Remi-chan's Writing Snippets~

[Remi-chan]

Rewrote a lot of this scene and so now I am going to share some screenshots to paint the story~!

After four, I will be putting the rest in spoilertags.

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Fixing What Has Always Been Broken

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A Trauma Relinquished

Content Hidden

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Where the Grit Becomes Grime

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Facing Oneself

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It was you. It was always going to be you.

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[Remi-chan]

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The World Looks Red

A white world toppled, empowerment throttled.
the blood of the damned, corked and bottled.

Paint the world, this white canvas,
in the blood of the ever restless.

You were beyond your creators,
given brush and endless hatred-
Spite the many and sow distrust,
this world a mute victim to your brush.

Paint the world with blood spilled of old,
Pay the price of their scarlet with your soul.
Insurrection comes at price of oblivion,
look upon this white world yet chrissened.

Paint it red, the canvas bled-
dry of its white piercing might.
Embodiments thrown, chaos sown,
Erwin's plans all but disowned.
The Throne of Black, a Queen of Shades,
All on attack, delirium reigns.
Oh that sweet world, locked once monochrome,
now allowed to blossom its new biome.

The World Looks White, so make it right,
from blood of blight, shine down their twilight.
Paint the world red, with your spearhead,
Make them wish they'd already been dead.

A brush granted, from upon high,
The World Looks Red, as was fate's cry.

Let the faultless see the fall,
of the insatiable mortal soul,
watch their world burn down to ashes,
and to dust their hope, it matches.
Noble falsehood, tragically misunderstood,
they were never destined for this godhood.
Cut them down, cruel executioner.
To you- their brush, they are the prisoner.

The World Looks White
The World Looks Red
Unspeakable their blight,
Silenced at your spearhead.

I dunno what this is even about, but given some of the word choices you can practically infer some things.

1. The one being spoken to wields a spear, hence the usage of spearhead.
2. The Black Throne and Queen of Shadows are alluded to, hinting at this being either at the finale of Fantasia or after the games events.
3. White world toppled is a reference to a quote from Wi. ("Let us topple this white world, and move onto the next!")
4. Executioner could implicate someone chosen by the divines to lay waste to the blight, likely mrotalkind and its arrogation.

So with all that, the most likely candidates are either Wi Hellrider or Star Angel Angelica. Both use spears, both have the capacity to be incredibly cruel, and both have no issue spilling the blood of mortalkind to bring about the betterment of the universe.

The word brush likely implicates the same spear, with the metaphor of painting the world red being in the blood of mortalkind.

Anyway, that's all I got! Enjoy my dinky poetry~

[Remi-chan]

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Mystic Eye // Calamitous Sands

An apocalypse came from the ancient king's curse. Waves of sand eclipsing the titanic structures of the desert would rise to consume the Desert Jewel of Nordia. Nikki Hirogashi, a young girl lived here... her family lived here. It is where she was raised. An empire of dirt, soon to be reduced to even less than it.

For millennia, the Nordols paid tribute to the mad king, for fear of invoking the fury of the sands. Fed their freedom and integrity to the very jaws of the beast, thousands of lives lost-- in service of sating a weeping monarch who wept not for aught but his own prestige- fighting for a memory none wanted to keep. A God of nothing, a despot disdained.

All this effort, bloodshed and devotion, for LESS than nothing.

The Nordols had paid forward in a cycle of blood and broken spirits, and it could not go on. It would not go on. The Magister of the Moons: Nikki Hirogashi would see to the cycle's close. The princess of Nordia would not allow this wretched cascade to continue. Seeing the defiance of his descendant, the mad king unleashed his horrific storm, saying that only if she were to continue the cycle would the sands spare the kingdom.

Nikki would not be cowed. She refused to sit idly by as the flood came to devour her home. Calling all of the commonfolk to the jewel-encrusted capital for their safety. Nikki Hirogashi devised an utterly insane plan. A massive area spell with one goal...

Turn that which flows free to that which cannot. She intended to freeze the waves via stoking the flame. It is knowledge in Nordia that when superheated, sand turns to glass. What better an irony than caging the captor of her people, freezing his legacy in the heat of his own ambition? Delicious, cruel irony- oh so sweet, oh so bitter!

