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When Write is Wrong: My Life as a Fanfic

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Gods: unreachable and oft inexplicable beings capable of shaping worlds merely through the breath of their words. So foreign and mysterious are these beings that mortals could never hope to bear witness to their glory, their all-omnipotence a pedestal far above the observable ceilings of our own meager existences. Some take on the forms of dragons, ever-observant from an astral plane, donning scaly mail or feathery furs; some live in guises of the perfect human form, swept in sparse ribbonry and crowned in wreaths of golden laurel. Even further, some enrobe themselves in legend, their interpretations left up to the denizens of their creation.


While one carves her world with a knife from a primordial clay, another may sing his work into existence. Each endless, nameless god is as different and unique as they are numerous, all with their own implements for shaping that which will extend beyond only living--to expanding, to thriving, to revolution and downfall and uprising again. Will these gods be pious and generous, cast in the light of love and patience? Or will they revel in the strife of their world, pitting factions and their tyrants against one another that will culminate in the destruction of all they had created? No one but the gods know, some would say.




Far away, but not too far in relation, one such god will fall. Far away, in a land where Night and Day are split even, two strange, paint-white rebels cast themselves against the invisible division between base and holy. When the fledgling deity is dashed upon the fields it wrought, a single Pen, from which its ink the world was scored, clatters to the ground. The young anarchist, with eyes as orange as citrine and hair blacker than coal, takes up the utensil, and composes a new world--one where they can be put to rest. Forever.


In another existence, a weathered raptor-being searches amongst the deep foliage of his home, hunting and gathering without pause. His life had been one of loss and hardship, but is never alone with his trusted companion at his side. His world is one where gods are not as palpable, beyond the dominion of the dragons, and may even seem a far stretch from their fickle nature. At once, he is swept up from his lands, and into a queer, utterly foreign land of lights and sound unlike he has even beholden before.


And at the center of it all, two gods among men emerge, bearing a Pen of their own. They scribe upon a notebook a story of birds and dragons, paired souls intertwined inextricably, brought together in a culmination of an epoch that will forever change the lives of those wrought within it...and their own.




A page lies splayed before them. On it, the runes shimmer and ebb.



"The G n' E Movie 1: Four's a Crowd"






--Username: Sugar-Free--


Marsiell Gnossienne Sebet

Gnossienne (referred to exclusively by Maoul as 'Gnos' or 'Marcy') is an above-average height Maltetpos, standing at a soaring 5' 5". She's average, in terms of looks: her jet-black hair is straight and well-brushed, lacking much definition besides the incessant outward feathering at the right side of her bangs; she's as paper-white was the rest of her kin; her eyes are a more vivid orange.


Her clothing: Her outfit consists of a thin, white waist-cut v-neck longsleeve, under which is a thin black mesh-pattern turtleneck. A black scarf is tied around her neck, streaming down the left of her breast in two thin tails. The white longsleeve has simple black cuffs, upturned and folded with understated silver cufflinks.

Her trousers are simple white with silvery stitching, and are tucked into unadorned boots with functional dress heels. It's all very form-fitting and formal-casual, by her standards.

She wears a sort of round, non-spiky spider-web accessory in her hair, made out of flexible black wire. It's situated on her right side of her head.


When she is joined by Maoul, her irises are become marked with a kinked spiral around the pupil. Throughout her body, faint black veins trace below her skin, with the most evident darkening running up and down her spine. He scarf hides the hole at the base of her neck where Maoul situates.


Her personality: Out of the duo, Gnossienne is obviously the more somber one. She approaches life with a calm mind and subtle tone, rarely choosing to raise her voice. This isn't to say she's utterly demure; more like, she is more intent on pondering than she is communication. Her entire life until recent history had been spent in silence, owing to her coming off as impersonal and distant. She does, however, find an exceptional amount of joy in morbid humor, and dryly rags on about existence and the finity of mortality as if it was apart from her. She lacks a sense of hatred in her heart, and finds that which is foreign to be quietly delightful.


Important Objects: Her rapier and Maoul. Everything else is intangible.



Maoul, The Frame

Maoul is a Luxnoir, part of the Triad of Gate Beasts. Not like that's of any importance to him, though.


His appearance: Maoul stands, at full height, at around 9', from paw to horn-tip. He usually takes on his Minor-form, reducing down to use his 'stute' to move Gnossienne's body.


In the Minor form, he appears as a blocky, cartoonish dragon-head with two horns a jagged curled smile. He has one solitary wing situated on his spine, the thumb curled similar with two wing fingers. He's about 1'6".


In the Major form, his dog-like attributes begin to show. He usually uses this form for transportation or defense; since he uses almost all of his 'stute' to form around, it renders Gnossienne unable to move. He stows her away in his chest cavity to protect her.

His head elongates and smooths a bit, and his horns curl onto themselves at the tips. His mouth defines, and inside his jaw grow two rows of teeth. A mane forms around his neck, and he has four incredible powerful legs that sprout beneath him. The "fingers" of the paws end in pointed tips, and are largely undefined. His chest remains open in a mock ribcage and pelvis, which can be formed around to close off, forming a shelter inside. He grows out both wings, reminiscent of wrough-iron fences in the fingers, and his thick tail also gains the jointed curl.


When he is joined with Gnossienne, his body becomes white instead of black, revealing the black decorations on his body, the lines of his mouth, and the 'stute' trailing beneath his torso. He can completely detach from her, but only ever does so when she sleeps or is entirely, definitely safe. He uses his black cloaking as a form of stealth.


His personality: For a creature who was captured under mysterious circumstances and held against his will, Maoul sure is a jovial sort. He's good-natured and completely loyal to the woman he's bound to...even if things weren't always that way...and likes to indulge in momentary fits of laughter. He's easygoing and smooth as silk, with a sort of single-minded gentlemanly-ness often directed at his host. He can be very protective of her health, though, and doesn't hesitate to act against her wishes if she's in danger. But those moments are few and far between, very unbefitting of a honest man like himself, of course...


His abstract thinking and seemingly scathing observations of situations has lead to an indistinguishable language between the two, where insults are compliments and questions are confirmations.


