Verdance

Coming up on the 4444th page, so… yeah this place is insane TLT forever

*appears* *waves hands* *transforms everything in the immediate area into grass*

Sir. The only battle i know of is a flame war and pardon my french, but this aint reddit

sir. what ARE we supposed to be doing?

Yes but do you have guns

See, an army is armed but all i own is an iPhone 13 so technically we are an unarmy

Can i be supreme commander of unarmed forces

Oh storms im sorry. the bald dragon seems to be suffering from a memory affliction. Someone beyond the comprehension of mortals is curious about what the google doc contains.

But she is mistaken. The cabin is no longer at the base of the mountain. It is somewhere else, the land of gods and visions. 9/10 returns to one of the pocket dimensions to repeat his experiment, pointedly ignoring Subversion. If Subversion did find the cabin, she would find some very interesting information you don’t seem to have, though it wouldn’t reveal anything I haven’t already posted on the Shard.

Go for it! Although it doesnt have to be TTL(your name) my username is Verdance but I couldn’t pass up the confusion of the word Grass

9/10mmHB#2 gave a theatrical bow. “Testing the limits of radioactive particle manipulation requires the ability to manipulate radioactive particles, and Nullite for…” he trailed off. “Uh, containment. I have this theory about electromagnetivity and physical light and chaotic darkness and particle condensers and ordered li-” he is rambling. It is awkward. 9/10 was never good at an overt lie. He turns red and disappears in a flash.

What does Through the Living Glass mean anyway if we’re a cult we need doctrine wrong answers only

I dub thee Through The Kansan Stormcurse

9/10mmHB#2 blinked. Well, if given the opportunity, he preferred deception. If it wasn’t obvious he wouldn’t tell. So he made something up. “Uh, testing the limits of radioactive particle manipulation, and accidentally gave myself cancer. Or superpowers. Maybe both.” —— Iromem was also hesitant, but he wanted to appear stronger, more competent, more courageous than he actually was. “Lets spread out. I-When one of us finds find Owen, if he has fallen into the hands of the Shadows, don’t engage, but find the others, then we can go from there.”

Is that a question, or a statement?

Holy- the TTLG sitch has gotten crazy. thats not even all of us, some of us don’t even start with “through the living” Join the cul- club!

The bald dragon, wounded on his back left pinky claw, goes and sulks. He regrets eating Bob #2, #3, and #4, and longs for his love the Sandwich.

When you post on TLT and have to wait in suspense for the cool kids to respond :3

