Ryn Writes Things

[Verdance he/him]

18 hours ago, Rynturning_Light said:

Yeah, that’s what I’d realistically do if I do write it, having the actual action/progression start after the switch

Basically a giant fake out

  Hide contents

Also, what’d you mean by “deja vu” with my prologue thing

 

False Saviour Gambit?

[Rynturning_Light She/Her]

14 hours ago, Through The Living Grass said:

False Saviour Gambit?

Something similar in that the character initially set up to be the "savior" isn't the intended one

There will be the belief that they are the hero, when in actuality they aren't. So, they won't be malicious

[Rynturning_Light She/Her]

I wrote a thing!

Yip-

First time writing this character, I think it turned out well

Spoiler

The flowers on his desk had died recently. That was Evander’s first indication that something was terribly wrong. 

Evander had been in Chimerion for around a half-month now, working to complete the final stages of his practicum. The flowers had been on his desk when he arrived here, and they had not been changed since. 

He had chosen to do his archival practicum in Chimerion, a city built on, and insufferably proud of, their natural magics. The city was built in and around the fauna of Themis, which had bloomed and grown directly from Chemia’s magics. The natural life growing throughout the city was sustained directly from her, as she rested at the heart of  the continent. Nothing of her nature ever died on Themis, and they certainly didn’t within her sacred city.

It seemed, at times, the flora functioned like a conscious being, protecting its inhabitants, more than just the typical defensive advantages of building your metropolis in the heart of a megafauna woodland. No, from Evander’s observations the plants surrounding them seemed almost sentient.

This was wrong. Inherently wrong. This place was defined by its pure, untamed life. As was Chemia’s nature, the places sacred to her seemed to follow this same path. Life didn’t have to struggle here, it was supported, so it thrived. Flora of this place only died when it was removed from Themis and, by proxy, Chemia’s influence. 

With all he knew of Themis and their magics, it was undeniably disturbing to see those dry, wilted petals. 

His mind, however, was not easily overcome by unease. Archivists were meant to be objective, to search for facts and reason. That is what Evander did.
As far as he was aware, there had been no other dead plants reported. This was either due to the fact that this was a new phenomenon and he has had the first interaction with it, or the people of Chimerion have been hiding the fact that Chemiakin plants have been dying. Both are probably, Chimerians could be prideful. However, Evander doubted that they would let Atelians and Fenixals into their city if there was a risk of them discovering dead plants.

No, this was most likely a new phenomenon. 

The next question was why exactly this had happened. His Archivist nature, perhaps. Order magics could have strange influences its opposite. That could be plausible, if he wasn’t of Atelian descent. Atelis’s class of Order magic preserved things, it didn’t destroy them. Fenix’s was seen as the most destructive class, but it was protective magic and didn’t destroy needlessly.

Evander knew, even through his attempts at alternative reasoning, that there was a clear and definite cause for this. Chemia’s connection to this world was fading. 

The decay before him was just the symptoms first presenting themselves. Assuming he is right, things could get a lot worse for Themis, maybe even all of Corrotto, if Fenix is also affected. 

Whatever was happening, whether interference or dimming of source, the world’s very lifeblood was dwindling, and Evander didn’t want to be witness if it failed. 

 

[Ink and Embers Any pronouns]

21 hours ago, Rynturning_Light said:

I wrote a thing!

Yip-

First time writing this character, I think it turned out well

  Hide contents

The flowers on his desk had died recently. That was Evander’s first indication that something was terribly wrong. 

Evander had been in Chimerion for around a half-month now, working to complete the final stages of his practicum. The flowers had been on his desk when he arrived here, and they had not been changed since. 

He had chosen to do his archival practicum in Chimerion, a city built on, and insufferably proud of, their natural magics. The city was built in and around the fauna of Themis, which had bloomed and grown directly from Chemia’s magics. The natural life growing throughout the city was sustained directly from her, as she rested at the heart of  the continent. Nothing of her nature ever died on Themis, and they certainly didn’t within her sacred city.

It seemed, at times, the flora functioned like a conscious being, protecting its inhabitants, more than just the typical defensive advantages of building your metropolis in the heart of a megafauna woodland. No, from Evander’s observations the plants surrounding them seemed almost sentient.

This was wrong. Inherently wrong. This place was defined by its pure, untamed life. As was Chemia’s nature, the places sacred to her seemed to follow this same path. Life didn’t have to struggle here, it was supported, so it thrived. Flora of this place only died when it was removed from Themis and, by proxy, Chemia’s influence. 

With all he knew of Themis and their magics, it was undeniably disturbing to see those dry, wilted petals. 

His mind, however, was not easily overcome by unease. Archivists were meant to be objective, to search for facts and reason. That is what Evander did.
As far as he was aware, there had been no other dead plants reported. This was either due to the fact that this was a new phenomenon and he has had the first interaction with it, or the people of Chimerion have been hiding the fact that Chemiakin plants have been dying. Both are probably, Chimerians could be prideful. However, Evander doubted that they would let Atelians and Fenixals into their city if there was a risk of them discovering dead plants.

No, this was most likely a new phenomenon. 

The next question was why exactly this had happened. His Archivist nature, perhaps. Order magics could have strange influences its opposite. That could be plausible, if he wasn’t of Atelian descent. Atelis’s class of Order magic preserved things, it didn’t destroy them. Fenix’s was seen as the most destructive class, but it was protective magic and didn’t destroy needlessly.

Evander knew, even through his attempts at alternative reasoning, that there was a clear and definite cause for this. Chemia’s connection to this world was fading. 

The decay before him was just the symptoms first presenting themselves. Assuming he is right, things could get a lot worse for Themis, maybe even all of Corrotto, if Fenix is also affected. 

Whatever was happening, whether interference or dimming of source, the world’s very lifeblood was dwindling, and Evander didn’t want to be witness if it failed. 

 

Ooooo, awesome!!!! I love all the questions it raises, and the worldbuilding is great and not an infodump!! I really really liked the first paragraph 

[CoderDrag0n8 He/They]

On 4/16/2026 at 11:59 AM, Rynturning_Light said:

I wrote a thing!

Yip-

First time writing this character, I think it turned out well

  Hide contents

The flowers on his desk had died recently. That was Evander’s first indication that something was terribly wrong. 

Evander had been in Chimerion for around a half-month now, working to complete the final stages of his practicum. The flowers had been on his desk when he arrived here, and they had not been changed since. 

He had chosen to do his archival practicum in Chimerion, a city built on, and insufferably proud of, their natural magics. The city was built in and around the fauna of Themis, which had bloomed and grown directly from Chemia’s magics. The natural life growing throughout the city was sustained directly from her, as she rested at the heart of  the continent. Nothing of her nature ever died on Themis, and they certainly didn’t within her sacred city.

It seemed, at times, the flora functioned like a conscious being, protecting its inhabitants, more than just the typical defensive advantages of building your metropolis in the heart of a megafauna woodland. No, from Evander’s observations the plants surrounding them seemed almost sentient.