Important Objects: Nothing besides Gnossienne. Their relationship has lead to a sort of bleeding of the selves, and it can be hard for outsiders to see where one's personality ends and the other's begins.



--Username: rampaging wyvern--



Rythaji is a bahureki, a member of a horseriding bird species.


His appearance: Basically a two foot tall naked crow. His skin hangs loosely over a fairly bony body, and is of grey shades leading towards a soft pink. He lacks scales save for what's on his arms and legs, but the rest of him seems to be covered in a very fine soft 'fur'. From a skeletal point, he is very reminiscent of an extinct raptor crossed with a raven. The pelvis alone takes up nearly half his body's length and is the reason for his sharply angled back; the rest of his vertebrae are either fused or lack much motion. Conversely, his neck is extremely flexible.


His head is noticeably bulbous thanks to a large cranium. The eyes bear similarities to a juvenile Raven, with a very noticeable pale blue sclera. They face quite forwards to provide better binocular vision, but do not completely omit the blind spot directly in front of him. In a way, his vision mirrors that of a horse, and avoids the issue of having the ride's neck obscuring the view.


Rythaji's arms are developed specifically for horseriding. The hands are pronated to rest comfortable on a horse's neck and shoulders. The thumb, index finger and middle finger are lengthy and well developed, with the same range of motion as a human's. The fourth finger, however, is a bit longer than Rythaji's entire forearm and at rest is held folded back. In use, it lays at the base of a horse's neck and is used to help guide the beast. The fifth finger is similar, only somewhat shorter and twisted so the distal phalanx rests back first against the side of the fourth finger's. Both digits are fringed on one side with short black down.


The legs are similarly adapted. Most of the length is taken up by the tarsometatarsus, which are slightly curved to fit over the sides of a horse. All the weight is placed on two toes, while a vestigial one halfway up the tarsometatarsus exists only to help balance on a mount. The rest of the digits exist only as pads designed to help hold on.


The tail is long and very stiff, the tip raising up until it is level with the highest point of Rythaji's back. It is used for balance.


What developed feathers he has are typically quite soft and downy. On the back of his neck and shoulder, thick black feathers grow in upright rows. Outlining his eyes are similar feathers, and his cranium bears multiple long feathers laying flat like a shield against the sun. Two stand upright. His forearms are fringed in what would be secondary flight feathers, and a pair of giant scapula feathers provide shade over much of his body. These well-developed feathers are the only ones that bear patterns of white on them. From the upper arm to the neck there is an arch of feathers obscuring the point the scapula feathers emerge. On his tail, Rythaji has multiple long feather shafts fringed with something resembling fur.


His personality: Rythaji is friendly, but definitely on the cynical side after several life-changing incidents. He often asks himself if something is worthwhile or not, even something as simple as taking an object of interest back home. He does not accept friends any more, as nearly all those he grew close to have since been taken away, whether due to distance, death and so on. As a result, he is a very lonely individual who talks to his horse, himself, lesser lifeforms and even 'characters' he creates.


Though his kind is a fairly top predator with their intelligence and weapons coupled, he, like all bahureki, is very cautious of the unknown and is easily scared by flying things. Although it is in his nature to be fearful, Rythaji defends his horse Kiki as he would a family member and it is there that his raw bahureki side really shines.


Important Objects: Kiki is a treasured individual. Rythaji also has hanging around his neck an odd ornamentation made of preserved biological material. In greater detail, the wishbone of his dead spouse hangs lowest, followed by a pair of her arm feathers. Her fourth fingers wrap around Rythaji's neck, and hanging above those is the dried embryo of their lost child.


~further info on Kiki will be provided throughout the RP~



*All prior details have been discussed via Skype*


As this is a 1x1, please feel free to watch, but don't post!

Edited by Sugar-Free

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“ ‘Once upon a time—‘ “




“Okay, too trite. Uh...’Long ago in a not-so distant land...’ “


Another pause. There was a staccato of a pen drumming against a notebook. A flick of her knuckles sent the cap to the girl’s lip, finding a place to tap at there.


“Hmm...gah, where do I even start?”


There was a personal deadline she’d set for herself: by the end of the evening, she’d have something to show for all her straining. But, yet again, here she was—a blank Steno notebook on her lap in the waning drape of afternoon sunlight. Even if they didn’t share her ire at herself, it was nonsense to keep a dear friend waiting. But this? This was...impossible. Or, nearly impossible, at least, when she was suffering from a case of severe creative impairment.She glanced up from her knees to a desk on her right. There, a scornful-looking wyvern skeleton reared up on its hind legs, trying to intimidate her long after its voice had perished. Not like...it had ever had one to begin with, but she could dream.


At least that was easy, passive.


After a few minutes watching dust fly, a hand went to her back pocket, fishing out her cellphone. Five digits and a quick scroll through the call log and she had them speakerphone, waiting through the dial-tone impatiently.

There was a click.


“’Ey, whatchu up to? Y’know the thing we’re doin’? Well, I’ve got my notes out here in front of me, and I’ve worked on some of the intro bits for my pair, but...I’m stuck, yanno?” She twirled a finger in her hair, a mock expression of the curled telephone wires of yore.

“How are we gonna get these four together, anyhow?”




Patapa-pat patapa-pat-patapa-pat patapa-pat—


Dark stretched upward into the infinitum. Below, ever eluding, fell a spiral staircase, each patter against its steps sending a flash of impossible colors through them. Alone, the two of them were, save for each other, this endless dark, white noise and the detach’ed lights. From nowhere in particular, their shadows bounded to their left against a wall in rhythm—sharp white silhouettes, like paper, edges sure enough to sever the unending gloom until the logic bled out. And wasn’t that what they’d came for?


Gnossienne knew it herself. She was the first to speak.


“Maoul.” Her voice reverberated up the spine of his stute, like a message incoming on a wire-communications system. But it was less of a voice, and more of a thought. Yes, a thought...but she moved her mouth anyway. In the consuming white of his chest space, there was little more to entertain herself with than the sensation of her tongue lolling around her mouth.


