Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current You couldn't even imagine it...
2 yrs ago
Why does saying "I love you" have to have so many romantic connotations? There are so many people I love in a way seperate from anything romantic. <3
2 yrs ago
I'm fucking back with a fucking vengeance, I just wish I had some wine
2 yrs ago
Bourbon and tea is a good idea
2 yrs ago
He's made of bones, he's made of blood, he's made of flesh, he's made of love. He's made of you, he's made of me. UNITY!


A thing that will die after eating rat poison

But really, a guy that likes to RP. Not too keen on sharing personal info in my bio, but after I get to know you, I may open up a bit more in regards to certain things.

I have been roleplaying for most of my life, but forum RP is newer to me than tabletop. I wanted something to do to kill time without putting wayyyy too many hours into Dark Souls 3.

I love music, historical fencing and re enactment, making shit, and just being cool with people. Talk any of these things with me, and you'll be cool with me. I have very strong thoughts on sandwiches. Ask if you dare.

Here's a list of cool people from this site that are just cool people that I enjoy talking with, and a quote from each of them. In no particular order, here they are:

"What the shit?"

"Don't quote me."

"Rodent is a little shit, I want to beat him up but in the most loving way"

"If you're feeling unimportant, always remember that every protagonist was an NPC before their most important story began"

"haha yeah"

"I'm just running an aux through my amp, Playing Van Halen at 05:50"

And that's that. There's not much else I feel like saying. Here's a list of bands I like (to be made soon)

Most Recent Posts

Beauty is Deception

Zisqe stands before the gathered tribe, Ovainn standing small behind them. Anticipation littered the air like teeth littered their bodies. Or now, some of their bodies. Zisqe had been waiting to heal before doing this, and now that the chitin had stitched up, the time had arrived.

”My family. My loves,” they start, shaking. ”I bring before you Ovainn. The first of the Bujzii,”

There was silence as the tribe stared at Ovainn, who shrank back behind Zisqe’s leg. Zisqe sighs a shaky sigh. They pat Ovainn on the head in an attempt to comfort, but it could feel how shaky its parent was.

”Ovainn can see things that aren’t there, like those who are Ruined,” Zisqe says. Scowls grow deeper. ”But they are not Ruined. They can speak full words, and they can see things that are there,”

There’s a shift in how the crowd watches them now. Suspicion ebbs a little, making way for interest to flow forth.

”I made a trip to the mountains. There I found a monster in a maw of rock. I heard Uzit’s cries coming from this maw, but saw nothing before I had to run for fear of my life. Uzit is in the mouth of the mountain, and Ovainn will be able to see them. Do not shun how they stand on the edge of the Ruined, praise it, for it will return one of us.”

A cheer tears through the icy mood. One person, up the back. But these things catch, and Joy is infectious. Soon enough, the rest of the crowd is whooping at the idea, even if they never knew Uzit.

As it dies down, someone raises their arm. Antoz, the childhood friend of Uzit. “You will not kill the monster yourself. I will come.”

Zisqe nods, ”Antoz, you speak my words. I need one more,” Zisqe says. They smile.


The other one that joined them was called Eves. They all spent the night together, and set out the next morning, into the jungle. They were equipped with nets, spears, rope, and baskets.

The air was no less oppressive than it was with only one person. It seemed to jump forth and stifle any attempt at conversation before it even left the head. The heat, the wet, the quiet. All that could be heard was the footsteps, and occasionally some kind of necessary communication.
The river that had held dead fish last time Zisqe took this route was now full of nothing. There was only water, slipping away. They had to eat berries and fruits and nuts. They had to drink water from a stream that had once been full of life.

Birds chirped on the last morning of the journey. They had all slept at the bottom of the first foothill, the sheer cliff. Zisqe wanted them to be fresh when they came up against the monster.

As they climbed, and left the dense jungle air, a different type of oppression overcame them. One of sombreness. Someone important may die. Zisqe gripped their spear tighter.
The cliff was rocky enough that they could climb with ease. They all followed Zisqe up, and they all knew that if Zisqe fell, so would they all, and nobody in the village would know.

But they made it to the top. There was the bird, watching them. Zisqe helped them up, one by one. ”Now, you two,” they point to Antoz and Eves, ”Stand either side of the maw. I will stay out front and lure it out. When it’s here, catch it with this net. Try to reign it in. Tie the ends together, then we’ll work together to wound it until death.”

Antoz spoke next, “What if we fail to catch it?”

”Then we try to lure it off the cliff. If it does not become dead after that, then we run that way” Zisqe says, pointing across the mountain range.

“What do I do?” Ovainn asked. Their small, high voice was an absurd contrast to the feel of the place.

Zisqe stood and picked Ovainn up. ”You stay here, and only come out when I call for you,” they said, walking over to a small crevasse in the side of the mountain.


From inside the crevasse, Ovainn could see nothing but stone. They heard their creator walking away. Some muffled words. A long silence followed. It was stretched, like hide on a rack. Like a wave, just as it had clawed up the shore. Just before it rushes back out to sea, taking sand with it. It was a painful silence. Every moment was a spear. Every moment of nothing that passed suggested the idea that the monster had already come. It had already eaten. It ate so quickly that nobody could react. Or maybe there was no mo-

A loud roar.

Shouts, screams. Cries. Zisqe yelling for them to ”Hold on!”. Grunts. The monster letting out a roar, shredding the air. Eating wills and moving the bones in their bodies.
There was a loud scream, cut short.

Might it have been Zisqe? Ovainn had to see. Had to know. They moved their hand out of the crevasse, palm pointing towards the sounds. Opening an eye.

And immediately retracted its hand. Zisqe was fine. Ovainn was pale as the shadow of a doubt.

The image stuck in its head. Tentacles, teeth, parts unnamed. A jaw the size of them. Ovainn had to see again. Call it morbid curiosity. The curiosity only a child can muster, with all the reasoning alongside it. Ovainn sticks its head out, and opens the Fallen Eye.

What it sees is not at all what it saw before. Gone were the tentacles. Gone was the jaw. It no longer roared.

It cried.

