#churchyard grim
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Kotestu is a grim
This is a fact Barnaby knew, one he wished to push down as far as he possibly can. Telling everyone that he's just a ghost dog, trying not to raise suspicion when Kotestu melts into his shadow. Of course no one would ever bat an eye towards them, in a world of superpowers, the supernatural isn't as adnormal as one would think.
It doesn't change much about it if no one thought too deeply about it. Rather if anyone even knew what a grim was they probably wouldn't bat an eye. That's not the issue, the issue Barnaby is experiencing is specifically how powerful having a grim could be.
Church grims are known as guardian dogs that roamed graveyards to keep them keep trespassers that came to vandalize gravestones or rob the dead. But they are also known as Gytrash, Black Shuck, Barghest, or just Black dogs.
Black dogs that are thought to be malevolent and sinister shapeshifting creatures that would either guide travelers to the right path or guide them to become lost, unable to return. Barnaby has learned through time that Kotestu would never trick him, but he's seen him do it to others. Hiding in shadows when he was younger, growing at impossible feats, and covering him in inky blackness to scare away bullies and such.
He's also seen what happens what happens when it gets taken too far. Tiny clicks of nails turning into scrapings of talons on concrete, the dripping of warm blood onto unclothed skin. The smell of copper etching all around him but him being unable to see anything from the blackness.
Barnaby is grateful for never being able to see what what happened to his step father. Even more so that his mom hid all the details from him, along with keeping it a secret from the cops in where her husband went. But it never stops the inkling of fear of what if it happens again. When it happens, would he be able to control Kotestu, or would he loose all control of him like he did that night when he was a kid.
Kotestu is a grim, that is a fact. Only a few people knew, and Barnaby wants it to stay that way. The prospect of another persons death hangs over his head every time they merge together. But if he pretends, maybe no one will ask, no one will push, no one would take it too far.
That's all he asks, for no one to look to closely at his guys dog
#s and d tier#Barnaby#Barnaby Saint Bernard#cw gore#ruined world au#I full heartedly headcanon Kotestu as a churchyard grim#also that Barnaby has blood 🩸 on his hands#I also believe that when he first started as a hero he was in denial about it#also forgive my spelling mistakes I didn't proofread and it's almost 2am
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Conall's art fight character sheet
#(thats not a typo thats just his name)#grimm is a last name#grim is an adjective and also a refference to churchyard grims
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Here's a commission of Church Grim with spider lillies!
The Church Grim is a mythical creature from English folklore, that is said to be a guardian spirit that protects churches and churchyards. It is believed to take the form of a large black dog, often with glowing eyes, and is said to be the spirit of the first person to be buried in the churchyard. The Church Grim is said to be a friendly and protective spirit, but can also be mischievous and even vengeful towards those who disrespect the church or disturb its peace. The belief in the Church Grim is still present in some rural areas of England, although it has largely faded from popular culture in modern times.
#church grim#english folklore#folklore creatures#folklore art#decorative poster#decorative art#canine#canine art#canine creature#dog#dog illustration#dog art#dog creature#floral illustration#floral art
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One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger's "Lenore":—
"Denn die Todten reiten schnell"— ("For the dead travel fast.")
There’s only so much that can be said about the upcoming parallels between the poem of “Lenore” by Gottfriend August Bürger without spoiling the punch of specific plot points in Dracula for new readers, but for context’s sake--and so I can free myself from some of the need to Ramble (tm)--the synopsis for the poem is this:
The eponymous Lenore is heartbroken, wretched, and lamenting God’s cruelty for apparently failing to favor or protect her beloved William in war. He’s the only soldier of their village who does not return alive, smiling and triumphant. Lenore’s mother tries to shush and deter her from such grieving blasphemy unto God, claiming William must merely have gone off with another girl and that God does love her. To curse Him is dangerous!
A few verses carry on in this way, highlighting Lenore’s well-earned anger, sorrow and grief, all contrasted with her mother’s fretting and somewhat lacking comfort. Night falls. Outside Lenore’s window, William rides up on his horse, alive and well. Lenore is overjoyed and joins him when he invites her onto his steed so they can ride away...
