the-gap-between-worlds - Tumblr blog

[the-gap-between-worlds]

The body is a hole.

[the-gap-between-worlds]

She's an African hitman working for a corporation owned by Mammon. I have no idea how she ended up in Gotham.

What does it mean if I have a dream of one of my OCs hunting and executing the Joker.

[the-gap-between-worlds]

What does it mean if I have a dream of one of my OCs hunting and executing the Joker.

[the-gap-between-worlds]

For reasons not wholly understood by Demonologists, Zaqqum bark can be processed into a high potency, low volatility fuel by the process of Alchemical Lysis, where-in-which the bark is drained of thermal energies, isolated from the air, and subjected to intense kinetic pressures. While numerous attempts have been made by Hell to cut down the process, and cut out the grafted, their industries are ultimately forced to rely on the long standing method of having one of the grafted drain the energy of the wood with internal alchemy and inserting the wood into a vacuum press, where the oil is typically piped away for storage. The resultant liquid has no residue, barring impurities in or upon the wood. Rarely are attempts made to refine impure oils, as it proves resistant to mechanical cleaning. Instead, Hell’s factories clean the bark /before/ it is made into oil with a harsh regiment of flattening and steel wool scrub. While much is made by Genii of the bark lost in the process of cleaning, the loss of scraps is negligible compared to the benefits of clean oil.

Zaqqum oil is typically fed into mixtures of shale oil as an accelerant, as the oil is rarely produced in vast enough quantities for industrial use.

Zaqqum oil is a thick, tar-like substance that constantly bubbles, though never boils. A living subject that contacts the oil suffers an intensely painful sensation akin to hot tar, amplified by years of soaking in the undiluted suffering of Hell’s lowest expanses. Even Demons are agonized by its touch. This property is apparently the result of toxins or spiritual interference, as Zaqqum Oil produces no heat, even when releasing energy.

Once “burned” Zaqqum Oil leaves behind highly dangerous dregs. In contrast to the oil, it radiates heat so intensely that flammables might catch alight from mere proximity, a byproduct of the dregs absorbing latent energy during fuel reactions.

And, furthermore, it presents a threat even to demon kind as the dregs seemingly condense the latent toxins of the Zaqqum, providing a highly corrosive reaction when in contact with metal.

The aforementioned Bark of the Zaqqum is the most readily available substance capable of withstanding contact, in an instance of divine irony. Bark set aside for construction is typically used to line the inside of active fuel containers in order to prevent costly wear and tear or mechanical failure.

The dregs are typically disposed of by littering them in the roots of the Zaqqums forests, typically on the faces of the damned. Some attempts have been made by the courts of Wrath to research the dregs use as an alchemical substance, or as weaponry, but the sheer effort in merely transporting it safely has denied it any wide scale use in the heat of battle.

[the-gap-between-worlds]

Kilgrim’s Crossing.

Parable The Fifth

Once, in the distant past, before Pontiff was Pontiff, in the venerable hometown of Pontiff Guineforte; there was hungry cattle, a field of golden grass, and a river between them. Pontiff Guineforte bade the villagers to build a bridge that the cattle might cross and graze on the golden sweet grass. But they had not a stone cutter to their name, nor a carpenter. So, with idle hands, they languished.

One day, when the Mourning Star was hid behind the world, and the lands bathed in Erra’s gaunt, red light, a stranger came. He wore a cap of broad rim and coat of many pockets. And from those pockets poured gifts, toys for children and tools for their mothers and fathers.

And yet even as the villagers praised the stranger, The Pontiff’s ever loyal hound, Kilgrim, guardian since birth barked and nipped at the stranger's heel unprovoked.

The Pontiff presented to the stranger the sign of the White Star and shouted “I bid thee now, in the name of Dei’Us answer me thusly: who art thou?”

“Cruel presumptions and cretinous demeanor. You do the Mother and Father poorly, friend Guinforte” The stranger replies.

But the Pontiff remained resolute and thrust the sign forth “You will answer me thusly!: Who art thou?”

The stranger sneered with crude features and cast down his hat, unveiling a row of horns black and sharp as the Nyx moon! “ I am Baalphegor, Architect of the Inferno. Know me and know gratitude, children of the Dawn Star!”