It was curled on the ground, the net draped gently over it. It cried. Desperate cries, fearful cries. Betrayed cries. It was a Bujzell, curled up and wailing. The rest of them were fighting nothing, ducking out of the way of things that weren’t there.

Ovainn yelled out, but Zisqe rushed in.

Antoz cheered, and Zisqe turned immediately to Ovainn. They strode over, a storm on their face. ”Ovainn! I told you, stay behind there until I tell you to get out! It’s not safe. The mons-”

Antoz screamed a scream of despair.

Zisqe whirled around to see what was going on, and caught sight of the scene.

The monster was gone. In its place lay Uzit, spear thrust all the way through it.

Is creation of something new from things that already exist creation, or transformation?

What had happened next was fleet. Whatever it was that was in that cave was…

So Zisqe ran.

Back through the woods, along the stream, for some amount of time that didn’t register.

Presently, what did register was the intense pain all over. Zisqe couldn’t move without something overstretching. Their head throbbed like the waves, and their legs were plagued by a sensation of pressure and stinging. Opening its eyes was a laborious effort, for they felt full of sand, but when they were open it saw the room it was in belonged to Isi, who wasn’t currently anywhere to be seen.

Zisqe sat up, muscles screaming. It saw its legs. The chitin on the bottom had chipped off, leaving raw flesh underneath, teeth sticking out at all angles. It let out a shocked cry and laid back down, making a conscious effort to look at the ceiling.

The view of Isi was soon at the side of Zisqe, concern in its eyes at it put a delicate hand on its shoulder to soothe the pained one. For a moment, Isi looked back over the damage of Zisqe’s legs before looking back into its eyes, being silent for just a moment for it finally decided to speak.

“It is okay, Zisqe. Just-“ Isi began, her eyes instinctively looking at the legs of Zisqe once more, “Just rest.”

”Is- Isi… I couldn’t find,” Zisqe says, coughing. ”I couldn’t find Uzit. I went to the mountain, and…”
The memory returned and cut its words off.

Isi seemed to pause in its movement, the only movement being the gentle rubbing of Isi’s thumb against Zisqe’s shoulder. Its eyes met with Zisqe’s once more, concern leading to a restrained, yet silent, sorrow. It allowed that silence to stay there for a moment.

“I-it’s fine. I-“ Isi paused once more, controlling its emotions, though sadness still resonating in its voice, “I am o-only concerned about y-you, right now.”

”Isi. I will go again when I have healed. I will go until I have found Uzit,” it says, laying a hand on Isi’s. ”But trouble may find this goal. In the mountain…”

“Please… i-if you came back like this. I- I can’t let you go again. W-what if something worse happens?” Isi questioned, before looking away in a vain attempt to cast away the memories.

”Oh Isi, you know the chitin heals quickly. It is not bad. I’m not going alone next time,” Zisqe said, words confident, grip on Isi’s hand tightening slightly.

Isi did not look back at Zisqe, not finding the strength to look at it. “... who are you taking with you?” Isi asked softly, its hand squeezing Zisqe’s shoulder as the words escaped it.

Zisqe smiled. In truth, they didn’t know at all. They had just said that to stop Isi worrying. ”In sureness, there would be many who want to help. Antoz, especially. They were close before…” they said, trailing off. A thought came to it, unbeckoned. ”Our God… I did find a spiral of stones that feels like It, but less wild. I will also ask there”

“Our God... “ Isi echoed, pulling its hand away from Zisqe’s grasp before echoing once more, “Our God…” There was a momentary hesitation, Isi thinking of words to say or even thoughts to settle upon, though finding such a task hard to complete. “Our God... has done little to help find Uzit. M-maybe… m-maybe it’s time to look elsewhere,” Isi said, its voice hesitant and soft as it finally looked back to Zisqe.

Zisqe met Isi’s eyes with their own. ”Do you speak of Vakk? It is a god, but not our God. But I am not the one to talk of gods and their ways. For all we know, Vakk is just another form of our God.”

Isi looked away once more, nodding its head in a silent agreement before speaking, “I suppose you’re right.” It rested its head upon Zisqe’s chest, “I just do not know what to do anymore.” Tears slowly began to roll down Isi’s face as no longer knew what to do or how to help in finding Uzit.

“I- I just want Uzit back,” it cried.

Zisqe pulls Isi down to the bed and hugs them to its chest. It says nothing, but holds Isi tight. Sometimes, the lack of words is more helpful. Time seemed to pass slowly as it allowed Isi to sob, knowing that sadness would grip them until Uzit was found, but in times like this, there was little else to be done.

After a silence like a hearth, Zisqe felt a pull from the inside of their skull. They spoke. ”Isi, carry me to the spiral of stones.”

Isi slowly pulled away from Zisqe’s grasp, its wet eye looking into Zisqe’s own for a moment before silently nodding as it got to its feet. Their hands moved under Zisqe’s back and under their knees before lifting its parent before silently beginning the walk.


The stones reached into the night sky like hands. The roots beneath twisted. The air was polluted by the night’s vague shine, and a Presence could be felt. One which sat in the back of your mind and posed questions. Uncertainty was the regent here, but uncertainty which was separated from the discomfort that could surround its god.

Zisqe looked to Isi. ”Walk me around the spiral, to the center,” it said.

So Isi did, cautiously moving over the twisted roots, looking around for the presence that it felt while moving. Their eyes wandering from stone to stone, almost tripping on a root, but quickly catching itself as reality came back to Isi. Eventually, they reached the center of the spiral before Isi looked down at Zisqe.

“Would you like me to leave you here?” it asked with hesitation.

Zisqe ponders this question for a moment. It seemed like a question to ponder while here. ”No. Stay, you might learn something. But do put me on the roots by the stone,” they said.

Isi nodded, walking to the roots before gingerly setting Zisqe on the roots before stepping to the side in silence. After a moment, Isi asked another question, “Why did you need to come here?”

”I don’t know yet,” Zisqe said.

A few minutes passed. The trees loomed. Their shadows twisted, falling over the circle. One tendril pushed up and shot forward, going through Zisqe and into the stone.

