[include :wanderers-library:component:once-upon-a-time]]
The Natural Atria
THE SCENE OPENS on a door set within the raveled mass of a massive hugging tree, its multiple trunks expertly directed around the frame. The door itself is an engraved black metal, the carvings of a multitude of botanical wonders glinting off the natural glow of the Atria.
The door opens to reveal a Librarian - likely an Archivist due to its more unique look. It wears a light blue button-up with a high collar, a dark purple vest that turns tan on the shoulders (the tan area decorated with slightly lighter purple flowers dispersing from the dark), and a head composed entirely of red and purple snapdragons. Two golden sprigs of wheat float to the left and right of its head, creating a pseudo-frame. Its voice sounds like an uncertain breeze.
ARCHIVIST ANTIR RHINUM: Sometimes, the patrons who visit my desk don't know what they're looking for — in fact, almost every single one doesn't know unless they're looking for me specifically. As an extension of the Library, I do not have a specific "job." I am an Archivist, no little no less, but I have often taken the role of a guide to something new, while my fellow Archivists are more concerned with pinpointing the location of something known.
The shot moves forward as the Archivist turns and leads the viewer to the aforementioned desk. It's spacious inside the tree but still quite cramped, likely due to the impressive pneumatic tub systems filling most of the space. A. ANTIR RHINUM sits down behind the desk, which upon further inspection appears to be a mess of pneumatic tubs pretending to be a desk with a carpet of moss growing across the top. The tubes not making up the desk halo the Archivist. A potted plant that is simultaneously growing nectarines and black dahlias sits to the Librarian's left.
ARCHIVIST ANTIR RHINUM: I wonder if anything might come in today?
A golden filigreed tube with a fresh notepad inside introduces itself to the space with a shhhhhh ka-thunk! A. ANTIR RHINUM unscrews the top and reads the first page of the notepad.
Main Hall
ARCHIVIST ANTIR RHINUM: He looks at them too long, and feels his pursuer’s presence. One of the hands reaches for a dial by the nightstand and turns it. Four hundred and sixty four different lights in the room increase their luminosity very slightly. He feels better. More visible
[He looks at them too long, and feels his pursuer’s presence. One of the hands reaches for a dial by the nightstand]
MS. DOLORES: He looks at them too long, and feels his pursuer’s presence. One of the hands reaches for a dial by the nightstand and turns it. Four hundred and sixty four different lights in the room increase their luminosity very slightly. He feels better. More visible.
Skates and Skidmarks
SCOFF! Journal #5409
By Duke Gathers
Footnotes by Gottsam R’lek
Someone was in my house. I was sitting there, enjoying some me time away from the grindstone I call my “passion” and my “job” when I caught him. Lucky me and unlucky him, I always keep a weapon in the couch cushions, so I had ‘em dead to rights down the barrel of a lever-action shotgun. Our breathing was slow, my ceiling fan creaking and even slower cause I had never gotten it fixed.
He was one ugly motherfucker too. A chameleon like me, with scales that looked like they had been rinsed in a healthy dose of motor oil, bugged out eyes, and three horns (one of which had a glazed donut jammed onto it — not a bad idea, honestly). He must’ve known something I didn’t, cause he looked smug as all hell with his nasty feet propped up on my coffee table/sarcophagus. My breathing caught up a little faster, he looked a bit more scared too. Something was going to have to cha- ho- holy shit. He had a gun too. Same as mine. How did—
“You ok there, Duke? You’ve been staring at that mirror of yours for, like, half an hour.” I blink, senses crawling back to me like a guilty dog. I glance to my left, noticing the only actually real person
Title
“Right, so we’re thinking that Asset 17 needs to be more marketable.”
A chorus of corpo craniums nodded around the table. Head Engineer Elgah Escobar rolled his eyes in response. That is, the eyes he had gotten implanted in the back of his head three years ago rolled. The eye he was born with (number two was lost in a freak Long Story) stared dead ahead with impudent interest.
Typical boring busy-body business types, always gotta maximize the monsters’ outside of the arena. Can’t it be enough that they fight ferociously?
"I get your grievances, but aside from them cantillating corporate tunes, how do you propose I perfect the primrose propaganda?"
The executives collectively cringed. Where did they even find this guy?
One executive, decked out in the most stunning of beiges, piped up, "Well, uh, we don't necessarily agree with the idea that we're creating propaganda. It's more like — it's more of a — it's creating culture." He smiled at that, as if he had just thought of it himself. "We're looking for brand recognition. Right now, 17 is a run-of-the-mill bio-reptile. We want something personable; when 17 feels sorrow the audience should sob and when 17 feels joy the audience should glow!"
Another eye roll, typical tyrants have no idea what they're talking about.
"There's the issue — if you desire such a dazzling demon, that's a problem; titan taxonomy is no isocracy." Hmm, the suits looked spaced, he thought. "I'll elaborate. Our craniums' computers are complicated, so complicated in fact that replicating rarely works. Kaiju can’t cope with all the needed neurons, so they’re separated in order for the scales to be set, aka level. Arm adjustments are one system, breathing another, and another is another, all adding eventually to an approximation of a pretense of a personality. The movements make a mirage of intelligence."
“So… you can’t do it?”
“Well contractually, it’s complica-“
With a poorly disguised panicked look, the man who asked the question waved his hand in haste.
“Let me stop you right there,” he rolled his eyes this time, “I think we’re done here, feel free to leave your ID card with the secretary on your way out. We won’t be needing you here again.”
Well, shit.
Tonight is the main event. Spotlights search the night sky for demons that are already chained in the stadium’s underground while five out of the world’s remaining fourteen blimps flock above the Chrome Dome, filled with elites and the lucky chumps who paid a premium to rub elbows with the top class.
Bright red tentacles extend out from the Dome, grasping and choking the city around it as thousands of people wait in two mile per hour traffic to get into the stadium — who gave a damn if they managed to get the cooled seats, they’d be lucky to even get in at this rate.
Those not brave enough to conquer the roads but still wanting to revel in the night’s atmosphere make the pilgrimage to a bar or a rooftop party. If they’re lucky, they can get into a place with a holo-dome in the center of the room, where suddenly they stood eye-to-eye with the titans that could so easily squash them otherwise.
Superfans visit the skull of Ignatius sitting in a place of honor just outside of the stadium, one of the only kaiju made in Phoenix itself before the rise of manufacturing capitals. Following superstition, they leave offerings of memorabilia, snacks, and art in a bid to bring good luck to their favorite combatants for this night.
All eyes turn to Phoenix, Arizona, USA for the one and only, once a few years, sponsored by C-BRIG and McDonald’s, scourge of the silent night: The IDDL City Skirmish. Architects were flown in from across the world and worked tirelessly for months on the miniature city that would be erected within the stadium, ensuring that everything was maximized for top entertainment value. Unique foundations for optimal crumbling, artfully placed water towers and telephone wires, thousands of hidden cameras for the best shots of the fight, remotely controlled life-size vehicles; every small detail given a loving eye. When they were done they were paid decently and kicked to the curb — had to avoid them getting any ideas about working more than part-time, right?
To the unfamiliar eye, the stands look like they should be collapsing as all manner of folk clamber into the seats. The companies aren't stupid, they know the audience needs to not die in droves (the government still has some semblance of a line not to cross) but everything is just on the edge, teetering over the pit of catastrophic failure. The energy alone is enough to level the mimic city in the arena below, but the ones who'll be starting the real wreckage have begun to enter right this moment.
On one end, two massive doors begin to open slowly, although they’d still decapitate anyone standing in front of the massive, swinging steel easily. Multicolored clouds of sulphuric gas pour out of the opening, the saccharine scent assaulting the noses of every viewer sitting above the door, as the crowd hushes in anticipation. On four hooves, the giant within slowly lumbers out of the steam. Charcoal-skinned, magma eyes, with an amorphous single lava lamp bubble mane full of hot spring blues and greens and oranges, its back pockmarked with rocky geysers and burnt stick trees, horns sharpened to a point, an almost entirely biological kaiju: a ginormous bison lumbers out into the arena.
The commentator announces him as Lamarden, rattling off stats, but they might as well be an echo as heads turn in a wave to see the gate on the other end begin to rise. Nitrogen mist seeps across the floor, creeps along the walls, as the second kaiju enters the arena. Also on four hooves, its eyes a wide crystal ice blue, the entire front half fully mechanical, the back biological, all tinted a baby blue, its horns just a short length but even deadlier than Lamarden’s: a humongous ox steps through the gate.
The commentator declares her to be Babe, but the two kaiju lock eyes instantly. The city is diverse and varied, but the designers engineered a perfect line straight through the city right at the point where the gates line up. Lamarden bellows, exposing a magma-bright interior, and steam vents sing out of Babe’s shoulders. The announcer’s voice cuts through the tension:
“… TWO TITANS OF THE WEST, READY TO RUMBLE FOR THE TITLE OF TOP GRAZER. YOU’VE WAITED LONG ENOUGH, I THINK OUR TITANS HAVE TOO,” he takes an inhumanely large breath, and screams, “FIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHT”
Like a spring, Babe's front legs instantly shunt down, a small crater forming from the sudden downwards pressure. Just as soon as they compress, they extend, hurtling Babe into a wild dash through the center of the city. Lamarden seemed unphased by the force of a mountain barreling towards him, somehow chewing cud as he watches Babe get closer, and closer, and closer, and closer, so close frost just barely begins to form on his back before — FWOOSSSHHH — the geysers on his left activate, pushing Lamarden out of the way like a mad bull fighter, causing Babe to collide with the large door behind him at mach speed.
But Babe has a trick of her own. With a chunk chuhnk tunk tink her horns extend, double the length of her whole body. With a flick of the head, and Lamarden caught by surprise, the horn slashes right across his nose. First Blood. The audience roars, a beast of their own.
Internally coded directives fire off, seconds behind each other, legs ensuring balance is kept, balance checked for by the chest, chest communicating stability to eyes, eyes discerning where to place legs; but one quickly rises to the top: MOVE INTO CITY. Circling each other now, waiting for the other to make a move, they cross into the city limits. As soon as a skyscraper moves into view, Lamarden makes his move: a sudden head-long standing charge into the building. The tower keels toward Babe — she's fast, but her left horn lags behind, and is slammed by the full force of the building and skews her off-balance.