“I know of thine work, demon. Thou who make the playthings of Hell. Repulsive! Begone!”

“Not yet, child of the heavens, for I have one more offering to make. In one night hence I shall build you a fine bridge of Ashmedai’s own stone, free of wear and certain to stand till’ histories end! But in turn the first soul to cross but for your cattle shall be brought to the Inferno, to serve in my court as a beloved guest evermore.” And Baalphegor smiled a demon’s smile, for he had sought to steal a righteous soul from the Pontiffs flock

“I find your terms reprehensible, Demon-thing.” The Pontiff rebuked. “‘Fore we shake hands you shall make three promises. You shall commit no evil as you build this bridge. You shall not use stone of daemon kind. Fie. More and further, your bridge’s stone shall draw no blood nor break no bone of Dei’s righteous.”

“Indeed.” Baalphegor sneered, for he had schemed much mischief. He had wished to steal the wood and stone from their homes, and build tiles of sharp stone upon the bridge. But in the Pontiff's cunning he had ensured no such thing would come to pass.

The Demon slunk away into the water below, and left the Pontiff to his choirstry. Before the first dark, the toys and tools were burned as the trappings of a Poison Chalice they were. But the villagers' fears were not abated.

“You have made pact with a Demon, good Guinforte! Now one of us is surely damned!”

“You, my children, must not despair, for Despondency is a sin of the Logismoi.”

And the villagers were quelled by the Pontiff’s Wisdom.

On the next dawn, heralded by the rising of the Mourning Star’s pure, clean light. The bridge was done. Rather than stone, it was made of ice, cold and unyielding as the witch’s filth breast. It damned the river surely as the work of a Beaver. Sturdy as it was, it was still a thing of ugly, for it was made by the hands of a slothful demon, worthless to all and deserving only of scorn.

Baalphegor waited on the bridge’s other side, alight in arrogance.

The Pontiff, though awroth that the bridge was made as an unsightly discomfiture, was bound by his promise. For all mortals carry their own burdens. The time had come for sacrifice.

He tossed the bone of a saint

And bade his loyal hound to fetch.

[the-gap-between-worlds]

For reasons not wholly understood by Demonologists, Zaqqum bark can be processed into a high potency, low volatility fuel by the process of Alchemical Lysis, where-in-which the bark is drained of thermal energies, isolated from the air, and subjected to intense kinetic pressures. While numerous attempts have been made by Hell to cut down the process, and cut out the grafted, their industries are ultimately forced to rely on the long standing method of having one of the grafted drain the energy of the wood with internal alchemy and inserting the wood into a vacuum press, where the oil is typically piped away for storage. The resultant liquid has no residue, barring impurities in or upon the wood. Rarely are attempts made to refine impure oils, as it proves resistant to mechanical cleaning. Instead, Hell’s factories clean the bark /before/ it is made into oil with a harsh regiment of flattening and steel wool scrub. While much is made by Genii of the bark lost in the process of cleaning, the loss of scraps is negligible compared to the benefits of clean oil.

Zaqqum oil is typically fed into mixtures of shale oil as an accelerant, as the oil is rarely produced in vast enough quantities for industrial use.

Zaqqum oil is a thick, tar-like substance that constantly bubbles, though never boils. A living subject that contacts the oil suffers an intensely painful sensation akin to hot tar, amplified by years of soaking in the undiluted suffering of Hell’s lowest expanses. Even Demons are agonized by its touch. This property is apparently the result of toxins or spiritual interference, as Zaqqum Oil produces no heat, even when releasing energy.

Once “burned” Zaqqum Oil leaves behind highly dangerous dregs. In contrast to the oil, it radiates heat so intensely that flammables might catch alight from mere proximity, a byproduct of the dregs absorbing latent energy during fuel reactions.

And, furthermore, it presents a threat even to demon kind as the dregs seemingly condense the latent toxins of the Zaqqum, providing a highly corrosive reaction when in contact with metal.

The aforementioned Bark of the Zaqqum is the most readily available substance capable of withstanding contact, in an instance of divine irony. Bark set aside for construction is typically used to line the inside of active fuel containers in order to prevent costly wear and tear or mechanical failure.