Around her, the great dragon-beast’s form shuttered with his loping motions, taking them further up toward the apex of their destiny. For him, her words were hardly more than a taste. He considered her inflections, with their notes of mild bitterness and freesia.


“My lady?” What was this? A fracture in the impenetrable? Maoul could hardly believe it; and so, he decided not to.


Feeling the sudden influx of concern from her partner, she was quick to make her point, to right his inclinations. Though, perhaps his momentary lapse was more than just that. She tilted her head to the best of her ability, feeing the absence of cooperation in her neck.


“What do you think?”


She left her subject ambiguous. There wasn’t any need to communicate her thought beyond this. The connection between them—both in mind and body—was more than enough. It was for the best, too, she thought, as complex emotions were ill-communicated by words alone. She could feel Maoul close his eyes for just a moment, and she followed suit—two of one, and one of two they were. Behind the darkness of her lids, she could see nothing but the expanse. Of what? She didn’t know. All of reality and impossibility lay out before Gnossienne and Maoul, flickering between tangibility and etherium in an endless rain of silvering flecks. This was them, after all—their past, their present, their future...


Now, it was Maoul’s turn to edify.


“All that can come to pass lies lining this last stretch. Take time to admire the view, my lady.” He treated her to the sensation of a playful smile. She instinctively mimicked it, feeling the subtleties of thinly-veiled facetiousness leaking humor into her chest and face. A rush of downward force caused Maoul to dance to the side to avoid being pushed off his precarious perch.


“Petulant fellow, isn’t he?” They scoffed together at such a weak-willed attempt at subterfuge. A stark-white ledge jutted out from nowhere high above, and Maoul sent the signal to his mistress. Gnossienne complied, forfeiting all of her focus for a split second to reach throughout his limbs with her mind. He tensed, feeling her go utterly limp, and bounded upward with a galloping thrust. Clearing through the mire to the platform was effortless with her assistance. When they made contact with the ground again, he relented what little stute was left to her. It was almost too much to ask for as much as he was taking, but he knew she didn’t mind; so long as she was even slightly mobile, she was content.


Maoul made off for another featureless staircase. The rails had broken into particulate, drifting around as a bare skeleton of what they were before. Gnossienne took a moment to recover from the momentary unconsciousness, and then asked for a continuation of their discussion in silence.


“Whatever may come, we will certainly overcome it. Or not.” He shrugged inwardly. “I don’t think our lord and savior has though nearly this far ahead. Who knows? Perhaps we can overcome his reality.” Gnossienne considered these words heavily. Maoul didn’t try to reassure her any further. She wouldn’t need it.


“Nh. Verily.”


And that was all there was, for now. The white noise receded until it faded entirely, only echoes of his claws and the inevitability of subsequence friends to their lonesome. In the span of fates, she could see the world shifting—less black, less white, and converging into a mute grey. It was devoid of all its foggy purples and shaded blues, becoming little more than a smudge of graphite. No, less than that—it was without any distinction, losing its textures and variants. It was a mistake. It had no identity.


“We’re growing close, Maoul.” He nodded in agreement. Just out of sight, a hardly ambient square loomed in the assumed ceiling. He regarded his mistress again.


“...are you nervous?”


“’Nervous’?” Nervous...was she nervous? Perhaps...perhaps not. It was conflicting. She felt for the threads of his emotions as a lead, but he was intentionally withholding them. Testing her. Or, maybe, exposing her. She eased back into the white around her to clear her mind. How...did she feel?


“I think not. More, like...” The words were hard to reach for. Gnossienne would be certainly sure to berate him for his insolence later.




Something along those lines. “That’s an approximation, yes.” Maoul jogged to a halt and rested on his haunches. Gnossienne watched as a dark void grew before her, pulling away the white into bars before a pair of massive colorless paws retrieved her from the cavity. Though the fingers were cuttingly sharp in appearance, not a single thread was misplaced in their embrace. Held away, supported like a newborn in both hands, Maoul looked upon her, his beady pupils and perpetual grin cut into his form and made transparent against the blackness behind him.


“Why have you stopped, Maoul? We have no time to waste with frivolty.”


“I hardly consider this frivolous. God can wait, for now. It’s just another facet of our fate.” He brushed a thumb against her face. Though the digit was hard and had no give whatsoever, it was impossibly soft with some sort of imperceptible down. The texture was almost like smoke, she described it.


“Lend me your burden.” She couldn’t deny him. She didn’t necessarily want to, either.


“... we’ve come far, haven’t we? From ignorance and loss, to illumination. Seems like only seconds have passed in these years.”


“We have,” he mused, “and haven’t we suffered for it in spades? I find myself wishing for blissful unawares in times like these.” He chuckled lightheartedly.


“Certainly. But that is the weight we bear for our gains.” Gnossienne gave him a questioning look. “Do you have plans to turn back, when we are so close?”

“Hoh...well, maybe. To save myself the trip, I say we stop right here and starve ourselves out.”


“We have to work for death, Maoul. We’ve learned as much so far.” He laughed again, tickled by the prospect.

“No rest for the wicked, indeed!”


Too often they engaged in this meaningless banter, trading increasingly asinine comments contradictory of their intentions. It was what some would describe as “joking” between them, and it was certainly humorous to themselves. Before they had murdered them, Gigante and Vexnare would grow so tired of their back-and-forth that they’d faze out completely, leaving Falone and Euclase completely immobilized wherever they’d stood. Sometimes, they thought back half-fondly to the false Gate Beasts and their partners.


But only in passing. And only half-fondly.


“Ah, but enough of that now. We’ll reach our end soon.” She smiled, a lingering sensation of something in the back of her mind. Maoul read her face and gave her a little shake.


“Out with it. Keep no regrets to yourself. I won’t have time for you in oblivion.”


And she didn’t intend to. Her face tensed and her smile fell, conveying her serious tone without a single word yet.


“You know you are my boon companion.”


I didn’t have a choice, might I remind you.”