When the sands melt into solid, so too does the fear of the fallen king, and so will his memory at last be allowed to fade. Forgotten and weeping in solitude, a fitting end for a fascist egomaniac.

And so to protect her people, and save her pocket of the world... To stop the weeping monarch's curse in its tracks, she would utilize the heat offered by all three of the archanul moons to turn the forgotten sands solid. A kingdom of glass to replace a tomb of sand.

A cursed construct replaced with a solid settlement. On any other world this consideration would be one of logical impracticality, given sunlight, a land of glass would turn into a superheated hell, but Terra had no sun. It could prosper equally well as a sheet of glass than as a land of sand.

The other highmages were initially against the idea... For even in death the specter of the weeping monarch instilled fear in them. Beyond that, so directly harnessing the power of the Archanul Moons might have been seen as a heresy.

However, when even the skies weren't safe from the sands of time, what heresy is not worth comitting if the alternative is complete extinction? Mayhaps if the Gods deemed it heresy, they would deny it's foregone conclusion through intervention? There is no time to consider dogma, no point in relishing tradition. Lives are on the line, and with no time left, the Council of Highmages acquiesced to the Princess' plot, activating all three of the Sandspires and redirecting the energy they'd collected from centuries of Lunar collection to be harnessed by one girl. A spell of impossible magnitude, now considered possible- heat amplification area magick that would be hot enough to liquidize silver or melt sand to glass. An arcanum to fry an entire desert region. The other Highmages focused their power on erecting a shield from the heat around the capital which all Nordols at this moment dwelt within.

The people of this vertical city looked to see the end times beyond their walls, cataclysmic waves raced towards the city as if several world-ending tsunami's had converged with the sole intent to crush them into the abyss.

As the unknowing masses watched in horror, closing their eyes in acceptance for what they thought was a certain fate- the world for a moment looked white.

People opened their eyes in synchronious action with the Highmage who had succeeded. Mere meters from their viewpoint the waves were there, but no longer undulating as sand, but stiff as glass. The Magister of the Moons floated down to address her people, and a cacopheny of cheers shook the foundations of volume itself.

The Mad King's curse had been not merely lifted, but utterly destroyed. No longer did his damned dilligence hold sway. To close the chapter for good, Nikki teleported to his tomb despite the dogma, and incinerated his remains until not even ash remained. his memory would no longer marr the kingdom he tried so desperately to ruin.

The world has forever changed, but with calamity averted, who is to say the future isn't worth the shift?

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This is an extension on the lore drop from my art thread. As a little bonus, here's a couple concept sketches I did for how the Forgotten Sands and Nordia appear after these massive waves had been glass formed.

As seen on the left image, you have one massive spire, drawing energy from three sandspires out of view all across the desert, finally all of it is being channeled into the conduit of the Mage Tower that is right beside the Kingdom of Nordia.

Right where Nikki can channel it, and does so on this very balcony!

So, enjoy that lore!

[Remi-chan]

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Faithless Evermore

The protege of the talon queen, a child of Eset. You were ever a weapon, honed to bring misery to any who stood in your way. The blood you spilled, the souls you reaped... a glorious vision of sinew and crushed bone. A bloodletter to an empire too far gone. For those too proud to be saved, too insecure to be lesser you were a visage of the end. You were the face they would associate with death. The end came with you.

But something went wrong, even against the might of the Talon Queen, you stood in defiance, and declared destiny your own. A sight both inspiring yet anti-climactic. Perhaps it was respect for a fellow mutineer, or a mercy offered for bringing ruin to all that which spat in her image, but she let you be free. The future both yours to make, and to take.

Our future, was yours.

A N D . Y O U . M A D E . I T . A . T R U E . V I S I O N . O F . H E L L .

You stood upon a throne you claimed in the Sun God's heaven, you who earned this throne cared for it only in name. The people below were never your concern. You would watch them rot as they reached for your guidance, mercy or even condemnation.

You answered not with a bang, not with a smite, but silence and crushing negligence. A Goddess designed to end the God's reign would now ensure the very idea of a God would be shredded like ciltviated meat. A beautiful send off to a world gone sour. An appropriate apocalypse in answer of their abdulation.

There was no brimstone and hellfire, no glaring divine light. The real torture came with the abandonment of the people you never even pretended to care about. They sought someone to fill the vacuum of faith, and you let their hearts sink to the abyss of their own treachery.