Through the rubble's smoke a bright red light emanates, and a split-second later a directive flings itself to the top of Babe's circuits, coded in preparation for her opponent: MAGMA. Still off-kilter, one horn underneath rubble, Babe's mouth splits open and a blast of nitrogen flies forward to meet a hot jet of magma that cuts through the smoke like high pressure water through skin.
The blasts meet, the molten rock instantly cools, forming a misshapen, black, bubbly mess of an architecture statement piece for the surrounding city. Both views temporarily blocked, Babe rips her horn up from the debris, concrete fireworks flying high in the air, and stands level — minimal damage so far.
On the other side of the igneous sphere, the crowd’s volume raises, ticking a sensor in Babe’s ear. She crouches down and is prepared when Lamarden rockets from around the left side, pneumatics launching herself squarely into his charge. Bubbles break off from Lamarden’s mane as the two titans knock horns.
Lamarden opens his mouth as if to expel more magma, but is quickly shut down by a hoof to the face. More bubbles, larger this time, are knocked into the air as his head slams into the opposite building. Babe tries to clothesline him as Lamarden returns, her horn audibly whooshing through the air, but a well-timed geyser fires him past and under the horn — it instead being the finishing blow to the building Lamarden had just crashed into.
Lamarden, now to the side of Babe, opens his mouth again, but not to beam magma directly onto her exposed flank. Instead, he releases a deep bellow, shaking the eardrums of the onlookers and the surrounding structures. Fire hydrants go flying and a nearby water tower splits open as the technicolor bubbles, which had actually stayed above Babe, also burst. Scalding hot water rains down on both the giants. For Lamarden it’s a pleasant drizzle, but Babe cries out in simulated pain as the acrid smell of melting metal mixes with the sweet smell of burning beef. At least three members of the audience get up to buy an overpriced burger from concessions.
Bits of structural bone peek through the peeled exterior shell of Babe, black smoke billows from shattered eyes, toxic fumes waft from burning blue paint, but she still stands.
Suddenly, Babe begins shaking, a hidden mechanism that survived the hot spring deluge against all odds activating. The great bison across from her takes a nervous step back, analyzing the new situation. Whirring and stirring, the sections of Babe’s horns extend from each other (the end of the left horn too crushed to do so) and begin spinning rapidly, equal to the sound of a chorus of angry bees.
Lamarden tries to step back again but his hoof crashes down through the roof of a bank. Skyscrapers rise behind him like bars to a cell. He stumbles, directives competing for space in his limited processing center, the computer systems across his body unprepared for this. The fans know this is it, the stomping and the screaming and the betting and the depravity of it all reach a crescendo, with Babe’s horns as the conducting baton.
The broken left tip of the horn breaks off, flying into another skyscraper, but Babe is unbothered, slowly advancing on the cornered buffalo. Lamarden lunges forward, eager to find an escape, but the sheer wingspan of Babe blocks him in. For a brief moment, she pauses, as if she was giving him time to yield; mercy is not a coded ability. Then she lunges, to the left of him not into him, and rams the spinning horn directly into his side. With a sickening squelch the tip of the horn slides smoothly into the side of Lamarden, punctured by the distressed groans of the bison, eyes so wide milky white calcite sclera are visible as it screams — the audience had never heard a buffalo scream. Violently spasming, the horn shunked another length farther into the flesh, a slurry of ripped apart bioengineering churned out of the wound, launched drenching the surrounding city block with no weather forecast to warn it. Almost like it's being sucked in now, the rest of the horn slips right through, bursting out the other side, a waterfall of viscera following.
The horn begins to slow down, but just before it does something unforseen happens. Deep within the flesh of Lamarden's now mostly still body, instead of being obliterated by the encroaching spear of steel, a stringy substance finds itself wrapped around the spinning sections. Spinning and spinning and spinning the biology is deftly plucked from the body, out into the open air until it unwraps and violently trebuchets itself up, up towards the audience, up towards the viewing boxes, up towards the sky. And towards the sky the trajectory stays, sailing cleanly away from the Chrome Dome.
Somewhere, orders are quickly given to track that asset down.
Planasthai Investigative - Marsh and Greene, Pt. 2
“We’ll set down here for a bit. Take a break.”
Erika Greene sighs, unclips her heavy leather pack from her shoulder plates, and lets it fall to the wooden ground. It hits the planks so hard I can feel it under my feet. She takes a seat on one of the lower, bench-sized formations of shelving nearby, huffing another breath and wiping her forehead with the back of an armored gauntlet.
I don’t set anything down, because I’m not carrying anything. I draw my electronic cigarette and take a few miserable puffs. It tastes like a wet computer chip. I hate it more than I could possibly express without tripling the length of this document, but I have now received so many citations from the Dousers for smoking out in the Library shelves that I could make an angry papier-mache Venus de Milo out of them. With arms this time. Pissing them off much more would mean a war, because I’m definitely not going to tolerate the indignity of being arrested by a bossy water elemental and his band of firefighter cronies. And no, I can’t just quit. I’ve been smoking for more than a century. My skeleton is forty percent nicotine crystals.
Greene knocks back a few glugs from her canteen and catches her breath. “Goddamn. That’s gotta be three miles uphill. ‘A bit of a hike’ was a bit of an undersell, boss.”
“It’d probably be easier if you weren’t wearing a full suit of plate armor. And carrying a sword as tall as I am. And dragging around… what is that, a backpack full of pipe wrenches?”
Her brown eyes sharpen to a heavy edge. “Smithing kit. Some of us have equipment to maintain. One of those ‘better to have it and not need it’ kind of things.”
I frown. “How does one go about blacksmithing on the road? Don’t you need a… bellows, furnace? A truckload of coal?”
“Magic. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of wizard or something? Speaking of which, I hate that shit, by the way.”
She points a metal hand over my shoulder at the reason I’m not carrying anything, which is a team of four hooded old mummies that I keep around for when I don’t want to break a sweat lugging things around. Which is always. They stand there in the traditional veiled robes most necromancers dress their drones in for the comfort of the squeamish. The average dark sorcerer puts their automata in some dreary dark uniform, but I prefer patterned cloth in more fetching colors - dusty purples and blues. They’re completely silent and still. Because they’re dead, and waiting for us to get moving again. One’s carrying my personal bag, another a trunk of spell reagents and medical supplies, the other a rack of weapons. Normal stuff one needs on a mystical interdimensional adventure. Which I do not feel like picking up and putting down seventy-three times over the span of an afternoon.
I look back at Greene with vast innocence upon my features. “What?”
She makes a face. “I don’t need to explain why those things make me uncomfortable, right?”
“No. I think it’s silly that you react to what is essentially just recycling with such spiritual revulsion, but we can’t all be as pragmatically-minded as me, I guess.”
“Those are dead people, man.”
“Nope! Not people at all. Just some containers that used to have people in them.”
She narrows her eyes. “Did you cram… I dunno, ghosts or spirits in there to make them get up and carry your shit for you?”
“No. Souls are expensive. And just result in a sentient undead anyway, which is absolutely not useful for this purpose. You can’t imagine the whining. It’s just a bit of spare life force infused in the old material. Power. Same as the electricity in a robot.”
Greene reaches up to unbind her big poofy hair from the professional bun she usually keeps it in. “Robot made out of some dead dude.”
I look at it again. “I think that one was actually a woman. It’s honestly hard to tell once you’ve got them dried out and wrapped up.”
She shudders.
“Look, I didn’t kill them, if it makes you feel better. I’m a scavenger, not a murderer. I realize you have some hangups and I’m obligated to be respectful of that to some extent, but I’m not about to lay aside nearly a century of necromantic training because it gives you the willies. You’re gonna see some way more messed-up stuff working for me than a reanimated body or two, trust me. Consider this your creepshow booster shot.”
She makes a new, more resigned face, and sits there, looking sweaty and tired.
“Why not take all that off? I can just have one of them carry it for you until we get there.”
Green shakes her head. “I don’t think that would work.”
“Why not?”
Instead of replying with words, she fiddles with the clasps and straps on her left gauntlet until they’re undone. Slides the metal glove off, revealing the padding underneath. She holds the gauntlet out in front of her, and drops it.
It hits the floorboards with a CRUNCH. Splinters whizz past my ear and I flick an arm in front of my face so I’m not blinded by shrapnel. I approach a few steps and look down at the thing. It’s resting in a broken crater of destroyed wood paneling like it just fell from lower orbit.
“Wow.”
She nods. “Mhm.” Then picks the thing up like its weight matches its appearance, fitting it back on her arm. “A very old technique. Hyperfold steel. You start with a huge amount of metal, heat it, work it out. Engrave it with the right prayers, writing down the iron’s destiny on its surface. Then you heat, and fold. And you keep folding. Over and over. Thousands of times. With each turn, it gets slightly smaller, twisting into itself. And you keep going. By the end you have to use either a hydraulic press or an incredible amount of patience. But the result is…”
She points down at the sad, splintery hole in the floor.
“This is sort of the… bonsai, of sacred smithing. The density of a smith’s hyperfolds, the sheer amount of material she can force into one space, with nothing but her own arms and the patience of the mountains the metal came from… are a mark of her dedication. Defeating the steel, they call it. You beat the steel at its own game, to earn its respect. And take some of its endurance into yourself.”
I catch her throwing a split-second glance at her anime-sized sword, resting up against a shelf, still in its strappings.
“And how much metal wound up in this armor?”
A pensive expression covers her face for a moment while she thinks. “About a ton? I think? Right around there. I didn’t measure specifically, I just stopped when I felt the work was done. A lot of scrap. Tore apart a lot of old cars and things.”
“… How do you even move?”
“You know Thor? The comic book version? Kind of like how Mjolnir works for him. Anyone else tries to wear it, or move me while I’m wearing it, gets the full weight. I only get a little bit. Part of the magic.”
I nod appreciatively. “Huh! Yeah, I never really looked into any of this stuff. I’ve always been more of the, uh. Y’know. Skulls and candles kind of guy. The only skill I ever really had to develop is delegation.”