This was wrong. Inherently wrong. This place was defined by its pure, untamed life. As was Chemia’s nature, the places sacred to her seemed to follow this same path. Life didn’t have to struggle here, it was supported, so it thrived. Flora of this place only died when it was removed from Themis and, by proxy, Chemia’s influence. 

With all he knew of Themis and their magics, it was undeniably disturbing to see those dry, wilted petals. 

His mind, however, was not easily overcome by unease. Archivists were meant to be objective, to search for facts and reason. That is what Evander did.
As far as he was aware, there had been no other dead plants reported. This was either due to the fact that this was a new phenomenon and he has had the first interaction with it, or the people of Chimerion have been hiding the fact that Chemiakin plants have been dying. Both are probably, Chimerians could be prideful. However, Evander doubted that they would let Atelians and Fenixals into their city if there was a risk of them discovering dead plants.

No, this was most likely a new phenomenon. 

The next question was why exactly this had happened. His Archivist nature, perhaps. Order magics could have strange influences its opposite. That could be plausible, if he wasn’t of Atelian descent. Atelis’s class of Order magic preserved things, it didn’t destroy them. Fenix’s was seen as the most destructive class, but it was protective magic and didn’t destroy needlessly.

Evander knew, even through his attempts at alternative reasoning, that there was a clear and definite cause for this. Chemia’s connection to this world was fading. 

The decay before him was just the symptoms first presenting themselves. Assuming he is right, things could get a lot worse for Themis, maybe even all of Corrotto, if Fenix is also affected. 

Whatever was happening, whether interference or dimming of source, the world’s very lifeblood was dwindling, and Evander didn’t want to be witness if it failed. 

 

OH NOES NOT THEMIS

ur a gud writer

[Rynturning_Light She/Her]

Not one of my projects

Kinda really personal

I would like to prefaces this by saying I'm working on getting better, and I'm okay right now

Spoiler

This side of my skin is pristine and presentable. Unmarred and intact. It has seen very little hardship or strife. The small struggles it has seen, it has weathered them well. It is what people expect to see. Strong and capable. It is unbroken because there is nothing that could break it. It has no scabs, or scars, or stitches. It is not burned or tarnished. It is still staunch and elastic. Still intact. 

The underside of my skin is not pristine. It is not presentable. Instead, it is scratched and broken and bleeding. It has faced many hardships, and each has left its mark. It is what I’m scared of people seeing. Bruised and blemished. Some areas are crudely bandaged. Others are stitched imperfectly. Both were desperate attempts to stop it bleeding. Some wounds have grown over, though they still burn periodically. They did not heal, because there is no way to heal them.

I hold anger for the underside. It is not a part I want to see. I am not damaged in such a dramatic way. That bloody and bruised monstrosity should not exist.

But it does. And it hurts sometimes…most of the time. I do not want to see it. It is mangled and charred. But it will not go away. It exists beneath my skin. Or, maybe, it is my skin.

The pristine, presentable thing that I live in is just a shell. A shield, against the outside world. It is there to resist the damage that had maimed me in such a way. I wish I could be pristine, or be strong in such a manner. But the thing that lies beneath that shield has been mauled and wreaked beyond what I can handle.

 

[Denissimo He/him]

On 4/21/2026 at 10:44 PM, Rynturning_Light said:

Not one of my projects

Kinda really personal

I would like to prefaces this by saying I'm working on getting better, and I'm okay right now

  Hide contents

This side of my skin is pristine and presentable. Unmarred and intact. It has seen very little hardship or strife. The small struggles it has seen, it has weathered them well. It is what people expect to see. Strong and capable. It is unbroken because there is nothing that could break it. It has no scabs, or scars, or stitches. It is not burned or tarnished. It is still staunch and elastic. Still intact. 

The underside of my skin is not pristine. It is not presentable. Instead, it is scratched and broken and bleeding. It has faced many hardships, and each has left its mark. It is what I’m scared of people seeing. Bruised and blemished. Some areas are crudely bandaged. Others are stitched imperfectly. Both were desperate attempts to stop it bleeding. Some wounds have grown over, though they still burn periodically. They did not heal, because there is no way to heal them.

I hold anger for the underside. It is not a part I want to see. I am not damaged in such a dramatic way. That bloody and bruised monstrosity should not exist.

But it does. And it hurts sometimes…most of the time. I do not want to see it. It is mangled and charred. But it will not go away. It exists beneath my skin. Or, maybe, it is my skin.

The pristine, presentable thing that I live in is just a shell. A shield, against the outside world. It is there to resist the damage that had maimed me in such a way. I wish I could be pristine, or be strong in such a manner. But the thing that lies beneath that shield has been mauled and wreaked beyond what I can handle.

 

Ah, the beauty of the masks we construct for ourselves. 
Yet consider: How long has your upper surface been masking the layers below?
How do you know the layer that disgusts you so
isn't just another mask?

Peel away at those layers. Eventually, I think you will find only emptiness.
Beautiful, universal emptiness. 
And perhaps you will wear these layers once more afterwards. Yet with a laugh. And the parts that you once shuddered at the sight of, hold more light and beauty than a thousand suns.

[Verdance he/him]

40 minutes ago, Denissimo said:

Ah, the beauty of the masks we construct for ourselves. 
Yet consider: How long has your upper surface been masking the layers below?
How do you know the layer that disgusts you so
isn't just another mask?

Peel away at those layers. Eventually, I think you will find only emptiness.
Beautiful, universal emptiness. 
And perhaps you will wear these layers once more afterwards. Yet with a laugh. And the parts that you once shuddered at the sight of, hold more light and beauty than a thousand suns.

Uhhh, that’s a view

i choose to look at it as two things, a soul and pure desire at the center of THE MYSTICAL ONION OF REASONING AND PERSONALITY which filters those things and presents them to the outside world

but the idea that we are all nothing in the middle doesn’t make a lot of sense. And at that point, wouldn’t the layers, these masks that are not our identity, be more valuable than who we actually are?

[Denissimo He/him]

25 minutes ago, Verdance said:

Uhhh, that’s a view

i choose to look at it as two things, a soul and pure desire at the center of THE MYSTICAL ONION OF REASONING AND PERSONALITY which filters those things and presents them to the outside world

but the idea that we are all nothing in the middle doesn’t make a lot of sense. And at that point, wouldn’t the layers, these masks that are not our identity, be more valuable than who we actually are?

In the philosophy of Absurdism, especially in The Myth of Sisyphus, the identities we build, our “masks”, are attempts to avoid facing the Absurd, the fact that life has no inherent meaning; when you peel those layers away, you don’t find a true, stable self but an emptiness. There is no real inherent meaning for humans, no accessible "true self". I call that emptiness “beautiful,” though good ol' Camus would say it’s simply something to face honestly without dressing it up. And then, like laughing while wearing the masks again, you continue living anyway, fully aware that everything is constructed, but choosing to engage with life fully despite its lack of deeper meaning

This is, of course, my viewpoint, which likely conflicts with yours due to religious context.