“Listen to me,” she struggled to move a finger to rub against his palm. “Wherever this ending takes us, you will be with me. Even if...” she paused, “...even if I found you to be nothing but another one of the Creator’s constructs, meant to lead me astray, or if you even are the real Maoul...” He retracted his wings and gave her back her arms. A hand wrapped around the edge of his own.




“I cannot imagine my life otherwise. Do you understand me?”


He adjusted her in his palm and held the other to his chest, bowing his head. Perverse, how this creature in a mere legend who once scorned her like the light itself now served her with humbleness and gratitude. It was impossible to convey just how unworthy it made her feel.


“You are my shadows, Gnos.” He held up a finger close to her.


“ ‘Both and neither’—“ She touched it, understanding the gesture.


“ ‘—wholly either.’ “

She returned her mobility to him and motioned to be tucked away. He did so, spreading out his ribs to accommodate and sealing them whole when she was comfortable. There, she was safe from harm, safe from the terror of the malignant omni-spirit above. He trained his attention on the door to their damnation, feeling a renewed sense of determination.


He shot upward.

Edited by Sugar-Free

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....How many feathers did I decide on again...? Eleven, wasn't it?


The rough scratching of a pencil point on paper continued.


"Gah, this guy is just not really gonna work... no, no, that issue's irrelevant now actually."


A quick doodle of the subjects from above, complete with slanted lines on each side. Pulling the skull of some lizard over, she compared to the scribbles its field of view.


"'Kay, definitely a blind spot of about..."


the most ridiculous ringtone


"Ah—!" Dropping the pencil to the desk, she lunged over to a nearby shelving unit, straining and reaching for the source of the offending sound. The grinning skulls of innumerable surrounding beasts almost appeared to find joy in their owner's endeavours to not fall off her chair.


"Finally!" The device had been successfully retrieved. "'Ello! ...Oh! Mm, just been drawing all our guys. Maoul's a pain to work on and I'm not sure you'd like what I've done... oh!... I was thinking, if we go with the teleportation excuse, they can just wind up in an alien world. Rythaji can probably trip a wormhole or something while he's around an ancient relic."



Atop the wind-worn crest of a hill, the wind rustled long, stiff and dry grasses. The cloudless sky saw the sun beat down mercilessly upon the baked soil below; the occasional tree offered sparse shading. Colourful insect and reptile life coexisted within the scrub, reaping what they could before night settled, bringing with it dangerous beasts and bitter cold.


Over the sounds of the world, tiny, rapid footsteps barely made themselves heard. While their source could not be seen above the grass - leaves that near reached three feet in height - a parting trail most definitely could be. This trail was followed by a long-legged horse that bore a tri-horned crest upon its curved face. At its sides, two woven baskets hung, light from a so-far-fruitless journey. A twin set of tendrils hung from its upper lip, inward-angled barbs visible at their tips. Two protruding lower incisors cropped the occasional grass head in a bid for a satisfactory snack. And a tail of broadly fanning hair trailed between the closing grasses behind the mare.


The creator of her path, the guide she followed so closely, was a bizarre birdlike beast of short stature. Running with the poise and elegance of a miniature ostrich, the beast surely was a strange sight to the unfamiliar. The body alone: short, with a sharp angle near the centre of the back. On one end: a long, rigid and bristled tail. On the other, a long neck supporting the bulbous head. Most noticeable were the strange hands the creature had: held with the palms facing one another, a full set of digits instead of feathers were displayed. The last two fingers were oddly long - long enough to be held folded up against the arm lest they catch on something to either break or trip up their owner.


Rythaji finished his run with a small hop onto an ant's nest, raising his head above the grass and scoping out the landscape before him. He was traveling for a giant sinkhole, one that stretched a good fifty feet in width and housed a section of an underground water source. He could see it now, just beyond the hill he stood upon. Stamping his foot to dislodge defending ants, Rythaji clicked his tongue twice - 'ki-ki' - and turned around to see the horse behind him now kneeling, the baskets hanging at her sides crushing grass to the ground.


Rythaji hopped up lightly onto the marbled animal's back, holding onto the fringes of hair on either side of her neck with his thumb, index and third fingers, while his fourth rested in front of her shoulders and the fifth finger laying directly over the shoulder. His beak barely poked the back of the equine's neck, yet she did not obscure his view. His right fourth finger applied some gentle pressure, and Kiki turned on the spot until her rider relaxed. Now a single tap with both fourth fingers and the horse moved to walk: a second urged into a trot, and third a canter. The ants below froze, mandibles splayed wide open in warning and some fleeing from the soil kicked up in their faces, but the threat avoided their nest in favour of a path straight down the hill.


The grassroots barely held the hillside soil in place, yet Kiki's twin hooves gave her stability. She could hear her rider talking to her, an endless stream of clicks and guttural sounds that she could hardly decipher. Once she hit level ground, another tap was delivered to her neck and she took off at a gallop. Her rider's commands were the only language she needed to understand. She trusted and carried out every instruction with utmost precision.


Those of Kiki's species would not be seen near a sinkhole, let alone enter one. But Rythaji pulled on the fringes of fur to slow his ride to a walk and proceeded to guide her down a thin, sloped and very broken path following down the sinkhole's walls. The arid conditions gradually relented, dry scrub turning into different, greener plants of a more exotic nature. Across the sinkhole's floor lay a colossal jumbled mess of old metal. Arching shapes made up the main form, reaching high into the air and trapped within the twisted forms of unusual trees. To reach the water, Rythaji and his horse would need to walk through this mess, and so they did.

Edited by rampaging wyvern

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“Maoul, on your right!”




A bolt of ink burst in front of the two. Maoul leapt up and around the puddle, bending and withdrawing his limbs in a well-choreographed set of movements. Just away from the fray, Gnossienne tugged and gave at his strings, leading him in an elegant dance toward the deadly embrace of the Creator. Through Maoul’s eyes, she saw it for the first time: a spongy malignancy dressed in a patchwork jacket, waving about a stylish Pen in its amorphous hand. The nib was forked, the Pen encased in glowing white marble with black etchings all around it. Though small, it was weighty, and the Creator’s arm shivered with fatigue. Both could tell with its supposed superiority that it would not back down. But they were determined to seat it in its thorn-wrought throne and relieve it of its heavy burden, once and for all.