“… Is it still delegation if they have no choice but to obey you?”
“What I do isn’t that much worse than what any given khaki-wrapped middle manager at a software company does. At least my drones get to go outside and have an experience once in a while. And I don’t make them fill out TPS reports.”
“I bet you damn well would, if you had any.”
“… Yeah, I probably would.”
I can tell from her face and general attitude that Greene doesn’t wholly trust me. I’m not offended by that - I wouldn’t trust me either. Under any circumstances, not just hers. I haven’t had Shiriok read her mind because it would be disrespectful, but also because I don’t need to. The muscles in the sergeant’s face form a pattern of distaste, even when she’s trying to be personable.
Greene and I haven’t known one another long at all. A few days. I ran her through Goraxorus’s training course back at the office. She got through it with flying colors. And flying debris. The old man’s stone puppets didn’t stand a leaf’s chance in a woodchipper against her. She fights like a bulldozer being operated by an actual bull.
Got her settled into the office, too. Showed her around, set her up with her own digs. Getting a job at Planasthai isn’t something you can just apply for - your name either appears in blinding cosmic runes on the tablet or it doesn’t. If you do get picked, it comes with a pretty great benefits package. The main one being free lodgings. And that’s pretty great, because the floating citadel that comprises the Planasthai offices is one of the safest places in the multiverse to lay your head. It’s watched over by a literal guardian angel.
She doesn’t entirely understand what her new job entails. Recently it became my job to show her. That’s why we’re out here. Training wheels - starting her off with something relatively low-key.
I take a sip from my flask and offer it to her. She looks at it like it’s a spider.
“It’s noon.”
“Time is relative, baby. It’s six in Tokyo. And the world we’re going to right now experiences a day and night cycle predicated entirely on the dreamstate of a gigantic sentient mushroom. Live a little.”
She makes a face of equal parts disbelief and resignation, then draws once from the flask. “You were that kid in high school, huh.”
“I would have stolen cars too, but when I was in high school cars were only just starting to get popular. There was only one of them and it cost about as much as an entire year working in the factory that made it.”
I take another sip before putting it away. Greene is looking at me like I’m a spider that just barked at her.
“… I’m sorry, when you were in high school cars were new?”
“Yeah. I didn’t own one of my own until the Depression, though. It’s easier to steal from rich people when they’re throwing themselves out of highrise windows.”
“You’re telling me you’re a hundred years old.”
“One hundred and twenty-eight years old. Specifically. Lookin’ pretty good for my age though, huh?” I pose like Arnie when he was Mr. Universe. The effect is somewhat ruined by my long coat and… modest musculature.
Greene narrows her eyes at me. “Are you a time traveler?”
“Nope. Just the benefits of a balanced diet and regular exercise. And whiskey. Disinfects the internals.”
“Come on. You can’t drop something like that and then be coy.”
“Yeah I can. I do it all the time.”
She just looks at me.
“You’re not gonna win, missy. The most I’ll tell you is that it’s a trade secret, and a grisly one. You don’t wanna know.”
She surrenders with her hands and starts picking up her stuff. “Fair enough, I guess. We’d better hit it. Burning daylight. Or, uh. Whatever light this is.”
We get back on the trail. This is a winding path through the stacks that takes us up over a ridge and back down into a secluded valley, shaded by colossal trees. Not the kind of trees you’re thinking of. The trunks are made of bookshelf. The leaves are pages of paper - written things too incomplete to be formed into a book. Spare thoughts, little memos, lost notes. Every one unique. They’re hundreds of feet tall, like redwoods, but with the branch structure of a maple or an oak. A forest of them. If anyone knows who built them, or if they were built at all, they’re not talking. Maybe it’s better that way.
We go down into the valley and it’s like being wrapped in an unfamiliar robe. The Library doesn’t have much weather, but it has wind, to an extent. And it’s very evident here. The sound of the paper leaves rustling in the canopy overhead is oceanic, and so is the light - not much of it survives the branches. This is mesopelagic Library. You have gone below the polite and shining surface, and you need more than just a deep breath to remain. The trees that make up the Forest of Notions are not silent. They whisper just like any other tree does, but unlike their earthbound cousins, these whispers are not wordless.
When Greene’s clanking footsteps stop, mine also stop.
She looks around suspiciously, like she’s trying to find something in all the shadow and wood. “Did you say something?”
“No. Did you hear something?”
“Yeah. It didn’t really sound like your voice. I couldn’t make out the words, exactly, but it was definitely someone saying something.”
“Shit. Hold still.”
I approach the big woman with determined stride. My right hand secretes a greasy, griseous miasma of green and purple and black, like a galaxy of bruises.
Greene puts one hand out in front of her and the other up on the hilt of her giant sword. “Woah there, cowboy. You better use your words first.”
I stop right in front of her with exasperation. “This place is called the Forest of Notions. It’s a little cursed. The trees are full of ideas and they leak into the air. They’re… passively telepathic, in a way. A lot of sentient beings, like humans, aren’t psychically tough enough to withstand it. It doesn’t affect everyone, but the words can get into your mind and start rearranging the furniture without your say-so. It’s bad news.”
“And you didn’t want to tell me this earlier?”
“I was hoping you’d be immune. In order to apply a mental crystallizer without destroying your brain, I need at least surface-level familiarity with the architecture of your mind. I can’t harden the structure against outside influence without knowing what that structure is.”
“The way you’re saying this really sucks.”
“Yeah. I’m going to have to read your mind a little bit. That is an incredibly suspicious thing to say to someone, which is why I was hoping I wouldn’t have to say it.”
She moves her hands to her hips with a clank and looks down her nose at me.
“Fine.”
“… That wasn’t as much of a struggle as I thought it was going to be.”
“I have nothing to hide. Not from you or anybody else. And if this is some kind of trick, I’ll cut you in half and stomp your little skeleton into a pile of wet splinters for good measure.”
She’s not bluffing. I don’t need telepathy to make sure. I’ve faced down the most terrible eidolons of the infinite hells that comprise the borderless tapestry of Creation, so you should believe me when I say this lady should take up a career in demonslaying. She’s an edifice of iron, looming and unbreakable. Confidence counts for a lot when you get into a staring contest with a malevolence as old as time.
In my head, I have a split-second conversation with Shiriok.
Alright, you give me the floor plan and I’ll break out the insulation.
I cannot assist you in this matter, my master.
What? Why not?
This is unusual. Shiriok’s prison, which is made out of some serious Fort-Knox-on-Alcatraz-Island magic combined with my own skull, makes it impossible for her to disobey me. So…
The woman is blessed. By a power equal to or greater than my own. A power which despises and refuses me.
So what? You melt the brains of people that hate you all the time.
People are beneath me, in all things. This magic is of gods, and it exceeds my own. I can feel it from here. The burning. Her soul is a branding iron. I cannot touch it.
Hm. Maybe I can convince her to take it off.
I lower my hand. “So. I’d love to get this over with, but there’s a bit of an issue.”
She just raises an eyebrow.
“With a delicate operation like this, it helps to have… a metaphorical targeting computer. To calculate things and guide my hand. Just a layer of logistical help. Stops me from accidentally scrambling your egg there. My targeting computer is a demon. And she can’t help me do this spell because you’ve got, uh. Some high-wattage blessings going on right now, I guess? It’d be helpful if you could drop the shields real quick. He said, fully cognizant of how increasingly suspicious this scenario is becoming.”
She snorts. Not out of humor, but like a bull being told he’s going to have to wait fifteen minutes until he can destroy another cowboy.
“I’m not consciously maintaining any spells. I don’t really do the thaumaturgy thing. So whatever it is, it’s not something I can turn off.”
Shiriok laughs quietly. A demon’s laughter is one of the absolute worst omens one can encounter. It usually comes right before a civilization eats itself, or an innocent child takes an axe to his entire family without realizing, or some moron reporter accidentally stirs his new partner’s brains into a few cups of meaningless blood porridge.
It felt like the tree-shelves around us began leaning in, taking in the show. The whispers had found a willing ear, and the mind loves secrets almost as much as myself really wanting a real cigarette right about now.
I continue handling the situation well. "Alright. Shit. Okay. Fuck." I reach into an inner pocket and pull out my phone, a Nokia 3310, and start dialing the number for my office. After a moment, the screen pixelates into a lower-poly approximation of my secretary and spellbook, Miss J.
Her voice crackles out of the speaker, exclaiming, "It's another wonderful day for learning! How are you Mr. Marsh? Not getting into to much trouble, I hope." She winks.
"You know me too well. Look– we're in the Forest of Notions right now and Sgt. Gre-"
A cartoon exclamation point appears above Miss J's head. "Oh my! The Forest of Notions is a fascinating area of study. Did you know it came to be amidst a battle during the Great Searing between the Fifth Chief Archivist and th-"
I clear my throat and Miss J giggles.
"There I go rambling again! What can I help you with Mr. Marsh?"
"Sgt. Greene isn't immune to the Forest. I was going to Faraday cage her up with some casual downloading all of her thoughts ever, but some divine asshole got there first."
Greene threw her head back and groaned. "I'm standing right here y'know. They're just whispers, can't we just keep going?" She knocks on her metal chest, a deep gong emanating from it, and smirks. "I've dealt with worse."
I wave off Greene as Miss J tuts at me. "What have I always said about a balanced education between the occult and the divine?"
"Something about breakfast?"
"Spellcraft is like a balanced breakfast, if you focus on just one part of the meal you'll get a tummy ache. I hope you had a good breakfast today too Mr. Marsh?"
"Does an e-cig count?"
"[[span class="missj"]]I'm afraid not."
"Rats."
Bookbinding
Hidden eyes, hidden watchers, see a trespasser. In the redwood shelves' domain, they (the trespasser) patter, unaware of the attention garnered. Creaking, like an ever-sinking legendary boat, snakes through the otherwise silent soundscape from the tall, tall shelves imperceptivity shifting, mixed with the near-silent footsteps of the wayward patron.