I consider the idea of a soul and pure desire to be inhuman. In a way, it is, but I can't see the beauty in such purity and constancy. A pure soul is, in my opinion, one trapped in stasis. That would be worse than oblivion for me.

Arguably, its because I am human, and thus corrupted by sin and unable to see the beautiful purity and light provided by god into our very essence. That statement is under the circular assumption that there is a god though, so I don't follow it.

In fact, addressing your actual point:
If there’s no fixed “core” self beneath the layers, only emptiness, that doesn’t make the layers more “real” or more valuable than some hidden essence. It just means they’re all we have, and they’re not lies so much as constructions we participate in. The point of Absurdism isn’t that we’re secretly nothing and therefore everything is pointless, but that meaning isn’t given in advance, so the identities, roles, and “masks” we wear become meaningful precisely because we choose and inhabit them while knowing they’re not absolute; the value comes from conscious engagement, not from uncovering some deeper, truer layer underneath.
In absurdism, the whole point is that life is pointless, yet not necessarily negative in any manner. The lack of meaning is in and unto itself beautiful for me, and the roles we step into and inhabit are simply the way we engage with the world around you. Internally, one can often engage with that emptiness. 
However, in absurdism as framed in the philosophical essay "The Myth of Sisyphus", the focus is more on treating the emptiness more honestly than romantically. It isn't some transcendental. In this framing, meaning and beauty arise from your active participation in life rather than dwelling in it's pointlessness.
I personally just enjoy the concept, though I try to treat it with a degree a realism, its difficult as I enjoy it so much.

Edited April 23 by Denissimo

[Verdance he/him]

3 hours ago, Denissimo said:

In the philosophy of Absurdism, especially in The Myth of Sisyphus, the identities we build, our “masks”, are attempts to avoid facing the Absurd, the fact that life has no inherent meaning; when you peel those layers away, you don’t find a true, stable self but an emptiness. There is no real inherent meaning for humans, no accessible "true self". I call that emptiness “beautiful,” though good ol' Camus would say it’s simply something to face honestly without dressing it up. And then, like laughing while wearing the masks again, you continue living anyway, fully aware that everything is constructed, but choosing to engage with life fully despite its lack of deeper meaning

This is, of course, my viewpoint, which likely conflicts with yours due to religious context.

I consider the idea of a soul and pure desire to be inhuman. In a way, it is, but I can't see the beauty in such purity and constancy. A pure soul is, in my opinion, one trapped in stasis. That would be worse than oblivion for me.

Arguably, its because I am human, and thus corrupted by sin and unable to see the beautiful purity and light provided by god into our very essence. That statement is under the circular assumption that there is a god though, so I don't follow it.

In fact, addressing your actual point:
If there’s no fixed “core” self beneath the layers, only emptiness, that doesn’t make the layers more “real” or more valuable than some hidden essence. It just means they’re all we have, and they’re not lies so much as constructions we participate in. The point of Absurdism isn’t that we’re secretly nothing and therefore everything is pointless, but that meaning isn’t given in advance, so the identities, roles, and “masks” we wear become meaningful precisely because we choose and inhabit them while knowing they’re not absolute; the value comes from conscious engagement, not from uncovering some deeper, truer layer underneath.
In absurdism, the whole point is that life is pointless, yet not necessarily negative in any manner. The lack of meaning is in and unto itself beautiful for me, and the roles we step into and inhabit are simply the way we engage with the world around you. Internally, one can often engage with that emptiness. 
However, in absurdism as framed in the philosophical essay "The Myth of Sisyphus", the focus is more on treating the emptiness more honestly than romantically. It isn't some transcendental. In this framing, meaning and beauty arise from your active participation in life rather than dwelling in it's pointlessness.
I personally just enjoy the concept, though I try to treat it with a degree a realism, its difficult as I enjoy it so much.

When i said “pure” desire, i misspoke. A better word would be “raw” desire. This can be morally good, but is often morally bad. Those desires are filtered by behavioral filters, and our identity as a good or bad person is based on the ways we decide to act by what principles we choose to filter our desires with. Or at least that’s how I interpret my behavior. 

That’s a really cool way of looking at it. I think we’re describing basically the same thing. Our identity and behavior is based on who we choose to be. 

[Denissimo He/him]

5 hours ago, Verdance said:

When i said “pure” desire, i misspoke. A better word would be “raw” desire. This can be morally good, but is often morally bad. Those desires are filtered by behavioral filters, and our identity as a good or bad person is based on the ways we decide to act by what principles we choose to filter our desires with. Or at least that’s how I interpret my behavior. 

That’s a really cool way of looking at it. I think we’re describing basically the same thing. Our identity and behavior is based on who we choose to be. 

That it is, I think.
So nice to reach a consensus on such things.
Hooway!

Edited April 24 by Denissimo

[Rynturning_Light She/Her]

Spoiler

I think it’s a universal unfairness that we have been constantly told “love yourself” but were never taught how. For I do not love myself, in that I do not know how to love myself.

I have been told to be proud of myself and my accomplishments, to love myself first and foremost and then give whatever remains to those I hold close. But how does one do that, how do I love my many imperfections and inconsistencies. 

Love is not something I am not unfamiliar with. She is bright and all-encompassing and she shines, brilliant and warm, on those closest to me. But, when she turns to me, that light turns scorching and eyes so familiar, those I see in the mirror each night, fill with contempt and she whispers to me all that I fear to be true.

She is not merciful and she is not kind, not when her eyes look to me. She does not embrace me, and I do not her, for I do not know how to embrace her. 

“It’s not fair,” I tell her, “You’re supposed to love me first.”

“It is fair,” she responds, “How am I obligated to do something that I was never taught to do?”

I cannot muster the strength to tell her she is right. Undeniably right. I cannot fault her for not possessing a skill people believe she should have. Nor can I fault her for embracing others so easily, yet looking at her self with such disdain. 

“You used to love us. I used to love myself,” I tell her.

She smiles, ever so slightly, eyes still trained on me, “No,” she tells me, “You loved your accomplishments and successes. True self love is accepting the scars along with the perfections. You never wanted to see both. So, no. You never truly did love yourself.”

 

Edited April 27 by Rynturning_Light

[Verdance he/him]

6 hours ago, Rynturning_Light said:

  Hide contents

I think it’s a universal unfairness that we have been constantly told “love yourself” but were never taught how. For I do not love myself, in that I do not know how to love myself.

I have been told to be proud of myself and my accomplishments, to love myself first and foremost and then give whatever remains to those I hold close. But how does one do that, how do I love my many imperfections and inconsistencies. 

Love is not something I am not unfamiliar with. She is bright and all-encompassing and she shines, brilliant and warm, on those closest to me. But, when she turns to me, that light turns scorching and eyes so familiar, those I see in the mirror each night, fill with contempt and she whispers to me all that I fear to be true.