“Ere we may lie in the bridal-bed.”
Off they ride swiftly into the night, gradually joined by a following of eerie restless dead as their impromptu wedding reception. Though Lenore is frightened, William is content to ride on and banter about the spirits. Eventually, the horse comes to a stop at their destination: a cemetery. As they dismount, Lenore sees ‘William’ melt away to reveal the iconic Grim Reaper face of Death, replete with skeleton shape, sickle, and hourglass. William has been dead all along and the only bed he has to share with her is a grave. The final lines?
The churchyard troop,--a ghostly group--
Close round the dying girl;
Out and in they hurry and spin
Through the dance’s weary whirl:
“Patience, patience, when the heart is breaking
With thy God there is no question-making:
Of they body thou art quit and free:
Heaven keep thy soul eternally!”
Which is a Hell of a grim sentiment to end on.
In future chapters, once Certain Vampiric Events come into view, the motifs of the ballad come back in full force. Albeit in ways that both lean into and fully defy the seeming moral for poor Lenore and William. You know when you see them.
If you haven’t read the poem before, I highly recommend it! You can give it a gander here.
#Death and the Maiden flavors and narrative parallels and defiance thereof and the Orpheus and Eurydice of it all and and and--#excited+ for the future chapters#the ballad of lenore#gottfried august burger#dracula#dracula daily#re: dracula#poetry
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CREATURE FEATURE 2: THE CREATURES RETURN
3 more guys are available now! $25+ each, all of them come with secret alt palettes! first come first serve!
come get 'em in my ko-fi store!
AVAILABILITY
Churchyard Grim: OPEN
Harecrow: CLOSED
Swamp Thing: CLOSED
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The fact that people made a folk horror film about Midsummer and not some authentically creepy Swedish folk tradition saddens me. Why has no-one done anything with the Christmas Mass of the Dead? The Year's Walk? The Spiritus Familiaris? The Myling? The Churchyard Grim? There's so much more fun stuff that you could do with this.
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How are Death gods made?
I was thinking about TOWW's origin as a god. Maybe that was why TOWW was so different from his siblings? His origin as a god was one of death. Let's begin!
TOWW seems to be dead. He is a 'dead' death god. In mythology, gods of death aren't always dead themselves. As death for gods usually means they ceased to exist. This is very likely why the bishops couldn't kill him, only seal him away. You can't kill what's already dead.
Now we know that gods in COTL can die just like mortals can, so whatever TOWW is, was not a normal death state for a god. Something about his death or how he died had to be significant enough to make him like this. Where death was a part of his being, enough to be a death god, not just the state he was in. Think Osiris, the Egyption god of death and mummification. He was not always a death god, he was once a living one with a different sphere of influence. Once he died, death became his portfolio. When it comes to death gods they are usually the first dead of their pantheon.
When it comes to how a death god is created it is expected for death to play a part in their origin. But this is not always the case. In some mythos, gods of death are living, they're just responsible for managing the dead. In TOWW's case it's implied that he is in fact dead. He makes a statement about his heart not beating and the state of his arms might imply some level of decomposition has occurred. The fact that he uses his eyes as combatants could also hint that his body isn't alive and he doesn't really need them, no other boss uses pieces of their body to fight us.
Because TOWW is a 'dead' death god, I make these speculations under the pretense that all death gods in COTL are dead or must die to become one.The exact timeframe for when TOWW could have died isn't possible to know. He could have perished as a mortal and arose as an undead, possibly by the red crown, slowly gaining enough power to become godlike. Or he could have died as a god, and through some profane ritual, awoken as a death god.
I liken TOWW's origins as a death god to that of a church grim. Church grims were guardian spirits of churches and their graveyards. They were 'created' when an animal, usually a black dog, was buried alive on the church grounds at its creation. It was believed they would serve as protectors and guides for the souls of the deceased. Animals were chosen to spare people from this eternal duty but not always. Their death was seen as a necessity.
