Looking in the mirror of my mind Turning the pages of my life Walking the path so many paced a million times Drown out the voices in the air Leaving the ones that never cared Picking the pieces up and building to the sky
*This is absolutely incredible- I love how vividly it describes everything happening!*
The Architect is wandering, feeling somewhat bloodthirsty and looking for something to kill, when she notices a faint smell in the air... nutmeg, cinnamon... and flesh. She skitters across the ground on her myriad arms, looking for the source of the scent.
She can see the robed figures, gathering around the stone platform which holds the man. The magical energy in the air is nearly electric.
She lurks a distance away, her myriad eyes watching from the shadows with keen interest, her mask shifting to another one that sports dozens more small eyes. Whatever's happening here, she can tell it's going to be big.
One of the figures raises the censer and an incredibly old book that looks like it may turn to dust at any moment. The circles on the stone platform begin to glow bright red, like the fires of hell may burst from the cracks in them as the figure begins to utter words in a language far too old to be known these days.
The man on the platform begins to writhe, clutching his stomach in pain. He falls to his knees as his skin begins to split open, blood and flesh pouring forth and coating the ground. Soon, he becomes an unrecognizable puddle of viscera.
From that viscera puddle, a hand extends. Its spindly finger grip on the stone as if coming out of a hole in the stone, or a portal from the blood and flesh. A body forms, pulling itself from the grotesque mess, distorted and horrid. A head like a worm with a long mouth and no lips, teeth stained with blood glittering in the candlelight. Its body is thin and horrid, soon growing bloated and round with every second. Its four sets of arms are barely held together with bones and sinew, blindly groping at its face as if in pain.
it screams...
and it screams...
and it screams.......
The Architect watches the wretched being pull itself together from the flesh, wincing at the sound of its howls as she takes notes of everything she sees as she creeps just a bit closer. She's not being the most stealthy, but most of her form is obscured by the shadows of her surroundings, her ghostly-pale porcelain mask just barely visible in the undergrowth.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He strokes his chin. "That's a generous offer. Very generous. But why would ownership of a star interest me? They are, I'm sure you've noticed through your dining experiences, light years away at the closest. I have no interest in status symbols, I'm afraid."
"If the star itself doesn't interest you, what about its power? Through our dining experiences, we have created a way to harvest a star's core essence, and channel that essence into something more malleable. It wouldn't be light years away- once it's collected, you could hold it in the palm of your hand... well, assuming you wear star-resistant gloves. Which I can also include in the deal, if you'd like."
He smiles. "You have a deal, then. So, I assume you want this done as soon as possible?" He looks around at the meager amount of cut cake bits, fondant, and empty piping bags lying around him. "Please be dears and get me some ingredients. I'm thinking tiramisu cupcakes for this purpose." Felix squeaks.
The Lunch Lord laughs. "Hukukkukkuk... A gold star for you! But if you're desperate enough to summon me, you're desperate enough to spare some rum and espresso. I promise won't wander off."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*This is absolutely incredible- I love how vividly it describes everything happening!*
The Architect is wandering, feeling somewhat bloodthirsty and looking for something to kill, when she notices a faint smell in the air... nutmeg, cinnamon... and flesh. She skitters across the ground on her myriad arms, looking for the source of the scent.
She can see the robed figures, gathering around the stone platform which holds the man. The magical energy in the air is nearly electric.
She lurks a distance away, her myriad eyes watching from the shadows with keen interest, her mask shifting to another one that sports dozens more small eyes. Whatever's happening here, she can tell it's going to be big.
One of the figures raises the censer and an incredibly old book that looks like it may turn to dust at any moment. The circles on the stone platform begin to glow bright red, like the fires of hell may burst from the cracks in them as the figure begins to utter words in a language far too old to be known these days.
The man on the platform begins to writhe, clutching his stomach in pain. He falls to his knees as his skin begins to split open, blood and flesh pouring forth and coating the ground. Soon, he becomes an unrecognizable puddle of viscera.
From that viscera puddle, a hand extends. Its spindly finger grip on the stone as if coming out of a hole in the stone, or a portal from the blood and flesh. A body forms, pulling itself from the grotesque mess, distorted and horrid. A head like a worm with a long mouth and no lips, teeth stained with blood glittering in the candlelight. Its body is thin and horrid, soon growing bloated and round with every second. Its four sets of arms are barely held together with bones and sinew, blindly groping at its face as if in pain.
it screams...
and it screams...
and it screams.......
