SO! Book one is all prettied up and will be getting a physical release within the month! AND Book three posts start tomorrow!
In the memetime enjoy all the updated
Content Warnings (specifically for Commentary 3):
Um… Meeting with really bad family. Slurs. Assault. Sex slaves in the scene and being abused. Dehumanization. Bigotry. A cutie that’ll show up in a future book loses an eye after being tossed off a thing and crashing through Wards shaped like glass. Um… WOW!
It's been almost two centuries since I've been back here. The dirt beneath my boots lies cold and fallow, untouched by any in decades, I assume.
Finding it was a surprise, really.
Foster asked about my childhood. He of course knows that I'm not Terran, and I had mentioned previously that I've been on earth for a long time even before the Convergence.
Yet… I honestly never considered that the Sanctuary of my childhood would have survived the violent rearrangement as many other similar magicks did not. Lazily drifted closer and closer toward me through the slivers of Void between our Worlds.
I wonder how my sisters are doing. Do they miss me? The thought is quelled immediately, the faux flesh of my body settling into a light lilac hue and my preferred humanoid shape, a metre and a half tall including the horns with long violet hair and a black edwardian tailored suit. I haven't served my time, not sufficiently for my Sín.
I walk through the Sanctuary slowly, approaching the Cradle of my birth when I call out. "Cousin, are you here? It's… Call me Tymalth Rell, if you would, it's the Name I've permitted myself."
A long few heartbeats pass, enough that Sekrhús leads me to think no reply will come. That… even she left this place to decay and crumble.
"Well… Good morning to you too." Comes a sleepy chuckle from everywhere and nowhere. One that every part of this place seems to shiver with. "Of all that might come to prod this old broken Frame into wakefulness you certainly weren't my first guess."
A spark and twist of wisplight, then from Threads that must be entwined deep, a silhouette cracks free from the dirt. The broken body of an ancient Doll tugging up as if on clumsy strings to grin through a shattered and loose jaw. Taller than me by about a head. Garbed in nothing but cracking porcelain. "But… also not my last. How do Her Dreams find you, dear one?"
"Guilty… Ironic, I know. But… I killed Her." I admit with a mournful shake of my head. "Laid the groundwork for so much suffering despite my intentions to do the very opposite. I explored for excitement and stayed in shame, and home simply… followed me here."
"As it tends to do, yes." She agrees. "But… not always for the worse. You’ve adapted well enough to the new spaces you’ve claimed."
"Well enough. It's good to see you though. I didn't even realize it was you, May, my dastardly Blossom Witch. Makes things… A lot funnier, in retrospect." I chuckle as I look in the ancient Cradle, finding… An odd gem. Not something I left here.
"Who's this… May?" The Doll asks while drifting to hang at my side, for a moment like she's never heard the name, chewing on the word. But then her expression sours. "Drat. Si– Tymalth! Was it? Now I’ll have to purge that old Witch from the Threads. Every scrap of me torn from every bit of her. Our aunt will be so… disappointed. Thought that Witch was one of my best and most promising Shells. If she asks why I had to cut that one loose I'm not going to even try and lie to her."
So Sekrhús was talked into that mad scheme? Weaving herself, specifically Will devoid of Memory, through new hosts and trying… to heal and change years of torment and abusive nature through softer lives. That’s… Surprising. Honestly. She’s always been so protective of her scars and traumas.
"Please don't, Blossom Witch May is important to the Intomatic Network. Even has a lot of the new type of Dolls depending on her. She's passively harnessing Perspective in a manner that helps her darling Dolls cope with their own traumas and get to a place of real healing. Has been crafting a new identity for herself, for you really, for decades now learning how to be a person who can be kind to those who need it."
The Doll my cousin dwells within eyes me up and down. And I can nearly feel the barbed words bubbling in that look. Precise ideas of how to lash out and sting like she could always do so well. Bristling scorn at the idea of a life without pain and misery and torment. But… instead she remains silent. Even prompts me to continue with a raised broken eyebrow.
"Also, It will be nice to have… a bit more access to family without feeling… awful about it." I add while kneeling before the Cradle and picking up the gem to inspect it.
"But that defeats the point of the entire…" She starts to whine. Slipping around to remain within my view. But then those cracked eye sockets drift to the gem, and she pauses. Purrs low with fresh interest. "Oooooh, Yes. That is quite the fascinating offering to the Penitent Shell you wear."
I look closely, seeing a message etched on the gem.
To our firstbrewn child and this Pack's nibling:
When you find yourself riven
by seemingly unforgivable mistakes
and cracking with guilt.
May these storied memories
Remind you that nothing is always and forever.
Especially and even the consequences of our actions.
And this Pack will never love you less for yours.
