Sad Ghost, Smutpeddler

@sadghost.bsky.social

438 Followers 686 Following

Worker drone who wrote things until capitalism hollowed me out. Anarchist. He/him. Irish. Poly/partnered/pervert Fiction and poetry here: https://nutsboltsnarrative.wordpress.com Kinky erotica here: https://www.literotica.com/authors/SadGhost/works/stories

The Gloaming Path Also called The Path of Nights Neverending. There are three ways to begin the Gloaming Path, the twilit way between the World Under Sun and the World Without Sun. The first is a terrible act of love and grief; a Leaden Skull cultivator searches the World Without Sun for your ghost, and takes it back to your corpse. With an infusion of deathly bri, they rejoin spirit and body. Without the harmony of body, spirit, mind, and bri together, the process is traumatic and laboured. The bri floods the bones and forces them to fill the corpse with blood, then the bri lives in the blood as the most potent medium in the corpse. It anchors the spirit to the flesh and provides animation. This fresh vampire is driven to psychotic disassociation by the uneven joining of body and spirit, the wrench of passing from one world to the other, the improper configuration of bri in the blood instead of holistically suffusing the body. Many slay their reviver in a frenzy of pain, hunger, and confusion. It can takes days, and many deaths, for the vampire to come back to themselves. The second way is in service to a mature vampire, a master-student relationship that forms a number of highly secret sects. If one grows sufficiently in power, one can impose their will on the blood-which-knows. Whether the master treats this as graduation or betrayal varies. The third and rarest way is intentional cultivation. To infuse your blood with your own bri through sensuous indulgence. Food, drink, sex, violence, sensory excession - combine these with meditative techniques and one can simply become a vampire, their bri thickest in their blood. The blood-which-knows. Some believe vampires need to drink blood to live, but this is not strictly true. Until they master their bloodborne bri, they need the blood of others to dilute it. If they do not, the pure appetite, the meaning of hunger in the blood takes hold and the vampire becomes feral, violent, a void impossible to fill. Some claw thei…
What then of An Ceofhid? Forests-and-mists, wanderer. The woods are ancient and immovable, and spread across the world entire even in the cold north. Even in the stretches between town and city the forests reign. One must cross the wilds to go anywhere and when you go deep enough the forest refuses any human rule. It is here those who pursue enlightenment and power through Pattern Cultivation spend their time. Seeking sacred places to commune with the pillars of the cosmos, or hermit-masters from whom to learn. To engage in sparring matches, ritual duels, personal rivalries, and sacred contests. To hunt the Pattern-Beasts and even, if very brave or foolish, seek the enigmatic Sidhe. To find the lodge-houses of heterodox and heretic sects which teach secret techniques and offer guidance to true understanding. And some even fall into darker or stranger paths. The Way of Mag Mell practiced by the Sidhe, the twisted power of the Fomorian Sixfold Pact, or even for a most terrible few the Path of Night, the blood-which-knows. Who will you be, wanderer? Do you wish enlightenment to transcend the suffering world? Do you seek power to protect your loved ones? Do you dare raise up your sword against Empire? Comprehension is power, and power is seductive, and that seduction is unto monstrosity; be ye wary so, wandering soul, of adoring the tyrant called I.
The empire couid not conquer them without significant loss and hardship on both sides, not to mention the lasting political fallout of assaulting Danu even by proxy. And so the High Temple of Beathunach, goddess of life, brokered a proposition made by the cunning empress; marry her son Aodh to the queen of the Tuatha Dé. The ruling family of the city of Danaan became a cadet house of the imperial line from which empresses are drawn to this day, and the empire went from the Impiréaltai (Empire of Stars) to the Empire of Moon-and-Star, Impireacht na Gealréalta. Danaan became the new capital and seat of imperial authority, while the old capital remained the industrial and military base. The warrior aristocracy of the northlands resent the political primacy of the south, and the southern nobility resent their subordination to the imperial family. The regular folk, by now, largely all view themselves as citizens of the empire as cultural integration proceeds apace, and the High Temples work hand in glove with the imperial bureaucracy to maintain stability. But this is, of course, tenuous. Wealth and power still flow to the squabbling noble families, the most recently conquered and cultural different are suborned to the hunger of empire, and as reach exceeds grasp some territories are protectorates. The local ruler remains nominally in power while consuls represent imperial oversight, with varying success, and only the pressure of outside threats truly holds it all together. Many cultures exist beyond and sometimes within the borders of the empire, and are either beneath notice, or too distant or dangerous to conquer -- and may have old grudges against protectorates that make an imperial garrison appealing.