The Architect watches the wretched being pull itself together from the flesh, wincing at the sound of its howls as she takes notes of everything she sees as she creeps just a bit closer. She's not being the most stealthy, but most of her form is obscured by the shadows of her surroundings, her ghostly-pale porcelain mask just barely visible in the undergrowth.
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
One of the figures raises the censer and an incredibly old book that looks like it may turn to dust at any moment. The circles on the stone platform begin to glow bright red, like the fires of hell may burst from the cracks in them as the figure begins to utter words in a language far too old to be known these days.
The man on the platform begins to writhe, clutching his stomach in pain. He falls to his knees as his skin begins to split open, blood and flesh pouring forth and coating the ground. Soon, he becomes an unrecognizable puddle of viscera.
From that viscera puddle, a hand extends. Its spindly finger grip on the stone as if coming out of a hole in the stone, or a portal from the blood and flesh. A body forms, pulling itself from the grotesque mess, distorted and horrid. A head like a worm with a long mouth and no lips, teeth stained with blood glittering in the candlelight. Its body is thin and horrid, soon growing bloated and round with every second. Its four sets of arms are barely held together with bones and sinew, blindly groping at its face as if in pain.
it screams...
and it screams...
and it screams.......
The Architect watches the wretched being pull itself together from the flesh, wincing at the sound of its howls as she takes notes of everything she sees as she creeps just a bit closer. She's not being the most stealthy, but most of her form is obscured by the shadows of her surroundings, her ghostly-pale porcelain mask just barely visible in the undergrowth.
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
*Sorry about the delay*
After a few seconds, there is sounds of breaking bone and snapping chitin from the underbrush for a while. Then, she nervously approaches the being in her more humanoid form, stopping a few feet away from it.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He strokes his chin. "That's a generous offer. Very generous. But why would ownership of a star interest me? They are, I'm sure you've noticed through your dining experiences, light years away at the closest. I have no interest in status symbols, I'm afraid."
"If the star itself doesn't interest you, what about its power? Through our dining experiences, we have created a way to harvest a star's core essence, and channel that essence into something more malleable. It wouldn't be light years away- once it's collected, you could hold it in the palm of your hand... well, assuming you wear star-resistant gloves. Which I can also include in the deal, if you'd like."
He smiles. "You have a deal, then. So, I assume you want this done as soon as possible?" He looks around at the meager amount of cut cake bits, fondant, and empty piping bags lying around him. "Please be dears and get me some ingredients. I'm thinking tiramisu cupcakes for this purpose." Felix squeaks.
The Lunch Lord laughs. "Hukukkukkuk... A gold star for you! But if you're desperate enough to summon me, you're desperate enough to spare some rum and espresso. I promise won't wander off."
The crooked flower nods in response, darting back to the Spelljammer to fetch the ingredients there like its life depends on it- it wants everything to go perfectly. After a minute, it returns with a surplus of baking ingredients in its many arms.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Looking in the mirror of my mind Turning the pages of my life Walking the path so many paced a million times Drown out the voices in the air Leaving the ones that never cared Picking the pieces up and building to the sky
One of the figures raises the censer and an incredibly old book that looks like it may turn to dust at any moment. The circles on the stone platform begin to glow bright red, like the fires of hell may burst from the cracks in them as the figure begins to utter words in a language far too old to be known these days.
The man on the platform begins to writhe, clutching his stomach in pain. He falls to his knees as his skin begins to split open, blood and flesh pouring forth and coating the ground. Soon, he becomes an unrecognizable puddle of viscera.
From that viscera puddle, a hand extends. Its spindly finger grip on the stone as if coming out of a hole in the stone, or a portal from the blood and flesh. A body forms, pulling itself from the grotesque mess, distorted and horrid. A head like a worm with a long mouth and no lips, teeth stained with blood glittering in the candlelight. Its body is thin and horrid, soon growing bloated and round with every second. Its four sets of arms are barely held together with bones and sinew, blindly groping at its face as if in pain.
it screams...
and it screams...
and it screams.......
The Architect watches the wretched being pull itself together from the flesh, wincing at the sound of its howls as she takes notes of everything she sees as she creeps just a bit closer. She's not being the most stealthy, but most of her form is obscured by the shadows of her surroundings, her ghostly-pale porcelain mask just barely visible in the undergrowth.