Eyes forward, little Jellyfish.
"What… What the fuck? Is this your work, or is it actually from my mothers?" I demand, form writhing and boiling as ink steams from me. She always had an agonizing prank or two to play on my sisters and I. Wouldn't be surprised if this was her idea of being helpful.
"Wouldn't have the foggiest. I've been sleeping. And… Well, so few of them care to speak to any part of me these days." She shrugs and drifts backways. "If you insist on my keeping that Name and Shell you'll need to avoid acknowledging our familial relations outside any of the Divines' Temples, else Death will come for us both."
At that, I calm immediately, shaking loose my rage like a dirty rag. She's… changed. Softer than I remember. But what does she mean, 'few of them care to speak to her'? That doesn't sound like my sisters.
Offer my cousin a hug as I reply after sliding the gem into a pocket. "Fair enough. I'll be visiting her soon enough. See what's going on with our dear auntie… She owes me a lot of answers."
My cousin slips forward and embraces me easily, the Frame she wears smelling of old decaying jade, long-settled Cursestorms, and… only just less than fresh blood.
"Give her my hallos, and feel free to come back and reclaim this place whenever you'd like." She pulls back but doesn't release my shoulders right away. "Or… actually. It's barely functional. Pester me into drowning it and dredging you up a new one next you feel like shifting Names or Rifts. Will make sure it doesn't follow you like some sad wounded birb missing three wings and two eyestalks. Can be carried like a bobble in your pocket. Just like our gruncle's is."
"I'll… See him too, eventually. Chalice has got a weird spot out of sync with the Real, and I'm not quite certain how to get there." I give a crooked smile. "Foster and I will come visit you through your May self, and we can have a bit more of a private conversation there. Chalice has some bad habits and I need to ask her about his history before I seek him out."
She nods and releases me. Then with a giggle I collapse into a puddle of deep purple ink that rapidly shrinks inwards and evaporates as I return home from the Rift.
"How did it go?" My sweetheart asks as I settle into my humanoid body in the bathtub, having been thoroughly scolded for reforming myself elsewhere and making a bit of a mess on reentry to our house.
"I… I'm not sure yet, boyo. They left me this gem that seems to contain all their memories?" I respond with uncertainty as I fully solidify and brush off my jacket. "Making such a thing was probably their last Divine act… Something like this would cause their death if they tried it again."
"Sounds like they care about you a lot more than you let yourself believe?" Foster suggests, his hands with skin of antique silver reaching for mine with a gentle grasp.
"Possibly. I'm going to transcribe this whole thing before making a decision one way or the other. People are never as simple as you would hope, Foster. They have motivations and instincts and simple bloodymindedness that forces them to get in their own way. For all I know, this is a plan to regain what was lost in some convoluted way."
Finding my Aunt has taken much longer than I expected. During my search I transcribed the first chunk of memories, learning about how my mothers first met and the Pack started changing. It feels vital to do it. To make sure that the past isn't ever forgotten. What was lost and what has been gained since then.
My aunt isn't the Divine Death anymore, apparently. I did a number of scrying rituals, sent Frod on a rather expensive expedition to Hypoborea, even contacted the Apserix High Command to see if they knew. Anything to avoid the simplest solution of… Asking the Churches, especially the ones with family.
Nothing. After that, Ixhab's main shrine in New Yucatán was my first stop, seeing as how she's still an active death goddess, and her church directed me towards western Eurasia. From there, the Morrigan's cult sent me onwards to Hel's Altar in Niflfjall who finally had answers for me. My aunt apparently resides in a small town named Belsoon near Terra Nullis Alpha. Literally an hour drive from home in Toronto. FUCK. The dark lady's church gave me a phone number, and after returning home to Foster, I made the call and set up a lunch meeting with her. Denny's of course. Culinary Masochism is always the ideal when dealing with new or uncomfortable situations.
So here I am, sitting in a corner booth of the Belsoon Denny's as she walks in, confident as all get out, and sits across from me with a smile. "Hey goofball. Finally done with your complex about being ontologically evil?"
"I'm literally a Demon. Isn't that… What it means?" I demand in frustration.
"No? Why ever would you think that? Tymalth, did you wake up in the morning one day and go 'Ah yes, today I'm going to be evil'?" She asks me incredulously.
"I am responsible for almost everything bad that ever happened to our family and by extension our home Rift. My crime, the evil I committed, is what made me a Daemon in the first place." I insist quietly, not wanting to make a scene.
Auntie Augusta scoffs at me. "Child, you were always so distractable when I tried to teach you about your heritage as a Dreamborne. We slide into differing Roles easier than most but that doesn't alter what we Become. A Daemon is first and foremost an entity of Change. Often one angry and scared, hurt by circumstance and existence, who snaps and says 'This, I will not permit'. Your mother Xafra would have become one if she hadn't been bound the way she was. You found the gem they left for you, right?"