There are two types of story in The Longest Thread. The frivolous, meaningless chaos of a story the authors didn’t care about was the first- in fact, the Thread was born from posts like this. These had little to no consequence and were soon forgotten. These second was the real story. The plot arc of a character who was truly believed in, the inspiration of a powerful tale, the writing of an author highly invested in their work. This was what the Thread had become. And this type of story couldn’t exist without consequences. At least, that was how 9/10mmHB#2 saw it. He wasn’t new to stories, but he wasn’t exactly an ancient character on the Thread. What he was about to attempt now would have consequences. If he failed, he would end up in the first category- a joke, entertainment, shallow nonsense. If he succeeded? Others would imitate him, copy this technique. The fundamental laws of the universe would be just a little bit weaker. The Witherlord would likely move against 9/10, maybe not the greatest threat but definitely worthy of attention. And of course, this experiment would have consequences on 9/10mmHB#2’s character, his personality, his very identity. He had to be deadly serious, not rush this through, decide if he was really determined to go through with this course of action. If he did nothing, there was a good chance the Thread was destroyed. Sure, there were other authors, other characters, but Inkwell had been part of that group and he had failed at everything he had attempted. It wasn’t guaranteed that the Thread survived, and if the Witherlord was the one to destroy the Thread, then 9/10’s death was guaranteed, either at the Witherlord or Sanguine’s hands. He had to become stronger. There wasn’t another choice. He bit back the hesitation, the overthinking, the decision he knew he would have to make if he succeeded. The time for contemplation and complacency was long passed. It was time to take up the burden of significance. He reached out through a Rift, drawing on his connection to Inkwell to yank him into this reality. “Sorry, brother. You would have ended up this way anyway,” he said, yanking Shadowlight out of his hands before he could react, snapping Inconsistency into knife form and thrusting it into his stomach. Inkwell shouted in pain, staggering back, clutching the wound. He probably expected Splendorlight to heal him, but it seemed to slip away from the young artist, leaking away from his body like the last smoke from a quenched flame. “Damnation, 9/10,” he gasped, “What took you so long,” smiling unconvincingly before collapsing on the floor. 9/10 meandered to the desk and drew a set of chains that yanked Inkwell up and pinned him to the wall, then pulled a broken fabrial from his pocket and used Shadowlight to repair it, pressing it to Inkwell’s shirt and healing the wound. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you. We’re still connected, you and I. I want this body to persist no matter what. No, I need you for something else.” He returned to the desk, where two sets of fundamental cores sat, fresh from their author’s vault. He unlocked and opened both, laying their contents on the table. Two smooth ingots of dark metal, and two jagged opaque white crystals. They repelled each other as if magnetically. “Okay,” 9/10 said, laying Shadowlight on the desk and stretching. “Let’s get started, shall we?” Inkwell was silent. 9/10 cocked his head. “No comment? I’m actually disappointed.” Then he stretched out his consciousness, preparing a quite large Rift. An instant later, he allowed it to close. Nothing seemed different. “Idiot. That did nothing,” Inkwell said. “Not quite nothing,” 9/10 replied. “We now occupy the Spiritual Realm. My presence is negating many of the instabilities, but I do have a reason to be here.” He glanced about the desk. The cores appeared less like physical objects and more like opposite orbs, one radiating light and the other absorbing it. Good. He picked up a sphere of Ordered Darkness and pressed it to his chest, breathing in. It was absorbed into his being. He was probably an Enuller now, though he didn’t seem to gain any new powers. He took a Chaotic Light sphere and pressed it to Inkwell’s chest. “Breathe in, or you lose a hand,” he ordered curtly. Inkwell paled and sucked in the Prismite. Now he was a Narrator, though 9/10’s Enulling would keep him pinned. Now to actually do the deed. He retrieved Inconsistency and pinned one of the Nullite spheres to the desk, then stabbed deep into it with the dagger. Focusing hard, he flexed the same mental muscles he would when creating a Rift, using the ability only a Flaw had to command the narrative, reality, the laws of this world themselves to break. The Nullite resisted, but after a few seconds he felt something give, and suddenly found himself holding two different objects, one dark and formless and the other colorless and smooth. They were difficult to grasp, and gravitated to each other instantly, but he managed to put each in an opposite pocket before repeating the process on the remaining Prismite sphere- this one producing a formless light and a jagged colorless stone. He smiled. It was working. Wonderful. He set the essences of light and order to the side, instead taking the dark and chaotic essence into his hands and molding them together like clay. They accepted each other surprisingly quickly, and he suddenly found himself holding an orb of chaotic darkness. He had done it. He had separated Prismite and Nullite and recombined them, creating Mordite. He wasn’t given much time to consider the achievement, however, as the metal immediately began burning and withering away at his hands. He cursed, dropping the mordite and kicking it away into a corner. He cursed against, looking at his hands, then quickly grabbed Inconsistency, transforming it and throwing it around his neck. The burning subsided. “Note to self,” he said aloud. “Don’t handle Mordite with bare hands. He missed Futility. What was Fog doing with his powers anyway? Killing off beloved minor characters? He pushed it aside while Inkwell laughed, then shot his prisoner a glare. “Shut up. You won’t be laughing long.” He pulled the fabrial glove back on, then picked up the Mordite sphere and pocketed it. Now, the final test. Would the author let him produce Luxite? Would other authors allow this? He snatched at the essences of light and order, which to his frustration, were dwindling away, dissolving into the Spiritual Realm. He wasted no time in molding them together- this time they resisted. The narrative didn’t want to allow this- Luxite was supposed to be rare, even unobtainable. He did not relent, fighting it mentally and physically. Break, he told reality. Bend to my will. It took a lot of strength, but he managed to combine the two in a dazzling flash of light. He slowly peeled back his fingers. A glass orb, shining like a star brought down from the sky, sitting in the palm of his hand. Luxite. His Luxite. He crowed in triumph. “I did it! Yes, storms, I did it!” Inkwell stared in silent disbelief while 9/10 stared transfixed at the orb. It burned at the touch like a gentle spice, rejecting the darkness in him. But the order… it called to him, a sirens song of inevitability, of authority, of stability. A silent death awaited any evil that met this metal. He shook himself out of the reverie, pocketing the precious Luxite and returning to the Mordite. “Absorbing essences…” he mused. “Will the host accept a new one? Can I change their allignment forcibly?” Inkwell spoke. “You can’t bond that, 9/10. That’s a bad idea.” 9/10 sneered. In this moment, despite his pathetic presence and failure to establish himself as a villain, he looked truly evil. A desperate and insane evil, but evil nonetheless. “Oh, I won’t be bonding any mordite today,” he said. “You will.” Inkwell’s eyes widened, he thrashed, struggling against the chains, but to no avail. “You see, I have no need of the powers of mordite,” 9/10 mused, rolling the mordite around in the gloved hand, “And I don’t relish the thought of being in the power of the Witherlord. If anyone will destroy the Thread, it will be me, under my own power. But, to remove you as an obstacle? That would be worth my time.” He approached Inkwell and continued, “You won’t die. If you find Fog and she takes pity on you, your soul might not even be damaged that badly. You’re a good person…” He reached Inkwell, pressing the sphere of Mordite to his chest with one hand and covering his mouth and nose with the other. “You can stay alive,” he sang softly to Inkwell, who held on valiantly. “Just tell me that you notice…” Inkwell’s eyes grew wide, frantic, as he jerked against the chains. “Even in the dark…” The mordite felt cold in his hand. “The way I left you breathing…” Inkwell stared coldly at 9/10, sucking in an angry breath. “Sometimes when we touch, everything we love, resets…” Inkwell’s skin began to burn away, his form replacing itself with black smoke. “It’s only just enough, even when we run, with death…” 9/10 finished. Inkwell’s body was falling apart, the mordite absorbed into his body. He bled black smoke, the flesh beneath melting away into a form composed entirely of living ink. He lunged for 9/10, his body no longer confined by the chains, but 9/10 was too quick, warding him away with the light of the luxite sphere. 9/10 himself sucked in a breath, pushing away the pain as it felt the light of the sun was burning him away from the inside. Light. You will be a protagonist. A protector. He aligned himself to the intent, accepting it- it was that or die- and the pain receded. Withergeist-Inkwell stared at his hand, forming it into a spike and thrusting it at 9/10, who fell backwards as his body too collapsed, skin falling into pure light, which he immediately directed at Inkwell. “I said I wouldn’t kill you,” he said to the withergeist. “Go. Find Fog. I show you mercy. You can even take the pen with you.” He gestured with the light, which burned away at Inkwell, who hissed, retrieving Shadowlight and disappearing in a flash or darkness. Consequences. Yes. There would be consequences for this. He wasn’t quite a Luxsprite, but neither was he a Flaw. He was something else now. Something strong. And the entire Thread would respect him now. If not, they would fear his name. 9/10mmHB#2. Fear it. He chuckled, taking Inconsistency and leaving the Spiritual Realm behind in a flash like the light of the morningstar.

