Search Results
6/13/2025, 1:47:01 PM
>>95862454
There are certain patterns I have observed across all timelines, and some of patterns timelines are identities. But in this Britain, this black isle, the patterns are as distorted as the Lostbelt of the sinful fairies. Artoria is almost killed by an angry mob of witch hunters when she tries to seize the sacred sword. In terror, she passes through the Reverse Side of the World-and emerges wielding the lance from her dreams, which she uses to scatter her pursuers. Morgan arrives at Tintagel not as a queen but as an assassin. She leaves a saviour, the kingdom having been overrun by alien Picts drooling at this land's Mystery, inadvertently saving it on the road to conquest.
I am the only person my sisters come to count on even as Artoria devolves into an uncourth, bitter animal and Morgan comes to believe her own lies of a better future for her people. And too often, the World calls me away from their grasping hands and soft pleas. Often, I am sombrely resigned to subverting the World's thankless tasks.
Sometimes, I am horrified.
"You are wasting your time" Nyaralthotep says, with it's event horizon grin, it's leer manifesting on the moon.
"I am a Servant of the Human Order, wielder of the Counter Force. You cannot pass. The entropic shadows will not avail you, Crawling Chaos. Go back to the void! You cannot pass" I repeat. It reaches out and touches the skein of the World experimentally, it's touch rebounding off the conceptual defence I project.
It shakes what passes for it's head slowly. "Stop playing mortal and take this seriously. You can't save the World without breaking the World, even those Atlas dotards know that much" it says. "Of course, the catch there is each time this World breaks, each time the Reverse Side of the World slips free without it's anchor, my comrades..."
A universe-sized Hastur suddenly looms towards this timeline.
"...find new opportunities to reinvent themselves" it finishes.
3/7
There are certain patterns I have observed across all timelines, and some of patterns timelines are identities. But in this Britain, this black isle, the patterns are as distorted as the Lostbelt of the sinful fairies. Artoria is almost killed by an angry mob of witch hunters when she tries to seize the sacred sword. In terror, she passes through the Reverse Side of the World-and emerges wielding the lance from her dreams, which she uses to scatter her pursuers. Morgan arrives at Tintagel not as a queen but as an assassin. She leaves a saviour, the kingdom having been overrun by alien Picts drooling at this land's Mystery, inadvertently saving it on the road to conquest.
I am the only person my sisters come to count on even as Artoria devolves into an uncourth, bitter animal and Morgan comes to believe her own lies of a better future for her people. And too often, the World calls me away from their grasping hands and soft pleas. Often, I am sombrely resigned to subverting the World's thankless tasks.
Sometimes, I am horrified.
"You are wasting your time" Nyaralthotep says, with it's event horizon grin, it's leer manifesting on the moon.
"I am a Servant of the Human Order, wielder of the Counter Force. You cannot pass. The entropic shadows will not avail you, Crawling Chaos. Go back to the void! You cannot pass" I repeat. It reaches out and touches the skein of the World experimentally, it's touch rebounding off the conceptual defence I project.
It shakes what passes for it's head slowly. "Stop playing mortal and take this seriously. You can't save the World without breaking the World, even those Atlas dotards know that much" it says. "Of course, the catch there is each time this World breaks, each time the Reverse Side of the World slips free without it's anchor, my comrades..."
A universe-sized Hastur suddenly looms towards this timeline.
"...find new opportunities to reinvent themselves" it finishes.
3/7
Page 1