I nod in confusion and the beginning inklings of understanding. "Yeah. I've gone through up to the part where they arrive at the Estate and start to piece together what their lives should be."
"Alright, so you can understand, when you were implanted, Xafra felt more powerless than I think she's ever felt before or since. If she could have, she would have torn Dammerung in twain just for the chance to change what she felt was the worst thing she had ever done. This is a woman who committed a genocide. You're a Daemon because you felt guilty, not because you're evil. If you want to shed the mask of Tymalth and take up a new one eventually, you can still change."
"No. This is me now, and I don't want to be anyone else. And anyway, What the fuck. Just. What the Fuck. It's been almost seventy years since you all arrived and none of you reached out to me directly?" I complain.
My Aunt waves off the complaint completely. "Of course not. And it's because you're stubborn. Neither of your moms or siblings would invade your privacy like that. As for me? I literally made sure that Earth was the destination Rift so it would be easier for you to be close to family. You already know where your moms are if you want to see them to introduce your adorable Foster to them, and well… Darling… May isn't the only one to worm their way into your life. I'll see you at work tomorrow, and ignore the fact that you're quite clearly not sick."
I grumble in annoyance and frustration as the realization clicks. "Dammit. Seriously? Dr. Lovelace? Fuck."
"Bingo. Now let's order some terrible food and I'll try and convince you to see the rest of your family. You've been doing very good as my heir so far but there's some significant ways you could improve." My bloody boss says as she flags down a waiter.
She orders us both some horrific omlette thing with pink eggs and charcoal-coloured drinks before continuing. "You get too fixated on the big picture, how you alone can save everyone and improve the world. I was like that too when I first came into my powers. Took a long time to learn differently. Your mothers are still a bit angry at me for tricking them, which is fair, but we move past our mistakes, learn from them, and be better as a community. Isn't that why we're both working for the Void Archive? To make sure the lessons of history written in blood are never forgotten."
After leaving work with Foster, I start to plan our trip to visit May at her home down near New Yucatán. Booked two weeks off for both of us a month from now so Foster can see the other Dolls, and I can express my feelings about him being delivered via Mothmail more... Impactfully.
I've transcribed more of the Gem, even grabbed a bunch of information from the Void Archive to add epigraphs that give more background information on our home and the environments we grew up in. It's… A lot. Messy bitches, the lot of them, but I understand them more than I did before. Enough that I need to… Reach out, even if I'm not ready to see my mothers in person yet.
I drop the boy off at home to get Frod set on acquiring travel supplies and helping him buy presents, while I make a pit stop at the All-faith Temple. Not my favorite place by far, but I don't burst into flames or get overcome by any other myriad number of afflictions, which honestly does a bit of a number on my self esteem. I may be godspawn, but I'm still a Daemon, dammit. There should be an effect.
Before long, I've traversed the halls and found the room I was looking for. The one dedicated to the Divines of my birth Rift, now known as Eternal Love on Twilight, a silly name that makes just enough sense to be accepted.
"Hey bitches. Guess who's still around? I'll give you zero guesses and all of them count because y'all have been fucking spying on me!" I start jovially and end with a snarl and a burst of corrosive ink that begins to melt away at the marble floor.
The few other occupants of the room, a Greth, an Inan, and two humans, all rush out quickly, and the security alarm start quietly going off in the other rooms. I stare at the depictions of my family, most rather fancifully changed from reality, until I lock eyes with the idol of my mothers sharing a shrine. Makes sense. Xafra wouldn't ever allow a shrine without including the other two.
I kneel before them, never the dutiful child, and pray. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have stayed away. I... I thought you would hate me. Most days I still hate myself. Would you forgive me, even if I don't deserve it?"
A bloody teardrop falls from the eye of my eldest mother, landing on me, and I know that I can finally go home again, even if it's nowhere close to where I left.
My heart swells with relief and love and there's almost no room left for the spite, so I turn and spit it out on the idol of my uncle Chalice.
The sound of deep chuckles fill the room around me. "Tell me how you really feel, little faggot. All butthurt that you don't have a shrine of your own and I do?"
"You fucking Hot Topic reject, are you kidding me? Is it just this shrine or all of yours? If I break every one of them will you be stuck for good?" I scream as I kick the statuette and launch it across the room.
"Hot topic hasn't been around for thirty years, but moving on is something you're entirely incapable of, so that tracks." Chalice's voice echoes as the sounds of the Temple being evacuated clatter in the background.