“Hah! No problems at all, my lady.” He skidded and vaulted sharp to avoid another strike of black. Behind, a spatter of dark painted the white of the Insubstantial Hall, bloody in contrast to the purity, the façade. Maoul focused in on the Creator.


“Let’s strike him from a new direction, shall we?” She understood. She didn’t like it, but she understood.


He raked his claws into the pool, coating them in the thin fluid until the white was obscured. It bled slowly upward like parchment catching water, but he ignored it. This was more important. This story needed closure, no matter what it took to achieve it.

Gnossienne took his hand and drew a window—the same enormous two-door expansion that had stood in her-no, ITS own room—and ordered them into a dive toward it. An outsider would find this as a display of desperate insanity, but perusing the boundless out-of-bounds in the creases of this fabricated world had let them to this wholly improper use of the Creator’s tool. The floor wobbled before reaching upward to engulf the pair, just as the window was blotted out in a smear.


The world in between texts was only a moment in examination. Much had been left here in creation: subscripts, notes, asides, a myriad of side-stories left unimplemented. This had been a veritable library for Gnossienne and Maoul in the past, and it was here they had first hidden away from the Creator’s gaze. In the sparkling miasma of greys, whites and blacks, Gnossienne pointed out toward a line written in an invisible wall.






“Yes, I’m sure.”


Maoul complied, in this second of communication, and waded toward the partial paragraph inscribed there. Floating, he braced himself against the wall with his scute and raked at it. In his own language, familiar to both of them, he wrote the words his partner whispered to him in shallow breaths. Runes carved out fell in slivers of plastic.

He pushed toward the wall with a breaststroke.


The floor gave way again with a splash, white peeling away and the Between leaking out as they leapt.


The Creator never knew. Its chest split as eight blackened talons tore into it, blossoming into a flurry of paper tendrils and cloth flowers before shimmering out of existence. Maoul landed against the back of the throne, pushing it over and tumbling gracelessly into a heap. His ribs sprung open and Gnossienne fell out, utterly limp.


“Oof! Ah, Maoul, why have you disposed of me so harshly?”


Function returned to her arms and neck, allowing her to turn herself and crawl with what strength she could muster. When she righted herself to look back out over the deteriorating Hall, she saw Maoul lying next to her, his massive body struggling to move.




She dragged herself closer as he gathered his limbs under him. He shook out his head, groaning against the pain. She could see why—the ink of the Pen was eating up through his angles and fur, certain to consume him—but maybe she had hoped she could bypass this tradeoff. After all the times they’d cheated the rules, they’d come out on top. But she was aware of the cost of their betrayal. They both were. Maoul lifted a paw and rubbed it against his face down his chin, smearing the black in lazy streaks.


“Mhm...this poison certainly smarts a bit...I didn’t expect it to have such a voracious appetite.” He smirked grimly through a ragged gap in his palm.


“He must’ve had some serious writer’s block.”


Gnossienne reached for him, hoping somehow that her touch could purge this affliction. He pushed her back with his tail and shook his head.


“No,” he rolled out his tongue and laid the Pen out at her hand. “You have work to do. Don’t get soft now.”


He scooted away and gave her space to write the last passage and reduced his form, giving her better control for this delicate task. She drew onto her knees and leaned over the white space, aware of her duty.




She was stricken with sudden indecision. Maoul noticed and tilted his head, but Gnossienne dismissed it. In its stead, she chose to speak to her companion one last time, for clarification.


“Maoul. This is the end. I promised I would write for us an appropriate ending.”


“Yes, yes, this I know,” he waved a hand, “I’d prefer to die a glorious death, if you could spare one for me. Anything better than this blamed ick crawling through me.” Of course, he remained full of humor in the face of finality. Maybe if she was closer, she could feed off of this residual happiness, but she felt nothing but hollowness.


“I trust you. Do whatever you wish; I know yours will be the best decision.”


After a moment of hesitation, she set the Pen against the ground, moving it in broad strokes to form the first Paragraph...


“Oh, yeeeeah, yeah...” She rubbed the cap against her tongue as the cogs begin to turn.


“Oho, alrighty. I gots an idea for them. Feel free to drop him and Kiki in as soon as you want...” She smirked as she scribbled against the paper, a flame of inspiration burning bright inside.


“Let’s divert their fates...TO AN EARTH AU THINGIE!!!”


The last word was written. That was it—it was over. Maoul had slid down to the floor and passed out, life nearly expended. The last garnish was the period.


Gnossienne gazed upon the Hall as it dribbled into the Between, greys running down the walls as gaps appeared. She gazed at her hands, blending into her surroundings until she couldn’t see them. She gazed at Maoul, the only one.


With and without.


Her arm fell.







She passed through the ground-------


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Rythaji pattered cautiously past the first steel relic, clicking and warbling to himself. He had been here before and while it never changed, there was always something new to discover. The soft thuds of his horse's hooves behind him, the bird suddenly opted to deviate from his path.


An angular object had emerged from the ground since his last visit! Rythaji stood over it, hands held above it while he eyed it from all angles. The volume of his talking rose in excitement and he began flicking away loose soil and plant matter away from it with his fourth fingers. Whatever it was, it was thin and rectangular. Eventually the ground became too firm for simple scratching. Rythaji held back his neck ornament with his left hand while he reached out his right to really dig. Grasping the end of the object between thumb and index finger, he pulled. Moved it around a bit. Still too firmly embedded.


While her rider occupied himself with this ground object, Kiki wandered further afield to graze. Her diet typically consisted of very dry grasses, so what grew here was a nice change. But it also meant she had to carefully pick her way around wiry structures that could be buried in the leaves. She lowered her head, keeping Rythaji in her vision. He had managed to dig up whatever it was - pushing it around with intrigue, picking it up, dropping it... it was nearly a fifth of his height. One side of it had a smaller rectangle cut in, presumably to hold something very flat. Within this, many details could be seen - all so caked in dirt and roots it was impossible to make sense of it.


