been called the Watcher at the Threshold. It exists beyond the empirical spaces, beyond time, and exudes an incredible amount of influence in its followers. The Watcher’s title has been topic of debate, as it is uncertain if it is Death’s Door that it is watching, or all crossroads that the Light’s faithful travel.

[aladyonce-blog]

"Have you seen my versebook?"

           “ no, why do i care about that bloody book? ” 

      she waves a hand some before kicking her feet up onto the table in front of her. there’s a glass of off-green liquor in her hand as she eyes the crusader, trying to see past the slit in his helmet.

           “ check the abbey. if you can’t find yours, you can find another one there. ”