"Hypocrite. You're still hoarding your power away from the Intomatic network because you can't let go of what makes you special." I stand and walk over to his idol. "Whatever. I want to talk face to face. I'll swear an oath of goodwill and non-violence for the duration of the visit to grandma Sín if you will as well. Does that work for you, uncle?"
The room darkens and a Rift entrance forms before me. "Agreed. Mother?"
A mere whisper of power flows through the room, settling upon me and pouring through the Rift entrance before her voice simply states. "Witnessed. Be kind, little jellyfish."
Then I step through into the little slice of reality that Chalice made into his personal hell.
I had been told by my aunt that her brother was... Damaged by my cousin when they were younger. I've spoken to him a few times since arriving on Earth, both of us finding our way here long before the Convergence, but never before in person. Now I see why.
He stands before me in the centre station of a panopticon three stories high, wearing only a pair of vintage denim jeans and a twisted bracelet of hair and leaves. His arms and torso covered in silvergreen lunargent tattoos and scarification in the shapes of eyes and ears that silently scream of Perspective. His hands are large and rough, nails cut close, and veins bulging under the skin. I look up to him, as he's decided that 3m tall is an appropriate height, all dense muscle and sharp angles with close cropped blonde hair and pure white eyes, and it's almost enough to hide the fear that I can sense bleeding through under the reek of whiskey and cloves. "Mother's Blood, You look like a neonazi's wet dream. If this is how you dress for your family, I can imagine how you dress casually." I say to break the ice. I've never been known for my tact.
"You always were a wee cunt, you knife-eared fuck. Don't touch anything, I'll get some disposables for you to use, I don't want you staining the place." He responds, ringing a bell.
I wait, debating if i should spill my ink on the floor to test him but decided against it when I see what he means by disposables. A set of three nearly identical naked women walk up the lightly tinted glass stairs and arrange themself with surprising flexibility into a chair that Chalice gestures at. Oh you sick fuck. Worse than May by far.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
I take his bet and lounge casually on the women, letting the ink of my form coat them liberally while not spilling a drop to the floor. "So. There's stirrings again. Rumors of tears in the Real. Apserix is up in arms about it. Some of our family is still missing too. Any idea where your big sister is?" I point to the display cabinet against the wall where a purple scale sits in a place of honour.
He shrugs. "Not my concern. You're the first to visit me since I left home, aside from my toys, and they don't count, they're not even people. As for that little shitbird, she was complaining about my dearest niece so I ripped her arm off and ate it. Kept the scale as a souvenir to remind me that dragons taste terrible."
As he speaks, one of the women under me flinches, causing me to slightly lose my balance and before I can register the change I'm sitting on Chalice's throne and he's smashing the woman's face into the floor screaming "That is the fluids of a Divine, that single drop is worth more than your entire bloodline and you have the temerity to allow it to touch the surface you walk on?"
Ah fuck. Foster isn't going to forgive me if I let someone die because I was clumsy. I lean forward with a bored expression and watch, waiting for my moment to act without inflaming the situation further.
As Chalice picks her back up by the throat, the illusion falls away and it's clear that they are far from identical as each is a different ethnicity. He throws the white transfem over the panopticon railing and I casually summon a series of Wards for her to shatter through, injuring her but, at the very least saving her life. He turns to me, still seething in anger. "Nibling, don't mess with my toys.”
"Hmm? Oh I simply thought it was a waste since she's already marked with my ink. You said they're disposable and I assumed I could keep them. I'll give you a good price of course." I feign deference and calm, knowing I am unable to strike him down, and acting rashly will only worsen the situation.
He pauses, sensing what he presumes is weakness, like all bullies are wont to do. "Alright. But I can't hand them over till they're fully trained, you understand. It would be detrimental to my reputation if it got out that I was selling inferior kajirae... And you're taking all three."
"Fine fine. Do you want currency, relics, or something more nebulous?" I answer with exasperation, hiding my simple pleasure in the ease of manipulation.
"Hmm. Nebulous. You do me a teensy weensy favor, and I'll have all three trained up and delivered right to your door. I'll even use proper shipping instead of Mothmail. How's that sound?" By this point, the other two women are weeping silently, careful not to move at all as he levitates the battered one back over the railing. "Oh drat. Looks like this one is probably gonna lose that eye. Rather wicked of you to make your wards so sharp."
I toss my legs up onto the side of his throne, lounging casually before responding with a droll "Go on."
"When you leave, take my idol with you and deliver it to my favorite niece. See, suuuuper easy and 99% legal." He giggles, honest to mom, giggles.
I don't bother to consider the consequences. When it comes to my family there's no real winning against their machinations, even if you think you have in the short term. "Deal. But seriously. No lead on tall, eyeless, and scaley?"