However, Rythaji seemed to like it. Now that he had it free, he ran to Kiki's side and shoved it under her nose. He earnestly watched her sniff at it, as though expecting her to give an opinion. Once she returned to grazing, Rythaji had made up his mind: this was worth keeping!


Into the basket it went.




The pencil scratched in the last few feathers on the bird's neck.


"Whenever you're ready!" How would a primitive, lonely bird thing with just a few screws loose live in a new world so different to where he belongs?


"What should his starting point be...? Somewhere industrial? Train line?" It would be such a different environment, she figured. A total contrast. It'd be more than enough to rattle the animals and make them get moving. The sooner they reached their 'friends', the better.


"Yeah, let's go with a train line! Give them a good reason to run into Gnos and Maoul!"




Rythaji stepped his way over every obstacle those large curved pieces of metal gave: their edges, barely buried at points were a tripping hazard. To the inexperienced, that is. Rythaji knew where everything lay, as did his faithful horse.


Just a few metres away now, the underground water flowed out into a small pool. Small animals swam in there - blind fish, and even a rat with shimmering fur dove deep within to escape the intruders.


One giant grey arch to go under until the duo reached their goal.


Kiki's hoof struck a ridge with a dull clang.


At that moment, it was as though something had struck Rythaji in the back of the head. A sudden, almost splitting pain, dizziness, loss of vision... weakness...

Edited by rampaging wyvern

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For those moments, Gnossienne was truly alone.


Fleeting as moments tended to be, it was hard for her to tell what "alone" truly meant. Yes, Maoul, her "light", as they would often jest, had left her. His departure should've upset her, and she was sure in a way that it did. But without him, she couldn't tell. She couldn't tell how alone without him she was without him.


It was a predicament.


No, no it wasn't.


This was the End. No time for an Epilogue, by her hand. Her wrist had lain limp one final time against the insubstantial substance making up the Hall, and had fallen through. This was the End.


She supposed. Even if she knew she shouldn't.





Grabbing out at a bunch of greyish fibers proved useless. His hands clamped down as a grimace crossed his face, growling and turning in a frenzy as he tumbled down and down again. Where was up and how was down? He didn't know. He didn't know.


Wind tore into him. Force pushed creased into his blocky appendages; a light creaking rattled him.


A tear in the shifty fabric of something rippled and parted, threads releasing their bonds and pulling back in strands, like a fringe on a dry-rotted gown. Maoul fought against the pressure and righted himself, thrusting out his limbs in front of him. Below--







The sound of clattering metal rang out in sharp barks as the white dragon-beast spilled onto the yard from nothing much. The sheer force of his landing bent the tracks and broke them in places, elbows and knees splintering the boards in between, but it wasn't entirely painful. Without the time to consider, he rolled onto his back. Was he...?


"-alive?" But what even was the state of a Luxnoir? Not hardly alive, on the slightest cusp of being realistic...


There was a noticeable thrum under him, vibrating through his stute and displacing his form in the slightest manner. It was annoying, and enough to set of a prickle of anger in the banding cords, but he ignored it for the moment. Above, the sky was a cloudy orange, falling off into the evening. A sight like this could only be observed when the Creator willed it, as there were no sunsets in the Spheres; as such, he'd never experienced one before. Were it not for select forbidden knowledge gained in Between, he wouldn't have recognized it. Strange. Was this the Spheres, as they could be?


No, he thought. The Creator was a memory. Shrapnel. Tatters. Like the old world had to be. Like all previous things.


He thought of Gnossienne.








The vibrations underneath were growing ever and moreso disruptive, and it irritated him. Maoul pressed his chin to his chest, looking forward.


A large building was barreling toward him at an inconceivable speed. His stute bloated his limbs in reflex, bouncing back--




-nails scraping up dust in recoil from steely wheels rowed by mechanical arms, reverberations and speed pulling and pushing him back and around. The sound of it was almost unbearable, Maoul stumbling back from the force of its whistling and roar as it tore forward. He gave it a second passing thought--"What an uncouth beast!"--as he stood upright, placing a foot on another rail mere inches away.


A vibration shuddered through him. This time, he wasn't staying to greet it.


He took off at a lope and crossed a few more tracks, fascinated by the architecture. He has no idea what they were--travelling houses?--or why there were so many. He hadn't gotten a glance inside, but maybe they were shelters from the sun? No matter the function, it was wholly otherworldly. But why shouldn't it be?


A though crossed him. How impossible this was. Maoul snorted.


"Perhaps I should ask myself that sometime."


Yes, yes, that was right--wasn't he supposed to be dead? Death entailed extinguishment, a last rite, the end of ends, but yet, here he was. And where was he, exactly? The phantom of an inclination occurred, but he dismissed it. It was very unlike her. Trees lined a horizon far off, something like birds were circling above, and a myriad of sounds and colors flickered and faded all around. It was hard to tell, but the lingering sensation of biting cold lay silk lines in his down. Without Gnossienne, it was hard to tell. Without her, it was hard to feel the things he felt with her.


He shivered.



A few minutes of narrowly avoiding these hissing, grumbling snake-carts yielded little of interest. The forest line, or what he could assume was a forest line, was beyond. There, perhaps, the snakes, confined to their trails, couldn't roam. And was he ever growing tired of them already!


He picked and trotted over the rails for only a moment before another vibration could be felt. Maoul was about to jump the nearest one before spotting a white figure lying over the track on his far right. Perhaps it was debris--Maoul didn't know the logic of this world, so evidently not his own--meant to lie there. But upon a closer inspection, as he was unable to draw away from it, he made out a too-familiar black scarf and white jacket. He didn't know what to think.






His head shot around to the motor-serpent twisting its way, challenging him with a loud bawling growl. He dedicated all his strength to his back legs and front talons, and shooting out toward the form.



Edited by Sugar-Free

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Rythaji gasped.


Everything was dark. There was no sound.


His whole body dully hurt, like he had just dropped off a cliff.