Zisqe saw themselves walking an endless blue corridor, eyes watching from overhead. It walked through a room with ropes dangling from the walls, before reaching a long and narrow one that it would not fit through. Something gleamed on the other side, long and thin and shiny.

A loud thud from behind. There sat an eye, like the ones in the sky. Dirt began pouring in like water from the walls, soon enveloping Zisqe.

And they were back in the circle as it was before the shadows shifted. ”Isi, I know why I asked you to bring me here, but I know not what that is,”

Isi cocked its head at the words before asking, “What do you mean?”

”I saw a large corridor, then one I couldn’t fit through. There was something at the end of the second one, but I couldn’t see what it was. Then an eye fell from the sky and dirt poured over it like water”

For a moment, Isi thought to itself a hand going to its chin as it thought of what it meant. Its mind went over the possible answers before its mind went over how their species propagated, knowing that parts of the body had to be buried. Isi looked at Zisqe before letting out its suggestion, “It could mean that you must plant your eye into the ground and grow another child.”

Zisqe nodded slowly. ”Then I will bear this.”
They reached up to their face. The scream briefly tore away any serenity in the air.

Blood and teeth were fresh on the soil as Zisqe scraped at it, digging a hole large enough to bury an eye. The teeth mixed with the soil when it was being heaped back over, forming a gruesome mound. It was saturated with blood, teeth, and other fleshy strings.

Isi had looked away for a majority of the process, despite having had done a similar process when making Uzit and their other children, but still finding it hard to watch. When it was all done, Isi looked to the mound, thoroughly covered in blood and viscera, before they thought of what to say next.

“Why would you need to make another child, is my question,” Isi said, looking to Zisqe as it took a step forward, but not going any further. Zisqe shrugs in response, clutching their eye socket.

And just then, a singular drop of something falls from the sky. It drifts on fleet air to the pile. The earth ruptures. And there it laid, something eyedentical to a Bujzell, but without chitin. It opened its eyes. Then more. And still more, until there were countless.

”You will be called Ovainn, and you are my child,” Zisqe says, impossibly unperturbed.

Ovainn casts its eyes around, missing nothing. “What are you?”

”Tell me when you find out. But my name is Zisqe,

Ovainn focuses all its eyes on Isi. “And you?”

“I am Isi, first of Zisqe,” they said simply, looking at the chitinless Bujzell before casting a concerned look to Zisqe.

Zisqe catches Isi’s look of worry. They pull Ovainn in for a hug, who moves for the first time ever. “Hello Isi, hello Zisqe. What’s that?” Ovainn says. It opens one more eye, between the regular two. It was a brilliant blue. It pointed over towards the trees.

”Those are trees, Ovainn. Aren’t they so green?”

“No, what I’m pointing at isn’t green”

Isi’s eyes did not follow what Ovainn was pointing to, focused on the oddity of the creature that Zisqe was holding in a hug. “It’s chitinless,” she remarked, looking between Zisqe and Ovainn before finally looking in the direction of where Ovainn had pointed to determine whether or not something was green.

Ovainn stood up and walked to where it was pointing, and Zisqe looked at Isi, saying ”It has no chitin, but that just means we have to protect it more.”. They smiled.

Ovainn called out, “This, it’s a fire now I can see it from close.”
There was no eye.

Isi gave a confused look over to Ovainn before speaking to Zisqe, “I have never seen a child with no chitin. It’s… strange.”

”So were you when you first arrived. And me,” Zisqe said, smiling. Blood had stopped flowing so freely from their eye.

Collab with my man @Lauder
Just as what we think is sometimes false,
what we see can be false.
The difficulty is knowing where the falsehood lies.

Zisqe sat and considered the riddle given to them, as well as Vakk’s hint.
A mighty legion, fearless, footsoldiers, highest and lowest points…
All of Galbar. Water ruins them.
Perhaps it was one of the other people that Karamir spoke of? But surely their god wouldn’t give an impossible answer. Perhaps it would.

Surely a puzzle was life’s greatest pleasure. The sea stretched before them, golden sand beneath. A hazy sky soared above, breathing. They were sitting on a warm rock. The small village was bustling behind them, which was pleasant indeed. All of them were each other’s family, and even though some were far removed from Zisqe, the love they held for these people was warmer than the rock they sat upon.

A crunching of sand caused Zisqe to turn around. Isi was walking towards them. Of all the loves Zisqe bore, Isi was the first, and one of the strongest.
”Is there a bother, Isi my darling?” Zisqe asked, turning all the way around.

“No, no bother. I had just thought…” Isi replied. The words were withdrawn and somewhat flat.

”Take a seat and regail me,”

“Of the riddle. It mentions the one we lost. Could it mean Uzit?”

Zisqe looked to the sky, to the sea, then to their feet. ”I had taken this to mean our god,” it said slowly, knowing that Uzit was a point of tension for Isi.

“Our god is lost, but we did not lose it. We did lose Uzit.” Isi said bluntly.

Zisqe had a bit of a think before saying, ”Surely this is accurate. Uzit it is. Both, perhaps!”

“Perhaps. Have you known the answer to the riddle yet?”

”No,” Zisqe sighed, ”but I have suspicions. What about mountains?”

Isi turned and grinned at Zisqe. “I think surely it is mountains.”

”Mountains aren’t ruined by water. No,” Zisqe replied, creasing its brow.

Isi looked out to sea, thinking. They looked to the wetern shore, all rocky. “Rocks in the sea are rounded by it. Why not streams with mountains?” Isi said.

Zisqe stared out towards the west shore. Their face started as puzzled, then awed, doubtful, and finally, understanding. Enlightenment surged up into their chest, and made their hands tingle. They dropped to the sand below, lying down, beholding the sky. ”You’ve got it, Isi!”

Isi smiled and said “When is it you go there?”



The following morning, Zisqe was ready to go. They had a spear, a stone knife, and a basket. Considering the jungle supported the tribe’s life, everything else that might be needed lay within.

Zisqe had seen how far the mountains were before. It would probably take four days to get there if they traveled quickly. This was one of the reasons they were travelling alone. Besides, the biggest danger was hunger, and that’d only be amplified with more people.