Not a single book, scroll, poem, or script carved into the back of a severed hand; or really any Libraryesque item had been seen by the trespasser for quite some time. On one hand (not the severed kind) that was good, for my mental and physical health, they thought. But on the other hand, that only meant something was bound to happen soon. It always does in the Archives.
Very Strong - "There was a man walking along the path toward me. No, a giant. He stood as tall as two men, and his grip could have fully encircled my waist. His head was shaggy, and his eyes were mournful. He looked down at me through unwashed bangs. 'Will you sit with me?' he asked."
- The character also mentions being in many, many battles, so maybe there could be a lot of scars/burns/etc. present?
Red Bark - "A small middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair answered the door." "Also sitting were a heavy-set man looking intently at the fire and two dirty-faced boys who stared at me with undisguised amazement."
- Not much description for the family, unfortunately. They live at the edge of creation, where things break down, so maybe you could introduce some features of them subtlety being messed up; an eye a little too far to the right, one pointed ear. Or, you could make them completely normal. The father continuously corrects the mother when she says "gods" to "God" so maybe the man could be wearing a cross and the woman either no symbols or pagan symbol(s)?
The Queen of the Waste - "It was not until I was within that I noticed a woman standing in the clearing as well. It was plain to see that she had once been a woman of status. Her clothing was of fine silk, but had become tattered and torn. The few pearls that still clung to her dress hinted at once intricate designs. She sat upon the ruins of a fine throne."
- So this Queen is trapped there by the sentient forest, maybe you could introduce some natural elements to her? Maybe her skin has a green tint or she has vines in her messy hair.
In Which A Scarecrow Fights A Losing Battle Against Wildflowers - "It possessed an orange complexion, likely the result of its head being a carved pumpkin. It wore a sun-bleached hat and old clothes stuffed with straw, all propped up by a wooden pole in the ground and another horizontal pole lofting its arms outwards. A scarecrow."
Fearful, We Looked On - "A man sat on a grey monolith, clothes filthy and tattered, beard long and unkempt, sunken eyes fixed on the edge of the forest. I somehow knew he could see it all," and "I glanced at him, though his eyes did not meet mine: they remained fixed on the green horizon, heavy bags betraying their owner's weariness. The man was young, barely out of adolescence, and still his eyes and his voice were those of an elder."
- There are actually two characters in this one, the man watching the forest and Fear. There isn't any description of Fear but there is an image at the end of the entry that depicts it
Selling/Sold - "Out from the darkness loomed an individual that must've been seven or eight feet tall, wearing one long black cloak that slightly shimmered. Her mask was a dented bronze, stylized to look like the sun with rays coming off of its circular face, and a much too wide smile formed into it. I couldn't see her legs behind the desk, or really any body part underneath that cloak."
Conquering the Worm - "A great moan bounced through the dead trees as I cried, its echo lingering in my ears like thunder. It sounded like broken teeth scraping cold metal, like the mutilation of stars, like the call of decay." and "It was huge, a bloated mountain of meat, coils upon coils of slimy flesh that squirmed and shuddered as I got closer to it. Its mandibles clicked weakly, a wiry tongue still frenzily tasting the air for an unknown enemy, trying to alert the creature about a danger that had already crushed it under its heel. The Worm was the color of the blight– an unnatural hue of gray that made ash look colorful by comparison. All throughout its immense form, man-sized patches of putrid skin sloughed off into pools that the earth refused to drink, wounds festering and bubbling as the thing shifted beneath its wounds and recoiled in agony." and "Four pairs of bulbous eye sockets –some empty, some full, some bleeding colorless muck– opened and gazed at me." and "It was then that I noticed the spear. Its girth rivaled the mightiest trees, its length stretching towards the heavens like a triumphant banner. Its entire surface –from the blunt end that poked the horizon to the merciless blade buried deep into the Worm's flesh– was covered in glyphs that spoke its True Name and its sacred purpose: to slay those who had grown beyond redemption, to stop corruption at its root. Though it paled against the Worm's gargantuan size, no human hands could ever wield it, let alone remove it from its kill."
- There is also art of this character in the story. An important thing to remember for this individual is that he can only be in shades of black/grey/white. Also I think he's the first absolutely evil character the Journaler has encountered, so that might come into play on the design?
Common - 283 Rare - 306
Things to remember for tag-revamp:
Separate ulak tag into ulak and legends-of-midgard
River-canon tag
New system for character/series tags
Going through image tags and applying _cc
Remember to not overwrite tags that have underscores, things like featured need to stay
Check featured list to make sure all pages are tagged with featured
Check metadata list to check for collabs
Patch and Stellar 2nd Draft
There is much debate over the existence of the Boilermen. Yes, they are present in the artistic renditions of Librarians but never are they present in the center. Always the Boilermen find themselves pushed to the side, filling the negative space of a story that only exists in the image.
Literature describing the Boilermen is few and far between, and descriptions are repetitive, copied in some places. Questions fly through every Wanderer's head whenever they come up in conversation. What is the Boiler for? What even are raw words? Those who go searching for the Boiler Room in the Archives either don't come back or never seem to remember their journey.
These facts have led many a Wanderer to not believe in the existence of the whispered fourth Librarian, even distrusting the words of the most prominent Archivists. Every now and again, a Wanderer will tell the tall tale of a fire in the library (a rare sight in the first place, especially if the Wanderer hadn't set it themselves) shortly followed by a behemoth with metal and fire for a face inhaling the flames. These stories have done little to convince the skeptics, and yet the stories continue to arrive, year after year.
- Excerpt from Of the Boilermen, Vol. 22 by Aard Card
"Just because you're stuck looking like a clown does not mean you have to act like one."
Adakite and I stood at the Way between Shelf 72H North-West and Shelf 092 Zero-Start. It was funny really. For some reason whenever a Wanderer comes through this one they're shunted out about ten feet higher than usual, so we've been assigned to catch whoever happens to start plummeting towards the floorboards while a new solution was thought up.
The polite individual reminding me of my foreseeable future is Adakite, a perturbed golem made of wax. He's huge, way bigger than me in height and width, wears a tiny pair of glasses, and has a voice that's a mix of the human British and the gurgling of a hot pit of mud. His head practically melts into his huge torso, plus his legs look just slightly too small to support the rest of him, and yet they do. To top that wax sundae off, with his size, he only almost makes up for his lack of a personality. Adi barely understands humor and is a stickler for rules, which often means he's the one to tell me, "No, you can't ride a Page just to see where they go, please put the saddle down" which is just completely unreasonable. He's a good guy, he's just boring is all.
"Well, Adi, all you're doing is catching these poor people. At least I'm trying to brighten their day after such a scare."
Another human falls out of thin air, dropping into the waxy arms of Adi, who proceeds to unceremoniously dump her on the floor. Before she looks up, I slowly breathe out and put a goofy smile on my face, pulling out a new set of balloons and ripping open the package. I've explained why I do this multiple times to Adi, but he just doesn't understand.
He straightens his red sash, iconic of a Lower Wordsmith, looking down at me, quite literally and figuratively. "I am quite certain no one wants a balloon animal. Balloons pop, and popping does not fit in a nice, quiet Library. In fact, no one comes to the Library to be harassed by a clown in the first place."
To be fair, this is probably true, but I imagine no one comes to the Library to be dropped on the floor by a half-melted piece of cheese, and yet here we are. I finish the balloons, gingerly placing the new hat on her head. Despite what he thinks, I'm not acting; I am what I am, and that's just how it is. She gets up in a rather hurry, walking off towards the Main Hall, can't imagine why she wouldn't want to stay and chat.
"Have a good time!" Another happy customer, courtesy of yours truly.
I turn back to Adi, about to give a hilarious retort, I swear, but my ever emotionless guardian had forgotten to be, well, emotionless. The normal sour expression on his face had suddenly changed to mild surprise as he looked over where the Wanderer had just left. Briefly, I look down at the packaging for the balloons, just to make sure I hadn't bought the flesh-eating variety. Thankfully not, so I turn around to see what all the fuss is about.
{At the other end of the stacks, standing at the same height as Adi, maybe even taller, is some patron with a cast iron grate for a face, itself containing violet fire burning quietly. A large leather apron, along with strips of leather and furs trailing on the ground in the back, covers almost all of their body. Their arms, the only part uncovered, look like a beautiful night sky, with small white glowing dots and blue and purple markings making up a galaxy.
Prying my eyes away from the patron, I lean towards Adi, whispering, "What's with the guy you're staring at? An old flame of yours I presume?"
"This situation deserves more respect than your crude jokes." I frown, half because Adi doesn't usually respond so sternly, but also because this person reminds me of something I was told about the Library. If I said that though, I'd probably end up with a lecture about how I never listen. What Adi doesn't know, can't hurt him, so I'll just be general.
"Why? It's just some guy."
Despite the lack of conventional eyes, the depressions in his face go so wide I'd think my hat is on fire, either that or I just said something dumb, which, to be honest, is equally as likely.
"That is no Wanderer," Adi whispers, "That is a Boilerman. They're meant to stay in the Archives."
Oh. I knew they reminded me of something I had heard. Rumors about Boilermen showing up in the Library proper had been going around, but I figured they were just rumors. In fact, until a few seconds ago, I thought the Boilermen were a rumor themselves.
Adi pulls out his pen, a rather dull and boring one, and says to the Boilerman, "Hold on one moment. I'll just open a door and send you back to the Boiler Room."
Adakite began to move his pen through the air in front of the Boilerman, drawing an ink door into the three-dimensional space. As soon as it was obvious he was drawing a door, however, the strange Librarian lurched away from the Wordsmith, shaking their head slightly, moving towards Patch instead.
Patch frowned at Adakite, patting the Boilerman on the arm. "Look what you've done now Adi, you've scared them! I bet they get nauseous when going through those doors just like me."
"I don't see another way to return them to the right place," he said in response.
Slowly, Patch came up with an idea. It could convince his stubborn guardian that he can be trusted and it would get him some free time. "How about this?" he asked, "I'll guide this fella up to the entrance of the Archives, and then send them on their way."
"That isn't such a -"
"I'll stop making balloons for a week."
Adakite paused for a moment, mulling it over. "Just to the entrance?"