The continent is, very roughly, divided by a range of mountains largely known as the The Fin (from an archaic belief the world was on the back of a vast whale or similar creature). North of the range, the land is mostly rugged and the weather cooler, and it's rockier. It was here a chieftain set about conquering his neighbours with superior metalwork and skilled cultivators, eventually establishing the old capital of Cathairi. But the conquered home provinces were restive, and so the new king turned to the High Temples, the most widespread religious institution in the land. The circle of high priests declared him Nuada I, emperor by mandate of the gods, and set about a long process of formalising imperial culture and rule. Even now the backbone of the imperial bureaucracy is intertwined with the temples. After a period of consolidation, the burgeoning empire had a problem - food and material, mostly food. The northlands weren't great for agriculture even with Silver Tree temple acolytes working what magic they could on the soil. At this time, the empire was ruled by Empress Niamh following a quiet but bloody coup, and besides the economic imperative to expand she was ambitious to a fault. And so the empire marched south. The southlands beyond the Fin are mostly temperate rainforest, and home to thousand small kingdoms. The largest at the time called themselves the Tuatha Dé Danaan, for they dwelt in the city around the base of Danu, the towering sacred Mother-Tree. They were not the true Tuatha Dé of course; the Sidhe had long since vanished from the waking world, and these people claimed descent and so legitimacy.
CRUCIBLE: AN CEOFHID The Empire of Moon-and-Stars claims dominion over the world, propped up on the pillars of old warrior clans, the blessing of the High Temples, and sanctity of the Mother-Tree. But reach is not grasp; a multitude of kingdoms froth at the borders like ocean swell and further-flung protectorates chafe at the influx of bureaucrats and soldiers. There is peace, yes, but peace as empire would have it, fragile and crueller than the eye can see. Thus do some seek the between-places. The wilds, the lost villages, the sacred sites hewn by no human hand. An Ceofhid; the mists-and-forests. This is the wandering-way, threading in and out of the world of mortal law. Where those who would cultivate mystic power do so beyond the dogma of the High Temples. Where you, o wanderer, would go; duel rivals in rings of elder trees, seek hermit-masters for secret techniques, brush the skin of civilisation once more in roadside inns and border-towns. Yet be not reckless, for the verse of filidh cut deeper than steel, and the binding geas of Dlí Ceofhid ensures the rites of the way are kept with threat of terrible curses. Beware the deepest clearings, the eldest stone, the places where root and mushroom ring the soil, lest the Kindly Neighbours join you to their sport. Travel the world, wanderer. Seek wisdom. Seek power. Cultivate the Patterns and become yourself. Resist temptation, resist hubris, for the way is hard and the shortcuts sweet, but at the end of every crooked path waits the tyrant called I.
HEART-BURSTING STRIKE External Technique Silver Tree, Aligned, Attuned, Attack, Combo-2, Red Talon, Stack, Detonate Cost 3 It has long been rumoured that a master can strike a foe with bare hands such that their heart bursts in their chest, but this is fanciful nonsense unless the master has a remarkable large and sturdy fist – or cultivates the Silver Tree. By imparting a targeted burst of mystic energy at the point of impact, albeit with some precision aim, the cultivator shocks their opponent’s system and disrupts their life force with potentially fatal results. The Silver Tree cultivator prepares this technique when declaring an unarmed attack or Attuned attack. If the Attack succeeds, the target gains Stacks equal to the cultivator’s Alignment minus the target’s Alignment. At any subsequent time within one hour, the cultivator can declare their next Attack will Detonate the Stacks. Detonated Stacks convert 1:1 to Health damage bypassing all Resistances
ASSUMPTION Internal Technique Leaden Skull, Aibhloch, Aligned, Combo Neutral, Instant. Duration: Minutes/Rounds = Alignment What is a ghost? A memory. And where the mind cannot recall, the body remembers. With this technique, one may temporarily merge with a ghost, borrowing their Skills for a short time. This does not augment existing Skills, but overrides them while in action. Cultivators who favour this technique often carry one or more ghosts with them – certain ascetic sects even formalise the bond between a student and the ghost of their master. On activation, choose one: * Borrow: The ghost is quiescent, the cultivator gains their Physical Skills. * Merge: The ghost and the cultivator work in tandem, sharing Skills selectively across all categories. * Trade: The ghost is in control for an agreed time. This is more often used for ritual and compassionate purposes than Skill exchange. Virtuous Use: The ghost must consent. Corrupting Use: The ghost does not consent.