And so they took the plunge, stepping from the light undergrowth into the jungle proper.

Immediately, the air was thicker. Full with the scent of old water and dead leaves. The sound of a creek hissed nearby. Zisqe walked towards that, as it was the best way to keep near a water source. In the heat, one could die quickly without that. The other, perhaps more beneficial reason to follow it was that water runs downhill, and following it upstream would probably lead to mountains.

Zisqe plodded along the creek, step by step by step. They walked until the sun was directly overhead, then stopped and sat. It plunged its hands into the water to drink. A foul smell invaded the otherwise serene setting. The smell filled it with a sharp feeling, something that told of death and rot and old hair.

Something solid bumped into Zisqe’s hand.

They bit into it. It tasted of fish, but didn’t squirm like one. Zisqe looked down into the creek. The water was deeper than they thought it was. The first one slid from upstream. It was on top of the water, shiny, slick, stinky. Belly-up. Another followed, bumping off of a rock and rolling over.

Zisqe looked down at its hands. Dead fish, unmarked by tooth, spear, or beak. The taste of it soured in Zisqe’s hand-mouth, and they threw it to the other bank. The stench in the air seemed even more severe now.

Why are they…

Zisqe looked over the river, mystified. Such a thing had never been seen, and this could mean less food for their people. They rose, slowly stepping back. Retreating into the trees.

Four days of walking through thick, indifferent jungle later, Zisqe arrived at a foothill. A steep and gravelly cliff. Atop it sat an ink black bird, great and deshevilled. Pustules surrounded its beak and eyes, its wings were tattered. Filthy grey skin showed under. It flew away when Zisqe stepped out of the tree cover, back towards the mountains.

Gingerly, Zisqe started the climb. They had no ropes, no safeguard. If they fell, they fell. The gravel sneered challengingly up at them. It bit at their feet, but gave way to the rock below it, almost out of spite.

A slip.

Zisqe fell flat on its face. It slid, gravel biting and gnawing at their skin. It shredded flesh and chipped chitin as it rolled them down the slope and denied their flailing hands any lasting purchase.

Until their hands found a small hole, free of gravel. The fingers remaining on that hand nearly popped right off as they took the entire weight of Zisqe, but perhaps by luck, they didn’t. Zisqe took extra care climbing the rest of the slope.

Once atop it, Zisqe could see for what seemed like forever. It could see the village over the trees, even the Gap in the distance. But most eye-catchingly, it could see a massive maw in the side of a mountain, four times taller than any Bujzell, and twelve times wider. Light seemed to flee from it.

The bird from before sat on an outcrop above the cave, staring into Zisqe. Something was laid bare. The bird could surely see everything there was to see. Its eyes…

But Zisqe steeled themselves. Nothing a bird could do could threaten it.

It walked towards the cave until it was all but being swallowed. It felt more than just emptiness before it. There was something more than air. Something which being fled from. Surely it was their God, in a particularly ruinous mood. Ready to show Zisqe what Uzit saw all those moons ago.

It wasn’t.

Aedthel watched his guests take their seats around the fire with interest. To him, the seating arrangements did not appear to bother them. A relief. However, he thought he detected a cool reaction from Kerenatam when he was presented with the food. His words, "How quaint!", were cordial and well meaning, though the word "Quaint" had connotations of infancy and mere amusement. A hesitation, a peripheral glance. Not so much of a relief.

Arlanna, for her part, was full of grace. Her and Aedthel had become familiar with each other over theological debate before he had gone on that expedition, but that was long ago. It'd be foolish to make assumptions about whether that grace meant anything at all.

All that being said, he held Arlanna in high esteem for her knowledge, and this showed in the welcoming smile he gave her. To Kerenatam he showed no such respect in his gaze, rather a void of anticipation. A space which was like blank paper, waiting to be written on. A challenge to show his mettle, if you will.

Aedthel turned to Kinn and began communicating to him what he wanted the guests to hear when the man to Kerenatam's right decided to comment on the hesitation.

"Look here, a man who can't cook his own food. Here, let me-"
He stopped when he caught Aedthel's glare. A savage thing. Wrathful and contemptuous and Divine all in one: a smite in a glance. The man went white. He was only a minor officer, recently promoted and yet to prove himself. The Divine did not need to be furious for him to fear for his position, and now, it was.

Ran, a training officer seated to the right of the offensive man, also caught this gaze. Ran punched the offending man in the back. Wherever it was the blow landed, the man doubled over. Ran looked up to Aedthel. Aedthel nodded, and Ran pulled the weaker man off his seat, taking it.

Enacting the will of The Divine had its benefits.

Kinn spoke next. "Lord Aedthel is deeply sorry that this... boy was so rude. They showed that the role which they have is not deserved. Aedthel hopes amends have been made. So does the boy, probably."

How Aedthel loved that Kinn could say what was appropriate.
Just waiting on collab stuff at this point
Zisqe's Uncertainty With How Things Will Proceed
and Consequently
Where They Will Go

The air was waterlogged and pungent, like a corpse washed up on shore. Undergrowth creeped upwards ‘till it became overgrowth. Sunlight wormed its way through the foliage in places, then cut through the thickness of the air, providing a most welcome break.

At a stream Zisqe sat. They opened mouths on their hands, and dipped them in the water to drink. A basket of woven twigs lay next to them and a sharpened stick dug into the sand just beside that. They sighed.

The cove was nearly a days walk away, two if they stopped for sleep. Gathering was a job that did require longer trips. Especially if one had to gather stories as well. It seemed this trip would be fruitless for that, though.

They drew their hands out of the stream, and leaned back onto their haunches, looking to the other bank.

It lay there, as it was.

Zisqe snatched the spear and basket, one in each hand. Less than a second later it was behind a bush. Watching. Ready. Their vision pooled for a second. Dilated. Then focused, like a tunnel.

I mustn’t unfocus.

It was still there, as it was. Zisqe tightened their grip on the spear. Little help it would be. They looked at it to try find comfort, and it morphed before their eyes. It became a barbed, wicked thing, dripping a muddy liquid.