COTL is a world of gods and the supernatural, so I imagine a church grim would be a real life necessity rather than simply a barbaric practice. But why, you ask, would Narinder have been at risk of becoming what amounts to a sacrifice? Well, he is a black cat. The devs state TOWW was designed after the belief that seeing a black cat would mean someone would die soon.
With that in mind I imagine in the magical world of COTL that maybe a real possibility rather than a superstition. A possibility that could lead to prejudice against black cats. Maybe Narinder was a victim of prejudice, being murdered and turned into a church grim against his will? Maybe it was a cultural practice within society? Maybe it was a sinister ritual done under the cover of night. Maybe it was a punishment? Who can know?
Within the same cultures as church grims there was also a belief that the first person buried in a churchyard was tasked with protecting the souls of the deceased until the next funeral/burial. The newly dead would be their replacement. If something were to happen, and no more burials occurred there, that soul would be trapped in eternal vigil, with no replacement, and no way to pass on themselves. This is why animals were usually chosen. I believe this is the current predicament that TOWW is/was in. Why he seemed to grow tired of his duty as a god.
"Lamb. Mortal life is so... fragile. So fleeting. So long did I stand at the gates between this life and the next, trapped at the nexus of what was and what wasn't."
-Narinder
Conclusion
Speculation Station
In the beginning TOWW may have enjoyed the power of being a god but being dead may have been an uncomfortable state to be in for all eternity.
On a lighter note ,there is an IRL god with origins similar to church grims. Ankou, a servant of death. He was responsible for collecting the souls of the dead before he could go to the afterlife. This god has many disputed origins but he is the death god I personally associate most with TOWW.
#cult of the lamb#cotl#my post#cult of the lamb theory#cotl worldbuilding#cotl narinder#cult of the lamb worldbuilding#long post#how's my formatting?#is it easier to read?#im somewhat dyslexic#so I formatted this post in away that would make things easier to follow for myself🤣
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hi i’m cane i make cool queer punk cross stitch patches for my battle jacket and sometimes i post patterns for them too! my art blog is @daemon-cane
also can i ask for a churchyard grim mood board with lots of blacks and reds and grays and foggy forests and chains ty!!
Sounds cool!
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A Mr. Swales Glossary for August 1
[Organized in the order in which words appear in the text; definitions taken from Stoker's notes and his source: F. K. Robinson's A Glossary of Words Used in the Neighborhood of Whitby ]
Nowt: Nothing
Ban: Curse
Waft: A ghost; a passing shadow
Boh-ghosts an' bar-guests: Apparitions that take on human or animal shape. According to the glossary Stoker consulted, barguests are frequently said to haunt castles and may take the shape of dogs, calves, mastiffs, or pigs, with a common feature of their appearance being their burning coal-like eyes.
Bogle: A fearful object, hobgoblin, or bugbear
Anent: Concerning
Bairn: Child
Dizzy: Half-witted
Bledder: To blubber or weep
Air-bleb: A bubble or an unsound scheme
Grim: A type of ghost resulting from an old tradition in which animals were interred in the foundational walls of churches, such that their spirits might guard the premises and give warning of approaching death via their howls.
Illsome: Evil disposed
Beuk-body: A learned person
Scunner: To scare
Hafflin: A half-wit
Airt: Quarter or direction
Acant: Leaning in one direction
Scowderment: Pandemonium; the bustle and confusion arising before a meal or major event
Death-Sark: Shroud
Joup: Jumbled together
Trimmle: Tremble
Dither: To thrill or shiver with cold or fear
Dozzen'd: Shriveled
Yabblins: Possibly!
Poorish Few: Only a small number
Balm Bowl: Chamberpot
Kirkgarth: Churchyard
Consate: Imagine, conceive
Hap: Bury, cover
Snod and Snog: Safe and sound; smooth and compact
Lay-bed: Grave
Toom: Empty
Old Dun: The public hangman (I've also seen this given as "the Devil," if I recall)
Bacca-Box: Tobacco box
Aftest: Hindmost
Abaft: Behind
Bier-Bank: A churchyard path, particularly one leading from the Lichgate to the church building.
