@gobsmaybehere.bsky.social

@gobsmaybehere.bsky.social

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Something something artist [nothin' but ooold grounds 'ere]: https://gobsssss.newgrounds.com/ [the fumbler]: https://www.tumblr.com/gobswillbehere [instanteneous granite]: https://www.instagram.com/gobsisnothere/ [café]: https://ko-fi.com/gobs932410

Rhodes “Red Star” Flanagan by RedWingRoaming
Chum by GraveGrime
Fiddle by 99leafclover
commission rules I draw fanarts and your OCs prices: finsihed: 20 euros + 5 euros per additional characters sketch: 5 euros + 1 euros per additional characters I will not draw anything that viloates Ko-fi's ToS (ask me if you have doubts) If you have specific instructions for the drawing, be specific, as I will not modifiy the final piece Pay me half of the money before I start drawing, and after I finish it DO NOT pay me until I have explicitely accepted the comission I have full right to refuse service
No big in world lore dump today, and no crazy drawings neither. I am tired, and this is the last drawing. So This is detective sergeant Kiiraski Berulsha Kaarinki jats, his name is often shortened to simply Berol by his peers. Since I didn't know what to do with this prompt, I simply drew him after his promotion from inspector to sergeant. Personality wise, he is tired. There was once a time where he was driven by a deep sense of justice, but these days are long gone. His only motivation now is nicotine, a constant flooding of his system with either caffeine or high purity ethanol, and pure unwavering spite. And that's about it, not too crazy I am tired, happy halloween everyone.
30/10/3297 The rain has cut Rielo and my patrol short. We found shelter in an empty house nearby. Not much happened, some medium mold mass here and there, joviali scouts from time to time, but no serious threats Rielo and I couldn't deal head on. My reserves are starting to run low, I am starting to consider going back to the capital. Nothing else to add Glory to our citadel eternal.
When a mage becomes experienced enough from the various threats to the citadel, they get to pass down and teach their knowledge to the novice mages of various other chapters as a mean of cultural exchange and as a way to share a different point of view from the typical chapter veteran.
28/10/3297 23:30 And here I thought I was gonna finish the night sober… Guess I should've known better. The Davies gang struck again, they've done one of their signature execution: a person shot dead in the street in front of a Mr Crybaby Jones, as the locals call it, graffiti. Supposedly both as a show of power, and a warning to the rival gang, which means that the other gangs will panic, and they will start to act more reckless, and there will be more violence. All that because of a graffiti. This night is going to be long...
"The very existence of the constructists are an incoherent enigma that confuses even the most prestigious scholars. They were created somehow all the way back in the age of the old war, by a god "that has yet to be born", which is by itself preposterous: How can a god that has yet to be born can create humans to worship it? Another strange thing in their creation is the fact that they seem to lack a cradle realm, a realm in which they were first created by their so called unborn god, instead, the constructists loot and scavenge machines, building gigantic construct in order for their god "to finally be born through a divine construct". Another strange part of these things is their culture, or rather, lack thereof. You see, one would expect for a race that proclaims to be so ancient to have a fascinatingly complex culture, with a history rich of names, change, rises and falls, but instead, it's as if this race had barely a culture: Apart from scavenging parts for their divine construct, a constructist will spend their time grafting their body with mechanical parts, and bicker with their kin for foods and scraps, like some kind of animal, if it wasn't for the cloak and their obsession with implants and hiding their face with a mask, one would think of them like some savage beasts. But the strangest thing about their culture, is that the religious rituals seems completely made up on the spot. If one have the chance to observe their "rituals", they would see an amalgamation of rituals from other races, copied but not understood. Meaningless rosaries strung on a string, similar to the rosaries of honour from the ivearians, meaningless talks about a "grand sequence", stolen from the great plan of the chevorans, a pale copy of the cleaved rituals of the hawgyeras, Meaningless, empty titles stolen straight from the chitnessaars's titles of identity, a senseless dance in attempts of mimicking the issra'ags's litany of the dead." Quoted from "the seventh human" anonymous
Chapterhouse name: Tamers of inferno House status: Lesser house, Mother House: Blood tide Current chancellor: [undisclosed] Chapterhouse's domain: Exclusively alchemists Motto: "Through inferno they shall fall." Specialty: A constant, relentless attack with fire. Additional notes: 1. They are extremely distrustful, with few considered trustworthy by them outside of chapterhouse Blood Tide 2. Rumours runs around that the reason the chancellor of the tamers of inferno's name is undisclosed is because this chapterhouse is without one, however neither the members of the chapterhouse nor the chancellor of chapterhouse blood tide are willing to confirms nor to denies these allegations
Dear stranger who found this letter, I got to live another day! I have managed to escape the prison of the pale laughs, I have also helped myself with their rug as it was rather pretty and comfortable. I have ran for I don't know how long, until I have ended up in a small village. It is rather quiet, if it isn't for the numerous ghost stains who click and wiggle and screech and whine and run and moan and yammer and dance…The pale laugh's prison seemed quiet in comparison. Dearest stranger, I do not know if I got closer or further from the ruby-back, but by the increased density of ghost stains, I can tell I am getting closer to the noisy capital, and I fear the clicks and wiggles and screeches and whines and runs and moans and yammers and dances are only going to get worse and worse. Hoping that you and I get to live another day. P.S.: I have left this letter in a crack on a light tree, if you found it anywhere else, then it has been misplaced, if you do, would you be so kind as to replace it where you found it? Thank you very much in advance.