THE PATTERN OF THE GOLDEN FLAME Auspicious Attributes: Bearing, Fitness Inauspicious Attribute: Guile Sects: Mendicant Knighthood, Ashwalkers, Galathine High Temple Sing, Dragon-Star, of the righteous woman’s wrath; beset on all sides by iniquity and tyranny, that she in furious anger is driven to wield the axe. Sing, Dragon-Star, of the world aflame; all burnt away and made new again. Sing, Dragon-Star, of the one-within-all; of the many who raise fist before throne, though the heavens may fall. * Punish the wicked * Destroy the tyrant * Clear the dead * Make way for growth - Accept revenge before justice - Exercise cruelty in defiance of prudence - Spend lives not your own - Refuse action
If the cultivation of a Pattern is alignment with the pillars of the world, it should be no surprise then that it tends to distinction and order. To structure and hierarchy, for all adherents of the Silver Tree must insist elsewise. To embrace the Sixfold Pact, therefore, is to reject the prison of category. It is to stand against the walls of heaven and deny the stone. To embrace the Sixfold Pact is to seek the dissolution of all that which divides and distinguishes, yet struggle always with adoration of the tyrant called I.
Trusty Pate You were born in some shit little town in some shit little region of Kelen and barely remember a thing of it. Aside that the priest was a cruel man with vulgar appetites. As far as you’re concerned, all priests are self-righteous hypocrites and you like them not at all. That first one, Father Willis, you told there was a younger boy trapped on a ledge at the great cliffs above the village. And then you kicked him over the edge. You spent a long time traveling, spear in hand, without any particular direction. Mostly from the eastern fiefs out into the Frontier, where you earned a reputation as a guide. You liked to get used to an area, and if there were monsters, you’d direct wannabe heroes to them, understating the threat all the while. Once the idiot with the expensive sword was dead, you’d sneak in by the sated and sleeping beasts, steal all the intact loot, and head to the nearest city to sell it. Once it looked like no one was going to fall for it anymore - or someone looked likely to make an issue of it - it was time to move on. Eventually someone had to catch on, and you joined the Longroad Company as quartermaster because you’d gotten good at appraisal and haggling. No one would associate you with your past now, surely. No one would recognize you. Your comrades should now protect you from that blasted Creighton, a warrior who actually killed the damn monsters and promptly came looking for you. You’ve dodged him once before, in a crowded city, but he seems tenacious. Captain Ingward always tries to see the best in everyone, and so far she seems pretty honest - which, despite your own dishonest habits, is something you can appreciate. It’s nice to have company, and steady work that’s not too difficult. Opinions Breta: The best among us are the most gullible. Laura: She’s dangerous, that one. Better she’s on my side. Richter: If anyone is likely to rumble me, it’s him. We should be friends. Claudia: A kindly old dear. I do hope nothing happen…
Negotiate Core Move Diplomacy by the first means, ideal when one respects the humanity of an interlocutor and is interested more in the content of their character than of their ribcage. Roll +Brutality Your approach is blunt, offensive, forthright, of violent rhetoric or emotion. On 10+, increase Tension by 1 and pick two from the list below. On a 7-9, increase Tension by 2 and pick one from the list below. Roll +Grace Your approach is cool, polite, circuitous, detached; elegant and cruel. On a 10+ pick one from the list below. On a 7-9, increase Tension by 1 and pick one from the list. Roll +Intellect Your approach is reasoned, calm, diplomatic; detailed and compromising. On a 10+ pick two from the list below. On 7-9, you and the other party pick one each from the list. Roll +Wit Your approach is clever, charming, funny; irreverent and relaxed. On 10+ reduce Tension by 2 and pick one. On a 7-9, reduce Tension by 2 The other party concedes resources You take 1 Hold against the other party in future Negotiations The other party is provoked to Enact Violence The other party is compelled to avoid violence The other party will do you a favour The other party will fight at your side at least once The other party believes you The other party is compelled to antagonism against a third party The other party is compelled to cooperate with a third party
Phlebas the Poster, a fortnight dunked, Forgot the sound of notifs, and the viral Tweet, and the Fav and QRT. A groupchat on WhatsApp Doxxed his home in screenshots. As he priv'd and vented, He passed the stages of his ecelebrity and bangers, Entering his flop era. Sock or Poster, O you who spreads the meme and chases clout Remember Phlebas who was once based and correct as you
Grand Sentimental Gestures Ever since I was a man- -the first time I looked back on harms I’d done and muttered Fuck. Goddammit. I really did– -I’ve known love was in the early morning cold In the late night sleepless comfort In the gloaming walk home In the serendipitous teacup And yet Some days I want to end a world for you.