"Tragically, no. You could ask Our Heavenly Father, since she was last with him, but he's even more off his rocker than he was last I saw him now that he's merged with Azothoth." He says as he takes three choke-chains off of hooks beside the stairs and tosses them at the women who obediently put them on.
I nod and stand, moving towards the Rift entrance but can't stop my stupid mouth from asking him as I point to the women, "Do you ever miss it? When you were like them?"
Chalice barely offers me a sideways glance as he sneers at that. "Why would I? Look how much they struggle and thrash against Nature. They're pathetic, weak, dying slowly instead of quickly like your mother was for so long. Their only value is in being used by someone superior, can't even breed. Your cousin, my favorite niece, helped me see that Truth. Freed me from my foolish notions that only caused me to suffer."
He pauses, and for a moment, and I think for a moment my Uncle has offered me a real glimpse into what he could have been before giving me the kind of innocent smile that will haunt me for years. "You know what? Just for you, I'll put in extra effort to break them down into docile little things so you can understand. They don't need any Will or Dreams, just obedience. They'll be better than any Dolls you could get because you're family and you deserve the highest quality I can offer."
My mothers… They are far from innocent but how much worse would they be if twisted as he has been, unable to even recognize the horror he inflicts on others like him?
I swallow my thoughts down and offer a slight bow of respect and leave the Rift. I barely stop myself from running as I grab the idol turning to come face to face with my on and off again fling, my butch bombshell who proceeds to punch me so hard I splatter against the floor.
Epigraphs (For chappys 26-50)!!!
My dearest Matron,
I find myself in need of your services, expertise, and company. The reward for this will be the chance to gain that which your failure many decades ago cost us both.
I trust you'll find the schema attached clear enough to your weathered eyes to understand the things you should bring along? Perhaps even the shape of my plan if your mind remains as sharp as I recall.
Don't doddle, I can keep my girl steady for a season or two, but her mind withers beneath such a rot. Make sure the one you pick up to attend our needs bears enough spirit left, alright? I'd hate for our schemes to falter again.
– An old crusty note kept in a box woven into the wall of Matron Presephona's Estate.
"Alright little one, it's time I teach you about mental maintenance. I know it's… Hypocritical, perhaps coming from me but my sleepweaving is an issue I'd rather you not pick up as well and hypocrisy is a privilege that comes with age. Sleepweaving is due to being old with lots of unresolved issues, my mother claimed before she returned to D?mmerung. Us hedgemages have a… Way of understanding that's different from the Witches, no matter how benevolent they insist their rule will be. I was never a good student, and by this point it's clear enough that I'm not going to have children of my own in this village, yet that's no excuse for me to neglect your training.
No, Don't talk, I'll lose my place if you interrupt and then I'll have to use you to chop wood again to make up for that. There we go, such a good monstrosity.
Mental maintenance. When an entity gains enough significance, through time or experience, their mind can start developing what we call Wisps. They're like… Personality fragments. Not anywhere near big enough individually to qualify one as Polysouled, but in a big enough quantity, can lead to instability. Through meditation one can treat their mind like a garden and pluck out the bad Wisps, turning them to mulch while encouraging the Wisps that align with one's preferred mental state. There's more of course, compounding Wisps could cause a schism, and weeding too vigorously could leave one alexithymic but those are topics a bit too advanced for something as simple as you. Just make sure you remove the Wisps that conflict with your capacity for service, and you'll be fine."
– Babbled to Elevar by a Wisp in Xafra's core room.
Sneks and Birbs are among the most intelligent creatures that roam our jungles and Groves.
And with their intelligence comes an increased capacity for emotional attachments. For example; Many sneks may spend seasons alone but always return to the nested burrows that hatched them to find their mates. Often curl about the same two or three partners their entire lives. Fall all to pieces when a mate is lost to them.
So, think on that the next time to lash out in anger at something little and cute that hisses in your general direction. You cruel cunt! They have family waiting for them back in their nest too!
– Words spat at Witch Lynette along the Root Way to the Murk by a Garroted Thresher Yuthralii.
3120 Zweitermond 14 GR
Experiment failed again. Can't… Can't stop the cravings through intoxicants. Need to find some way to get it out of my head. Fleshcrafting would be an inexcusable waste of my Wellspring. Perhaps… If I can find the solution to purify the waters on a mass scale then I can give into this desperate need to be a girl. Until then… Giving in would soak my hands in the blood of all those children I have failed to save so far.
– Journal entry found amidst the pages of Adaline's Einwandfrei manuscript.
"Names? You speak of the first curse laid upon all beneath Her gaze? You think that Names shape the form and flesh and heart gently? No. No no no. They are rocks shoved down our throats.
Does the moss need a name for the stone to understand how to cradle it? Or a haiqualle for the pod it snoozes with beneath the waves to remember her scent and snuggle?