She is not merciful and she is not kind, not when her eyes look to me. She does not embrace me, and I do not her, for I do not know how to embrace her. 

“It’s not fair,” I tell her, “You’re supposed to love me first.”

“It is fair,” she responds, “How am I obligated to do something that I was never taught to do?”

I cannot muster the strength to tell her she is right. Undeniably right. I cannot fault her for not possessing a skill people believe she should have. Nor can I fault her for embracing others so easily, yet looking at her self with such disdain. 

“You used to love us. I used to love myself,” I tell her.

She smiles, ever so slightly, eyes still trained on me, “No,” she tells me, “You loved your accomplishments and successes. True self love is accepting the scars along with the perfections. You never wanted to see both. So, no. You never truly did love yourself.”

 

That’s so beautiful! 

[Ink and Embers Any pronouns]

21 hours ago, Rynturning_Light said:

  Reveal hidden contents

I think it’s a universal unfairness that we have been constantly told “love yourself” but were never taught how. For I do not love myself, in that I do not know how to love myself.

I have been told to be proud of myself and my accomplishments, to love myself first and foremost and then give whatever remains to those I hold close. But how does one do that, how do I love my many imperfections and inconsistencies. 

Love is not something I am not unfamiliar with. She is bright and all-encompassing and she shines, brilliant and warm, on those closest to me. But, when she turns to me, that light turns scorching and eyes so familiar, those I see in the mirror each night, fill with contempt and she whispers to me all that I fear to be true.

She is not merciful and she is not kind, not when her eyes look to me. She does not embrace me, and I do not her, for I do not know how to embrace her. 

“It’s not fair,” I tell her, “You’re supposed to love me first.”

“It is fair,” she responds, “How am I obligated to do something that I was never taught to do?”

I cannot muster the strength to tell her she is right. Undeniably right. I cannot fault her for not possessing a skill people believe she should have. Nor can I fault her for embracing others so easily, yet looking at her self with such disdain. 

“You used to love us. I used to love myself,” I tell her.

She smiles, ever so slightly, eyes still trained on me, “No,” she tells me, “You loved your accomplishments and successes. True self love is accepting the scars along with the perfections. You never wanted to see both. So, no. You never truly did love yourself.”

 

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa *hugs* this is really really beautiful *hugs even more*

[SpartanBrigade He/Him]

On 4/27/2026 at 2:14 PM, Rynturning_Light said:

  Reveal hidden contents

I think it’s a universal unfairness that we have been constantly told “love yourself” but were never taught how. For I do not love myself, in that I do not know how to love myself.

I have been told to be proud of myself and my accomplishments, to love myself first and foremost and then give whatever remains to those I hold close. But how does one do that, how do I love my many imperfections and inconsistencies. 

Love is not something I am not unfamiliar with. She is bright and all-encompassing and she shines, brilliant and warm, on those closest to me. But, when she turns to me, that light turns scorching and eyes so familiar, those I see in the mirror each night, fill with contempt and she whispers to me all that I fear to be true.

She is not merciful and she is not kind, not when her eyes look to me. She does not embrace me, and I do not her, for I do not know how to embrace her. 

“It’s not fair,” I tell her, “You’re supposed to love me first.”

“It is fair,” she responds, “How am I obligated to do something that I was never taught to do?”

I cannot muster the strength to tell her she is right. Undeniably right. I cannot fault her for not possessing a skill people believe she should have. Nor can I fault her for embracing others so easily, yet looking at her self with such disdain. 

“You used to love us. I used to love myself,” I tell her.

She smiles, ever so slightly, eyes still trained on me, “No,” she tells me, “You loved your accomplishments and successes. True self love is accepting the scars along with the perfections. You never wanted to see both. So, no. You never truly did love yourself.”

 

Thems be bars

*hugs*

[Rynturning_Light She/Her]

Prologue for that writing project I mentioned a little while ago, for the protagonist fake out. It's currently 1027 words and I have not fully revised it. I will probably add more :3

Felled Havens in the working name

Spoiler

@SpartanBrigade @Kansas Stormcursed @___  @Vielence @Verdance

Spoiler

Prologue

Dansan’s back hurt. Constantly. In everything he did, pain shot through his spine. He’d just learned to live with it. He learned to live with a lot of things. 

Most recently, he’d learned to live with the overtaking of his previous mining operation, and the reassignment of his entire crew. He and Samuan, one of the newer members of said crew, had been assigned to some desolate pit under the wastes. It was pointless work. Most, if not all, of the cruor had been extracted from this area already. This close to Kiemachan, it would be surprising if they found anything of worth. This world wasn’t exactly in the business of leaving valuable resources alone.

Samuan emerged from the small tunnel leading to the mine proper. He was covered in the grim of Eospha. It coated everything that entered here. Sometimes, Dansan thought it looked like the planet was trying to reclaim what had been taken from it. He wasn’t so poetic, though. He left those thoughts to the creatives of Kaitos.

Samuan settled on the wall next to Dansan. He looked exhausted, worn down. They both did. 

“Long day?” Dansan asked. Samuan hummed a half-hearted agreement. Dansan didn’t try and pry a response out of him. Wasn’t his responsibility to keep the kid optimistic. Their job sucked. Plain and simple.

“It’s not fair,” Samuan said after a moment.

"What's not?"

“All of this. We follow protocol, and we get assigned to some cesspit in the wastes of civilization.”

“That’s why most of us ignore protocol. It never gets you anywhere good. It was created by people up in their gilded towers who have no idea how things work down here, in the ‘cesspits.’”

“Well, we couldn’t just ignore it. We mined up some new, unknown mineral. Were we just supposed to disregard that?”

“It wasn’t unknown. It was cruor. The thing we were assigned there to mine.”

“Didn’t look like any cruor I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t been down here long,” Dansan pushed off the wall, “We pull up strange things all the time, but we ignore them. Doin’ anything other than that lands you up in places like this.” He gestured to the mine around them.

Samuan quiets at that. Seniority has its perks sometimes.

Footsteps, confident and controlled, echoed off the mineshaft walls. Concerning, since next shift wouldn’t be down to relieve them for another hour, at least. 

“I thought our shift wasn’t done yet,” Samuan said.

“It’s not,” Dansan replied, “Not even close to bein’ done.”

"Then why..."

“I don’t know,” Dansan said, “But I can tell you one thing. That’s no miner.”

A figure appeared at the end of the hall. It, they, were shorter than Dansan. A hood covered their features. Within the dim glow of the mine lights it was as if only shadow existed under that hood. No face. Nothing human. They walked with a chilling confidence. 

No, this wasn’t a cruor worker. No one condemned to the heart of Eospha walked like that.

“Hello?” Samuan called out. The figure paused, but didn’t answer. Instead, they held out their hand, and Dansan watched as they manifested a blade. Pitch black, almost oily. Dansan had limited experience with manifestations in any capacity, but there was one thing he’s certain about. A physical manifestation from a healthy Connection did not look like that. They should be bright, as if made from light made solid.