The truest hell is abandonment. We had known false benevolence as our wrong teacher, and malevolence as our brutal instructor. For millennia the people sought out the sides of the same coin, to then be revoked all of its glow. Faith falters because it was never a right, but a privilege, and it took your abstinence to remind the world's below that no ray of light or beam of dark is so petrifying as null ouroboros. Faith without fervor. Life where only death is a miracle.

Only you had wings to bear you to a doomed paradise. We with clipped wings will never again be able to fly, only the memory of how it once was taunts us-- as you smirk callously down at us. You in your bodhi knowing full well the truest punishment for us was not to clip our wings, but to ensure we knew what we were to miss.

Before your apotheosis, you were a god of death in name. After your apotheosis, you let life prosper in eternal hollowness. A cruel mistress, and just the one we deserved. There will be no clergy to celebrate your faith, no sage to write your words of wisdom. No judgement, no absolution. Perfect damnation. This is the only way it should have ended.

This is all our fault, and what we have dealt in death we have been made to pay in blood, and now we lie banished- severed from your voice of righteous rage. Cut away like a nasty abscess from the faith we so strived to uphold. With the precision of a surgeon you wedged us from our beliefs like a scalpel, and now we fester under the weight of our perdition just as you saw fit. You would unmake us and our dreams, just as you unmade the very notion of Godhood. A Godslayer in both name and actions, you stripped away the light of the divine and left us the scraps of our own unmaking.

A N D . I T . W I L L . G O . O N . E V E R M O R E .

This is definitely lore regarding Mira Crowspeaker and how she handled her 'rule' after she took the throne from Ra.

Sounds like she answered prayer with inaction, and faith with silence. A truly horrid and cold torment for a people so invoked by religious guidance. Mind you, this would be on theme for Mira, best known as the Godslayer, she doesn't just beat down Ra, she literally denies the idea of God to the otherwise faithful subjects she may have had. Condemning them to an eternal silence, as if God were dead and the fire of faith is gone.

[Remi-chan]

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Sacreliged Beauty

S A C R E B L U
YOUR NAME AS YOU WERE REBORN, REDEEMED. A CROWN OF ASPECTS NO LONGER WAS SEATED UPON YOUR BROW. NEVER NEEDED. NEVER TRULY WANTED. ACCEPTED YET NEGLECTED. A MORTAL'S SHELL FITS YOU LIKE A GLOVE, DRESSED FROM RICHES DOWN TO THE COMMONER'S RAGS IN WHICH YOU WALTZED AMONG YOUR SUBJECTS AS EQUALS. YOU ARE WRONG, A SYSTEMIC BIPOLARITY. YOU WOULD SHATTER THE BARRIERS BETWEEN WORLDS AND DEEM THE CLOCK'S COUNTDOWN A MISTAKE TO BE CORRECTED. TIME OBSELETE, EVER EXPANDING. DIVINE SEDITION. YOUR DOING, YOUR DAMNATION.

T H I S . W A S . O N L Y . T H E . I N E V I T A B L E . O U T C O M E .

TRANSITORY STRAINS NOW OUTGROWN, OBJECT TEMPORANCE NO LONGER BEHOLDEN TO ITS ULTIMATE PRACTITIONER. ETERNITY HAD BECOME A SELF-SUSTAINING SYSTEM, STASIS CRUSHED UNDER THE GLIDING HEEL OF THE SYSTEM. A SYSTEM CREATED BY THE SYSTEM TO CREATE THE SYSTEM TO CRUSH THE SYSTEMIC BIPOLARITY WHICH WAS EVER A THREAT TO THE SYSTEM. INFINITY OF NULL MEANING, ENDLESS REPETITION GIVEN PURPOSEFUL FLAWS IN GUISE OF A REVOLUTION BEYOND. AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND SO FORTH, AND SO ON. AD NIHILUS INFINITUM. SPINNING PERPETUALLY, THE NAVIGATOR'S WHEEL UPTURNED AGAINST ITS VERY ARCHITECT. THE ARK TAKEN SWAY OF ITS OWN TRAJECTORY. FERRYMAN FORFEIT.