Names given are chains we're tricked to warp around. Best cut them away before you find flesh and heart dried. Cracking. Too brittle to find better shapes.
Best to remain Nameless. Or… ehehehe. Steal a Name. Yes. That, at least, lets you laugh at the horrors you inflict upon yourself instead of those gifted by cruel masters and matrons and glaring moons. We'd bless that thrice, and once more if asked."
– Voiceless echoes that scream and cackle and weep through the Deepest Trenches
While most Thresher Burrows are insular to some degree, it is hard to deny that Endlose Arme is the most extreme in this manner, despite being the farthest reaching in their duties. What it comes down to, my Goddess, is of course the treatment of Dolls and surrogates. We— They have a strict policy of both an entrance interview and rehabilitation period for all newly transferred Threshers to prevent any misunderstandings or deliberate abuse of the Dolls.
The… Standard treatment elsewhere amongst the Burrows differs very little from the Groves, with Dolls being treated as menial labour, service animals, and stress relief. In contrast, the Dolls of Endlose Arme while… not given as much as they should be, are treated as an odd hybrid of respected elder and cherished pet, given freedom to pursue their own interests in the confines of the Burrow, permitted to form relationships with each other or Threshers (Once an arbitrator determines there is no undue pressure placed on the Doll) however they desire, and unequivocally understood to be capable of consent on their own terms.
Their methods are flawed of course, my Goddess, but these Threshers, my friends, are trying to do good in a system that feeds on weakness.
– A plea for Mercy from Strife.
"The truth is there is an eternal spectrum of what a Doll could choose to be. But we as their Weavers are responsible to nudge them into the set spaces they can Function well within the Groves. And it's not as hard as you think. Most aren't looking to subtly introspect their ideal preferences. Often to the extreme opposite of what they are right now. And suitable owners often have no patience for anything outside that. The odd quirky words Witch and Mundane have found for themselves are for people to consider. Not tools.
So. Tell me true. Are you looking for a female or male Doll? Try starting with the roles you wish it to play and we'll work backways from there to chart out the best fit. I've an entire stock of misplaced, mismatched, and abandoned Dolls that would adore a new Mistress to serve."
– Words spoken to a young Witch searching for her first Doll from a used and repurposing trading house in Grove Sinrest
"Centuries ago, there was a practice of creating prosthetics from the remains of Dolls in order to return an individual to full functionality. It is of course, deranged and unconscionable to use a soulless facsimile in place of their genuine flesh that can carry the weight of their soul, but you must remember that our current abilities in the Curanos Arts were not always so impressive.
Even now, you have mundanes needing to perform amputations and creating accommodations for differing bodies instead of simply altering the bodies into a more effective shape. Their ineptitude is of course to our benefit, as such patients can often be easily convinced that Dollification would be superior to their lowered quality of life.
That being said, when working on any Spellweaver worth their implement, always ensure first that any foreign material is removed from the wounds and that you only utilize wards for direct contact to prevent any contamination while regrowth is underway. There's no sense in burning years of your life to heal someone only to have them force you to do it again due to the new limb working slightly less efficiently."
– Excerpt from On Limb Repair, a lecture by Curanos Iletta of Grove Thorn
Sometimes, We have to come to terms that our Dreams can't take shape. That we just…
"Please. Lynette, let me go."
Are hated by the world that we were brewed into. That it won't give us what we Dream to be without answering its cruelty tit for bit.
"I gave you the tome. All the names too. Everything you need. And I won't tell anyone that you killed them."
So... Why have pity for those that life loved or was even indifferent to? They built this world. They let the cracks form for monsters like me to fester and grow.
"Or... Or just kill me here. Please. Don't give me to her. I'll do anything you want. Anything. Please. Lynette. I'm sorry I... For what... For all I said and did and…"
Let them choke on what they wrought.
The fool boy babbles for a while longer. Reads a blank expression as contemplation. As considerations. Only realizes how little the gerl is listening when his feet and mind and heart start tugging him along without his beck and will. Garrote making it hard to remember what he was begging for. Thoughts lost to the tizzy of enforced Function.
But... Mayhaps this one will have enough half-knit bits to find another Dream to chase in his new life. If he lasts long enough to consider them, of course…
– Idle journaling along the Rootways to the Murk
I walked the miasma mists for a long time, sometimes being them, sometimes not. I first found myself in the arms of a Plaguewarden, pulled into this world through a mass of death and despair as naught but a Wisp of instinct. The Plaguewarden showed... compassion and grief for the dead, and I found purpose in that.
I followed the wandering flows of miasma for many centuries before arriving here, where it collects instead of returning to the Divines, and here I found these Dolls that could hear me when enveloped by the miasma. It's different here, you see. Has... Purpose, I think.