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
*Sorry about the delay*
After a few seconds, there is sounds of breaking bone and snapping chitin from the underbrush for a while. Then, she nervously approaches the being in her more humanoid form, stopping a few feet away from it.
It tilts its head "No need for that form child.. you think I care if you be human or you be creature? I would much rather you feel good in your own skin than feel the need to put on a suit." It says gently.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
*Sorry about the delay*
After a few seconds, there is sounds of breaking bone and snapping chitin from the underbrush for a while. Then, she nervously approaches the being in her more humanoid form, stopping a few feet away from it.
It tilts its head "No need for that form child.. you think I care if you be human or you be creature? I would much rather you feel good in your own skin than feel the need to put on a suit." It says gently.
"Very well- I suppose there's no real point to hiding myself anyway." Her humanoid form seems to almost split open as her true body unfurls from within- a monstrosity of silvery chitin plating, twitching green eyes, shadowy miasma, and far far too many arms.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He smiles. "You have a deal, then. So, I assume you want this done as soon as possible?" He looks around at the meager amount of cut cake bits, fondant, and empty piping bags lying around him. "Please be dears and get me some ingredients. I'm thinking tiramisu cupcakes for this purpose." Felix squeaks.
The Lunch Lord laughs. "Hukukkukkuk... A gold star for you! But if you're desperate enough to summon me, you're desperate enough to spare some rum and espresso. I promise I won't wander off."
The crooked flower nods in response, darting back to the Spelljammer to fetch the ingredients there like its life depends on it- it wants everything to go perfectly. After a minute, it returns with a surplus of baking ingredients in its many arms.
Felix is preparing a much larger binding circle around the cake strugel. Atticus is unbothered. "Thank you! Impressive speed, especially for a being with no legs." He swipes a hand, and the ingredients burst from their containers, mixing together and heating and transforming in the air through rapid and monstrous alchemy. The grotesque amount of batter forms into cakes that slot together like puzzle pieces after being soaked in rum. The whole many-armed thing is covered in custard, frosting, cocoa powder, and flakes of chocolate. Felix looks disgusted, but says nothing as he speeds up his scribing process.
"Now that this vessel is done... how about that curse of yours?" He holds out a paw to shake, which has a deep blue flame around it like an ignited cocktail. "I'd very much like to have it now."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*Wanna RP, Wendo? I wanna see how Mr. Hate and Mr. Love interact.*
*Although I doubt they would actually be hostile to each other, given that Atticus is designed to work well with others while still being an anti-hero.*
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He smiles. "You have a deal, then. So, I assume you want this done as soon as possible?" He looks around at the meager amount of cut cake bits, fondant, and empty piping bags lying around him. "Please be dears and get me some ingredients. I'm thinking tiramisu cupcakes for this purpose." Felix squeaks.
The Lunch Lord laughs. "Hukukkukkuk... A gold star for you! But if you're desperate enough to summon me, you're desperate enough to spare some rum and espresso. I promise I won't wander off."
The crooked flower nods in response, darting back to the Spelljammer to fetch the ingredients there like its life depends on it- it wants everything to go perfectly. After a minute, it returns with a surplus of baking ingredients in its many arms.
Felix is preparing a much larger binding circle around the cake strugel. Atticus is unbothered. "Thank you! Impressive speed, especially for a being with no legs." He swipes a hand, and the ingredients burst from their containers, mixing together and heating and transforming in the air through rapid and monstrous alchemy. The grotesque amount of batter forms into cakes that slot together like puzzle pieces after being soaked in rum. The whole many-armed thing is covered in custard, frosting, cocoa powder, and flakes of chocolate. Felix looks disgusted, but says nothing as he speeds up his scribing process.
"Now that this vessel is done... how about that curse of yours?" He holds out a paw to shake, which has a deep blue flame around it like an ignited cocktail. "I'd very much like to have it now."
It takes his paw with one of its wretched hands, shaking it. The curse- that writhing, biting, stinging curse- seems to be resisting the attempt to get rid of it, trying but failing to retreat deeper into Helianth's being... but after a while, it is done. The wretched eternal hunger feels as heavy as a black hole in his hand, desperately writhing in an attempt to return to its host.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
*Sorry about the delay*
After a few seconds, there is sounds of breaking bone and snapping chitin from the underbrush for a while. Then, she nervously approaches the being in her more humanoid form, stopping a few feet away from it.