And it was looking upon an unmoving scene. A great, tentacled beast was impaled upon a spear held by Zisqe’s god. There was a man wearing black and holding a club, and a snake-looking thing. There was a great wooden thing on a colossal stream, a crater, and a mountain that twisted upwards. The same muddy liquid from before was spurting from the great beast.

”When atrocities are committed, colours revealed, and there is a certainty for a lack of change, our solutions are few. When other solutions are but food, what is a battle?”

Zisqe came to. Words echoed in their head.
It, as it was, was gone.

Zisqe shook their head, turned towards the town, and began walking.


This one looked upon Zisqe’s sleeping body. It was beautiful, exactly as it had intended. The small eddies of sun washed against chitin and ran off, bathing the ground around it in a golden light.

This One was sorry for Zisqe, in that this day long trip had been for nothing. It decided that it would give them a good story.


The sun was setting, and light was nearly a forgotten concept in the jungle. Zisqe had been walking since noon, and decided it was about time to sleep for the night. It looked around for a comfortable spot, free of roots and large rocks.

The roots only seemed to get thicker the further it walked, though. Thicker, and stranger. They grew in spirals around the base of the trees, pointing towards other trees as they fanned out. Between trees, roots twirled around one another, joining into one.

Before long, the ground was nothing but a twisting mess of roots trying to pierce through their brethren to reach soil below. And it was here that the stones were.

They were arrayed in a spiral running opposite to the roots, becoming taller the closer they got to the center. Zisqe bore the sight of this in awe. It traced the edge of the spiral with slow, deliberate, caressing steps. Each took it closer to the center, but it was not paying attention to this, instead to the majesty of the center stone.

It had carvings in it that seemed to live and breathe. They churned among themselves in all but one area. One strip, all the way around the stone. It was blank.

Upon approaching this stone, it shifted to look at Zisqe. The weight of the gaze hit them with the force of a strong wave. They remained standing, but a second wave came, this time more forceful. They fell to their knees. A third wave. To their face.

“To find the one you lost, you must come to us. We are a mighty legion of armoured siblings. We do not fear weapons, no matter how great or small, but water ruins us. We are effortlessly strong, yet push nothing. To reach us, you must first pass through our footsoldiers.”

Consider that having fewer memories causes time to drag on.
Do years not seem shorter as time goes past?
This One had been sitting on the beach Abanoc had left it at.
Several years have passed
From this vantage point, it witnessed how things change.
It had a detailed memory of each day on the beach.

Now consider how an idle mind finds something to do.
To elaborate: in silence, one thinks.
Such is also true for This One, for it forgot, and it is not sane.
Neither is it absent.

The waves were swelling again. The sea forever tried to take some land for itself, but never succeeded in holding it. Such a sight had prompted the one who was long ago told it was called Eurysthenes to think about holding power.

Take the land and the sea as an allegory for what I am about to suggest.
The sea is power, and the land is opposition. The sea uses its power to take from the land, and thus I may draw parallels.
The land which is held by the sea is eventually, willingly or not, given back. It is in power’s nature to never hold too much.
No matter your power, there will always be something new to overcome.
So, from this we can draw the conclusion that opposition is infinite, and power must always give in to opposition.

It smiled as best as a puddle of parts could. The work of several years, concentrated into a handful of succinct sentences.
Power is temporary.
One conclusion.

Purity was a thing easy to find beautiful, so it was easy to find beauty in this conclusion.
Beauty was a deceptive thing.
So This One did see, in observing critters hunt. Beauty is a front which is used by ugliness to cause prey to march, smiling eagerly, into their doom.
Take the conclusion as another example. It is a mere sentence, yet has much careful consideration behind it.
Beauty is deception.
And such was another conclusion.

With two conclusions, some lustre of the first faded. It no longer seemed so novel to draw such simple rules which stretch so far.
But it caught itself. They were each as pure as the other, and the existence of one certainly did not depreciate the value of another. Rather, it made it less alluring.
This fact did not satiate This One, but it made it wonder why.
Why is it less fun to create, when one has already created?
Well, having already created, one would have had practice, tricks they learned the first time, and a starting point. The whole process was made easier. One was more comfortable with the process of creating, causing it to become boring.
Comfort is diminishing.
This is what it named the third conclusion.

This third conclusion is what caused This One to rise again, as it was comfortable on the beach. It picked up a handful of sand, scooped up some water, skewered a critter, and smooshed them into a ball. It spoke the Three Conclusions into this ball, and buried it.

From the place where the ball was buried, a being grew. It was merely a sprout at first, but it grew rapidly into a pale gold coloured form, similar to Eurysthenes but with fewer arms. It was a beautiful thing on the outside. It had shining and sparkling skin that reflected the sun in a manner mild enough to cause a small glow, but not so harshly that it was glaring. It had a motif of soft, long curves accentuated by chunks of elegant chitin.

But Beauty is Deception, and underneath its skin was innumerable teeth, waiting for the skin to part so they can bare themselves and show their viciousness.

”What am I?” it asked. A small split in its head opened when it talked, showing rows and rows of teeth.

”You must tell me when you find out,” This One replied.


This is the story that the Bujzell tell as their creation story, and it is a true one. From then until now, a small village has been built on the beach. The god that created them built them a village and taught them basic ideas about how the world works, as well as how to build their own houses that will last.

The village is bustling, and shows the beach more activity than it has ever seen. It’s a small village, about 10 structures, one of which is the court hall. Each is built of roughly wrought stone, and sunk halfway into the ground.

Ziqse, the one the god had made first, was gathering food to eat when it saw something that looked somewhat like it, but different. It had two legs, two arms, light skin, pointed ears, and brown hair with a streak of white. It wore a plain grey robe, a red cloak made from what seemed to be feathers, and a staff of silvery metal.

”What are you? it asked the outsider.

”Karamir,” he answered, ”from Kalgrun. First of the Vallamir.”

”No, what, not who. It is nice to know who you are, though,” Zisqe responded, mildly annoyed that this thing didn’t know the difference between who and what.