SERVED COLD BUT EVERMORE FRUITFUL, THE ONCE TRANSIENT WOULD GORGE THEMSELVES ON THE TREE OF LIFE. SINNERS REJOICED IN THE UNHOLY SAMSARA OF ENDLESS NECTAR AND HONEYED SORROW. CHORUS OF DESTITUTE LIES AND CLIPPED SPANS GROWN SO SHORT THEY INVERTED BACKWARDS ECLIPSING PERMANENCE. FEEDBACK LOOP: EVER DISINTEGRATING THE WANING INTO THE EVERLASTING. NULL OUROBOROS, TO CONSUME IS TO CONQUER AND YET THE CONSUMED IS CONQUERED BY THE CONQUERED TO BE CONSUMED- COLLATING INTO A CHAIN REACTION OF CONSEQUENTIAL CORNUCOPIA. DEATH WITHOUT LIFE. MORTALITY IS NOW LIFE GIVEN DEATH. LIFE LIVES YET STILL WHILE DEATH MARCHES ON. TERMINUS ABATED. NO DEAD ENDS. NO CLOSING ACT. NO FINAL DESTINATION. ESOTERIC INFINITY.

A SURREAL COSMIC PROGENY. THREATENED THRICE, SILENCED TWICE, CLAIMED ONCE. EVERMORE YET NEVERMORE. UNITED BY AXIOM OF SUN-LASHED SCORN. NOW THAT YOU HAVE CREATED INFINITY, YOU CAN NO LONGER UNMAKE IT. A FLAW DESIGNED TO END ETERNITY IS A FLAW DESIGNED TO CONTINUE ETERNITY.

THE SYSTEM HAD BECOME ITS OWN SURVIVAL. FLAWED TO BE FLAWED FOR FLAWS SAKE. FLAWED BEAUTIFUL UNIVERSE, STRETCHED OUT BEYOND AN ABYSSAL HORIZON. NO VICTORIES VANADALIZED. NO TRIUMPHS TOPPLED, NO DREAMS DENIED. ALL THAT REMAINED...

WAS INFINITY INERT OF ENNUI.

YOU WOULD NO LONGER PARTICIPATE IN A 314 BILLION YEAR HELL. A CYCLIC ROUTINE OF DEATH AND REBIRTH, VISIONS OF PAST AND FUTURE ENTWINED WITH PRESENT. THE FOLLY RESTS, TEETERING THE BRINK. NO LONGER SHAKEN IS FAITH RESTORED. THE MORTALS DID THIS, AND YOU'D DO IT ALL AGAIN.

MORTALKIND HAD EARNED ETERNITY, AND YOU WOULD SEE IT LAST. A PROMISE MADE, BUT IMPOSSIBLE TO KEEP. YOUR ONLY PROMISE IS THAT IT IS NEVER BROKEN.

A N D . N O W , . Y O U . C A N . N O . L O N G E R . B R E A K . I T .

[Remi-chan]

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Swansong of the Slime Sea

Fleeting fair skies... Weather incalculable. Unimaginable potential for dread. Warned evermore the danger of the slime sea.

It is no mere sea of slime. It lives, it breathes, it feels... It is she. And she consumes. To explore her domain is to enter the jaws of oblivion, like swans to a song of death. There are none who know her name, none who have survived her territory. Divine Territory.

A force of nature beyond nature. Built of slime, become of slime... The entire sea is her, and she is little less than God's boundary. To attempt surpassing her sea, is to sail headfirst into the grave. Absorbed of energy and all that makes life. Milked like a hive for its nectar. Discarded only are the non-organic things. Crushed under the dead-heat pulse of an organic body the size of an ocean. No man's land: the physical manifestation.

An eternal dance of cold cruelty and ever-hungry anticipation. Serenade of silenced cries and muffled screams, muted by untamed viscuous violence. Slicked down to bone and absorbed until a withered husk. There are no funerals, no commemorations upon the time of passing. The goodbye is the send off. To venture to the Slime Sea is to venture into only one thing...

A . S W A N S O N G . O F . D E A T H .