It tilts its head "No need for that form child.. you think I care if you be human or you be creature? I would much rather you feel good in your own skin than feel the need to put on a suit." It says gently.
"Very well- I suppose there's no real point to hiding myself anyway." Her humanoid form seems to almost split open as her true body unfurls from within- a monstrosity of silvery chitin plating, twitching green eyes, shadowy miasma, and far far too many arms.
It seems to smile and opens its arms wide "Would you like a hug young one?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
*Wanna RP, Wendo? I wanna see how Mr. Hate and Mr. Love interact.*
*Although I doubt they would actually be hostile to each other, given that Atticus is designed to work well with others while still being an anti-hero.*
*Sure! :3*
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
Felix is preparing a much larger binding circle around the cake strugel. Atticus is unbothered. "Thank you! Impressive speed, especially for a being with no legs." He swipes a hand, and the ingredients burst from their containers, mixing together and heating and transforming in the air through rapid and monstrous alchemy. The grotesque amount of batter forms into cakes that slot together like puzzle pieces after being soaked in rum. The whole many-armed thing is covered in custard, frosting, cocoa powder, and flakes of chocolate. Felix looks disgusted, but says nothing as he speeds up his scribing process.
"Now that this vessel is done... how about that curse of yours?" He holds out a paw to shake, which has a deep blue flame around it like an ignited cocktail. "I'd very much like to have it now."
It takes his paw with one of its wretched hands, shaking it. The curse- that writhing, biting, stinging curse- seems to be resisting the attempt to get rid of it, trying but failing to retreat deeper into Helianth's being... but after a while, it is done. The wretched eternal hunger feels as heavy as a black hole in his hand, desperately writhing in an attempt to return to its host.
He begins playing with it, tossing it from hand to hand as if it were weightless. "How entertaining!" He rips a tiny piece off and levitates it to his cupcake monstrosity, which immediately animates, shattering Felix's circle and dimming the sunlight slightly as it roars. "Even better than I expected!" He puts the curse in his pocket as if it were not even of note. "Thank you for your contribution to my project. I hate to ask, but could you get me that star you promised?" He snaps his fingers and the abomination bends down and allows him onto its shoulders.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
*Sorry about the delay*
After a few seconds, there is sounds of breaking bone and snapping chitin from the underbrush for a while. Then, she nervously approaches the being in her more humanoid form, stopping a few feet away from it.
It tilts its head "No need for that form child.. you think I care if you be human or you be creature? I would much rather you feel good in your own skin than feel the need to put on a suit." It says gently.
"Very well- I suppose there's no real point to hiding myself anyway." Her humanoid form seems to almost split open as her true body unfurls from within- a monstrosity of silvery chitin plating, twitching green eyes, shadowy miasma, and far far too many arms.
It seems to smile and opens its arms wide "Would you like a hug young one?"
She is silent for a while. "Actually, yeah, I think I would." She responds, skittering over closer towards it on her myriad arms.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"I am the birth of newborns, the blood an placenta that coats their body. I am the final breath of a dying person, the last contraction of their lungs before brother death takes them. I am the creak of bones, the blinking of eyes, the muscles, the brain, the everything thats makes you a person..."
"I helped make you but now you fear me... you fear me like I am a monster.."
"I am nothing to be afraid of. I am your father, your creator. I made you beautiful, so unlike any other creation in this universe or the next."
"I am the flesh and the bone. The viscera and the marrow. I am the lord of vultures and of parasites. I am Carrion"
- The Last Voice of Carrion, the God of Flesh.
A platform of stone, carved with intricate circles in loops that chain to one another. Stone columns, once decorated with garlands of flowers and bones, now crumbled and abused. People, dressed in colorful robes of bright red, and one man, amongst them, was dressed in barely anything.
The man willingly walks to the center of the stone platform and sits down while the robed figures begin to light candles of fat, their flames nearly red. A robed figure walks up to him, holding a vial in their hands. It seems to be a powder of sorts, made of crushed bugs, ash from something, and dried leaves. The man takes the vial and nods as another figure brings forth a platter with raw meat of sorts on it, maggots writhing through the holes in the flesh, devouring the meat mindlessly. The man pours the powder out on the meat and begins to eat the flesh. The robed figures stand back, watching as the blood from the raw flesh drips down the man's chin.
