ᏝᎥᏒᏗፚ's Den
This lion has 26 happy thoughts, 20 awkward thoughts, and 35 frivolous thoughts!
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🕷️ 🕸️ Helob's Web 🕸️ 🕷️
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BonnieBea Gaming
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Abracadabra
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Catchy Song
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Axolotl on the Pink Stairs
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Cult Lore:
Praise be to the Lamb. The Fanatic and the Heretics of the Old Faith will fall. The history of the past rests below. Learn...then come into the Lamb's open arms.
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Found a herd. Taken care of. Let the Worm know I seek the last.
☨☨☨☨☨
Great Hunter, we write this prayer and leave this offering in the hopes you will grant us triumph in our hunt. We vow to take no more than we need, and leave the brooding and the young. May we be swift and silent as you, Hunter.
☨☨☨☨☨
One fled my blade. I will find it. The Bishops need not concern themselves. I do as I am told, and only as I am told.
☨☨☨☨☨
I found the last, hidden deep in the Lands. It followed me, silent, to the ritual grounds. When my task is at last complete, I will bury it with the others.
☨☨☨☨☨
We’ve been hiding for days. I’m hungry, but I’m too scared to leave this place, though the earth no longer shakes. I didn’t know the Bishops could bleed. The fifth… we dare not speak his name. Soon we won’t remember it. But he waits. He will always wait.
☨☨☨☨☨
I meant only to survive, and yet she, feathered hand of Great Ones gone, has seen me to be worthy. Oh, First Gods, guide me! I devote myself to you, wholly, body and soul. I will strike down dissent. I will cull doubt. I will nourish this Crown and be worthy of this power. In blood, I swear.
☨☨☨☨☨
Great Ones, I find fragments of your power across these vast lands. The blades once gripped by your mighty fists, the tears once fallen from your all-seeing eyes, the ichor that runs through the very veins of the earth… I seek your understanding. I prostrate myself before you. I vow that those who will not serve in their life will serve with their death instead.
☨☨☨☨☨
Simple things… silly, almost… creatures seek protection in my shadow, pour faith into my soul and by their devotion I am changed. I was like them, once…
☨☨☨☨☨
I used to think them strange, these three feathered beasts, unworn and unweathered by the passage of time. To be keepers of Godly tools, and yet not be tempted to Godliness themselves—do they not hunger as we do?
Now, wisened in age, I understand. Hatched beneath the First, they crave no power, seek no other fulfillment, for it is not in their nature. And it is by nature that we must abide.
☨☨☨☨☨
My pilgrimage has lead me thus, to the caverns of a Godly skull, remnants of a Great One now decaying into earth. The air here smells sweet, the soil rich and dark… I hear whispers, I feel watched, yet there is naught around, just these strange, small mushrooms, their spots almost like eyes… but that’s impossible…?
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I had not seen her in some dozen years, perhaps a score, perhaps a hundred. She is changed, alarmingly so, the mutilation of her body naught compared to the madness taking root in her mind. Her kin were indifferent. ‘Twas foreseen, the card reader said. I asked, what of her duty? What of the Crowns? What of her very nature?
And the smith answered: it is lost.
☨☨☨☨☨
I have lived long, too long for simple memory and so I must continue to chronicle these histories. Followers rise, bloom, and die, like so much clover on the ground, and my troublesome peers, Gods by a right no longer divine, rise and fall like tides cut free from the moon. One came to my temple, young and ambitious and thirsty for war. I dismissed them. I will not abide such blasphemy.
☨☨☨☨☨
Whispers reach my temple. Gods fallen, shrines crumbled, Followers taken, and Crowns simply gone. Our numbers are beginning to dwindle. I do not fear. I will swing my righteous axe, draw my zealous sword, and know that I walk with the blessing of the First at my brow. Heresy shall not be tolerated in these Lands.
☨☨☨☨☨
Yngya cannot be found, and the leaves change no more. ‘Tis clear, now, that none shall survive this purging. The Owl has chosen a different tact, one I cannot condone; for regardless of what they threaten, I shall never relinquish my beliefs. They call me the greatest of fanatics, and perchance this is true: for I would rather perish than sacrifice my devotion. Great Ones, I am yours eternally.
☨☨☨☨☨
I am shamed, shamed. I deserve no forgiveness. I deserve to die here, shrouded in sin. I renounced the First Gods. How easily pain made a defector of me. I will take whatever punishment is due, but I beg you, reader of these chronicles, remember: they call their faith old, but they are nothing more than heretics. He of havoc, he of blight; she of hunger, they of might. He that lays a soul to rest; five remain of hundreds blessed.