A soft guttural sound of pain. Rythaji's right hand digits twitched, beginning to feel out the ground. Giant rocks now lay in place of the soft, grassy ground he last stood on. As numbness left and sensations grew more precise... stony points dug in all over his body, bruising and tearing his soft skin. But under his jaw, there was just something cold, hard and flat.


Now Rythaji opened his eyes. He first saw nothing but blurriness, then gradually alien shapes, sounds and colours made themselves clear, bathed in the light of a low sun. What he rested upon was indeed a sea of blue-grey stones, over which ran long, straight rods of... metal. At regular points, broad wood planks lay underneath them, heavy contraptions driven deep into them. Fear began replacing confusion.


The bird pushed himself up, supporting his weight on aching arms. He gripped the metal rod below him, its steely shade most unwelcoming. Suddenly he became aware of a subtle vibrating sensation, piercing his hands and reverberating up his arms.


Just a ground tremor?


To his right, four tiny bright lights were visible. Rythaji tilted his head for a clearer look. They were fixed to something very square, something that kind of resembled an abstract depiction of a dragon's face. They didn't seem to be moving. They didn't seem to be doing anything, really. The lowest two blinked in and out in an alternating pattern, but that was it.


He closed his eyes again, waiting for the tremor to pass. Where was Kiki? His faithful horse... had she been... attacked? He might have been unconscious for hours or even days. No, no... that couldn't be. He had lost enough... not her too. The tremor only strengthened, and a distant roaring sound reached his ears. The sound of their enemy? Did they have Kiki?


He would have to find out, no matter how horrifying the result could be.


Rythaji took in the foreign world once more. The four lights to his right were... bigger? Not just them, the whole thing was bigger. Confusing. Like a deer caught in the headlights, he stared at the anomaly. It no longer appeared stationary. It was approaching, very very slowly like a predator on the prowl.


Several long seconds passed, and the monster had visibly picked up speed. With its growing profile, the tremors strengthened - and now there was a painful, shrieking sound emanating from somewhere. That distant roaring sound had not let up since it started and it suddenly dawned on Rythaji that the monster was not traveling so slow after all - nor had it ever stood still.


It was barreling towards him faster than a galloping horse.


Panic gripped Rythaji and his entire being kicked into gear. His arms thrust him violently from the metal, and his legs found their footholds on the rubble as he staggered back. He had barely pulled his head clear when the beast tore past him, the tremors emanating from it now a full-fledged earthquake rattling the ground, the roar a culmination of nightmarish rattles, shrieks and other strange noises. The actual form of the thing, rendered lost in the blur. The rods it ran on bent beneath its weight and even the very air was forced from its path. It felt vaguely like there was a vortex being pulled along with it, sucking back the displaced air and with it Rythaji's spacial awareness. Suddenly believing he was lurching towards the deafening behemoth, Rythaji put all his effort into just getting the heck out of there.


Yet as he stumbled back, his feet caught on another one of those rods. In that instant his coordination left him and the one solution that came to mind was to quickly jump the obstacle and keep going.


A big mistake.


It was heading in the opposite direction this time - another monster just too close for him to run this time. This one announced its presence with an intimidating, earsplitting sound - not a screech, not a howl, it was no sound any animal could produce. Fear gripped Rythaji. He stood there, watching the blinding, hypnotic lights, half-waiting for his death to meet him.


But in moments he threw himself to the ground. The beast had a space right underneath it. He hit the ground and the thing was over him before he had even a chance to breath. The violent motion above him, beside him, below him... the sheer noise, the darkness and occasional flashes of light...


Where did Kiki go?


The seconds ticked by, evolving into minutes. Would this thing ever end? Metal running upon metal roared just next to his face, and the smell of dust and unfamiliar things was simply suffocating. His feathers threatened to catch onto something, and sometimes something hung low so as to nearly strip his skin. And then, taking with it the noise and motion, the ugly beast had passed.


Shakily, Rythaji craned his neck to see the monster's tail end diminishing. He... he had to keep going. Had to get out of here.

Edited by rampaging wyvern

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The first sensation she could feel was cold, at first.


This could be death, she reasoned. After all, she didn't honestly know what death entailed. And even if she had been correct, that it was the cessation of her ill-wrote existence, there was nothing to say that she hadn't been "abducted" from her happy ending. That somewhere, between the fall of the nib to the floor, that an amendment or clause hadn't snuck inside whilst her eyes drifted, which they did admittedly from time to time.


But she didn't like the entertainment of that thought.


For now, the cold was enough to drive away that heinous notion. As it wasn't a damp, earthy cold, or the general all-purpose, night-to-endless-night wet that clung to the city, no. It was dry. Dry as the arid contempt of the Lightsphere, but without the ever-present tingle of being burnt without scorching. No, this cold, the longer she remained in place, successfully infiltrated her pores, leeching into her blood and making ways into her bones and meat.


And it was horrible.


The more she thought about it, how it bathed her like water, how it send a crawl through her skin like centipedes, the more it overwhelmed her. She hadn't felt such a succumbing sensation since long before meeting the Luxnoir, when her nerves were barren and simple interfacing abraded them like sandpaper.


Raw, she thought to move. Eyes first, limbs following.


When her lids opened, she saw grey. But not the meaningless, basic greys the Creator had been fond of. No, these had the talents of blue and the eloquence of purples, uniform but broken with scratches of black and tarnish in places. Some, in her line of sight, even invited in reds and pink oranges, though they were held in place as a favor for a outside light source. Still, they were not flat. They were alive, she could tell, these inanimate objects.


The grey had an edge--it was a metal, and rather metallic, to boot--and over it she could see some blackish feathered thing scrambling about. It was indescribable, bird-like but not in the same manner. It was mostly comparable to Vexnare, that ratchet-beaked soapbox she still half-fondly remembered. It was intriguing, utterly different and unlike as to be...alien. In this non-death death-of-logic world, if the Pen had not obeyed her commands or had betrayed her...well, she would simply seek another god to slay.


She went to move.


But alas, for she did not.


Oh, well of course.