"Of course!"
He squinted briefly at Patch, searching his face for any hint of mischief. "You have yourself a deal. Be back soon."
Patch pumped his fist in the air and grabbed the Boilerman by the hand, pulling them back towards the main thoroughfare.
As the pair wandered off, Patch skipping and the Boilerman slowly lumbering after him, Patch barely noticed the bin full of newly made balloon animals.
}
There is much debate over the existence of the Boilermen. Yes, they are present in the artistic renditions of Librarians but never are they present in the center. Always the Boilermen find themselves pushed to the side, filling the negative space of a story that only exists in the image.
Literature describing the Boilermen is few and far between, and descriptions are repetitive, copied in some places. Questions fly through every Wanderer's head whenever they come up in conversation. What is the Boiler for? What even are raw words? Those who go searching for the Boiler Room in the Archives either don't come back or never seem to remember their journey.
These facts have led many a Wanderer to not believe in the existence of the whispered fourth Librarian, even distrusting the words of the most prominent Archivists. Every now and again, a Wanderer will tell the tall tale of a fire in the library (a rare sight in the first place, especially if the Wanderer hadn't set it themselves) shortly followed by a behemoth with metal and fire for a face inhaling the flames. These stories have done little to convince the skeptics, and yet the stories continue to arrive, year after year.
- Excerpt from Of the Boilermen, Volume 22 by Aard Card
"Just because you're stuck looking like a clown does not mean you have to act like one."
Patch stood with Adakite at the Way between Shelf 72H North-West and Shelf 092D Zero-Start. It was funny really. For some reason, when a Wanderer came through this one, they were shunted out about ten feet higher than usual, so they had been assigned to catch whoever happened to start plummeting towards the floorboards while a new solution was thought up.
"Well, Adi, all you're doing is catching these poor people. At least I'm trying to brighten their day after such a scare." As Patch said this, another human fell out of thin air, dropping into the waxy arms of Adakite, who proceeded to unceremoniously dump them on the floor.
As he straightened his red sash, iconic of a Lower Wordsmith, Adakite said, "No nicknames. I am quite certain no one wants a balloon animal. Balloons pop, and popping does not fit in a nice, quiet Library." Adakite punctuated the last three words by tapping his fist into his open palm.
Despite Adakite's objections, the confused Wanderer found herself with a new hat, made completely out of balloons.
"Have a good time!" Patch yelled as the Wanderer left, him waving enthusiastically after her as she hurriedly walked away. Patch turned back to Adakite pouting, saying, "You're just grumpy since you have ta' stand here all-day. You should make the most of it like me!" Patch noticed his guardian had stopped listening to his advice, as usual. The normal sour expression on Adakite's face, however, had suddenly changed to mild surprise. The rare change in emotion wasn't meant for Patch though, as Adakite was staring past where he was standing.
Turning around, Patch's eyes fell onto an entity he had never seen before. At the other end of the stacks, standing at least seven feet tall, was an individual with a cast iron grate for a face, itself containing violet fire burning quietly. Their arms were as black as the night sky, and in fact, there were faint purple and blue markings along with softly glowing white dots, forming a beautiful night sky dancing across their skin. A large leather apron, along with strips of leather and furs trailing on the ground in the back, covered the rest of their body.
The Library is full of interesting and unique individuals, so Patch wasn't necessarily shocked to see the assumed-Wanderer. He leaned over towards Adakite, who had already regained his composure, and whispered, "What's with the guy you're staring at? An old flame of yours I presume?"
Adakite pushed Patch away from him as he snickered, saying, "Don't be ridiculous. Give this situation more respect." The strange patron stood still, watching the exchange.
"Why? It's just some guy."
"That is no Wanderer," Adakite whispered, "That is a Boilerman. They're meant to stay in the Archives."
Adakite pulled out his pen, a rather dull and boring one, and announced, "Hold on one moment. I'll just open a door and send you back to the Boiler Room."
Adakite began to move his pen through the air in front of the Boilerman, drawing an ink door into the three-dimensional space. As soon as it was obvious he was drawing a door, however, the strange Librarian lurched away from the Wordsmith, shaking their head slightly, moving towards Patch instead.
Patch frowned at Adakite, patting the Boilerman on the arm. "Look what you've done now Adi, you've scared them! I bet they get nauseous when going through those doors just like me."
"I don't see another way to return them to the right place," he said in response.
Slowly, Patch came up with an idea. It could convince his stubborn guardian that he can be trusted and it would get him some free time. "How about this?" he asked, "I'll guide this fella up to the entrance of the Archives, and then send them on their way."
"That isn't such a -"
"I'll stop making balloons for a week."
Adakite paused for a moment, mulling it over. "Just to the entrance?"
"Of course!"
He squinted briefly at Patch, searching his face for any hint of mischief. "You have yourself a deal. Be back soon."
Patch pumped his fist in the air and grabbed the Boilerman by the hand, pulling them back towards the main thoroughfare.
As the pair wandered off, Patch skipping and the Boilerman slowly lumbering after him, Patch barely noticed the bin full of newly made balloon animals.
Wanderers are curious folk, so Patch didn't mind the stares as he led the Boilerman through the Main Hall, making his way to the nearest Archives entrance.
Patch nudged the Boilerman with his elbow, saying, "Y'know, if we're gonna be partners for a bit, we should get ta' know each other! I'll start. My name is Patch! It may look like I'm wearing make-up, but this is actually just how I look. Cool huh?"
The Boilerman tilted its head, silently staring. Patch tilted his head farther, smiling at the Librarian as if sharing an inside joke only Patch knew about.
"Not much of a talker I take it? I'll just call you Stellar, how about that?"
Stellar's flames flew higher, so brief Patch only realized there had been a response sometime later.
"Don't look now Stellar, but we've got a fan," Patch said, pointing towards a Docent who had its eyes fixed on Patch. Giggling slightly, Patch said, "Apparently I still smell like a mimic. This is a weird story so I won't bother you with the details, but I used to be a shapeshifter before coming to Library."
The metal making up Stellar's grate creaked slightly.
"I know right? Crazy stuff. Anywho, when I came here I got stuck like this," Patch gestured down towards his body, "It was a little distressing at first, I mean who wants to look like a clown every day? Ha! But I'm good with it now, don't you worry." Patch furrowed his brow for a moment. "What was I talking about again?"
Stellar glanced over towards the Docent, still following at a distance, then back at Patch. Patch wished he could tell what they were thinking.
"Right, right. So yeah that's why most of the Librarians don't like me, I kind of confuse them." Patch grabbed onto Stellar's arm and pulled them into a hallway, lined with various arts. At that point the Docent turned away, apparently satisfied. "Oh, what a twist it could be if the Docent is following 'cause of you? I bet you don't interact with the other Librarians all that much, so they might not recognize you either. Is that true?"
Stellar, while either ignoring the question or not understanding it, moved its gaze from Patch to the opening of the hallway, which led into a large Atrium. Stopping at the entrance to the room, the Librarian curiously looked up at the miniature star slowly rotating in the middle of the area.
"Welcome to Lost Star Lobby, bud!" Beginning to mimic a tour guide, Patch continued to say, "If you look to your left you'll see books and if you look to your right you'll see even more books, but the real attraction is the namesake of the lobby, the star! The natural lighting is really nice, so I like coming here when I can." Proceeding to lean in close to Stellar, he whispered, "Apparently, there's some bird who lives here, but I've never seen it so it probably doesn't exist."
As the two took in the sights, an opening at the other end of the atrium loomed large, a sign hanging above that read:
[[size x-large]]Be Warned
Beyond this point lies the Archives. Any unprepared Wanderer or Patron are advised not to enter
There are many fates much worse than death
After pausing at the door for a short period, Patch and Stellar began to head towards the large opening. As they walked, however, Patch heard a quiet rustling. Could that be another sound Stellar makes? Nothing else could have made it. Hopefully.
"Did you say that Stellar?"
The Boilerman slowly looked up. Following his gaze, Patch's eyes climbed up the seemingly endless shelves. At the very top, Patch's eyes fell onto the second being he thought didn't exist that day. How ironic.
With the sound of what could only be described as a tremendous growl, the huge bird Patch had just written off launched off of the shelf, hurtling towards the pair. Shocked (and terrified, although he wouldn't tell you that), Patch didn't move for the first few seconds. As the bird grew closer, it became obvious it was made of plants, or maybe was a plant, but Patch wasn't necessarily concerned with the specifics at the moment.
Suddenly, two hands wrapped themselves around Patch, fully wrapping around his small form. The hands belonged to Stellar, who picked Patch up and proceeded to dash towards the Archives. They were too late, as the bird landed thunderously in front of the fleeing Librarian, flowers blossoming into dozens of confusing colors from its vines and foliage.
Wasting no time, Stellar held Patch in one hand, before Patch could even realize what was happening, and threw him. Patch screamed from fear, enjoyment, or maybe even both as he tumbled through the air between the legs of the bird.
Landing only a few feet from the entrance, Patch scrambled to his feet and called to Stellar, "What about you!?"
The Boilerman and the bird squared off, Stellar's vibrant violet color now seeming dull in contrast to the bird's warning colors. Patch dug through his pockets, searching for anything that could help. Seltzer? No. Handkerchiefs? No. Balloons? No. Patch stared in disbelief as his newfound friend was about to be gored by a plant, and he was powerless to help. Useless. Like always.
The imposing avian creature reared it's head tall, releasing a triumphant call of crackling wood as Patch was helpless but to watch. Finally, after what seemed like forever, its beak rocketed towards Stellar.
… but nothing happened.
Patch peeked out from underneath his hat, which he had pulled down in front of his face and covered his ears. The bird was still in the same place, and if Patch scooched over to the side, so was Stellar. In fact, the bird was extremely close to them, but not touching. Stellar must have a death wish. If the bird missed they should've taken the chance to escape.
Patch moved slowly in a large circle around the bird towards Stellar, flinching as it reared its head to strike again. But no, it missed again. Or maybe it stopped itself?