Auction
⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂
🕷️ 🕸️ Helob's Web 🕸️ 🕷️
↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾
☨☨☨☨☨
YouTube
⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂
BonnieBea Gaming
↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾
☨☨☨☨☨
Current Vibes
⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂
Abracadabra
↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾
☨☨☨☨☨
Catchy Song
⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂
Axolotl on the Pink Stairs
↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾↿↾
Cult Lore:
Praise be to the Lamb. The Fanatic and the Heretics of the Old Faith will fall. The history of the past rests below. Learn...then come into the Lamb's open arms.
⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂⇃⇂
Found a herd. Taken care of. Let the Worm know I seek the last.
☨☨☨☨☨
Great Hunter, we write this prayer and leave this offering in the hopes you will grant us triumph in our hunt. We vow to take no more than we need, and leave the brooding and the young. May we be swift and silent as you, Hunter.
☨☨☨☨☨
One fled my blade. I will find it. The Bishops need not concern themselves. I do as I am told, and only as I am told.
☨☨☨☨☨
I found the last, hidden deep in the Lands. It followed me, silent, to the ritual grounds. When my task is at last complete, I will bury it with the others.
☨☨☨☨☨
We’ve been hiding for days. I’m hungry, but I’m too scared to leave this place, though the earth no longer shakes. I didn’t know the Bishops could bleed. The fifth… we dare not speak his name. Soon we won’t remember it. But he waits. He will always wait.
☨☨☨☨☨
I meant only to survive, and yet she, feathered hand of Great Ones gone, has seen me to be worthy. Oh, First Gods, guide me! I devote myself to you, wholly, body and soul. I will strike down dissent. I will cull doubt. I will nourish this Crown and be worthy of this power. In blood, I swear.
☨☨☨☨☨
Great Ones, I find fragments of your power across these vast lands. The blades once gripped by your mighty fists, the tears once fallen from your all-seeing eyes, the ichor that runs through the very veins of the earth… I seek your understanding. I prostrate myself before you. I vow that those who will not serve in their life will serve with their death instead.
☨☨☨☨☨
Simple things… silly, almost… creatures seek protection in my shadow, pour faith into my soul and by their devotion I am changed. I was like them, once…
☨☨☨☨☨
I used to think them strange, these three feathered beasts, unworn and unweathered by the passage of time. To be keepers of Godly tools, and yet not be tempted to Godliness themselves—do they not hunger as we do?
Now, wisened in age, I understand. Hatched beneath the First, they crave no power, seek no other fulfillment, for it is not in their nature. And it is by nature that we must abide.
☨☨☨☨☨
My pilgrimage has lead me thus, to the caverns of a Godly skull, remnants of a Great One now decaying into earth. The air here smells sweet, the soil rich and dark… I hear whispers, I feel watched, yet there is naught around, just these strange, small mushrooms, their spots almost like eyes… but that’s impossible…?
☨☨☨☨☨
I had not seen her in some dozen years, perhaps a score, perhaps a hundred. She is changed, alarmingly so, the mutilation of her body naught compared to the madness taking root in her mind. Her kin were indifferent. ‘Twas foreseen, the card reader said. I asked, what of her duty? What of the Crowns? What of her very nature?
And the smith answered: it is lost.
☨☨☨☨☨
I have lived long, too long for simple memory and so I must continue to chronicle these histories. Followers rise, bloom, and die, like so much clover on the ground, and my troublesome peers, Gods by a right no longer divine, rise and fall like tides cut free from the moon. One came to my temple, young and ambitious and thirsty for war. I dismissed them. I will not abide such blasphemy.
☨☨☨☨☨
Whispers reach my temple. Gods fallen, shrines crumbled, Followers taken, and Crowns simply gone. Our numbers are beginning to dwindle. I do not fear. I will swing my righteous axe, draw my zealous sword, and know that I walk with the blessing of the First at my brow. Heresy shall not be tolerated in these Lands.
☨☨☨☨☨
Yngya cannot be found, and the leaves change no more. ‘Tis clear, now, that none shall survive this purging. The Owl has chosen a different tact, one I cannot condone; for regardless of what they threaten, I shall never relinquish my beliefs. They call me the greatest of fanatics, and perchance this is true: for I would rather perish than sacrifice my devotion. Great Ones, I am yours eternally.
☨☨☨☨☨
I am shamed, shamed. I deserve no forgiveness. I deserve to die here, shrouded in sin. I renounced the First Gods. How easily pain made a defector of me. I will take whatever punishment is due, but I beg you, reader of these chronicles, remember: they call their faith old, but they are nothing more than heretics. He of havoc, he of blight; she of hunger, they of might. He that lays a soul to rest; five remain of hundreds blessed.
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ᏝᎥᏒᏗፚ's Player
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Praise Be the Lamb
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3 Pregnant Lionesses
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