"Xevaru Shovera is only a slight inconvenience to the great plan" "Xevaru Shovera and her insurrection are only what they are: an insurrection, they will quickly be disposed off" "Xevaru Shovera is only a foolish slave claiming to be a messiah, and rallying other foolish slaves in a vain revolt" "Xevary Shovera could never advance past the plateau of giants" Those where the words of the ascended lords, those where the only things they said, like a broken audio module, when words where starting to break out of her existence. And yet here she stands, in the great central desert of Ivearia, here she stands,with the entirety of northern Ivearia liberated and under her command, here she stands, with an army big enough to rival mine, here she stands, in front of her legion, an unfurled banner in her hand, one charge away from me and my companions. I always had an intuition for predicting the legacies of other people, what they can accomplish, who will remembers them and why, those sort of things. And yet, when I saw her in the distance, leading a seemingly unstoppable force to drive us out of this realm, I knew her legacy would outshine mine a thousand fold. _Text quoted from the general Golra Melikjo's memoire
Dear stranger who found this letter, I got to live another day!! Though my travels are met with a slight disturbance, as I was captured by a pale laugh warband, and I was put in a murky room, with the only source of light coming from a slit in the doorway with a bunch of pale laughs behind. The ghost-stains of this place are trodding around in this room in noisy, annoying ways Luckily, their bodycheck was minimal, and I managed to keep my writing material, the map to the rubyback lady (I can't even begin to imagine what they'll do to her if they get their hands on the map) and my most dearest of dear confident, my precious travel companion: Mr buttons. And on another positive note, my jailors where kind enough to give me a mugful of water and a full yeastloaf, (although it is stale). I was captured by some warband who gave much less to their captives. Dearest stranger, do not fret for my safety, I am conceiving a plan for me to escape as I am writing this, I just have to wait for them to fall asleep. And I'll make my escape and be on my merry way. Here hoping that we get to live another day, and that you may be careful in your travels P.S.: A lost soul was kind enough to bring this letter to the shrine of their ghost-teacher master, so if you find this letter here, would you be so kind as to replace it where you found it, and pay your respect to the ghost-teacher? Thank you very much in advance.