This manifestation was twisted. Wrong, in almost an instinctual way. It shouldn’t exist, yet it did.

Before he could even register it, the figure charged them and implanted its blade into Samuan’s chest. 

The sound was the same as a normal manifested blade. No sound, truly. Just the wet crunch as it broke flesh and bone and entered the body. The chest bowed the same way. Inward, for just a second before the blade broke through. Dansan didn’t think he’d be around long enough to lay awake at night with the memory of it.

He turned and ran. Cowardly, maybe, but that sight was motivation to get out of there. Dansan took the only path available to him, he headed into the mines. The entrance tunnel was tight, low to the ground. You had to crouch basically the entire time climbing in or out. The rock scraped against his arms, opening cuts and carving at his skin.

Dansan heard something heavy hit the ground before those footsteps picked up behind him. Quicker, but still so chilling. Like the person was considering their steps, unrushed. 

Dansan knew, instinctually, that it was too late. Whatever that thing was, its skills beat out his own. It was stronger, faster. And it was here to kill. Still, he tried to run.

Reaching the mine proper, the ceiling raised and he was able to stand. He didn’t take time in appreciating this, though. As soon as he could, he turned down the left tunnel and sprinted. That thing had killed Samuan. It was here to kill him. Why did they report that weird cruor? They could have shipped it off with the rest and then he wouldn’t be here, and Samuan-

He tripped, hitting the ground. Recovering as quickly as he could, he stood to keep running. Sharp, blinding pain shot up his spine. He doubled over, holding him back. Through his hurting, he could hear those haunting footsteps. He hadn’t escaped, and he couldn’t now. Like he believed he could’ve escaped.

With that thought, Dansan limped over and sat with back leaned against the mine wall. The figure entered his section of the hall a moment later. Dansan made eye contact with the thing, or he thought he did, he couldn’t exactly see its eyes.

“Do what you have to,” he told it, “I’ve got no reason to fight anyway.”

To its credit, the thing did what he asked it to. It walked up to Dansan, summoned its strange blade, and rammed it through his heart.

Dying, Dansan took notice of the strange black veins covering the figure's arms. He followed them up to the figure’s face, and he finally looked into the pitch black eyes of his killer.

 

[Vielence She/Her]

8 minutes ago, Rynturning_Light said:

Prologue for that writing project I mentioned a little while ago, for the protagonist fake out. It's currently 1027 words and I have not fully revised it. I will probably add more :3

Felled Havens in the working name

  Hide contents

@SpartanBrigade @Kansas Stormcursed @___  @Vielence @Verdance

  Reveal hidden contents

Prologue

Dansan’s back hurt. Constantly. In everything he did, pain shot through his spine. He’d just learned to live with it. He learned to live with a lot of things. 

Most recently, he’d learned to live with the overtaking of his previous mining operation, and the reassignment of his entire crew. He and Samuan, one of the newer members of said crew, had been assigned to some desolate pit under the wastes. It was pointless work. Most, if not all, of the cruor had been extracted from this area already. This close to Kiemachan, it would be surprising if they found anything of worth. This world wasn’t exactly in the business of leaving valuable resources alone.

Samuan emerged from the small tunnel leading to the mine proper. He was covered in the grim of Eospha. It coated everything that entered here. Sometimes, Dansan thought it looked like the planet was trying to reclaim what had been taken from it. He wasn’t so poetic, though. He left those thoughts to the creatives of Kaitos.

Samuan settled on the wall next to Dansan. He looked exhausted, worn down. They both did. 

“Long day?” Dansan asked. Samuan hummed a half-hearted agreement. Dansan didn’t try and pry a response out of him. Wasn’t his responsibility to keep the kid optimistic. Their job sucked. Plain and simple.

“It’s not fair,” Samuan said after a moment.

"What's not?"

“All of this. We follow protocol, and we get assigned to some cesspit in the wastes of civilization.”

“That’s why most of us ignore protocol. It never gets you anywhere good. It was created by people up in their gilded towers who have no idea how things work down here, in the ‘cesspits.’”

“Well, we couldn’t just ignore it. We mined up some new, unknown mineral. Were we just supposed to disregard that?”

“It wasn’t unknown. It was cruor. The thing we were assigned there to mine.”

“Didn’t look like any cruor I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t been down here long,” Dansan pushed off the wall, “We pull up strange things all the time, but we ignore them. Doin’ anything other than that lands you up in places like this.” He gestured to the mine around them.

Samuan quiets at that. Seniority has its perks sometimes.

Footsteps, confident and controlled, echoed off the mineshaft walls. Concerning, since next shift wouldn’t be down to relieve them for another hour, at least. 

“I thought our shift wasn’t done yet,” Samuan said.

“It’s not,” Dansan replied, “Not even close to bein’ done.”

"Then why..."

“I don’t know,” Dansan said, “But I can tell you one thing. That’s no miner.”

A figure appeared at the end of the hall. It, they, were shorter than Dansan. A hood covered their features. Within the dim glow of the mine lights it was as if only shadow existed under that hood. No face. Nothing human. They walked with a chilling confidence. 

No, this wasn’t a cruor worker. No one condemned to the heart of Eospha walked like that.

“Hello?” Samuan called out. The figure paused, but didn’t answer. Instead, they held out their hand, and Dansan watched as they manifested a blade. Pitch black, almost oily. Dansan had limited experience with manifestations in any capacity, but there was one thing he’s certain about. A physical manifestation from a healthy Connection did not look like that. They should be bright, as if made from light made solid.

This manifestation was twisted. Wrong, in almost an instinctual way. It shouldn’t exist, yet it did.

Before he could even register it, the figure charged them and implanted its blade into Samuan’s chest. 

The sound was the same as a normal manifested blade. No sound, truly. Just the wet crunch as it broke flesh and bone and entered the body. The chest bowed the same way. Inward, for just a second before the blade broke through. Dansan didn’t think he’d be around long enough to lay awake at night with the memory of it.

He turned and ran. Cowardly, maybe, but that sight was motivation to get out of there. Dansan took the only path available to him, he headed into the mines. The entrance tunnel was tight, low to the ground. You had to crouch basically the entire time climbing in or out. The rock scraped against his arms, opening cuts and carving at his skin.

Dansan heard something heavy hit the ground before those footsteps picked up behind him. Quicker, but still so chilling. Like the person was considering their steps, unrushed. 

Dansan knew, instinctually, that it was too late. Whatever that thing was, its skills beat out his own. It was stronger, faster. And it was here to kill. Still, he tried to run.