A-Diction I believed, when I was five that something stalked the hallways in the softness of the night. Crept from my bed, tipped on bare toes down creakless stair; I too would shun the light. And on for months, years never favoured with the sight of the thing weighting the empty air. Fair to ask me now; "haunting stranger in the night, of all things, for this I should care?" I believe, at thirty-five that someone is that ought not be there at the edges of my sight. So I compose you verse, a gift wrapped in reckless greedy dare to bring your soul a little light. There is a thin line between a curse and a prayer.
I don’t think we’re built to be happy, people like us. Not for longer than minutes. But we can be together.
"You gave me the power to change myself," she said. "I gave you the power to be yourself," the demon replied, kneeling in the ritual circle with immortal patience. "But… the price; for me, for those I saved. We're damned?" "Are you?" "Proclus is different now. Strange. Mean." "And that is damnation?" "Going to hell will be." "Is this world so kind?" "It's like we won't be human anymore." The demon blinked three vast and gentle eyes. "What good did being human ever do you?" She didn't have an answer for that.
Decide Fate Lightbringer Move At last, a worthy foe. At last, a blade as sharp as your own. At last, a Will as radiant as yours. Now there is only the clash and the fury, the grace and the power, a duel of fates to resound across history. Roll +Glory. On a miss, pick one. Your opponent refuses to fight you.. Your opponent effortlessly defeats you without even drawing steel. Your opponent surrenders immediately. You destroy your opponent, utterly. A third foe intervenes and you must join forces with your opponent. On a hit, choose to win or lose and pick one from the below list. On a 10+ the burning fire of your Wills cracks the earth underfoot and sears the very air. Choose to win or draw with your opponent. If you draw, they become your Rival. If you win, gain 1 Glory. Additionally, pick two from the below list. The ground splits or craters under the force of your blows. The blaze of your Essences terrifies and burns bystanders or would-be fighters. Bystanders form opposing Cults to the duelists. The might of your attacks crumbles nearby buildings. The clash of powers breaks a fundamental law of reality; gravity, time, light, mass, even the flows of Essence; something is permanently broken at the site of the duel forever after.
An image of a capybara in a pool of water; the head and part of the back are visible, the eyes closed, and what appears to be an orange is balanced on their head. The pool is ringed by unworked stones, and the water reflects foliage so dense and green that you would think the water was so coloured if not for a crack of pale blue sky reflected in the background.
A white statue or diorama of imposing scale, seemingly afloat on dark water, depicting various scenes of nautical horror, skull reliefs, nude figures, and abstract shapes suggestive of guns, swords, and deep sea animals. The yawning mouth of a cave or some vast jaws forms the centrepiece where a man stands dwarfed by his surrounds, and the whole thing is surmounted by a bust with eyes hidden in shadow
The character portrait of Call Me Mañana from the videogame Disco Elysium. A long-haired moustached man in a blue shirt and red hat with an expression of knowing amusement.
"By The Fury, who are you? Why are you doing this?" cried the knight, all his dignity lost as he scrambled backwards across the flagstones, past the corpses of his comrades, until his helmet tolled miserably against the wall. Khotun hefted his greatsword, eyes glittering like ice under moonlight. "In a perfect world, men like me would not exist," he said, as the shadows in the hall writhed and darkened. "But this is not yet a perfect world."