Karamir, for his part, seemed equally annoyed. ”First of the Vallamir, I said. Now what are you?”

”Oh. Apologies. I’m used to people being far more than just the first of something,” Zisqe mumbled, slightly underwhelmed. ”I don’t know what I am.”
They paused for a second. Hadn’t this Karamir introduced themselves as the first of their kind?
”I am in part, the Storyteller and the first of the Buzjell.”

”The Buzjell?” Karamir asked, seeming somewhat confused. ”I do not know of your people. Were you created recently?”

”I was grown long ago, and I grew the first other from my finger shortly after. We didn’t know other things that could talk existed.” Zisqe said. It crossed its arms.

”Well they do,” Karamir answered somewhat matter-of-factly. ”In great number. But all the ones I know of are on other lands.”

Zisqe’s eyes broadened. ”Like the place across the Gap? Is your kind the secret it holds?”, it asked, somewhat excitedly. It had found the Gap when it was young, and decided that it would tell stories about what secrets lay on the other side.
They stepped closer, trying to get a better look at the Karamir.

”What is the gap?” Karamir asked.

With a look of suspicion, Zisqe said ”The place between the lands that isn’t ocean. It’s where you come from. Do you have another name for it?”

”I don’t even know what you’re referring to,” Karamir shook his head. ”Where is it?”

”Over there,” they pointed toward it with a long, slender finger, ”Anything could be there, but I know there are a great deal of mountains, and what looks like a cursed part.”

Karamir slowly turned his gaze south. ”There are mountains, yes. For the cursed part, I don’t know if you’re referring to the Feasting Forest or the Boiling Sea. But across the boiling sea there is another land, and although I have been there it is not where I’m from. It should have talking species of its own, but during my time there I never met any.”

”Well then where are you from?” Zisqe asked.

”Kalgrun, as I said. It’s on the other side of the world. Much further than the land beyond the ‘Gap.’”

”I thought that was just the name of the one that grew you. You know,” they made wishy washy gestures, ”’Karamir, from Kalgrun’. Unless the one that grew you was named after your land?”
Zisqe sat down, cross legged. It motioned for Karamir to do the same.

Karamir sat, his cloak seeming to move on its own volition so that it would not be trapped underneath him. ”No,” he said. ”I was made by Kalmar, God of the Hunt, and the land was named after him, because he was the one who created it.”

Zisqe leaned forward a little, in interest and suspicion both. ”That makes little sense. I don’t name the ones I grow after me. Why does he do this?”

Karamir shrugged. ”Kalgrun is short for Kalmar’s Ground. Maybe he liked the way it sounded, or maybe he couldn’t think of anything else, but it is what it is.”

”It is what it is, but that might not be what it seems to be. You can use that sentence instead” they said, smiling a toothy grin. It pointed north east. ”What’s there?”

Karamir glanced up at the sun’s position. ”If you head in that direction…” he thought for a moment, trying to imagine the continent’s layout in his head. ”You might eventually find the gateway to the Observatory; the Sphere of Abanoc.”

Zisqe’s face folded in confusion. ”Huh? What do you mean?”

He sighed. ”What do you know of the gods?”

”I know one made me from the Sea, the Sand, and an insect. That one also built a town for us when we needed it, and taught us how to make the things we know how to make. I know one called Kalmar made you. I know they’re powerful, and I know they can ruin you if they’re in a bad mood…” Zisqe said, trailing off in recollection. ”Why?”

”Well, the gods made this world, called Galbar, and each god has a sphere which influences Galbar in a certain way. To give some examples: Kalmar has the Hunting Grounds, which tells you when you’re hungry or thirsty. K’nell has the Palace of Dreams, which is where your mind goes when you sleep. And Abanoc has the Observatory, which records everything that happens on Galbar.”

”So what’s the Sphere of the god who made me?’ Zisqe asked. They leaned further in, listening intently. Usually it was the one who told stories.

”What is the name of your god?” Karamir questioned back.

”I don’t think it has a name. I can tell you how it looks, though.” Zisqe said.

”Tell me, then.”

”It’s tall and it shimmers in many different colours. It has seven arms, and no eyes. Sometimes it’s just a pile on the floor, and that’s when it can ruin you.”

”Ruin you? How?” Karamir narrowed his eyes.

”I’ll tell you a story. The first one made by the first one I made was called Uzit, and was sweet and young. They looked up to me, and wanted to be a storyteller. One day… they went over a hill and came back with wide eyes that saw things that nobody else did. I went over the hill and saw the god that made me,” Zisqe paused for a moment, looking Karamir directly in the eyes, ”It saw that I was there, and turned back into the god I knew. It apologised for what it did, then commanded me to leave or suffer the same.”

”What happened to Uzit?”

”You must tell me when you find out.”

”And what do you mean by that?”

”I mean that when you find out what happened to Uzit, you should tell me. I would like to know.”

He frowned. ”Why don’t you know what happened?”

”Because I do not know everything.”

Another sigh. ”Where is Uzit now?”

”You should tell me when you find out.”

Karamir was glaring now. ”When did this happen?”

Zisqe leaned back for a second. It had to think about this. ”Long ago, before we had our houses. They were the first that went,” they shook their head and creased their brow slightly, ”But we speak of other things. What’s the Sphere that belongs to the god that created me?”

”I don’t know,” Karamir said. ”You don’t know the god’s name, and none of the gods I met match the description, so I can’t tell you.”

Zisqe looked at the ground. ”Oh. I’ll tell you when I find out.”

Karamir nodded slowly. ”Back to Uzit, then. When did you last see them?”

”That night. They were rambling on the sand one moment, and gone the next. Isi, the first one I made, was distraught. They came to me for comfort, and I had to stop them going to our god”

His eyebrows rose. ”Did this happen more than once?”

Zisqe’s eye’s narrowed, and they said, ”I think I already answered that. You’re very interested in this god.”

”I’m just trying to find out what happened,” Karamir said. ”And every answer you provide leads to more questions.”

”This is why I’m a storyteller. Zisqe shrugged. ”Yes, it has happened once more, but to someone more distant to me. They were called Vurtez, and they were my third’s second’s first.”