Antherums: Doubts
Thruff-Stean: A table tomb
Gawm: Understand
Acrewked: Twisted, crotchety
Lamiter: A lame or deformed person
Cleg: Horse-fly
Dowp: Carrion crow
Addle: (In Stoker's notes, the definition of this word is listed as "to live." In Robinson's glossary, however, it is given as meaning "to earn a living.")
Keckle: To laugh or chuckle
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In need of some assistance with unruly specters and out of hand demons In your graveyard, cemetery, morgue or other place of rest? Call today and book a visit from one of our trained* churchyard grim and handler teams to keep your dead down!
*we try our best
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cemetery superstitions
One of the things that sets us apart from the other creatures on this planet is the elaborate care we put into taking care of the bodies of our dead. Some of the earliest instances of human culture anthropologists have found are graves, where the bodies were intentionally arranged and left with gifts or items of beauty or usefulness. Graves, and grave-sites, tell us things about past cultures in ways that no uncovered village or city can. They speak of what kind of value the society of the time placed on individuals - and what value the loved ones of the individual placed on them despite society sometimes. Graves were often a place of treasure, treasure in terms of items left behind and treasure in terms of information about the time period and the people. Humanity, almost universally, holds a residual affection for a body long after the life that filled and animated that body has gone.
Humanity also has a tendency to not always believe that a dead body was quite as dead as it physically seemed. Not every item found in graves over the centuries has been to mark the mourners' sorrow. Sometimes its items to help the dead person into the afterlife. Sometimes its to keep them from coming back from there. Humanity, on the whole, doesn't do the whole 'and then it was over' thing very well.
So it is absolutely no surprise that graveyards, filled with mass groupings of burials, tend to have quickly developed a whole slew of superstitions when it comes to the way the living should act when surrounded by so many of the dead.
I'll save the story about church grims for another time since I want to do a post on Black Dogs but it wouldn't be right for me not to mention that, in English and Nordic tradition, the belief was that the first person buried in a churchyard either went to the Devil or had to stay until Judgement Day to guard against the Devil. In Scotland, this was called the faire chlaidh or the 'graveyard watch' and it was only a temporary position passing from the last person buried to the next for as long as the cemetery was active.
People also wanted to be buried on the south side of a cemetery. Whether coming from the belief that the 'south wind brings corruption' or because the south side is usually the sunnier side of a graveyard, in early times the north side was reserved for criminals, suicides, still-borns and other deaths that were considered, at that point in society, either 'less holy' or more likely to cause trouble once they were buried in the form of hauntings. In fact, even 'unconsecrated' ground still held a vestige of human society and being a part of something. Woe to the person deemed so dangerous or cast-out that they were denied a place in the social gathering and were instead buried at cross-roads or other desolate and lonely places far from the shared comfort of others. To this day, humanity still has a driving need to return bodies for proper burial, whether murder victims or fallen soldiers. Even in death, the societal need is for the safety of being with the group.
Keeping the dead close isn't the same as feeling comfortable around them however. There are a lot of rules for the living when it comes to graveyards.
Always hold your breath when you go past a cemetery or you could be the next to die. In some traditions, hearkening back to God breathing life into Adam's lungs, instead of dying you might instead inhale a soul and no body can survive with two souls inside of it. In Japan, instead of holding your breath, you are supposed to hide your thumbs. The word for 'thumb', sounds a great deal like 'death' and since the thumb is considered the 'parent finger' hiding your thumbs keeps your parents safe. In Hawaii, pointing your finger at a grave is inviting one of the dead to latch on to it and follow you home. In fact, if you're walking in a graveyard and you ever hear footsteps behind you, quickly exit the cemetery and whatever you do, don't look back. If you look back, the spirit following you will see what your face looks like and will be able to find you no matter where you go after that. And, of course, a pregnant mother should never visit a cemetery for the safety of her baby.