A screenshot of the vampire Lacroix from Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines frowning, with subtitled dialogue: "I said, give me the key!"
A black cat and tortoiseshell cat cuddle on an unplugged electric seat warmer
The Exorcism of Logan Spire A Crucible: Darkening Skies scenario for five unfortunate souls The machine-shops and firing ranges, the bedrooms and ballrooms of Logan Spire are stained in blood. A massacre cleared out these august chambers and scattered the Logan family to the far corners of Imeria. But those old misdeeds have power, and the Spire has become haunted beyond all recognition; ghosts growing monstrous and powerful on the resonance of the place. Now it’s up to you to cleanse these halls with ensorcelled revolvers and ivory bells.
A still image of TV fraud Dr. Phil berating someone with the words "You're ugly. You're disgusting. I'm gonna kill you. Give me $200"
A still from the animated series Aggretsuko featuring the character Washimi - an anthropomorphic Secretary Bird dressed in a white blouse and black pencil skirt - strutting confidently toward the camera down the hallway of an office building.
"I thought Ultima would be the end of it." "You know it couldn't be, Khotun. One legion does not an empire make, and the beastmen threat yet looms," she replies, "the Warrior of Light is still much needed." "Is that all I am to be, Y'shtola?" She stands straighter, taken aback. "All you are to be?" He doesn't reply immediately, only raises a hand from his lap and stares at it, palm up. His fingers tremble. "So many lives...." He begins, pauses, releases a breath before it can become a sob. "I know them, Y'shtola. Every frightened Garlean conscript, every Tempered kobold, every desperate bandit. The Echo forbids me the luxury of monstrosity." "Yda tells me you were a gentle spirit, even before wakening to the Echo." "Then we deserve the Garleans," he says, bitterly. "At least they're ashamed enough of their bloodlust to concoct justifications for it." A sound echoes over the empty plaza, louder for the smallness of it. Khotun turns his head, but does not touch his stinging cheek. "That you of all people...!" Y'shtola seethes, "That you who bristle with righteous indignation every time we go to Ul'dah should dare to suggest the Empire is justified!" "I am so weary, Y'shtola, of being a weapon," Khotun says quietly, looking her in the eye again, golden limbal rings bright in the deepening dark "when may I be a man once more?"
Death By Shitpost Phlebas the Poster, a fortnight dunked, Forgot the sound of notifs, and the viral Tweet, and the Fav and QRT. A groupchat on WhatsApp Doxxed his home in screenshots. As he priv'd and vented, He passed the stages of his ecelebrity and bangers, Entering his flop era. Sock or Poster, O you who spreads the meme and chases clout Remember Phlebas who was once based and correct as you
A billboard covered over with black paper and white text, reading: New countries will grow up on graceful promontories where a few people gaher together. In their world it will be illegal to own the land, and they will make new literatures in which the oil age will be almost forgotten. All our cities will be folded back into the sand and our words will be forgotten and they will not even remember how we once held the whole world in our hands and how we crushed it like a bird in our hands.
Ever since I was a man- -the first time I looked back on harms I’d done and muttered Fuck. Goddammit. I really did– -I’ve known love was in the early morning cold In the late night sleepless comfort In the gloaming walk home In the serendipitous teacup And yet Some days I want to end a world for you
Leave me to the dark, No light here sanction; Let me keep the belly of the night As sacrament and sanctum. Here it feels outside of time Hidden from all the living things; No law to pardon my crime, No gods to forgive my sins, No hope to find the future, No drink to blank the past. Eternity is the torment of an hour, Heaven, like flowers, cannot last. Here there is only hunger, Slumber, and waiting For an end to come. Hunger, slumber, and waiting For an end to come.
Text screengrab reading: get to know my music taste - for every like I will post one song I love
"You gave me the power to change myself," she said. "I gave you the power to be yourself," the demon replied, kneeling in the ritual circle with immortal patience. "But… the price; for me, for those I saved. We're damned?" "Are you?" "Proclus is different now. Strange. Mean." "And that is damnation?" "Going to hell will be." "Is this world so kind?" "It's like we won't be human anymore." The demon blinked three vast and gentle eyes. "What good did being human ever do you?" She didn't have an answer for that.