”So how often do you see this god?”

”Often enough. They never go for too long, and when it’s here it commands us. It’s a very sage god and commands wisely when it’s here. It’s only when you go to find it that this happens.”

”When do you think it will be back?”

”You think I know a lot more than I do. Tell me when you find out.”

Again, Karamir frowned. ”You say it never goes for too long. What is the longest period of time it has been gone for, and what is the shortest?”

”Shortest is less than a day, longest is still going. It hasn’t come back in seven days now.”

Karamir began to stroke his chin. ”On its last visit, did it do anything strange or unusual, that it doesn’t normally do?”

”No, why?...”

”Well, if it is unusual for your god to be gone this long, there must be a reason. Maybe how it acted during your last meeting can give some sort of clue?” Karamir shrugged. ”You know this god far better than I, though.”

”No, nothing strange beyond its usual. It asks a lot of odd questions.”

”Such as?”

Zisqe rubbed its face. ”The most confusing one is ‘Slippery as a fish, more passive than a craven, harder than metal. Real as a wish, as loving as a haven, testing your mettle.’, which is not a question, but it told me that it was meant to be answered like one.

”Maybe it wants you to think of something that has all those traits,” Karamir suggested.

”Well that is the first thing one thinks of. But what has all those traits?”

”Give me some time to think…” Karamir said, and then began to think. Every few seconds his gaze shifted: first to the sky then at the sand of the beach, then to the forest, then out to sea. And on he went, shifting between the four in some sort of odd cycle.

”I think,” he said, after a while, ”the question itself has those traits.”

”Yes, indeed. A new reflection always shows more things, I’ll give this answer to the god when they get back.”

”Are there any more villages like this?” Karamir asked next.

”Tell me when you know,” Zisqe said. It stood up and turned around, ”I need to go now. It has been good to know you, but I need to be getting food.”

Karamir nodded. ”Goodbye, then.” He rose to his feet as well. ”I might return, but I make no guarantees.”

And with those words the Hunter’s Son took flight, turning his back on the village, its strange people, and its mysterious god. Part of him wanted to stay and seek out more answers, while the other part was wary of the danger. In the end, the more cautious part of him won out: he had spent enough time on this continent already, and it was time to put it behind him.


The Night After Meeting

A long firebed burned in Aedthel's pavilion. The more prominent members sat along it on small wooden stools as servants brought them an assortment of thinly sliced foodstuffs, which were roasted over the coals and eaten with thin pasta called bué, and spiced oils.

Aedthel sat at the end of the pit, which was slightly bulb-shaped to accommodate the most prominent members, and the expected guests. He was enjoying himself, as the foods were light enough for him to cook and eat himself. Independence was a nice feeling for him. So too was the feeling of being surrounded by idle conversation. Tonight it was focused on the boy who halted the Holy caravan to deliver Arlanna's message, a situation that was worrying for Aedthel earlier, but now was quite amusing.

Aedthel smiled.
And just then, when he was content, his guests arrived. He gestured with welcome to their appointed seats, off to his left. Not so far as to dismiss their status, but not so close as to offend any of his own. Perhaps controversially, Arlanna's seat was closer to Aedthel than Kerenatam's was, a show of higher status.

Kinn stood, unraveled a small letter, and began to speak.
"Warm welcomes, my friends. I hope the time from the meeting earlier to now has seen you treated well, and I hope we can show you a better time here." Kinn pauses and grins, looking up at the guests. "The meal we have for you tonight will be served in our tradition: you will be presented with raw ingredients to cook at your leisure on the hearth in front of you, and bué and oils to season them with. After this, you will be presented with a savoury soup to end. It's light, but quite satisfying. I hope you enjoy."


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The Time When pug's Post Happens, Whenever That Is

The air under the canopy was cool and thick. It was a nice environment for Suélad, he appreciated the colder temperatures. It meant he got to wear his cozy wool cloak, which was currently slung over his shoulder to cushion his back from the bundle of firewood he carried. He was always given the menial tasks, but wasn't bitter about it. Everyone started somewhere.

He wandered a little further, and heard shouting. Some Carogact had taken something of theirs back, from what he could hear. He approached slowly, watching the squabble. He was riveted, watching the argument break out, but he couldn't tell you why. They were all so focused on the goat that nobody even so much as looked in his direction. Perhaps it was something to do with the feeling that comes with seeing while being unseen.

Weapons were drawn. Suélad placed his bundle down, and climbed halfway up the nearest tree, shimmying as far along a bough as he dared. Nobody would think to look up in the commotion, and even if they did, there were a lot of branches between him and the ground. He figured he was safe enough. He lay on the bough and prepared for some afternoon entertainment.
The Kick spread in front of This One, and it seemed strangely familiar.

The loop of transience it had found itself in was a curse to add insult to the injury of the memory loss. There was no home to be found in the places. The only common thread from where it started to now was itself, movement, and a lack of familiarity.

The spikes offered only pain. The hut offered a place of lonely respite that felt all wrong. The beach offered someone with an explanation. The continent on the way to this one offered amusement. The journey offered purpose.
But none of this offered what this “Kick” offered: familiarity. The protective rocky cliffs, the embracing stone trees, the watchful mountains. This place held an arms-reach familiarity in it.

This One was pulled up the beach by some part within it, and this is ever cold, yet Heliopolis is shrieking like a bird. The sky is eternal, and something creeps up from the core of This One. Something encumbering and slowing, slowing its mind to a crawl.

This One heard footsteps approaching, but had not the strength to see who or what it was. “An unusual sight, this is.” The person said. “Not only have you left your domain, but you also made it this far from its entrance.”

The person lowered himself next to This One, putting himself within the field of vision, but it didn’t see them. How could it, when all that mattered were the trees?

It continued to slowly crawl up the beach, paying no mind. The footsteps followed and the person kept pace with This One. Perhaps they realized they weren’t noticed given the silence, but they followed still. Or, he followed until This One collapsed, pieces rolling over the ground in a puddle, spreading further with each second, running down the beach.