"Contrary to the belief of the common man, athaeria isn't some kind of mystical substance that our fellow mages can summon at will. If I where to put it in layman's terms, athaeria would be more similar to the essence of the universe, the strings that make up it's fabric, it is all: the flesh of a person, and the steel which cuts it, the full and the empty, the concept and the reality, in a way, the echos of our gods and the screams of the demons. A normal, everyday person can tap into the athaeria: an athlete, breaking the limits of it's body, a detective solving a case with little to no clues, a madman spouting off the events of things yet to come… Those things are not unheard of, though they are rare,and require a flowstate, nigh impossible to reach normally. Only our kin, the spiral people, the athaeria wielders, the mages, can amass enough athaeria to significantly change reality and cast a spell. However, even we have our limits in this field, we are not gods. A goliath could never turn lead into gold, nor could an alchemist juggle dumpsters. A seer could never manipulate the world around them with their voice, nor could a chorist see greater spirits as anything more than a vague blur on reality. But perhaps the greatest cost of spellcasting are the spells themselves: They are bending the universe itself to attain an approximation of the mage's demands, mages who often stands in the epicenter of this warping. As such a kindred will soon enough see it's body mutated, disfigured, often in unpredictable ways. And, if done enough, even space itself can mutate, as we have regretfully learned in the ascended war. Such is the way of the mage, such is the price to pay for the lasting of our citadel eternal" _Fierce scholar, chancellor of the eye wheel chapterhouse
The following text is the transcription of a decrypted terrorist radio broadcast: [one speaker, a woman; with an energetic, childlike voice, muffled DnB music can be heard throughout the whole broadcast]: -pers went to the industrial powerplant instead!! [An obviously fake laughtrack plays] In all seriousness though, it looks like our new freshman, our dear Atomikill, has finally found himself a rival. That's right! There is already someone who wants him dead! And who could it be if it isn't the insane Skullmark!! Our boy got worse performance than any race before 'cuz of this maniac dueling him with a chainsaw throughout the whole race. Welcome to the grown up field, pretty boy! It won't be the last time someone will try to put your head on a spike. Little advice for you Atomikill, if you want to win a race with people like Skullmark on your tail, you have to either outrun them, or make them eat the dirt. Hope you'll utilize this lesson on the next race, pretty boy, see ya. [End of transmission]
High up within the citadel, right before the entrance to the high realms, stands the member of the arctic guard chapterhouse. A chapter of multiple domains of magic, with a preference for warrior mages. Their role is to prevent any threats from reaching the high realms, and they will stay true to their duty with upmost zeal, standing in the snowstorm for hours on end, without moving the slightest, and yet always ready to strike down any potential threat Their motto, "Discipline and resilience will strike down any threats to the high realms", is only a taste to the unbreakable resolve of the arctic guards.
Dear stranger who picked up this letter I got to live another day! I am still looking for the rubyback woman and her trusty fluffbark (the grey planes are so vast, and I am so small), but I managed to strike a deal with a ghost teacher: in exchange of some mold-goo, the ghost teacher will hand me a scroll containing the position of the ruby-back who fears no blubbers. Dearest stranger,I feel like I am closing in! Hoping that you and I get to live another day. P.S. I have put this letter in a hole of a wall near the shrine of the ghost teacher, if you found it anywhere else, then this letter has been misplaced, if you, would you be so kind as to replace it in the hole of the wall, and pay your respects to the ghost teacher? Thank you very much in advance.
Elite soldiers trained from birth, the chitnessaar royal guard are rarely seen outside of the chitnessaar governor's surrounding, rare are those who have encountered these warriors. Weighing over 3 tons, and capable of lifting just as much, these hulking behemoths are the strongest individuals of the citadel, excluding bionics and mages. However, do not take their strength for a lack of intellect, as they are not only warriors, but also scholars, artists, strategists, and even advisors to their masters.
A painting created by Chekong Sehol in 2445 (cleaved calendar); the painting depicts a game of ravine between the king Wahyerasha VII, and queen Gyeragyerapho IV. The piece is commonly known as "the king of north commits a fatal blunder against the queen of south".
An issra'ag's death is one that comes with a specific procedure: When they die, an issra'ag's skin will toughen, their body will go under rapid growth, and leaves and branches will sprout randomly on the body. And in one standard time, the body have turned into a fully grown tree. As such, when an issra'ag dies and their corpse is recoverable. They will be sent to the realm of Sseta, where their remains will become another tree in the great jungle.
25/13/3311 I was told to pick up a hobby so that I don't turn insane in the ascension vaults. So I guess I'm gonna start journaling. The servitor drone that Lermo modified to serve coffee broke down after serving two cups, shame, I don't know what he puts in it, but I can't go on with my day, without atleast three cups. Not many newcomers today, I know ascension isn't something you can do that simply, but still, not many newcomers in the vaults. Apart from that, I haven't really gotten use to the creepy silences. The constant humming of the meta gates of the ascension pods aren't helping neither. I hope Lermo fixes the servitor coffee drone soon, I'm almost finished with my coffee, and I really want a refill, the breeze is really chilli today.