The state of the grave can be very important as well. Folklore has it that the grave of a good person will naturally grow wildflowers while the grave of an evil one will only grow weeds. If the ground seems to be trampled down over one particular gravespot, the person buried under it was probably a guardian of some kind in life, like a mother or a community leader. Lost souls wandering the cemetery at night will naturally be drawn to places like this, for comfort and guidance. On that same note, wandering spirits in a graveyard will congregate around music, so singing or playing an instrument in a cemetery should be done with awareness. Whistling however should be foregone completely as 'whistling up a ghost' is always a bad idea and leads to danger for the whistler. The sound of ringing church bells force wandering spirits back into their graves.
Rain during a funeral is considered lucky and a sign that heavens is mourning such a loved soul. A clap of thunder signifies that the demons are throwing a fit at losing the soul to heaven! A sparrow at a funeral is a sign that a departed soul is visiting and the same goes for a butterfly, though butterflies aren't limited to just graveyards for that purpose. Empty, open graves are great for curing various aliments if you walk past them but don't linger. An empty grave is a grave waiting to be filled and you don't want Fate to get any ideas about you that way. Open graves should never be allowed to remain empty past evening either. Firstly, because its a safety hazard and, secondly, because its an open space between the living and the dead that doesn't need to get the chance to solidify that threshold. Funerals should also never take place in the twenty-four hours around Halloween. It's believed that evil is roaming the world at that time and the newly dead souls, still innocent, are easy prey.
And the last rule - for this post at least - when it comes to graveyards is to always be respectful. Don't spit, don't lean on the graves, don't walk over them, don't speak ill of the dead, don't get too involved with your PDA, don't steal flowers from them and don't attempt to visit after hours once the sun has set. Remember - you're just a visitor in their house. Being rude will not go unnoticed - or unpunished.
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20! I've lost the plot completely! It's fine! It's the first draft and things will be better in the rewrites! Who's ready for SKELETONS
Project Info
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
By the time Josie and Lucy are at my front door, I barrel through them both, shaking off the feeling of dread that comes with walking through Lucy, tailing the quickly-fading trail of what I assume to be ectoplasm. Magnus has taken Renfield back out into the night, across the street, and right back to the graveyard, which has me feeling a little crazy for going back and forth so many times. He's gone right past the main walkway, past the old church, and into the oldest parts of the graveyard -- the ones that even I don't visit.��
Wild roses and scrub grow thick and thorny, choking the rotting fence of the churchyard. There's a grim buried here somewhere, and I can't help but flinch at the sudden shadow that leaps out at me from the darkness. A massive, shapeless thing that barks like a dog. I barrel past it, hoping it understands that I'm not here to disturb the dead but return one specific dead back to his eternal rest.
I hop the fence, hissing as splinters burrow into my hand, and follow Magnus through the overgrowth. Thorns and twigs pull at me, but I don't have time to care. I can't lose him. The footprints fade too quickly, and I trip over my own feet at the last minute, falling face-first into the dirt and bolting back upright with a curse.
But, at least, there's no need to run anymore. Magnus has come to a stop. He sits in the moonlight, a perfectly white cat now, eyes trained on a moss-worn hunk of stone.
"Your grave." Why come here? What's he trying to do?
He twitches, but doesn't turn to face me. "Do you know what is inscribed on this headstone?"
"R-I-P?" I guess.
He snorts -- then sneezes and coughs at the attempt at breathing through a nose like Renfield's. "Magnus Sunthorpe. Loving father and husband. May he rest in peace."
"Okay, so, yeah. RIP." I sit up slowly.
"Do you know why we bid the dead a peaceful rest, Miss Kaz?"
"Are you seriously gonna start monologuing again?"
"Not quite," he says. A deep laugh rumbles from Magnus's chest.
"What--"
Before I can say any more, the ground beneath our feet start to rumble. Something whacks me in the back of my head and I yelp. By the time I recover and look up again, bits of debris and loose stone float around the ruined gravestone.
"As we get closer to Hallow's Eve, young Kaz, we ghosts grow more powerful. I'm sure your lady friend has felt things change, eh?"
The very air seems to come alive, pins and needles shooting along my limbs as the smoke starts up again, emanating from the long-settled grave dirt. Cracks begin to appear, and far below the ground, something begins to knock.
"What are you doing?"
"Means to an end, darling girl. Means to an end."