Of course in death, she would still be rendered ineffectual by her disability. She didn't curse, however, as this was evident enough proof that somehow, in some way, she had had her own epilogue scrapped and replaced by an inferior edit.


Then I am cold because he is not with me.






The sound of an unknown echoed from beyond her vision, growing closer and closer as the concept of seconds ticked by. She didn't feel anything notable. The ground vibrated, and a hollow choke of humor escaped her.


Ah, then there's the answer. Then this may be a "glorious" death. I didn't forget.


The sound, the vibrations intensified, stirring pebbles into a frenzy around her. It came and came until it muted her senses. It came until she was engulfed in fury and light--




And it struck her.



Her vision rolled, hard angles biting into her ribs and under her knees as she was sent reeling through the air. There was a scraping of what she thought was her body hitting the ground, but no dirt touched her skin nor did anything tear at her clothing.


As soon as the spinning began, it ceased, slowing until she was situated in what felt like a prone position, if her bearings were to be trusted. When she reopened her eyes--she didn't remember closing them--she didn't see much. Shadows, appropriately; maybe the last vestiges of light before fading to the ether? But they opened, into colorless boxes with a scattering of black marks over them.


Her lips twitched, trying to will out her reaction, her emotions. She couldn't. She never could without him.







"Marsiell Gnossienne Sebet, in the flesh..." He held her high, looking her over as if she were some prophesied demigod, and gave a soundless thanks. Gnossienne didn't know how she could react, but now, that was all fine. She didn't have to know now. He pressed a finger to her palm and smiled, relieved.


"You're not supposed to be here, you know. I believe there was a misunderstanding on your part somewhere...perhaps about the blissful demise of a certain Maltetpos and Luxnoir, hmm?" He shrugged, a smirk tugging up his artificial lip.

"A rookie mistake, I'm sure. Everyone forgets to write a proper ending to their books before publishing them at least once, right? You'll have to do better next time." If Gnossienne could berate him, she would. She decided to settle for weaving a proper whip suitable for the severe tongue-lashing he was to receive later.


As if reading her mind, he tilted her onto her stomach, causing her to bury her face in invisible fur. She could feel, with an unnerving precision, where his talon was tracing--right at the base of her neck, pushing away the scarf and her hair with it--before digging it in to the gape located therein.


"Good. You wouldn't want me to make that hole twice."


Maoul laid her down again, still facing downward to the ground. She could hear him situate, a little noise like a whistle and cords being tightened to themselves. A coil of slick wire wound up her back to the hole, and with a moment of hesitation, darted forward and struck down, wiggling until it found its mark. A staggering pain, like being impaled on a thousand burning pikes, struck her for just a second, blinding her and wrenching away the oppression of bare sensation.


It was like being electrocuted, or so she described. It was a process of going blank and reviving over and over, the body learning to communicate and become one with the stute of the Luxnoir. Between each interval, there was neither life nor death, no identity. Only afterward, when a Degregate was bound to the Luxnoir was their a "us"--one becoming two, and two as one. It was difficult and agonizing being rejoined after even a short time of separation, but for Gnossienne, it was a process well worth it. And she would suffer it time and again, for as long as she could.


Her limbs spasmed and jittered, Maoul shaking her out piece by piece to reestablish old ties. The tiniest of black threads needed to be worked back into place by force, and a good slap of her palms to the ground would get them where they needed. For her, it wasn't too disconcerting, but the "new" sensation of ever-present strings guiding her was hard to ignore. He pulled her back to her feet, dodging her away from another barreling worm, and stuck out the remainder of his stute above her head and forming his cartoonishly-angular features upon it.


She gave a kick to the dirt to knock the numbness from her toes, taking in a breath to finish the bond.


"Yes..." she mused, feeling a sense of completion. "...this is more like us."



Gnossienne directed Maoul's attention to the side. Not too far away, still in the general area of where she'd seen it earlier, scurried the bird-creature. She could already feel the compulsory snideness rising behind her neck.


"I believe we should engage with it. Perhaps it is a denizen." Maoul snorted.


"Interested in the local flavor? Hm, and here I was thinking we were committed..." She held a hand back and flicked him in the face. Not the lashing he deserved thrice-over, but it would do.


With a few well-timed hops, they made their way over to the bird, who looked quite perturbed and like it'd misplaced something. She had half a thought to send Maoul to overtake it, but was too fascinated by it to do so. The black of its feathers, its coated-cord neck and disc-shaped eyes were so...organic. So...oddly pleasing.


"Ho there, friend. I wish to trouble you for information, if you can spare it."



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While the shaking ground gradually settled, Rythaji continued his frantic search. He knew Kiki, she would have run from this violent, loud place. With a quick hop the bird cleared the metal strip he had failed to cross just moments before, skidding on loose stones too big for him to gain proper grip on.


Just then, he caught sight of something interesting just next to him, trapped between two of these stones. It was also metal, but small enough for him to grab hold of and long enough for him to barely be able to pull it free. It ended in a point. Rythaji cocked his head, studying the item.


"What are yoouu?"


Questioning it as though it were a conscious being, Rythaji began cycling through answers. Weighty, long, pointed... maybe it was to break open foods like roots and nuts? Ooh, maybe he could take it back to his tribe. He looked around for his basket-bearing horse.


Realising she was still missing, Rythaji gripped the item tightly, looking around once more for that four-legged beast. Once again he began his frantic search, deciding to follow the trail on which that monster had almost claimed his life.


For all his solid vision, he was so focused on finding his horse that he failed to notice two approaching creatures. And then suddenly words - the bird froze on the spot, mid-stride and clutching the metal item to his decorated chest with a dull thud. And right after that he dropped it, opting to clutch onto the embryo hanging around his neck instead.


"Have you seen a bahurabi?" The first words he spoke had absolutely nothing to do with what these strangers had just said. This strange language, devoid of clicks or anything natural, he spoke it without second thought. On the subject of 'strange'... this pair. Why did he not actually feel fear in their presence? Any other time, he'd be intimidated, babbling incoherently and then running away.

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((Booping again. I am so sorry Wyv :<))

Edited by Sugar-Free

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