One of the key strengths of the Rusthuo clan of the Ivearian is their berserkers, cursed to randomly burst into violent fits of contagious blood thirsty madness, these Ivearians have learned to stave off those pulsions by microdosing on an extremely poisonous berry that could kill anybody if an extremely precise dosage is surpassed. The berserkers prepare themselves for a battle by skipping their dosage of said berry, making the rage swell and build up over the course of a few hours. They are then clad in just enough armour to protect their vital organs, and are then let loose, screaming, howling, frothing on the battle field, tirelessly fighting for hours, plunging their enemies into a feverish delirium few survives, fewer still recover their sanity.
One of the most dangerous vermin an under city dweller could encounter is this: a glassfly. Originating from the accursed land of Ivearia, this insect goes around in swarms that can go up to hundreds of thousands of individuals. There are often stories of workers getting snatched by this storm of stained glass, their scream echoing in the tunnels long after the glassflies are gone, their mangled corpses found often dozens of kilometers away from the place they've been taken from. Signs of an incoming glass swarm are: _Sounds of glass shards colliding _Distinct scraping noise _Flashes of colourful lights If any of these signs are present, seek shelter by putting yourself out of the swarm's way, if you have anything flammable and something to light it on fire, use on the swarm when it passes you.
The under-city dwellers's role within the citadel is to assure the wellbeing and the well functioning of the middle city's infrastructure. This can include, but is not limited to: repairs, cleaning and vermin extermination. Their nickname, "shades", come from the fact that they are not often seen by the middle city's average inhabitant. As they are moving and working in the tunnels below the floor, and within the walls of middle city.
The titan, by far the largest inter-realm cargo ship ever built, capable of transporting up to a billion tons of goods in one go, this ship is so large, the repairmen must use an array of flare guns and megaphones to properly communicate. Due to the hazardous nature of it's path, the titan is equipped with various sorts of turrets and is often accompanied by a medium sized fleet of fighting ship, to ensure the safety of the cargo. Despite this, the well functioning of the titan require extensive repairs each time it arrives.
The following text is the transcription of a decrypted terrorist radio broadcast: [one speaker, a woman, with an energetic, childlike voice, muffled DnB music is playing throughout the whole broadcast]: Hey hey hey y'all it's me, your favorite host of the underground hover bike rally broadcast, the one and only Roadslaughter, back at it again with another presentation of the participating racers!!! This time we'll cover a rising star within this batch: He's an expert in taking the most dangerous shortcuts, he cuts corners and rankings like nobody, he is recklessness incarnate, you guessed it, it's our fresh new boy: Atomikill!!! This chitnessaar showed up one day signing in this year's rally, and he's been rising up, both in the ranks and popularity at blistering speed with his modified lancer chassis he named "the nuclear spearhead" (no less). His recklessness on the track has charmed more than one, including me, those death-dancin', careless, racers are exactly what we need to shake things up around here Despite his popularity in the underground hoverbike scene, he is still a mysterious guy, he refuses to reveal his face, nor his real name, and his answers to interviews are often "yes" or "no". Honestly, understandable, if you show your face to the scene, you are either, a moron, insane, confident the police can't catch you, or someone who only lives by the race, which is all basically the same, amiright fellas? [An obviously fake laugh track can be heard] Anyhow, this will be it for the presentation. See ya soon for the next race, and Atomikill? If you're listening, know that you made yourself a fan. Hope to see you on the next race at-[Abrupt end of transmission as the frequency has been re-encrypted]
Among the many biomechanical lifeforms that composes the realm of chevor, the sapping star is one of the biggest vermin threat to the chevoran pylon. Young and alone, it will latch onto the energy conduit and sap a negligeable amount of energy, but let it grow and reproduce, and the energy sapped starts to become seriously dangerous. To counter this, root variant chevorans are often deployed to take off those parasites from the conduit
An ancient chitnessaar painting painted in 1543 (hiveian calendar) by Rej Barlak Nar Nishk Translation of chitnessaar text at the bottom: "Two warriors training with swords"
Hooded and going around in packs of 3-6, the issra’ags are lethal hunters, when they set themselves a prey, they will use a myriad of tactics from ambush to traps to chases of high speed