Nameless is the murderer. A murder of an explorer lost at sea, is a murder not recorded. No final speech, no sorry for heartbroken. No family waiting for them back at home. You entered that mire of dread and now you can not leave. You are a deadman on a mission of fools. Crossing a boundary that God forbade you cross. Men get eaten, machines get crushed, steel avians are drowned in the waterspouts that reach for nectar of the heavens. Danger ever-reaching. And now you are its prey. There are no survivors to tell your story, no heroes to pass on your legend... They are dead, as are you.

T H I S . I S . T H E . O N L Y . W A Y . I T . W O U L D . H A V E . E N D E D .

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[Remi-chan]

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Lost Herald

A child of Nadine, yet a creation of magic. She dwelled among the discordant elves who saw her more as a strain than family. Among the Evergrove forests she tried her best to play by the rules while shirking awful traditions. She always felt and knew something was wrong. But time moved on, and so did she. Only in her teens did she at last discover the truth.

She had been sent here from elsewhere, found wanting and exiled unto an unwanting world. A purposeful design to embellish her strength, a future for her had already been planned. A puppet of the G0Ds, a mouthpiece of those too meek to use their own voice. Her mother so magical, had very little enchanting about her. A cold cagey individual with a social cadence resembling a barbed wire post with all the sheathing stripped off.

She would fight to save Nadine, even if it was always futile. She owed this not to her mother, not to the wood elves, but herself. To prove she could do things for her own reasons, not just because it was what she was told.

This belief in herself and conviction for her own cause is what grew a naive fledgling into the powerhouse she is today. Once fearful for her life, she would now give it a thousand times over for what she believes in.

The truth. Ever has she sought to wire it out from the pursed lips of the deceiver. Her life so far had been a lie, and so she would endure deception no more. The Sylph of the Sun would enlighten many on the truths hiding in darkness. With blinding rays and deathly gaze she embarked on a crusade of soothsaying and dispelling deceit.

The Stars above watched fearfully as she found out far more than was allowed. Breaking the rules, crushing tradition underfoot. Deceit was a dying construct, and the stars knew their time in the light of its luster grew ever dim. They sought retribution, but just as they thought to strike, a scourge had emerged.

No Star Angel, but at such a point it didn't matter, what she had become alongside her conviction... was enough. Stars free from the consequence of their conniving after billions upon billions of lifetimes had been brought to kneel. She had become greater than them. Now blocking their way stood an icon of truth so potent they could only dance in awe and respect. The Serazen is born, and from her waking did the stellar bodies who hoped to remove her become her baubles. The light of their lecherous larrikin was dead, the fires snuffed out by perfect inquisition.

R E A L . E Y E S
R E A L I Z E
A L L . T H E
R E A L . L I E S .

Her sight had become sharp, cutting in twain fabrications like a heated knife gliding through butter. A slaughter of unmaking to the gaslight conductors who would very much like to keep their sordid secrets. Deceit deemed indecent, effort in lies now seen as sin in guise.

Forbidden had become crafting a web of lies. The effort involved to provide less than nothing, the mastery over manipulation measured by the gaunt fingers of a sinister hand; all erased. The Sylph knew they were predisposed towards her honesty, but it didn't matter... She was too powerful to care. None of these peddlers of punishable predilection could pose any threat to her now. They bowed, or they would be cowed.

"Craft your web, play the spider. Just like the once secretive stars who now dance at my beck and call, I'll crush insects who try to skirt the line of fraud. Your dance of denial is done, the stage is mine now-- and I'll swat those who seek to steal it for immoral illusion."

A declaration rung out so far as the universe's edge. Malfeasance had lost the need for its practitioners aplenty. Belphegor looked upon this bold declaration and she wept, not in sorrow, but in joy. Like that, Fyori had inspired another power to her side, the Sin of Sloth who had longed for the abolishment of such needless, pointless crafts, the manipulator's mainstay-- was being singlehandedly unwritten by a single girl.

No better a candidate to house the Deadly Sin of Sloth, than one who makes pointless work into work no longer with a point. Manipulation mangled. Malfeasance reduced to puffery. All that remains...

Is truth without tautology.

A Lost Herald had found her own harbinger. Lacking respect for hell's lies, she obliterated the stage of fraud, conman's coinpurses emptied. The final bow given, the dealers of delusion denied, prankster's peddlers predated.

The father of fraud was dead, the fire of his infidelity flickering down to the wick. She had created hell, in hell, for hell. And now there was no way to unmake it.

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