Poison Yourself - The Begginers' Kit

Please bear in mind that English is not my native language, so grammar errors might occur pretty often. Please alert me if you see one. Also, my tensing is hellish, enjoy having a headache.

KAIJU KAIJU KAIJU

Terminal #001


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Links inside the terminal gain a ">" when you hover over them.
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Thanks for checking out my format!

London, kinda fucked

Hello, george.

Snaphots of passing lives (just portraits really)

Thankfully, the government decided to regulate it.

comic about scavengers huehue

Scavenger Hunt 2020

Promises Kept, Forsaken

It was cold. The shelves hosted shadows, where books should have sat. Yet, that wasn't unusual. Near the Last Bastion of Reason, few books remained in the Stacks, and you had to hunt for them past the stronghold ahead. The wordborn in the Northern BV15s said that not everyone could see its entrance, and that each person perceived the way into infinity differently. A simple metal door, or maybe a heavy mahogany postern. Some would remember of the columns of Mika, with capitals carved with fractal patterns, or the intricate lapis lazuli blue of Ishtar's Gate, and a hint of cedar resin hanging in the air. Perhaps nothing, and a blank concrete slate would remain there, for boundaries towards infinity were not to be crossed.

Of course, that was not true. The wordborn was an unreliable source, and the Wanderers who came to the Last Bastion of Reason did not speak of it. Neither would Peyre, for she wasn't here for the Bastion. Deadzones above blocked the view, only small patches of the withered handymoss poking through. She was well beyond a hundred, and the shadows were growing thicker, the currents mustier. The lanterns of the occasional Docents were dun, and their tall silhouttes dark. Bowl-shaped fungi grew as big as a ram's head from corners and cracks in the woodwork. Charcoal veins grew and covered their sickly white flesh, reminiscent of marble. Their insides were crumbly spores, which sometimes drifted in clouds through the corridors. She crept along the wall, counting the shelves. The air lay thick, contorting in the silence.

At four hundred thirty-nine, the Stacks' parallel lines began to intricately intersect. Peyra then left the wall behind, following the angles of the layout. The sanded wood of the Library was different from her homeland's chiselled masterpieces, yet it was so much more grand, so much more alive. Even here. Yes, that was the most unusual thing about this place. She ran her hand across the shelf, continuing to count her steps. She came here to hear, after plenty of years, if the stories were true. Too many years spent in the Library, not fulfilling her duty. Too many moments wasted on searching for an alternative. And so, today, echoes of the stone floor rang back to her. She was close.

There was no door, no barrier to forbid entrance. Peyre continued passing through the archways, her eyes fretting on each swerving shadow. Wax was set on the wrought iron structures. She heard tales of this city, though always in whispers. None detailed on its dwellers, or on its history. The high vaults made way for a blank night sky with no stars nor moons. Lighting her small oil lamp, she begun trailing along the edges of the square, gaping at the drystone buildings. Moss lined both the boulders and the doors, which lay in shambles, splinters of wood decaying. Inside, molding papers,

Drafts

Rumour story


bin

Guide for the aspiring star hunters [maybe]

I'm someone who's been accustomed to the Main Hall's vaulted ceilings inlaid in gold with their velvety greens depicting Chief Archivists1 and the NexuLibrary's history. Used to Handyman's Moss thriving among shelves, handing out books and being a general nuisance while trying to slip unobserved by the Pages amongst the shelves. Familiar with the Wallwalkers, ones who are not careful enough and almost stomping on me while I was trying to find a book with quality ink.2

Of course, when I first saw stars, I did not know what they were.3 And it certainly did not help that so many of the worlds I slipped in had their own skies, their own patterns and cycles.

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