The dregs are typically disposed of by littering them in the roots of the Zaqqums forests, typically on the faces of the damned. Some attempts have been made by the courts of Wrath to research the dregs use as an alchemical substance, or as weaponry, but the sheer effort in merely transporting it safely has denied it any wide scale use in the heat of battle.

[the-gap-between-worlds]

Kilgrim’s Crossing.

Parable The Fifth

Once, in the distant past, before Pontiff was Pontiff, in the venerable hometown of Pontiff Guineforte; there was hungry cattle, a field of golden grass, and a river between them. Pontiff Guineforte bade the villagers to build a bridge that the cattle might cross and graze on the golden sweet grass. But they had not a stone cutter to their name, nor a carpenter. So, with idle hands, they languished.

One day, when the Mourning Star was hid behind the world, and the lands bathed in Erra’s gaunt, red light, a stranger came. He wore a cap of broad rim and coat of many pockets. And from those pockets poured gifts, toys for children and tools for their mothers and fathers.

And yet even as the villagers praised the stranger, The Pontiff’s ever loyal hound, Kilgrim, guardian since birth barked and nipped at the stranger's heel unprovoked.

The Pontiff presented to the stranger the sign of the White Star and shouted “I bid thee now, in the name of Dei’Us answer me thusly: who art thou?”

“Cruel presumptions and cretinous demeanor. You do the Mother and Father poorly, friend Guinforte” The stranger replies.

But the Pontiff remained resolute and thrust the sign forth “You will answer me thusly!: Who art thou?”

The stranger sneered with crude features and cast down his hat, unveiling a row of horns black and sharp as the Nyx moon! “ I am Baalphegor, Architect of the Inferno. Know me and know gratitude, children of the Dawn Star!”

“I know of thine work, demon. Thou who make the playthings of Hell. Repulsive! Begone!”

“Not yet, child of the heavens, for I have one more offering to make. In one night hence I shall build you a fine bridge of Ashmedai’s own stone, free of wear and certain to stand till’ histories end! But in turn the first soul to cross but for your cattle shall be brought to the Inferno, to serve in my court as a beloved guest evermore.” And Baalphegor smiled a demon’s smile, for he had sought to steal a righteous soul from the Pontiffs flock

“I find your terms reprehensible, Demon-thing.” The Pontiff rebuked. “‘Fore we shake hands you shall make three promises. You shall commit no evil as you build this bridge. You shall not use stone of daemon kind. Fie. More and further, your bridge’s stone shall draw no blood nor break no bone of Dei’s righteous.”

“Indeed.” Baalphegor sneered, for he had schemed much mischief. He had wished to steal the wood and stone from their homes, and build tiles of sharp stone upon the bridge. But in the Pontiff's cunning he had ensured no such thing would come to pass.

The Demon slunk away into the water below, and left the Pontiff to his choirstry. Before the first dark, the toys and tools were burned as the trappings of a Poison Chalice they were. But the villagers' fears were not abated.

“You have made pact with a Demon, good Guinforte! Now one of us is surely damned!”

“You, my children, must not despair, for Despondency is a sin of the Logismoi.”

And the villagers were quelled by the Pontiff’s Wisdom.

On the next dawn, heralded by the rising of the Mourning Star’s pure, clean light. The bridge was done. Rather than stone, it was made of ice, cold and unyielding as the witch’s filth breast. It damned the river surely as the work of a Beaver. Sturdy as it was, it was still a thing of ugly, for it was made by the hands of a slothful demon, worthless to all and deserving only of scorn.

Baalphegor waited on the bridge’s other side, alight in arrogance.

The Pontiff, though awroth that the bridge was made as an unsightly discomfiture, was bound by his promise. For all mortals carry their own burdens. The time had come for sacrifice.

He tossed the bone of a saint

And bade his loyal hound to fetch.

[the-gap-between-worlds]

i just checked wikipedia and the 2007-2008 writer’s strike was only 99 days long. the strike that shows up in the wikipedia pages of every show from that era with a blurb on how it affected shooting and release schedules.

we’re on day 113 of the current strike, with no end in sight.