Reaching the mine proper, the ceiling raised and he was able to stand. He didn’t take time in appreciating this, though. As soon as he could, he turned down the left tunnel and sprinted. That thing had killed Samuan. It was here to kill him. Why did they report that weird cruor? They could have shipped it off with the rest and then he wouldn’t be here, and Samuan-

He tripped, hitting the ground. Recovering as quickly as he could, he stood to keep running. Sharp, blinding pain shot up his spine. He doubled over, holding him back. Through his hurting, he could hear those haunting footsteps. He hadn’t escaped, and he couldn’t now. Like he believed he could’ve escaped.

With that thought, Dansan limped over and sat with back leaned against the mine wall. The figure entered his section of the hall a moment later. Dansan made eye contact with the thing, or he thought he did, he couldn’t exactly see its eyes.

“Do what you have to,” he told it, “I’ve got no reason to fight anyway.”

To its credit, the thing did what he asked it to. It walked up to Dansan, summoned its strange blade, and rammed it through his heart.

Dying, Dansan took notice of the strange black veins covering the figure's arms. He followed them up to the figure’s face, and he finally looked into the pitch black eyes of his killer.

 

That is…

I have no words

 WHOA

chills

[SpartanBrigade He/Him]

41 minutes ago, Rynturning_Light said:

Prologue for that writing project I mentioned a little while ago, for the protagonist fake out. It's currently 1027 words and I have not fully revised it. I will probably add more :3

Felled Havens in the working name

  Reveal hidden contents

@SpartanBrigade @Kansas Stormcursed @___  @Vielence @Verdance

  Reveal hidden contents

Prologue

Dansan’s back hurt. Constantly. In everything he did, pain shot through his spine. He’d just learned to live with it. He learned to live with a lot of things. 

Most recently, he’d learned to live with the overtaking of his previous mining operation, and the reassignment of his entire crew. He and Samuan, one of the newer members of said crew, had been assigned to some desolate pit under the wastes. It was pointless work. Most, if not all, of the cruor had been extracted from this area already. This close to Kiemachan, it would be surprising if they found anything of worth. This world wasn’t exactly in the business of leaving valuable resources alone.

Samuan emerged from the small tunnel leading to the mine proper. He was covered in the grim of Eospha. It coated everything that entered here. Sometimes, Dansan thought it looked like the planet was trying to reclaim what had been taken from it. He wasn’t so poetic, though. He left those thoughts to the creatives of Kaitos.

Samuan settled on the wall next to Dansan. He looked exhausted, worn down. They both did. 

“Long day?” Dansan asked. Samuan hummed a half-hearted agreement. Dansan didn’t try and pry a response out of him. Wasn’t his responsibility to keep the kid optimistic. Their job sucked. Plain and simple.

“It’s not fair,” Samuan said after a moment.

"What's not?"

“All of this. We follow protocol, and we get assigned to some cesspit in the wastes of civilization.”

“That’s why most of us ignore protocol. It never gets you anywhere good. It was created by people up in their gilded towers who have no idea how things work down here, in the ‘cesspits.’”

“Well, we couldn’t just ignore it. We mined up some new, unknown mineral. Were we just supposed to disregard that?”

“It wasn’t unknown. It was cruor. The thing we were assigned there to mine.”

“Didn’t look like any cruor I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t been down here long,” Dansan pushed off the wall, “We pull up strange things all the time, but we ignore them. Doin’ anything other than that lands you up in places like this.” He gestured to the mine around them.

Samuan quiets at that. Seniority has its perks sometimes.

Footsteps, confident and controlled, echoed off the mineshaft walls. Concerning, since next shift wouldn’t be down to relieve them for another hour, at least. 

“I thought our shift wasn’t done yet,” Samuan said.

“It’s not,” Dansan replied, “Not even close to bein’ done.”

"Then why..."

“I don’t know,” Dansan said, “But I can tell you one thing. That’s no miner.”

A figure appeared at the end of the hall. It, they, were shorter than Dansan. A hood covered their features. Within the dim glow of the mine lights it was as if only shadow existed under that hood. No face. Nothing human. They walked with a chilling confidence. 

No, this wasn’t a cruor worker. No one condemned to the heart of Eospha walked like that.

“Hello?” Samuan called out. The figure paused, but didn’t answer. Instead, they held out their hand, and Dansan watched as they manifested a blade. Pitch black, almost oily. Dansan had limited experience with manifestations in any capacity, but there was one thing he’s certain about. A physical manifestation from a healthy Connection did not look like that. They should be bright, as if made from light made solid.

This manifestation was twisted. Wrong, in almost an instinctual way. It shouldn’t exist, yet it did.

Before he could even register it, the figure charged them and implanted its blade into Samuan’s chest. 

The sound was the same as a normal manifested blade. No sound, truly. Just the wet crunch as it broke flesh and bone and entered the body. The chest bowed the same way. Inward, for just a second before the blade broke through. Dansan didn’t think he’d be around long enough to lay awake at night with the memory of it.

He turned and ran. Cowardly, maybe, but that sight was motivation to get out of there. Dansan took the only path available to him, he headed into the mines. The entrance tunnel was tight, low to the ground. You had to crouch basically the entire time climbing in or out. The rock scraped against his arms, opening cuts and carving at his skin.

Dansan heard something heavy hit the ground before those footsteps picked up behind him. Quicker, but still so chilling. Like the person was considering their steps, unrushed. 

Dansan knew, instinctually, that it was too late. Whatever that thing was, its skills beat out his own. It was stronger, faster. And it was here to kill. Still, he tried to run.

Reaching the mine proper, the ceiling raised and he was able to stand. He didn’t take time in appreciating this, though. As soon as he could, he turned down the left tunnel and sprinted. That thing had killed Samuan. It was here to kill him. Why did they report that weird cruor? They could have shipped it off with the rest and then he wouldn’t be here, and Samuan-

He tripped, hitting the ground. Recovering as quickly as he could, he stood to keep running. Sharp, blinding pain shot up his spine. He doubled over, holding him back. Through his hurting, he could hear those haunting footsteps. He hadn’t escaped, and he couldn’t now. Like he believed he could’ve escaped.

With that thought, Dansan limped over and sat with back leaned against the mine wall. The figure entered his section of the hall a moment later. Dansan made eye contact with the thing, or he thought he did, he couldn’t exactly see its eyes.

“Do what you have to,” he told it, “I’ve got no reason to fight anyway.”

To its credit, the thing did what he asked it to. It walked up to Dansan, summoned its strange blade, and rammed it through his heart.

Dying, Dansan took notice of the strange black veins covering the figure's arms. He followed them up to the figure’s face, and he finally looked into the pitch black eyes of his killer.

 

Spoiler

 

[Ink and Embers Any pronouns]

23 hours ago, Rynturning_Light said:

Prologue for that writing project I mentioned a little while ago, for the protagonist fake out. It's currently 1027 words and I have not fully revised it. I will probably add more :3

Felled Havens in the working name

  Reveal hidden contents

@SpartanBrigade @Kansas Stormcursed @___  @Vielence @Verdance

  Reveal hidden contents

Prologue

Dansan’s back hurt. Constantly. In everything he did, pain shot through his spine. He’d just learned to live with it. He learned to live with a lot of things. 