Just before it reached the water it stopped, as if it had hit a wall. It slowly coalesced back into its regular form. The sand around it formed little pinpricks, rising up from the ground, pointing towards a curled up Eurysthenes.

The person lowered themselves next to This One again. “Eurysthenes. Can you hear me, brother.” The person called out. There was no response from the thing that was curled up, but the sand spiked taller. The person then laid their hand on This One and shook him lightly.

This One jerked around. The gaze it put forth, considering a lack of eyes, was like glass. Piercing and empty. The sand fell back to the ground in little piles. “Can you hear me, Eurysthenes?” The person called out, louder than before.

It crawled up the beach like a puppet, towards the other. ”Who are you?” it asked.

“Abanoc, one of your brothers.” The person replied succinctly.

It stood. Not in a way that looked natural, not even remotely. More how an atrophied person who was just learning how to walk again might. ”I was meant to find you for something.”

“Then it is fortunate I came for you.” Abanoc stood back up. “What brought you here?”

”I don’t…”
It looked at Abanoc, brows creased in a moment of painful clarity.
”I brought me here. What else?”

“Have you forgotten what you came here for?” Abanoc showed a look of surprised. So far Melantha had been the only god Abanoc had witnessed to forget. Perhaps this had been of her doing.

”I didn’t come here for anything, I just did!” This One shouted. It aggressively reached out towards Abanoc, and fell over in the sand. It looked up at its alleged brother. ”Help me,” it said, thick white fog spewing from its mouth.

“Calm yourself, brother. What happened to you? How can I help you?” He said while holding Eurysthenes’ arms to help him up.

The sand melted, thickening into a shiny black sludge which sucked This One down as Abanoc helped it up. It held on for dear life, pulling the other god down with it. ”How can I be calm whe- when the whole… is?

Noticing that the sand was pulling them down, Abanoc held Eurysthenes and lifted off from the ground, but the sludge pulled down with twice the force. It dragged and dragged, then leapt up, encasing the two gods.

And there was nothing but blackness and the two of them. The sky, the beach, the water. All distinctively separate places, but pitch. This One only whimpered.

Abanoc took in his surroundings, but didn’t notice anything that could threaten him, aside from the fact he was trapped alongside his brother. However he couldn’t discard the possibility of it getting worse. “You are losing control of your powers... If do not calm yourself I will not be able to help you.” He said maintaining his calm demeanor.

Calm myself? Help me? How… how cou- could that happen, when…” it shouted, throwing its arms up in a vague gesture of ”everything”. ”You don’t. You just haven’t been here before or seen what I’ve-”

A thick white fog rolled in from the sea. The blackness folded back to reveal stars. They were falling, the wind was rushing around them, and the ground reached up for them. It was the Observatory, and it was ablaze.

For a moment Abanoc’s eyes widened, but he soon saw the vision for the illusion it was. His brows furrowed. “I am beginning to lose my patience. You lost your memories somehow and I have some power over that aspect of the mind. If you allow me to I can help you.”

The flames stopped flickering, the stars stopped twinkling, everything on Galbar below stopped moving. The world was at a halt, excepting the two gods.
”My memories? How’d I lose them?” This One asked. It was standing stock still, not moving a single piece of itself.

“Melantha has shown to be able to erase memories, even her own. Have you met her as of late?”

This one made a face. ”Who?

Abanoc frowned. Eurysthenes not remember Melantha was a very faulty proof of her involvement. He would likely not get an answer regarding how his sibling lost its memories. “I suppose that response is fitting… I have no records of you being present in Galbar as of late and I cannot see much within your Maze, so I cannot recall your memories for you… There is one thing that may work. If you’ll excuse me.” Abanoc raised his hands to the height of Eurysthenes’ face.

He saw the past few days of travel. To the beach, to the So’E, to what could barely be recognised as the “Maze”. And then he hit a wall of… sound? It stood there like a wall of black static. It was dark as night, but close as a closet. In front of him stood this colossal presence, and behind him were the memories.

He stepped forward, trying to delve deeper to find the secrets.

And sank into the wall. The static seeped into every pore, gushed into every orifice. It was like being drowned from the mind outwards. He felt the border of what separated him from this space fuzz about the edges, softening. His eyes, or the region where his eyes should have been, widened, and he flailed, pulling himself up. Outwards, towards where he came in, back to the memories he had just witnessed.

And fell out of the mind of This One, back into his own head, where everything felt glassy by contrast. Crisp edges, vivid colours. The sand of the beach was warm, and the sky was a clear blue. Eurysthenes was standing with its face ajar, looking up to the heavens.

Abanoc’s hands trembled, having been dazed by the sights. With a shake of his head he recovered and looked back at Eurysthenes. He had seen some of his brother’s memories, but there was a significant gap between his return to the Maze and his arrival on the shores of The Kick. “A gap… Parts of your memory just disappeared. No, more like a page stained in ink. I… I cannot recover your memories.”

This One looked down at Abanoc and made a confused face. ”Are you Abanoc? Orvus told me to find you.”

The question surprised Abanoc. He had already spoken his name to Eurysthenes earlier on the conversation. ”Their memory’s deteriorating…” He thought. He could already tell he couldn’t recover the damage done to his brother and it was spreading. The only questions Abanoc had now were how fast it would progress and whether or not it would bring the rest of their mind with its collapse.

“I know not that name…” His heart sank with his own words even though he knew nothing could be done about it.

”Oh, he’s another god. Either way, that matters less than the fact that I needed to find you. He said my memory was gone, but I remember everything just fine.” it said to Abanoc. Its tone was casual, nearly offhanded, which was odd considering the recent past.

“Indeed, you seem to be fine. There is no need to request aid, mine or otherwise.” He faked a small smile.

”Well that settles it, then. Goodbye.” the other said. It walked away, realised that it didn’t want to cross the ocean just yet, and sat down.

“In all my years I have never seen something so...cruel.” Abanoc thought as he turned to leave with a depressed look on his face.


I beg to differ. A lot of Mitch's act was in the delivery, and so some of it is lost in text. Plus he has this one

"All my friends say I shouldn't use liquor as a crutch, but I can't, because a crutch helps you walk."
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