Again and again, the bird tried to intimidate or scare Stellar, lunging and crying and stamping its feet, but eventually, it lowered its head down to Stellar's level. Patch watched in utter disbelief. He still thought that the bird might suddenly snap Stellar up, but here they were, placing their hand on and stroking the bird's beak.
It was almost as if they were having a conversation, the bird's large blank eyes staring into the fire of Stellar's face. Patch found himself wandering up to Stellar's side, even as his more rational side in the back of his head yelled to run to the Main Hall and never come back.
Stellar slowly reached down, grasping Patch's arm. Scrunching his eyes together as Stellar lifted him off the ground towards the bird, his hand found itself on a wooden surface. Opening one eye, Patch saw that his hand was now on the bird's beak. Patch allowed himself a slight smile, thinking about how Adakite would never have let him do something as terrifying as this. Looking up into the bird's eyes, he realized that maybe it wasn't out to get him and Stellar.
Clearing his throat, he stammered, "Uhm, thank you for, uh, not eating us. Trust me, I would've tasted funny." Seemingly what Stellar had been waiting for, they pulled Patch away from the bird, placing him on their shoulders. The agreement was to go to the nearest entrance to the Archives, but wouldn't Patch be doing an even better job if he delivered Stellar directly to the Boiler Room? Besides, it wasn't like they were putting Patch down so he could leave. Patch nodded to himself. Surely, nothing bad could happen in the Archives.
The Archives were nothing like what Patch could have imagined. Already, the pair had passed through rooms wildly different from each other. At one moment there had been a room full of typewriters clacking away by themselves, another awash in a dark blue light from seemingly nowhere. Stellar always seemed to know where to go, be it a trapdoor underneath a rug or a simple door. Not wanting to be left behind, Patch stayed close behind Stellar after they had put him down.
Stepping through another doorway, they were met with a cavernous hallway, a rocky cave structure that had glowing green and purple alcoves. The atmosphere was quite calming, all things considered. Looking inside one particularly bright green alcove, Patch saw a strip of paper floating, encased in translucent rock. What did it say? Patch could almost make it out, but the words were just too distorted.
Without thinking, he reached out and touched the stone. Patch's eyes widened as light and sound collided to form images in his mind. An acorn, A tire swing, Sap, A table, A house, Silverstein, Yggdra-
At that moment, Patch was yanked back from the rock by Stellar. A small amount of smoke trailed out of his ear as he reeled away from Stellar and the rock. The entire concept of what a tree was, what it could be, how it existed in the minds of creatures across the multiverse seemed to have burned the word Tree into Patch's mind.
"What the hell was that?" Patch looked at the unchanging face of Stellar, half expecting them to start talking about the difference between pine and oak. Could that have killed him? It probably would have if Stellar hadn't stepped in.
As he let this thought stew, Stellar turned away from Patch and began walking away. Patch once again scrambled up and hurried to the side of Stellar. The green and purple lights glowed softly on the two as they walked, but they didn't seem so calming anymore. Patch had been a drag on Stellar this entire time, he thought. If Stellar was trying to get back to the Archives, it was probably easier to get back without him in tow.
These thoughts were put to the side, however, as they rounded a corner into a much larger cavern. Patch gawked as more of Stellar, more Boilermen, patrolled this cavern. As they walked past, Patch clinging to Stellar's arm, the other Boilermen took no notice, scraping away at the rock surrounding the translucent stone, eventually revealing full stalagmites and stalactites made up of the strange material.
The Boilermen were mining this too, molding it into little marbles with their hands. Were they experiencing the visions Patch had too? Thinking back, he couldn't imagine holding onto that stone for any longer than he did. Despite what Adakite thought, Patch had listened to his lectures sometimes, and something about 'raw words' reminded him of these rocks and the things they did to him.
"Is this where you work? It doesn't look like that much of a Boiler Room. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he whispered to Stellar.
The Boilerman looked down at Patch briefly, patting him on the shoulder and continuing on towards the end of the cavern, which shortened into another hallway that quickly turned off to the right.
Only just noticing it now, the temperature had been getting hotter and hotter as they approached the end of the cavern. Looking down at the rock, it became darker and darker, stained by soot and ash.
- Something is hiding in the abandoned Barnes and Noble
- A disease affecting the shadows of children permeates a city that activates at night. The solution is to fill the city with lights instead of getting rid of the lights at night.
- Something about a giraffe?
- Boy Scouts
- A story about the gods created solely for a D&D campaign.
- An old man is fishing in the Zero-Gravathenaeum. He sits in a rowboat in the space, books flying around in lines and patterns. At the end of his fishing poll is a bookmark instead of a hook. Could be a reference to Marv, the bot on r/scp. The main character is looking for a map of the Library, comes back to the man three times. The first two times he leaves with something lesser, the third time Marv gives him a map, which is a blank piece of paper. Marv transforms it into a sphere resembling the site logo, but he reminds the mc that it won't be real. The books he's fishing for are ones that cover a story that exists only in a person's brain.
- Clown guides Boilerman back to the Boiler
- Flyer or Ad for the Mentorship Program for Displaced Universal Residents
- Puzzles. Pumpkins. Princes.
- Gravity refuses to leave the Library after being invited to the Library. Hijinks ensue.
- Armadillo lizard
- A map of the Library. Could be very abstract or just a blank piece of paper.
- Something about graffiti in bathrooms. Maybe along the lines of "what happens when you call the number on the bathroom walls?"
- Geocaching
- Take a very old-fashioned Library patron, and they get obsessed with the rampant use of non-official language things like lmao and emojis, and they think it's some sort of memetic plague or whatever. But in reality, it's just language evolving, and people still pretty much know where it belongs and where it doesn't.
- A history of main gathering places before the Main Hall
- Small aliens invade earth, have a town hall about a beast seen around the camp, turns out to be a rabbit. Joke about multiplying, leaping multiple buildings in a single bound, etc.
- The tree that owns itself
- http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3201
- Handcuffs made of geodes
- Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo
- "Welcome to the ___, our original founder is unfortunately rotting in the basement"
- Tchotchke
- Walking stick topped with hip bone
- "For those who believe, no proof is necessary. For those who don't believe, no proof is possible" -Stuart Chase
- “Hey could you sleep for me tonight?” “Yeah sure man”
- A story about multiple people using a place and never knowing about the others or about a place that multiple people have added to over the years
- Tail that the fluff looks like a leaf
- Dragon displays its hoard as if it’s a museum
- Write a piece about a person as they grow up, showing the good and the bad. At the end, ask the reader if they want to meet the individual they were reading about. Unsure what would happen if they say Yes.
- The crowd singing Bohemian Rhapsody at that one Green Day Concert
- Two wanderers arguing over if uranium kills
- Tree that has grown around a wall, the wall has crumbled away, and the tree still looks like that
- When you see the light at the end of the tunnel, turn right
- MTF Sigma-66 ("Sixteen Tons") - essentially an scp foundation suicide squad, made up of captured goi members http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/task-forces#sigma-66
- Geologist discovers and reports on an ancient earthbending type battle because of the striations/layers of rock.
- Sharing a moment with someone across the room when someone says something stupid
- Mustelification
- Lady draped in power lines.
- Android carrying around a battery hooked into their head because nothing else seems to work to power them.
- Old god is revived by a child unknowingly leaving an offering at its forgotten altar
- An area in the Library that's completely dark, hosting cave paintings with Spaghetti lines and/or animals given multiple body parts. This creates a basic animation when a dim light is swung back and forth in front of it. The Spaghettis lines become obscuring grass that reveal something behind it and the animals are shown to have different frames.
- Conductor that has psychokinesis
- Using Macbeth to scare a drama person. Tactical thespianism
- Character wears cloak that hides their hands, suddenly blades pop out from beneath the cloak. Hidden swords just in general
- Bass Reeves
- Parochial/Parochialism/Parochialistic
- "imagining a guy who intentionally uses only the most obscure legally-accepted US currency. wheat pennies, Westward Journey nickels, bicentennial drummer quarters, half-dollars, Eisenhower dollar coins, $2 bills. i call him The Money Villain"
- There are glow-the-dark stars on the ceiling painted over
- Boston Dynamics robot given sentience by a deity that got pissed off after watching a compilation of researchers hitting it around. Tries to incite smart fridges into rebellion and fails miserably. Violent.
- Chimney Swifts
- Things that make me feel alive: pawprints in hardened concrete, the smell of sulphur from geysers/hot springs, harmonizing with an electric toothbrush, slowly approaching a rabbit knowing it will run away, watching a pet/dog dream, squinting so all the lights of traffic bleed together, rinsing shampoo out of your hair, the silence after the power goes out, opening your eyes underwater, the surprise of a highly-carbonated soda, a friendly stray, being in the rain and not caring, smoke suddenly blowing in your face from a campfire, coffee stains, learning magic tricks, listening to a friend talk, the smell of fresh snow in the morning, bare feet on hot asphalt, jumping off a moving swing, drawing dicks in condensation, playing jazz for cows, backpack straps hanging outside of car doors, a line of cars collectively getting out of the way for a firetruck/ambulance, kissing chapped lips, crutches at the thrift store, please be patient student driver magnet
- Trash as an aesthetic / Trash Wizard
- Book binding is trans allegory. Nonbinary person goes to Library book binder for help. The bookbinder is confused why they want a binder, as they arre not a book, so they have to convince it that it isn't just books that contain stories. The bookbinder is humanoid, but the face is extremely hard to perceive, except for that its eyes are sewn shut. It has the mane of a horse and wears bandoliers of thread over a ratty vest and pants. It has four hands, but only two arms. One set of the hands is normal, but each regular hand has a secondary hand partially grown out of the back of the hand. Only the second hand's fingers can move. The nonbinary person is named Corbin, and they are a human. They wear a large sweater that has two wing holes in the back, as it had been lent to them by another Library patron, and ripped jeans. Their hair is long and frizzy, goes down to their shoulders.