IDRlabs D&D class test results showing a result favouring Warlock, followed by Bard and Paladin.
Bearded guy with glasses compensates for huge forehead with luxurious long dark brown hair while looking mildly perturbed at the camera
the night is young and empty and all my pleasures are ash in my mouth all silence all stillness and then a thousand miles away a hundred miles away a screen away I see lights. I linger in the dark at the edge of the scene. Someone might know my name and ask how I am. I know how I am; unreal. Not here. Not there. There is nowhere left for me in this world that there are also people. I've forgotten how to speak to you. I don't know the rules here. The nature of a ghost is to forbid the living. I forbid you. I deny you. I abjure you. Please let me be dead. I belong to nowhere else. My love is your love like moonlight is sunlight Eclipse me so I can no longer want (what) you (have)
I'm smoking on that gold pine resin. I'm doing that purple-green Abyssal sludge. This shit ain't nothing to me, man. I somersaulted a greatsword into a knighthood. If that pussy don't harbour the essential darkness in the soul of mankind I don't want it. Undead think they can parry me like the item text doesn't tell everyone that I'm Him. This shit ain't nothing to me, man. These Izalith chaosbug egg rolls got me transcending the cycle of fire. I made the Abyss hand over a ring and wore it on my cock to fuck 'em, ha ha. Sliced that bloathead with a giant-forged greatsword, the last thing he saw were the strength pre-reqs on it. Watched the souls leach from his body and let the Gravelords usher him to true death. This shit ain't nothin' to me, man.
A black cat with luxurious thick fur cuddles a smaller tortoiseshell cat while they sleep on top of a cat tower.
Large orange tabby cat lies with eyes closed and paws neatly folded like a good little gentleman who did not just steal a tortilla.
A screenshot from the game Dragon's Dogma 2, wherein four figures are standing on a grassy hill in front of an old stone brick lighthouse. In the foreground is a sad-eyed human man with shoulder-length hair and a full beard. Behind him is a cat-woman in plate armour. Behind her is another, slightly taller cat-woman with a bow strapped across her back. Standing off to the right of the picture is a human woman in a wizardly robe thoughtfully stroking her chin. I am not sure how to express in text how much this looks like the album art for some kind of medieval reconstructionist doom metal band from Denmark.
Comrade-Thanatomat Riley Hawkar The green hills roll down to the grey sea and the briny wind is cold, invigorating. You squint at a break in the overcast sky and giggle with wonder. [DATA MISSING] A hand reaching for yours. Small, soft. She smells like salt and gunpowder and sweat in the dim warmth of the supply room. The teachers cannot know. [DATA MISSING] Bright eyes under dark helmets. The thundering drumroll of ranked rifles. Cries of victory. Exhausted you half-collapse and throw your arms around your comrade. His tears feel scalding on your cheek. [DATA MISSING] Screaming, bleeding. Blind with panic, deaf to the roar of artillery shattering the bruised sky. Hearts stop all around you. Warmth leeches from your limbs and pools around your hips. [DATA EXPUNGED] Bright lights, distorted faces. Voices muffled as if by a thousand miles and a thousand years of distance. A few words glimmer in your mind like eyes in the dark of the supply room. “-enough brain matter intact-”
A long-haired man with too much forehead and thick glasses is inexplicably pressing a finger to his lips, dressed in formalwear as disco lights play across his face and chest.
GHOSTFIRE ENGINES A Crucible: Darkening Skies game for 5 players The advance of our armies has been halted. Decades of struggle stymied by foreign intervention at the very gates of the Vampires’ capital. The Necrocommunist Union of Kaer made to bow before bourgeois imperialism. And so the Necromancers of The Central Party have decided this armistice must be used to develop new weapons, new doctrines, to advance the deathless science of Necro-Tavronism in order to bring the war beyond our borders. Thus are you chosen, brave comrades, to field test the next generation of Osteidon; a necromechanical titan, an armoured shell of bone to protect and empower the pilot at the core. A weapon to destroy the Vampires and capitalists and the alleged ‘Dragon-Emperor’ in the name of the cause. Go forth into the wastelands of the Demarcation, fulfil the duty which transcends death!
A photograph of the magnificent and rotund kakapo, a large green parrot too stately of carriage for flight and beautifully green in colouration.