Most recently, he’d learned to live with the overtaking of his previous mining operation, and the reassignment of his entire crew. He and Samuan, one of the newer members of said crew, had been assigned to some desolate pit under the wastes. It was pointless work. Most, if not all, of the cruor had been extracted from this area already. This close to Kiemachan, it would be surprising if they found anything of worth. This world wasn’t exactly in the business of leaving valuable resources alone.

Samuan emerged from the small tunnel leading to the mine proper. He was covered in the grim of Eospha. It coated everything that entered here. Sometimes, Dansan thought it looked like the planet was trying to reclaim what had been taken from it. He wasn’t so poetic, though. He left those thoughts to the creatives of Kaitos.

Samuan settled on the wall next to Dansan. He looked exhausted, worn down. They both did. 

“Long day?” Dansan asked. Samuan hummed a half-hearted agreement. Dansan didn’t try and pry a response out of him. Wasn’t his responsibility to keep the kid optimistic. Their job sucked. Plain and simple.

“It’s not fair,” Samuan said after a moment.

"What's not?"

“All of this. We follow protocol, and we get assigned to some cesspit in the wastes of civilization.”

“That’s why most of us ignore protocol. It never gets you anywhere good. It was created by people up in their gilded towers who have no idea how things work down here, in the ‘cesspits.’”

“Well, we couldn’t just ignore it. We mined up some new, unknown mineral. Were we just supposed to disregard that?”

“It wasn’t unknown. It was cruor. The thing we were assigned there to mine.”

“Didn’t look like any cruor I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t been down here long,” Dansan pushed off the wall, “We pull up strange things all the time, but we ignore them. Doin’ anything other than that lands you up in places like this.” He gestured to the mine around them.

Samuan quiets at that. Seniority has its perks sometimes.

Footsteps, confident and controlled, echoed off the mineshaft walls. Concerning, since next shift wouldn’t be down to relieve them for another hour, at least. 

“I thought our shift wasn’t done yet,” Samuan said.

“It’s not,” Dansan replied, “Not even close to bein’ done.”

"Then why..."

“I don’t know,” Dansan said, “But I can tell you one thing. That’s no miner.”

A figure appeared at the end of the hall. It, they, were shorter than Dansan. A hood covered their features. Within the dim glow of the mine lights it was as if only shadow existed under that hood. No face. Nothing human. They walked with a chilling confidence. 

No, this wasn’t a cruor worker. No one condemned to the heart of Eospha walked like that.

“Hello?” Samuan called out. The figure paused, but didn’t answer. Instead, they held out their hand, and Dansan watched as they manifested a blade. Pitch black, almost oily. Dansan had limited experience with manifestations in any capacity, but there was one thing he’s certain about. A physical manifestation from a healthy Connection did not look like that. They should be bright, as if made from light made solid.

This manifestation was twisted. Wrong, in almost an instinctual way. It shouldn’t exist, yet it did.

Before he could even register it, the figure charged them and implanted its blade into Samuan’s chest. 

The sound was the same as a normal manifested blade. No sound, truly. Just the wet crunch as it broke flesh and bone and entered the body. The chest bowed the same way. Inward, for just a second before the blade broke through. Dansan didn’t think he’d be around long enough to lay awake at night with the memory of it.

He turned and ran. Cowardly, maybe, but that sight was motivation to get out of there. Dansan took the only path available to him, he headed into the mines. The entrance tunnel was tight, low to the ground. You had to crouch basically the entire time climbing in or out. The rock scraped against his arms, opening cuts and carving at his skin.

Dansan heard something heavy hit the ground before those footsteps picked up behind him. Quicker, but still so chilling. Like the person was considering their steps, unrushed. 

Dansan knew, instinctually, that it was too late. Whatever that thing was, its skills beat out his own. It was stronger, faster. And it was here to kill. Still, he tried to run.

Reaching the mine proper, the ceiling raised and he was able to stand. He didn’t take time in appreciating this, though. As soon as he could, he turned down the left tunnel and sprinted. That thing had killed Samuan. It was here to kill him. Why did they report that weird cruor? They could have shipped it off with the rest and then he wouldn’t be here, and Samuan-

He tripped, hitting the ground. Recovering as quickly as he could, he stood to keep running. Sharp, blinding pain shot up his spine. He doubled over, holding him back. Through his hurting, he could hear those haunting footsteps. He hadn’t escaped, and he couldn’t now. Like he believed he could’ve escaped.

With that thought, Dansan limped over and sat with back leaned against the mine wall. The figure entered his section of the hall a moment later. Dansan made eye contact with the thing, or he thought he did, he couldn’t exactly see its eyes.

“Do what you have to,” he told it, “I’ve got no reason to fight anyway.”

To its credit, the thing did what he asked it to. It walked up to Dansan, summoned its strange blade, and rammed it through his heart.

Dying, Dansan took notice of the strange black veins covering the figure's arms. He followed them up to the figure’s face, and he finally looked into the pitch black eyes of his killer.

 

EPIC!!!!! The characterisation is super cool!!!!

[Rynturning_Light She/Her]

Tiny drabble

Spoiler

Anger has taken Love’s place by my side. I do not know when or how this happened, but it has. She is here now. She grips my hand tightly and tells me that she will protect us. I want to be protected. I have gone defenseless for so long. 

You cannot pry her hand from mine. I do not want you to. She is…comforting, in a way. It is nice to have her here. She shows me I am alive. I grip her hand just as tightly. You cannot take her from me. I will not let you.

People tell me I should not keep her around. That she is ruining things. That her touching is corrupting. They have no place to tell me so. They have Love by their side. Love looks at me with contempt. Anger does not.

No, Anger instead looks to me with affirmation. She does not leave me alone to grasp and claw at the unfairness of things. She gives me strength. Strength to yell and batter and punish all unfair. She supports me in these actions. I will not stand without her.

You cannot take her from me.

 

[Ink and Embers Any pronouns]

On 5/4/2026 at 4:59 PM, Rynturning_Light said:

Tiny drabble

  Reveal hidden contents

Anger has taken Love’s place by my side. I do not know when or how this happened, but it has. She is here now. She grips my hand tightly and tells me that she will protect us. I want to be protected. I have gone defenseless for so long. 

You cannot pry her hand from mine. I do not want you to. She is…comforting, in a way. It is nice to have her here. She shows me I am alive. I grip her hand just as tightly. You cannot take her from me. I will not let you.

People tell me I should not keep her around. That she is ruining things. That her touching is corrupting. They have no place to tell me so. They have Love by their side. Love looks at me with contempt. Anger does not.

No, Anger instead looks to me with affirmation. She does not leave me alone to grasp and claw at the unfairness of things. She gives me strength. Strength to yell and batter and punish all unfair. She supports me in these actions. I will not stand without her.

You cannot take her from me.