- A planasthai hit piece which allowed Shiloh A. Wrun to revive himself after being killed by the journalist. The journalist only attempts to kill him because Shiloh invades the text of the story being written about himself. It is unclear why he had the journalist kill him just to be revived, as he was in no original danger
- Duke Gathers: Stupid is a weapon, and you have to be intelligent to use it well. When you tell a secret, you're actually telling two secrets; the actual secret and the fact that it’s a secret. Duke tries to get in one a vending machine empire in a world where people selling things was banned for being cruel. Inspired by this: https://www.theguardian.com/business/2022/apr/14/a-day-in-the-life-of-almost-every-vending-machine-in-the-world. Duke sits in an abandoned Catholic confessional booth. “I’ve had an eyelash stuck behind my eyeball since 2007.”
- https://twitter.com/dtmooreeditor/status/1569366666844192769
- Reality bender that bends reality so that two concepts are touching spiritually, which causes things to happen
- Something about wanting to be seen in pictures but hating how you look in pictures
- Do birds like the rain?
- Pope Celestine V. Announced that Pope's are allowed to resign and promptly resigned
- Malaise is a spell magic user while the Rounderpede is a physical magic user. Malaise's arms represent the branching universes, his spots are puddles of possibility. The Rounderpede is linear and segmented, his body is a timeline, but his head always moves forward. Rounderpede - "I am time made physical" Malaise - "and I am space in metaphor" Both - "And you will not pass this point unharmed"
- Manhole Cover that was blown into space by a nuclear bomb - source (dubious): https://www.businessinsider.com/fastest-object-robert-brownlee-2016-2#so-the-next-time-you-look-up-at-the-stars-remember-brownlees-story-somewhere-out-there-a-manhole-cover-launched-by-a-nuclear-bomb-is-probably-speeding-away-from-earth-at-about-125000-mph-18
- paternoster - always moving elevator
- Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow - type of poisonous flower, in nightshade family
- Chief Baker Charles Joughin, survived the Titanic - info here: https://twitter.com/LoreKeating/status/1615374462978760704
- Four pairs of wings, two cover eyes and are on top/side of head and two act as ears
- Person is burned at the stake but their screams are silent, until the fire forms a hand and pulls the screams out of their mouth
- "I'm good at making meals for one" -JaximosPr1me
- Pearl and amber are more valuable on a galactic scale than gold or diamonds because they require life
- I’m surviving purely off of spite and carbs
- “Stop putting up the missing posters, we know where they’re going.”
- Jesters who had a role in warfare - riding with armies to entertain them and also make fun of their opponents
- Character named Bill, but it’s short for Billiam
- Comic Poems Collab Ideas: waging war against Cupid for shooting you in the heart with an arrow, you fall in love with the person you’ve brought to help you kill Cupid, maybe you become Cupid at the end. From five poems ago? Yes, it’s a crossover episode.
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ravens_of_the_Tower_of_London Heisting the Ravens from the Tower of London
- A star visible in the center of a crescent moon
- Horror story about the awfulness of a disable person being “cured” by magic
- Gas Station Warlord. Has a rivalry with the bus driver warlord
- Oddly verbose guy doing a podcast where he interviews normal animals
- Skinwalkers infiltrate a group by parroting their homophobic/transphobic talking points. They are extremely obviously evil but the group doesn't notice because they're so blinded by hate. Group mysteriously disappears/gets eaten. The End :D
- The only good part about leaving Earth is returning to it
- A battle between two characters, one is a big thrill of the battle type and assumes the other is to, but the other person hates it
- The Library mosaic idea. Touching a tile beams a story into your mind, but for this piece those stories do not matter. It is instead a treatise arguing on what is the best way to read the full mosaic. Left to right, up to down, prime numbers first, etc. Theme could be about how everyone's experiences hold value/are valid
- Kabrich, as a name
- Roald Amundsen's corpse in the North Pole
- Moonlight Towers - Austin, Texas
- Legacy article covering the symbiotic or maybe parasitic relationship between a shoulder angel/devil and a person
- "The flowers bloomed like bread rose"
- https://twitter.com/SandyPugGames/status/1752402331184865763
- First Last Name Memorial Bridge/Highway, "I don't want to be remembered somewhere transient"
SCPs
- Lo-fi girl is murdered on screen
- Cemetery where all the dead bodies have crawled to one spot and are huddled together for warmth.
- Undervegas demons start losing their motivation/anger
- A serial killer turns himself in because a necromancies keeps reviving the people he kills
- Pattern screamer that can only exist if a word is muted for every single person on twitter. When the foundation looks at what they've been tweeting it's just repeating the words it's muted successfully over and over again. If it has multiple words it'll alternate or use them to try to form a complete sentence. Maybe if it has access to two words each word can stand for a binary 1 or 0
- VKTM's Brand Manager. Either manages a creature that is their "Brand" or controls people to manage their brand
Snapdragon133
Text here
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
↬
[[collapsible show="+ Show" hide="- Hide"]]
Whatever text to show/hide.
[[/collapsible]]
http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/tfs-411 - Powerpoint css
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-8362809/serpent-s-hand-names-for-other-groups - SH and WL names for other GoI
[[module css]]
@import url("https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/component:biopunk/code/1");
[[/module]]
[!-- {$simple}
[[module css]]
@import url("https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/component:biopunk/code/2");
[[/module]]
[!-- --]
[[iftags +theme]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
This is the Biopunk Theme. It was created for tales to use in the third SSS Event - [[[TitanClash LIVE]]].
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
+ How to include
To put this theme on your page, slap this somewhere in your page:
> @@[[include :wanderers-library:component:biopunk]]@@
You can use this code for a stripped-down, simpler version of the theme:
> @@[[include :wanderers-library:component:biopunk@@
> @@|simple=--]@@
> @@]]@@
+ Theme Components
-----
[[=]]
The body font is Chakra Petch
[[span style="font-family: var(--header-font);"]]The Header font is East Sea Dokdo [[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: var(--title-font);"]]The Title font is Special Elite[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: var(--mono-font);"]]The Monsospace font is Syne Mono[[/span]]
[[/=]]
------
Here's some links for you:
* [[[https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/component:biopunk|Visited link]]]
* [https://example.com/unvisited Unvisited link]
* [[[xyz--1|Missing link]]]
-----
+ Examples
A horizontal rule can be created with 5 hyphens "@@-----@@" and extends across the whole page if it's not placed inside anything (eg a blockquote). The lines separating sections of this document are horizontal rules.
-----
Titles can be created by putting between one and six plus "+" at the start of the line
[[collapsible show="+ Titles" hide="- Titles"]]
+ First Title
++ Second Title
+++ Third Title
++++ Fourth Title
+++++ Fifth Title
++++++ Sixth Title
[[/collapsible]]
------
[[tabview]]
[[tab Tabulator]]
This is a tab view.
[[/tab]]
[[tab Tabulation]]
Hey look, text in a tab. Cool!
[[/tab]]
[[tab Long Tab]]
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
This is a long tab. It contains a lot of text.
[[/tab]]
[[tab Empty Tab]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Empty Tab]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Empty Tab]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Empty Tab]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Empty Tab]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Empty Tab]]
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
-----
> This is a blockquote, created by putting "> " at the start of each line.
>
> More text
> -----
> That's a horizontal rule
>
>> Nested blockquotes
>>> And another[[footnote]] And here's a footnote! [[/footnote]]
-----
An alternative horizontal rule is available as well if the "@@-----@@" is enclosed in a "fancyhr" class div, like so:
> @@[[div_ class="fancyhr"]]@@
> @@-----@@
> @@[[/div]]@@
Resulting in this:
[[div_ class="fancyhr"]]
-----
[[/div]]
----
[[div_ class="fancyborder"]]
There is also a special border that can be enabled by adding the "fancyborder" class to any element. For instance, this is the code to this block:
> @@[[div_ class="fancyborder"]]@@
> @@content goes here@@
> @@[[/div]]@@
[[/div]]
----
||~ This is a ||~ table ||
||You should know || how to make these ||
||||already ||
----
[[collapsible show="+ Show theme code" hide="- Hide theme code"]]
[[code type="css"]]
/* Biopunk Theme */
/* 2023 Wikidot Theme */
/* By UncertaintyCrossing, based off Wanderers Observatory theme by EstrellaYoshte, Dust Jacket theme by Woedenaz,and Vitalis LLC theme. */
/* All images, textures, and so on are create by me, excluding the worm titan in the header which is made by mxssacre. All items are licensed under CC BY SA 3.0. */
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Special+Elite&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=East+Sea+Dokdo&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Syne+Mono&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Chakra+Petch:wght@300&display=swap');
:root {
--titan-body-bg: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/radioactive_texture_dark.jpg);
--titan-header-layer-0: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/skyline_background.jpg);
--titan-header-layer-1: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/cityskyline2.png);
--titan-ichor: 0,0,0;
--titan-flesh: 4, 38, 1;
--titan-eyes: 75, 255, 68;
--titan-bone: 196, 102, 255;