All the middle ones :3

Iromem doesn’t exactly want to fight the Shadows, but he won’t be caught unarmed. —— 9/10 came out to the door. “What is it? I just finished my big villain moment and I need to be ready for other people’s reactions.” He was glowing conspicuously. Or rather, his body was completely composed of light. In fact, in an instant, a lot had changed- the cabin and everything in a large sphere around it had suddenly been eaten by a Rift, and the fabric of reality here was growing thin.

9/10mmHB#2 was pleased, yet astounded. “That… worked?”, he sputtered. Well, that was nothing compared to the real task. He reached into one of the paper bags, but couldn’t find anything inside, including the bottom of the bag. “Huh, must be hammerspace,” he mused. He picked up the other bag and Rifted into the space inside. He appeared in a metal closet like an industrial freezer, shelves laden with hightech cylindrical containers. The air here, the reality here, it was different. Unburdened by the stench of prismite that tempered the rest of the Thread. A Narrator wouldn’t be able to teleport into here. He picked up a container and examined it. It emanated an aura that resonated similarly to his own- ordered darkness, nullite, control and silence. And so much of it… the sudden feeling of power overwhelmed him. He Rifted into the other room- it was identical, but the cores stored there reminded him more of Inkwell- creation, chaos, life. He took two cores each with him and emerged back into the cabin. This next part would be… tricky.

I did subscribe to both tho not like a max level patron, but definitely a paid supporter whens the next update coming out anyway, fingers crossed i get hallucinations

Thats a feature i haven’t unlocked yet

I am unfortunately unenlightened.