One of the figures produces a censer from within the folds of their cloak, the metal sphere etched with pictures of a horrible-looking creature with many eyes and mouthes holding a thin, gaunt woman in their arms, the two lovers surrounded by the darkness of the void. Sweet-smelling smoke, like that of cinnamon and nutmeg, begins to fill the air.
One of the figures calls up to the man "Are you ready?"
The man nods back "Let us summon our savior."
The Lunch Lord Dimension Doors not too far away, not even trying to hide his sugary presence. He slowly stalks a circle around the platform, singing slowly.
"They had this child, you see, Pretty little thing... Silly little nit... Had their chance for the moon on a string, Poor thing... Poor thing..."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
*Sorry about the delay*
After a few seconds, there is sounds of breaking bone and snapping chitin from the underbrush for a while. Then, she nervously approaches the being in her more humanoid form, stopping a few feet away from it.
It tilts its head "No need for that form child.. you think I care if you be human or you be creature? I would much rather you feel good in your own skin than feel the need to put on a suit." It says gently.
"Very well- I suppose there's no real point to hiding myself anyway." Her humanoid form seems to almost split open as her true body unfurls from within- a monstrosity of silvery chitin plating, twitching green eyes, shadowy miasma, and far far too many arms.
It seems to smile and opens its arms wide "Would you like a hug young one?"
She is silent for a while. "Actually, yeah, I think I would." She responds, skittering over closer towards it on her myriad arms.
It hugs her gently. It smells faintly of black raspberries and it is comfortable warm but not sticky from the amount of exposed flesh and blood.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
"I am the birth of newborns, the blood an placenta that coats their body. I am the final breath of a dying person, the last contraction of their lungs before brother death takes them. I am the creak of bones, the blinking of eyes, the muscles, the brain, the everything thats makes you a person..."
"I helped make you but now you fear me... you fear me like I am a monster.."
"I am nothing to be afraid of. I am your father, your creator. I made you beautiful, so unlike any other creation in this universe or the next."
"I am the flesh and the bone. The viscera and the marrow. I am the lord of vultures and of parasites. I am Carrion"
- The Last Voice of Carrion, the God of Flesh.
A platform of stone, carved with intricate circles in loops that chain to one another. Stone columns, once decorated with garlands of flowers and bones, now crumbled and abused. People, dressed in colorful robes of bright red, and one man, amongst them, was dressed in barely anything.
The man willingly walks to the center of the stone platform and sits down while the robed figures begin to light candles of fat, their flames nearly red. A robed figure walks up to him, holding a vial in their hands. It seems to be a powder of sorts, made of crushed bugs, ash from something, and dried leaves. The man takes the vial and nods as another figure brings forth a platter with raw meat of sorts on it, maggots writhing through the holes in the flesh, devouring the meat mindlessly. The man pours the powder out on the meat and begins to eat the flesh. The robed figures stand back, watching as the blood from the raw flesh drips down the man's chin.
One of the figures produces a censer from within the folds of their cloak, the metal sphere etched with pictures of a horrible-looking creature with many eyes and mouthes holding a thin, gaunt woman in their arms, the two lovers surrounded by the darkness of the void. Sweet-smelling smoke, like that of cinnamon and nutmeg, begins to fill the air.
One of the figures calls up to the man "Are you ready?"
The man nods back "Let us summon our savior."
The Lunch Lord Dimension Doors not too far away, not even trying to hide his sugary presence. He slowly stalks a circle around the platform, singing slowly.
"They had this child, you see, Pretty little thing... Silly little nit... Had their chance for the moon on a string, Poor thing... Poor thing..."
The figures seem to watch them for a moment before one pulls an incredibly old book from their cloak and opens it. The book looks like it might turn to dust there and then but it keeps itself together. They open it and hold up the censer, the sweet smoke trickling from the holes in the metal. The circles on the stone platform begin to glow bright red, like the fires of hell may burst from the cracks in them as the figure begins to utter words in a language far too old to be known these days.
The man on the platform begins to writhe, clutching his stomach in pain. He falls to his knees as his skin begins to split open, blood and flesh pouring forth and coating the ground. Soon, he becomes an unrecognizable puddle of viscera.