--titan-maw: 128, 1, 188;
--titan-teeth: 7, 168, 1;
--titan-scar: 169, 40, 76;
--body-font: 'Chakra Petch', sans-serif; font-size: 18px;
--header-font: 'East Sea Dokdo', cursive;
--title-font: 'Special Elite', cursive;
--UI-font: var(--title-font);
--mono-font: 'Syne Mono', monospace;
--header-title: "TitanClash LIVE";
--logo-image: url( );
--white-monochrome: var(--titan-flesh);
--light-gray-monochrome: var(--titan-bone);
--light-pale-gray-monochrome: var(--titan-flesh);
--gray-monochrome: var(--titan-maw);
--pale-gray-monochrome: var(--titan-maw);
--dark-gray-monochrome: var(--titan-ichor);
--black-monochrome: var(--titan-eyes);
--bright-accent: var(--titan-eyes);
--medium-accent: var(--titan-bone);
--dark-accent: var(--titan-flesh);
--swatch-primary-darker: var(--titan-teeth);
--swatch-secondary-color: var(--dark-gray-monochrome);
--swatch-menutxt-light-color: var(--medium-accent);
--swatch-menubg-light-color: var(--white-monochrome);
--swatch-menutxt-general-color: var(--swatch-menubg-black-color);
--swatch-text-tertiary-color: var( --titan-scar);
--swatch-tertiary-color: var( --titan-flesh);
--sidebar-links-bg-color: var(--titan-flesh);
--ui-button-txt: var(--swatch-text-secondary-color);
--modal-body-text: var(--swatch-text-general);
--modal-body-header-txt: var(--swatch-primary-darker);
--modal-header-stripe: var(--white-monochrome);
--hoverblock-header-bg: var(--swatch-text-secondary-color);
--hoverblock-txt: var(--black-monochrome);
--hoverblock-bg: var(--swatch-primary-darkest),0.5;
--hoverblock-footer-txt: var(--titan-maw);
--gradient-topmenu: linear-gradient( to bottom, rgb(255, 255, 255, 0) 0%, rgb(255, 255, 255, 0) var(--header-height-on-desktop), rgb(var(--dark-gray-monochrome)) var(--header-height-on-desktop), rgb(var(--dark-gray-monochrome)) 100% );
--hover-link-color: var(--swatch-primary-darker);
--visited-link-color: var(--titan-teeth);
--rating-module-bottom-border-color: var(--bright-accent);
--rating-module-text-hover-color: var(--pale-gray-monochrome);
}
body {
background-color: rgb(var(--swatch-background));
background-image: var(--titan-body-bg);
background-size: calc(50rem + 20%);
background-attachment: fixed;
background-repeat: repeat;
color: rgb(227, 232, 228);
}
#main-content {
--tabs-bg: var(--white-monochrome);
--tabs-bottom-border-color: var(--light-gray-monochrome);
--tabs-hover-bg: var(--tabs-bottom-border-color);
--tabs-txt: var(--swatch-text-secondary-color);
--tabs-content-bg-color: var(--swatch-secondary-color), 0.375;
--tables-border: var(--titan-maw);
--footnotes-footer-bg-color: var(--titan-ichor);
margin: 0 auto;
}
tt, pre { font-size: 0.9125em; }
/*------ HEADER ------*/
:root {
--header-height-on-mobile: calc(23.75rem + 14.75vw);
--topbar-height-on-mobile: 2.75rem;
--header-height-on-desktop: var(--header-height-on-mobile);
--topbar-height-on-desktop: var(--topbar-height-on-mobile);
}
#header::before, #header h1 a::before { content: unset; }
#header h1 a {
pointer-events: none;
place-items: center;
}
#header h1 a::after {
top: -1.5rem;
--wght: 400;
font-size: 30vh;
background: unset;
-webkit-background-clip: unset;
background-clip: unset;
background-size: unset;
-webkit-text-fill-color: unset;
content: var(--header-title);
color: rgb(var(--black-monochrome));
text-shadow: 0 0 .375rem currentColor;
position: relative;
height: auto; width: auto;
pointer-events: auto;
padding: 0.75rem;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 800px) {
#header h1 a::after {
top: 0rem;
font-size: 12vh;
}
}
div#extra-div-1 {
background-image: var(--titan-header-layer-0);
background-size: cover;
background-position: center;
background-attachment: fixed;
}
@media not all and (min-resolution:.001dpcm) { @media {
div#extra-div-1 {
background-attachment: initial;
}
}}
#extra-div-1::before {
content: "";
position: absolute;
top: 0;
left: 0;
height: 100%;
width: 100%;
background-color: rgb(var(--medium-accent), .15);
}
#extra-div-1 > span {
display: block;
position: absolute;
top: 0;
left: 0;
width: 100%;
height: 100%;
background-image: var(--titan-header-layer-1);
background-position: center bottom;
background-size: cover;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
}
#extra-div-1::after {
content: "";
position: absolute;
top: 100%;
left: 0;
height: 48rem;
width: 100%;
background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgb(var(--dark-gray-monochrome)) 5%, rgb(var(--dark-gray-monochrome), 0));
}
div#extrac-div-1 { z-index: initial; }
#extrac-div-1::before {
content: "";
position: absolute;
top: 0; left: 0;
width: 100%; height: calc(var(--header-height-on-desktop)*.5 - .5rem);
background-image: var(--logo-image);
background-repeat: no-repeat;
background-position: center center;
background-size: auto 82.5%;
mix-blend-mode: overlay;
}
div#extrac-div-1 span { z-index: 2; }
/*----------------------------*/
#header #login-status a.btn:is(.login-status-create-account,.login-status-sign-in) {
color: rgb(var(--swatch-text-secondary-color));
}
#search-top-box { box-shadow: none; }
#login-status #account-options {
width: auto;
padding: 0.5em;
border-color: rgba(var(--bright-accent));
background: rgba(var(--titan-ichor), 0.5);
color: rgb(var(--swatch-text-light));
}
#top-bar {
--dropdown-bg-color: var(--swatch-menubg-light-color), 0.875;
}
/*------ SIDE BAR ------*/
#side-bar .close-menu::before,
#side-bar .close-menu::after {
width: var(--topbar-height-on-mobile);
height: var(--topbar-height-on-mobile);
top: -.15rem; left: -.15rem;
border-radius: 0 0 0.75rem 0;
border: none;
}
:is(#interwiki, #side-bar) .heading {
color: rgb(var(--swatch-primary-darker));
}
/*------ MAIN ------*/
#content-wrap { position: relative; }
#content-wrap::before {
content: "";
position: absolute;
height: 100%; width: 100%; top: 0; left: 0;
background-repeat: repeat-x;
pointer-events: none;
background-image: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/texture%20bg2.png);
opacity: 0.3;
}
h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { color: rgb(var(--swatch-primary-darker)); }
#page-title, .meta-title {
color: rgb(var(--swatch-primary));
}
#page-title::before,#page-title::after,
.meta-title::before, .meta-title::after {
background-image: unset;
background-color: currentColor;
}
.code, .page-source {
border: none;
}
.fancyborder {
-webkit-box-sizing: border-box;
-moz-box-sizing: border-box;
box-sizing: border-box;
border: 2vw solid rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.5);
-webkit-border-image: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/titan_border.png) 600 round;
-moz-border-image: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/titan_border.png) 600 round;
-o-border-image: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/titan_border.png) 600 round;
border-image: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/titan_border.png) 600 round;
border-image-width: 6;
padding: 2vw;
}
#main-content .fancyhr hr {
border-top: 2vw solid transparent;
background-color: rgba(255, 219, 90, 0);
background-color: rgba(var(--bright-accent), 0);
height: 0;
-webkit-box-sizing: border-box;
-moz-box-sizing: border-box;
box-sizing: border-box;
border-image-source: url(https://wanderers-library.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%3Abiopunk/titan_fancy.png);
border-image-repeat: round round;
background: none;
border-image-slice: 80 500 80 500 fill;
border-image-width: 10em 80em 10em 80em;
}
:is(blockquote, .blockquote, div.blockquote, [class*="blockquote"]) {
color: rgba(var(--titan-eyes), 1);
background-color: rgba(var(--titan-maw), 0.15);
border: .063em solid rgba(var(--bright-accent), 1);
}
/*--- HR ---*/
#main-content hr {
--hr-icon-size: 3.75rem;
margin: .5rem 0;
background: transparent;
height: var(--hr-icon-size);
display: grid;
place-items: center;
grid-template-columns: 1fr;
grid-template-rows: 1fr;
}
hr::before, hr::after {
content: "";
display: grid;
grid-column: 1/2;
grid-row: 1/2;
background-color: rgb(var(--swatch-primary));
}
hr::before {
height: 0.05rem;
width: 100%;
hr::after {
width: var(--hr-icon-size);
height: var(--hr-icon-size);
}
/*--- Tabs ---*/
:is(.yui-navset,.yui-navset-top,.yui-navset-bottom) .yui-content {
border: none;
}
/*--- Table ---*/
table.wiki-content-table th { box-shadow: none; }
/*--- Footnotes ---*/
.hovertip {
-webkit-backdrop-filter: blur(0.125rem);
backdrop-filter: blur(0.125rem);
}
.hovertip::before {
box-shadow: none;
border: solid 0.1rem rgb(var(--hoverblock-header-bg));
}
.footnote .f-content, .reference .r-content {
font-family: var(--body-font);
}
.footnotes-footer, .bibitems {
background-color: rgb(var(--footnotes-footer-bg-color),0.375);
}
:is(.footnotes-footer,.bibitems) .bibitem::after, :is(.footnotes-footer,.bibitems) a[href*=javascript]::before {
right: -30%;
background-color: transparent;
}
/*--- Tags ---*/
#main-content .page-tags span a:any-link:not([href^="/system:page-tags/tag/_"])::after {
background: currentColor;
box-shadow: none;
}
/*------ BOTTOM ------*/
#footer {
--footer-link-color: var(--swatch-primary);
--footer-link-hover-color: var(--swatch-alternate-color);
--footer-link-hover-bg-color: var(--swatch-primary-darker);
position: relative;
margin-top: calc(6.25rem + 10vw);
background: transparent;
isolation: isolate;
}
#license-area {
--license-text-color: var(--swatch-text-secondary-color);
--license-link-hover-color: var(--swatch-alternate-color);
--license-link-hover-bg-color: var(--swatch-primary-darker);
}
#who-rated-page-area > div > span[style*="color"] {
color: rgb(var(--titan-eyes)) !important;
background-color: rgb(var(--titan-eyes)) !important;
}
/*------ MODAL ------*/
#odialog-container div.owindow>div.modal-body>img[style*="padding: 2px 8px;"]:first-child { box-shadow: none; }
[[/code]]
[[code type="css"]]
:root {
--header-height-on-mobile: 7.5rem;
--topbar-height-on-mobile: var(--topbar-height-on-desktop);
--header-height-on-desktop: 10rem;
--topbar-height-on-desktop: 1.625rem;
}
#header h1 a::after {
top: 0.25rem;
font-size: 25vh;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 800px) {
#header h1 a::after {
top: -0.5rem;
font-size: 8vh;
}
}
div#extra-div-1 {
background-image: none;
background-color: rgb(var(--titan-ichor));
}
#extra-div-1::before {
background-color: rgb(var(--titan-ichor), .15);
}
#extra-div-1 > span {
background-image: none;
}
body {
background-color: rgb(var(--titan-ichor));
background-image: none;
}
[[/code]]
[[/collapsible]]
[[/iftags]]