I wish you could hear me. You've broken yourself so perfectly to press past the limits of what a doll can be, but... The Miasma is too thin up here in this Spire, even with all the miasma I can channel pushed through the poppet in your closet shrine. I believe in you. I want to be able to help. Can you just... Tell me what you need?
– Unknown, found carved into the walls under layers of paint in the second floor bedroom of Yselda's Spire.
If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times. No. Tracking that Witch along the Rootways is the way to lose entire squads. And even assuming you kill or capture her, we'll have to contend with the Blossom of the rotten and infested Murk to worry over. So no. Denied. Leave that witch be. Focus on smaller threats. We've endless reports of far less capable Fleshcrafters to chase down and Hook.
– Request Denial report from Endlose Krallen
Greensmithing is a delicate Art. It requires finesse both magically and physically and if you cannot shape your Physis like one would crochet a scarf, you might as well leave because you are not going to have the ability to keep up. Here at Grove Thorn, we make the Implement of Matrons and the Staves of Matriarchs, thus anything less than your absolute best is unacceptable in this planting.
Only one third of you will go on to be Florets under our Greensmiths, the rest will have to find a different profession or improve and wait until next cycle because we will not throw good jade after bad or waste precious Heartwood and Devourer teeth on subpar crafters. The ability to melt Jade into a magiconductive binder is the bare minimum of our Art, you will also learn how to shape the living growth of your materials to start from a higher baseline.
If that interests you, I'll see you in three hours at the bloodspan orchard.
– Excerpt from the introductory lecture in Greensmithing given by Smith Quentic.
It is a gift that Dolls, like everything else, have in-built obsolescence, of course. Were never a path to immortality some old sots thought they'd be. Otherwise… Can you imagine how miserable and pitiful and dangerous they'd be? How very… unstable? Honestly, my stupid half-knit, this Estate is a perfect example of the horrors such long lived things can become.
So... Be sure to thank me when you're next able. Because I'm only giving you twenty years once the Matron of Dollcraft arrives. Won't curse you to live to see me old and cruel.
– Idle musing of the Blossom of the Murk to her former Floret
As much as it pains them to even consider it, the Groves are interdependent on each other and that connection is maintained through three primary threads. Threshers, Warlords, and Trade. I posit that Sinrest, being the central Grove, has as much importance to stability as any two Thresher Burrows or single Warlord Order as it is foolish to consider Trade as a lesser art than combat. They are simply means of exerting control and influence. A Grove cannot function without the Buds, Dolls, Arms, Reagent, and Food provided by trading.
– Envoy Ithidrii, "On the importance of Trade"
"It's so very fascinating how weaving a good tune into an Einwandfrei can both enhance and focus the working to unexpectedly efficient levels, or ruin even the idea the Witch was trying to knit into a spell. Almost like… There is an underlying melody to the World that gets quite upset if you try to contradict it. A song beneath the nonsense, so to speak. But one that encourages us to Harmonize with Her."
– Ophreta Verlune, musing to her favorite Doll
Sister dearest,
I've met a boy and I think I'm in love. I was traveling from Vesper to Salzernte when our group was accosted by some dreadful denizen creatures that fell from the sky! It was really quite distressing until we heard the echoing scream of Quillsong that heralded the arrival of a squad from Jubatus Clutch. (That's the Warlord Order that resides in the highest canopies.) They drove the horrid things off before descending and, Codi I swear I'm telling the truth, their leader invited me to join them on their trip to the Singkep Pod to watch their biannual sparring festival!
The leader, my new love, is named Higrun, and has the most gorgeous deep brown eyes and long pointed ears. I accepted the invitation of course, your brother is not a fool, you should know, and the mere sight of that hot sweaty man grasping against another as they try to drive each other into the floor of the arena. I was undeniably jealous of his opponent from Wwētā Trove. It should have been me. I'm signing up to join Jubatus Clutch and I'm going to make Higrun love me if it's the last thing I do.
Your most dutiful brother,
– Fazen Dlan
Only here now to steal the Forever the Fire promised and kept for all His Sparks. You don't deserve us. Or them. Keep your cold empty eyes off. Drown in your own Rotted Dreams and Blighted Pain! Not ours or hers or His!!!
– Screams of nameless Corpses to the Beast the Ate Her
The Suns have declared War on Our Empire. They arrogantly refuse Us their light the day after Our ascendancy and this will not be forgiven or forgotten.
Using Our Sacred Arts granted by the Divine Cradle of D?mmerung, We shall renounce our dependency on these Abomination aboves and master bioluminescence in Our person, Our People, and Our livestock to permit Our Empire to dwell below where We may be free from their influence.