From that viscera puddle, a hand extends. Its spindly finger grip on the stone as if coming out of a hole in the stone, or a portal from the blood and flesh. A body forms, pulling itself from the grotesque mess, distorted and horrid. A head like a worm with a long mouth and no lips, teeth stained with blood glittering in the candlelight. Its body is thin and horrid, soon growing bloated and round with every second. Its four sets of arms are barely held together with bones and sinew, blindly groping at its face as if in pain.
it screams...
and it screams...
and it screams.......
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
Felix is preparing a much larger binding circle around the cake strugel. Atticus is unbothered. "Thank you! Impressive speed, especially for a being with no legs." He swipes a hand, and the ingredients burst from their containers, mixing together and heating and transforming in the air through rapid and monstrous alchemy. The grotesque amount of batter forms into cakes that slot together like puzzle pieces after being soaked in rum. The whole many-armed thing is covered in custard, frosting, cocoa powder, and flakes of chocolate. Felix looks disgusted, but says nothing as he speeds up his scribing process.
"Now that this vessel is done... how about that curse of yours?" He holds out a paw to shake, which has a deep blue flame around it like an ignited cocktail. "I'd very much like to have it now."
It takes his paw with one of its wretched hands, shaking it. The curse- that writhing, biting, stinging curse- seems to be resisting the attempt to get rid of it, trying but failing to retreat deeper into Helianth's being... but after a while, it is done. The wretched eternal hunger feels as heavy as a black hole in his hand, desperately writhing in an attempt to return to its host.
He begins playing with it, tossing it from hand to hand as if it were weightless. "How entertaining!" He rips a tiny piece off and levitates it to his cupcake monstrosity, which immediately animates, shattering Felix's circle and dimming the sunlight slightly as it roars. "Even better than I expected!" He puts the curse in his pocket as if it were not even of note. "Thank you for your contribution to my project. I hate to ask, but could you get me that star you promised?" He snaps his fingers and the abomination bends down and allows him onto its shoulders.
It feels... odd. That continual hunger... is gone. Is this really happening? Is this what it's meant to feel like? The lack of hunger is more alien to it and the curse itself. The curse is gone, and yet it's still here... It's okay. It's better now.
Helianth almost doesn't notice Atticus' request, it's so disoriented by the absence of pain. "...What? Oh. Oh, right, of course. It may take a while for us to retrieve the star, but once we do, we shall deliver it to you posthaste." It responds. It is silent for a while, before it goes over to Atticus and the abomination he stands upon, hugging them both with its roots and its arms, being careful not to prick or burn either of them. "Thank you."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
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(good afternoon wendo)
they/her Always open to chat. Just send me a PM
Looking in the mirror of my mind
Turning the pages of my life
Walking the path so many paced a million times
Drown out the voices in the air
Leaving the ones that never cared
Picking the pieces up and building to the sky
The Architect watches the wretched being pull itself together from the flesh, wincing at the sound of its howls as she takes notes of everything she sees as she creeps just a bit closer. She's not being the most stealthy, but most of her form is obscured by the shadows of her surroundings, her ghostly-pale porcelain mask just barely visible in the undergrowth.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He smiles. "You have a deal, then. So, I assume you want this done as soon as possible?" He looks around at the meager amount of cut cake bits, fondant, and empty piping bags lying around him. "Please be dears and get me some ingredients. I'm thinking tiramisu cupcakes for this purpose." Felix squeaks.
The Lunch Lord laughs. "Hukukkukkuk... A gold star for you! But if you're desperate enough to summon me, you're desperate enough to spare some rum and espresso. I promise won't wander off."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Suddenly, the head of it snaps around, staring right at it. Without prompt, the robed figures bring it a shawl of black fabric. It wraps it around its shivering shoulders and steps down from the platform.
"Child.." it croons "Come to me please..."
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
*Sorry about the delay*
After a few seconds, there is sounds of breaking bone and snapping chitin from the underbrush for a while. Then, she nervously approaches the being in her more humanoid form, stopping a few feet away from it.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
The crooked flower nods in response, darting back to the Spelljammer to fetch the ingredients there like its life depends on it- it wants everything to go perfectly. After a minute, it returns with a surplus of baking ingredients in its many arms.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
(hi Yvonne)
they/her Always open to chat. Just send me a PM
Looking in the mirror of my mind
Turning the pages of my life
Walking the path so many paced a million times
Drown out the voices in the air
Leaving the ones that never cared
Picking the pieces up and building to the sky
It tilts its head "No need for that form child.. you think I care if you be human or you be creature? I would much rather you feel good in your own skin than feel the need to put on a suit." It says gently.