The cover art of Mogwai's album Young Team
A still from Disney's animated Sleeping Beauty showing Maleficent and her crow familiar
"I have not been permitted to die and it's about to be everyone's problem." A blood-spattered visage of penitent serenity screenshot from the videogame Blasphemous 2
Truncated due to text limits: The old world is dying. The king is dead, his son is a halfwit heretic, a dozen dukes raise armies to contest the throne and bark like caged hounds on the borders. The peasants suffer. The citizens of sieged cities suffer. Even the soldiers break and become as rabid wolves in the wilderness. A new world is struggling to be born. Where the war has not touched, farmers and shepherds are driven from their land 'for protection'. Taken into the cities where they must serve to survive, in the squalid dormitories and burgeoning textile mills. And in all of this - you. You who were left near dead; broken, alone, used up. You who cried out in anguish and there, in the dark, something heard you. And it asked you; wouldst thou wield my might, and yet more justly? All you heard, in the depths of agony, was 'will you make them pay?' Now is a time of monsters.
Joey The Bluesky Bacchanalian 8m
Restless Spirits What is distance to the dead? Misery, loving, company; I felt you across empty rooms and overgrown lots- might we haunt each other awhile? Rattle windows, slam doors, creak boards. Annihilate in mutual exorcism. Leave only the scent of smoke and shadow-stains.
"Dashen, Third Sword," the gunslinger spake, and though he did not raise his voice it reverberated nonetheless. All was silent and the world seemed closer, as if all creation held its breath to witness. "By the Law graven upon my Essence and the Supreme Godhead of the Nuclear Throne, I sentence thee anew. Thou shalt walk alongside the monk Scrollbearer, and keep him from harm, and be no further from his side than the width of this square until his duty is discharged. Then will thou walk free again, and may the Principles have mercy on us all." Dashen stared, all his usual, easy bravado suddenly gone. "What?" he spat, incredulous, as Delamain fished a cigarette from his bandolier, lit it, and inhaled. "Fuck you, Dashen," he replied, pleasantly.
Unwanted Attentions – FATE Accelerated The title of this game doesn’t tell you much, and neither does the system, so you glance down to the blurb to try and make sense of it. Then you realize your actions are being narrated by a soothing voice on the radio, and an eerie sense of deja vu washes over you; like the feeling of seeing a person in their twenties that reminds you of the you that you could have been. If only you’d made other choices. If only those choices had felt fair. If only you could have rolled some dice and known the odds were stacked in your favour. Before you’ve really thought about it, you’re reaching for your wallet. Welcome to Night Vale.
A Game About Something – FATE Accelerated The title of the blurb is familiar to you. As is the voice on the radio narrating your actions, even those you have yet to consider enacting. Like the way you’re about to buy a ticket for this game, fumbling absently for your wallet, eyeing this brochure with a blend of wry amusement and mounting unease. Like being approached by a homeless derelict, a worn and desperate smile on his face, a shakiness to his step that makes you wonder how you might best defend yourself. All he asks is the time, maybe a dollar if you can spare it, and leaves you with a lingering sense of guilt, relief, and irony that will haunt you in an idle moment on the bus days later. Welcome to Night Vale
A screenshot showing recently viewed pages from Wordpress backend. The page posted today, Dubious Fidelity, has been viewed - and so has Splitting Visions, a work of erotic fiction about hypnotic fish monsters
A still of the iconic frame from Nosferatu, 1922, showng Max Schreck as the vampire Count Orlok. He looking into the camera as if caught in an unspeakable act for which he cannot begin to feel shame, his eyes wide and teeth bared like a cat which has not yet decided if a thing is worth the effort of murder.
A screenshot from the video game Star Ocean: The Second Story R. One of the protagonists, Claude Kenny, stands on a balcony. He's a young white man with blonde hair, red headband, and military-style jacket over casual clothes. Visible beyond the building he's in are lush trees implying a dense forest, and colourful little rustic houses suggesting a pre-industrial village.
Once again like you mean it. We say a bruise feels tender. That tender flesh is fit to eat. What tenderness in my hands, then, that you so boldly seek? A blood vessel bloom, worn like a rosette- do you remember? Do you remember? Do you feel it still, tender prey? If love cannot salve your pain must it be a wound so deep all others fade away?