 

aaaaaaaa this is really really good

*hugs a lot*

[Rynturning_Light She/Her]

Relevant to my second writing project.

I've decided to try writing myths that would be told/recorded within the world. First time with this type of story framing, don't know if it's very good, but meh.

(Also, I barely proofread this lol)

Spoiler

Corrotto's Establishment

Firstly, I would like to establish that venor are not “born,” as it has been explained to me. Instead, they arise from Kaos’s essence and begin to be. Chi was very particular about that fact. I appreciate her fervor for a proper explanation, but I still find the intensity strange. Though, I suppose our Chaosbringer isn’t one to regulate even her slightest emotions. This distinction is important to this particular story as no mythos can be understood without its proper foundation. 
 

Chemia, in her truest form, arose from the disarray of Kaos. An exact time cannot be given for when this event occurred as time, of our understanding of it, does not flow in Kaos. She and her sibling arose as a corrected version of the original archetype of chaosbringers. This was the founding of the venor as we know them.

Eons passed within this proto state. The venor grew and matured within the cradle of Kaos’s magics. They developed their gifts and, more strangely, personalities. Perhaps in defiance of their Archivist counterparts, the venor advanced beyond what was expected of them. They grew to have personal thoughts and desires, separate from the will of Kaos. This fact overjoyed their older siblings. The Warped Ones saw promise within their younger siblings, a certainty that influenced their next moves.

Under the Warped Ones’ guidance, the venor were released from Kaos. They were shown the sprawling universe, and the many worlds developing within it. They were shown life, still primitive in their pursuits, and told that it needed guidance.

Chemia, along with four of her siblings, were given a new world. Corrotto, her elder brother, Sol, called it. They were told this world and its life forms needed direction, and that it was their duty to provide it. Chemia and her siblings were delighted by this fact. They would help this world, and ensure it was kept free of the Archivist’s influences.

Sol would keep watch over them and this world while the youngers worked. And so, they began.

Leviant, the second eldest sibling, took to teaching them to found communities. Those once stranded out to the elements built themselves shelters, which turned into homes. Those once forced to go hungry began tending crops, which became successful farms. With his guidance, towns and cities began to rise.

Chemia, the third eldest, chose to teach them mediation and leadership. From her guidance, wise and powerful sovereigns rose. Her brother’s cities gave them their places and people of rule. She taught proper negotiations, as well as how to keep peace within their societies.

Zenith, the third youngest, taught them the chaos of warfare. His teachings lead to strife and combat. Bloodshed was caused by his guidance. His siblings agreed it was necessary, and so it was taught. However, Leviant and Chemia ensured it did not go too far. Thankful, Zenith listened to them.

Ellia, one of the twins and second youngest, took charge of teaching them the blood sports. From her guidance, a mighty class of huntsmen and combatants rose. Building off her siblings' teaching, powerful armies formed to protect her brother’s cities and her sister’s governments. Her warriors also provided the perfect students for her brother’s teachings of battle.

Luci, the second born twin and the youngest sibling, taught them magics and faith. Perhaps the most important of the sibling’s job, she taught to trust in the venors and their teachings. While her siblings worked to found a true and thriving world, Luci ensured that their lessons were heard and followed. 

The siblings teachings led to the development and establishment of Corrotto. They loved this planet and its people, and the planet and people loved them back. They all grieved their departure when the siblings were called away, and they all awaited their return.

Only the eldest sister would return in full, however. And when she did, it was her who grieved the loss of Corrotto and its people.

 

 

Edited May 14 by Rynturning_Light

[CoderDrag0n8 He/They]

9 hours ago, Rynturning_Light said:

Relevant to my second writing project.

I've decided to try writing myths that would be told/recorded within the world. First time with this type of story framing, don't know if it's very good, but meh.

(Also, I barely proofread this lol)

  Hide contents

Corrotto's Establishment

Firstly, I would like to establish that venor are not “born,” as it has been explained to me. Instead, they arise from Kaos’s essence and begin to be. Chi was very particular about that fact. I appreciate her fervor for a proper explanation, but I still find the intensity strange. Though, I suppose our Chaosbringer isn’t one to regulate even her slightest emotions. This distinction is important to this particular story as no mythos can be understood without its proper foundation. 
 

Chemia, in her truest form, arose from the disarray of Kaos. An exact time cannot be given for when this event occurred as time, of our understanding of it, does not flow in Kaos. She and her sibling arose as a corrected version of the original archetype of chaosbringers. This was the founding of the venor as we know them.

Eons passed within this proto state. The venor grew and matured within the cradle of Kaos’s magics. They developed their gifts and, more strangely, personalities. Perhaps in defiance of their Archivist counterparts, the venor advanced beyond what was expected of them. They grew to have personal thoughts and desires, separate from the will of Kaos. This fact overjoyed their older siblings. The Warped Ones saw promise within their younger siblings, a certainty that influenced their next moves.

Under the Warped Ones’ guidance, the venor were released from Kaos. They were shown the sprawling universe, and the many worlds developing within it. They were shown life, still primitive in their pursuits, and told that it needed guidance.

Chemia, along with four of her siblings, were given a new world. Corrotto, her elder brother, Sol, called it. They were told this world and its life forms needed direction, and that it was their duty to provide it. Chemia and her siblings were delighted by this fact. They would help this world, and ensure it was kept free of the Archivist’s influences.

Sol would keep watch over them and this world while the youngers worked. And so, they began.

Leviant, the second eldest sibling, took to teaching them to found communities. Those once stranded out to the elements built themselves shelters, which turned into homes. Those once forced to go hungry began tending crops, which became successful farms. With his guidance, towns and cities began to rise.

Chemia, the third eldest, chose to teach them mediation and leadership. From her guidance, wise and powerful sovereigns rose. Her brother’s cities gave them their places and people of rule. She taught proper negotiations, as well as how to keep peace within their socities.

Zenith, the third youngest, taught them the chaos of warfare. His teachings lead to strife and combat. Bloodshed was caused by his guidance. His siblings agreed it was necessary, and so it was taught. However, Leviant and Chemia ensured it did not go too far. Thankful, Zenith listened to them.

Ellia, one of the twins and second youngest, took charge of teaching them the blood sports. From her guidance, a mighty class of huntsmen and combatants rose. Building off her siblings' teaching, powerful armies formed to protect her brother’s cities and her sister’s governments. Her warriors also provided the perfect students for her brother’s teachings of battle.

Luci, the second born twin and the youngest sibling, taught them magics and faith. Perhaps the most important of the sibling’s job, she taught to trust in the venors and their teachings. While her siblings worked to found a true and thriving world, Luci ensured that their lessons were heard and followed. 

The siblings teachings led to the development and establishment of Corrotto. They loved this planet and its people, and the planet and people loved them back. They all grieved their departure when the siblings were called away, and they all awaited their return.

Only the eldest sister would return in full, however. And when she did, it was her who grieved the loss of Corrotto and its people.

 

 

DANG THATS GOOD