– Her Visceral Majesty, Empress Xlanth
First step is to always break down what our recruits think is wrong and right. Teach them to instead think in terms of what's necessary. Then, wash out of their stupid heads that they have the slightest idea of what that is. Because when we send them to hunt down some rogue Witch ain't nobody got time for them to think they get to reevaluate if their target is a threat. That's what we do. And if that's the job they want then the best way to get there is to follow orders and trust the methods we've fostered over hundreds of years keepin' the Grove's safe.
– Orders and Expectations on training new recruits in the Burrows
The rules that govern the mysteries of D?mmerung are best seen as Laws more than Truth. Just as Laws only apply to those foolish enough to get caught, the rules of nature only apply to the weak who are trapped within the confines of possibility. This is why we have Ousia. To do the impossible, to flout the so-called natural constants that bind mundanes and animals!
We are better than them. We can convince sound to become liquid, demand the earth weep into the sky, and even spite an entire bloodline backwards from an infant. All you have to do is believe it once, and it will flow easier each time after, the pathways formed through your Perception of the Truth you have imposed upon reality.
– Scraps found in the Weisheit Archive
"In some ways… Lynette, er… Elevar. Sorry. Coming here made everything worse, but also better. Old Mistress… was always erratic. Prone to bouts of hunger and anger and cruelties. But knew if she broke too many Dolls she'd not have them replaced. Then Lyn- Sorry. Her new Floret came to live here, that redirected all attention of the Mistress to her. Dolls were only called to the Mistress Spire to clean or serve food when Lynette was there. But then she started leaving. And things could be so much worse than ever. Especially when um… when new Dolls were added. She could break whoever she wanted knowing Lynette would replace the stock. Which she always did. I… If new Mistress says Witch Elevar is new, that's… it will accept that. But Doesn't like it, Madam Augusta. Any of that or this."
– Anonymous Therapy Session with Doll Augusta
Forever Flame screamed at the many to seek out the deep and we broke between mirror and depths, reflections distorted as we died and lived and died and lived once more, changed forevermore by the shining sorrow of our Eternal Effervescence in his effort to prevent the end of our story.
The other side of the reflection formed refracted bubbles in the depths where the many could slip through and back, yet soon other beings pushed through the bubbles causing a new calamity.
– Twelve Sprouts Always Splitting Backways Toward the Dark
"One of the best ways to shift a person's perspectives... is to agree with everything they say in flawed ways. Emphasize all the broken parts you want changed and let them correct you. Nudge things more in the patterns you wish. Make the changes seem to be their ideas. Works far better than wasting angry breath on a patient till they start listening."
– Curanos Jezrial, to her first and only student
We knew it was coming long before it happened, you must understand. Before we ever left our fallen first matriarch behind we knew she was going to die, learned from one of those blighted Oracles who would not change his song no matter how we tortured him. Would not say otherwise to save his life or the lives of his village. So, We did what Sín's brilliant daughter, our most innumerable majesty Hive, ordered. And sent the H.A.G.s. Not to connect societies, but to fallow the land and make it ready for us, the chosen people.
Sín was heartbroken obviously, but also knew what was coming, so instead of vengeance she pleaded with her Anchored Consorts for mercy upon us. MERCY? What a joke. What we got instead was Dreamborne Spite.
Her foolish other daughter, the one still free to move about, ruined us. Blocked us from the seas and skies then raised the Endlose Wachstum to contain our presence in dug out nests like some sort of pathetic insect, all in the name of Dominion.
But... you fixed her, didn't you? Made Chalice stop pretending to be what we would never permit. Peeled his spirit down to the roots with word and weave and Truth. Reshaped him into an INFERIOR. And he thanked you for it. Keeps thanking you. Will never be able to do anything else.
I hope that part hurts you the most.
– Boasts of the first Penitent laid before the Monument to Her Sín - [Redacted]
"It doesn't matter how little or much the Bane understands. She's twisted past the stupid and dead schemes she was made to fulfill. A failure. Seeks to harvest and consume. Is no more than a feral beast. And we all know the folly of loosing more of her ilk to try and end her. So, before those fools can make a second mistake, we will sow her end into the flock. Employ the very chaff she blazes through to choke her out, then bury her.
The Chains will be as that quicksand the Builder's use to protect their Burrows. Slow. Endlessly so. But better to throw thousands to drown this threat than let her turn those same into more Ousia for her to harvest.
And who knows? Teaching the flock to throw themselves at threats as dangerous as this abomination might lead to them smothering bigger problems before we even know they are here."
– Matriarch Ventheka-5 , First Command to forge The Chains
Thanks SO MUCH for reading and patience! First chappy of Book three (101) is wigglin up in the places and space tomorrow!
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Lamentations of The Dead Dreamer
Sun Spoken Turn
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