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
"Very well- I suppose there's no real point to hiding myself anyway." Her humanoid form seems to almost split open as her true body unfurls from within- a monstrosity of silvery chitin plating, twitching green eyes, shadowy miasma, and far far too many arms.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Felix is preparing a much larger binding circle around the cake strugel. Atticus is unbothered. "Thank you! Impressive speed, especially for a being with no legs." He swipes a hand, and the ingredients burst from their containers, mixing together and heating and transforming in the air through rapid and monstrous alchemy. The grotesque amount of batter forms into cakes that slot together like puzzle pieces after being soaked in rum. The whole many-armed thing is covered in custard, frosting, cocoa powder, and flakes of chocolate. Felix looks disgusted, but says nothing as he speeds up his scribing process.
"Now that this vessel is done... how about that curse of yours?" He holds out a paw to shake, which has a deep blue flame around it like an ignited cocktail. "I'd very much like to have it now."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*Wanna RP, Wendo? I wanna see how Mr. Hate and Mr. Love interact.*
*Although I doubt they would actually be hostile to each other, given that Atticus is designed to work well with others while still being an anti-hero.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
It takes his paw with one of its wretched hands, shaking it. The curse- that writhing, biting, stinging curse- seems to be resisting the attempt to get rid of it, trying but failing to retreat deeper into Helianth's being... but after a while, it is done. The wretched eternal hunger feels as heavy as a black hole in his hand, desperately writhing in an attempt to return to its host.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
It seems to smile and opens its arms wide "Would you like a hug young one?"
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
*Sure! :3*
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
He begins playing with it, tossing it from hand to hand as if it were weightless. "How entertaining!" He rips a tiny piece off and levitates it to his cupcake monstrosity, which immediately animates, shattering Felix's circle and dimming the sunlight slightly as it roars. "Even better than I expected!" He puts the curse in his pocket as if it were not even of note. "Thank you for your contribution to my project. I hate to ask, but could you get me that star you promised?" He snaps his fingers and the abomination bends down and allows him onto its shoulders.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
She is silent for a while. "Actually, yeah, I think I would." She responds, skittering over closer towards it on her myriad arms.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
The Lunch Lord Dimension Doors not too far away, not even trying to hide his sugary presence. He slowly stalks a circle around the platform, singing slowly.
"They had this child, you see,
Pretty little thing...
Silly little nit...
Had their chance for the moon on a string,
Poor thing...
Poor thing..."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
It hugs her gently. It smells faintly of black raspberries and it is comfortable warm but not sticky from the amount of exposed flesh and blood.
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
The figures seem to watch them for a moment before one pulls an incredibly old book from their cloak and opens it. The book looks like it might turn to dust there and then but it keeps itself together. They open it and hold up the censer, the sweet smoke trickling from the holes in the metal. The circles on the stone platform begin to glow bright red, like the fires of hell may burst from the cracks in them as the figure begins to utter words in a language far too old to be known these days.
The man on the platform begins to writhe, clutching his stomach in pain. He falls to his knees as his skin begins to split open, blood and flesh pouring forth and coating the ground. Soon, he becomes an unrecognizable puddle of viscera.
From that viscera puddle, a hand extends. Its spindly finger grip on the stone as if coming out of a hole in the stone, or a portal from the blood and flesh. A body forms, pulling itself from the grotesque mess, distorted and horrid. A head like a worm with a long mouth and no lips, teeth stained with blood glittering in the candlelight. Its body is thin and horrid, soon growing bloated and round with every second. Its four sets of arms are barely held together with bones and sinew, blindly groping at its face as if in pain.
it screams...
and it screams...
and it screams.......
"Forgive the mess, I am trying to regain my sanity again."
[Taken by my gourmand boyfriend]
It feels... odd. That continual hunger... is gone. Is this really happening? Is this what it's meant to feel like? The lack of hunger is more alien to it and the curse itself. The curse is gone, and yet it's still here... It's okay. It's better now.
Helianth almost doesn't notice Atticus' request, it's so disoriented by the absence of pain. "...What? Oh. Oh, right, of course. It may take a while for us to retrieve the star, but once we do, we shall deliver it to you posthaste." It responds. It is silent for a while, before it goes over to Atticus and the abomination he stands upon, hugging them both with its roots and its arms, being careful not to prick or burn either of them. "Thank you."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)