Josie and Lucy finally arrive behind me. Josie grabs hold of my shirt and drags me out of the way just as the ground explodes. We fall backwards, through Lucy, and in a pile on the ground. Stone and soul rains down on us, and I do my best to shield her from the worst. Once it ends, we look up, shaking off the heebie-jeebies, to see the grave standing open.
Beams of light shine out from the old coffin at the bottom of it. Something inside thumps, knocking on the ancient wood. It's weak at first, still gathering strength. And then, after a moment, it knocks again. A single skeletal fist bursts out, then the other. It rips at the wood, throwing planks aside, before it stands up, still wearing the half-rotted funeral suit it had been buried in.
Magnus-the-cat levitates in front of Magnus-the-Skeleton. [Fancy magic shit happens. Magic light.]
When the light fades, it's just Magnus-the-Skeleton, standing in his coffin.
Renfield's body lowers to the ground slowly, lifeless. I don't care about anything else -- no weird ghost magic, no potentially murderous walking corpse. Nothing but my poor, stark-white cat.
I scoop him up into my arms, holding him close, my own pulse hammering as I try desperately to feel for his. I can't breathe, can barely think -- until I find it. Faint and fluttering, but there.
He's okay.
My baby boy is okay.
I look up, seeing Magnus-the-Skeleton brush off his fancy old-timey pants and pick up a fancy old-timey top hat. He puts in on, almost dignified. And then he looks up at me, green pinpricks of light forming eyes in his empty sockets and filled with a venomous glee.
"Hello, dearest Kaz," he says, teeth chattering together. He takes a step forward, and I think for a second that he's going to scramble out of the grave clumsily. But there's no awkwardness or uncertainty here. Magnus simply flicks his wrist, and he begins to levitate, floating up and out of the grave. Some of the glowing dust around him coalesces, forming into something resembling skin to hold the skeleton together, though his bones remain all-too-visible underneath.
And as Magnus finally comes to land on solid ground before me, I feel myself lifted up in turn, pulled by unseen spectral hands until I'm on my feet as well. I hold Renfeld closer, jaw set as he looks me over with those uncanny eyes.
"You really are a curiosity, aren't you?" he says, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.
I'm a bit at a loss at the moment, so I simply settle on, "God...you're, like, really ugly man."
This was, evidently, the wrong thing to say to a magical ghost-skeleton-man bent on silencing the town forever, because Magnus simply scoffs, and waves a hand. I'm thrown aside, turning to land on my shoulder and keep Renfield safe.
"Kaz!" Lucy shouts, running my way.
"Not a chance." Magnus waves another hand, and she's thrown in the opposite direction.
"Leave her alone!" I sit up with a snarl. "Josie, take Renfield and get somewhere safe."
"Like hell I am. I'm the only one who has half an idea of what to do here."
"And, pray, what would that idea be?" Magnus steps in between us, folding his hands in front of him. "Come now, girls. Don't leave me out of the fun."
[Something. Kaz tells Josie to go get the book.]
"I wouldn't try that if I were you." Magnus flicks his wrist again, and a bolt of ghostly energy flies her way.
But rather than knocking Josie off course, it simply hits her in the back. She grunts, but shrugs it off with little more than an ow.
Magnus tries again. This time, Josie faces him and takes the attack in the chest. Something glows around her neck, and she smirks, gesturing to the [protective gem] pendant around her neck. "You'll have to do better than that," she says.
While she's distracted, I throw myself bodily at Magnus, giving Josie the chance to get the spell book.
Even as Magnus throws me off him, I can't help but watch her go in confused awe. "Crystals," I say. "Who knew?"
"Kaz--?" Lucy says, giving me just enough time for Magnus to throw a solid kick to my jaw, and mutter under his breath. The blow leaves me with a split lip, and I spit the blood his way, hoping if nothing else that it stains his gross old funeral pants.
"Enough," Magnus hisses. "I have work to do." He raises an arm, and this time, a wave of ectoplasm rises up from his grave, colorless light shining from within.
At first, it seems like nothing happens, save for a bit of dirt falling into the empty hole.
And then more dirt. A bit of grass. A few loose rocks.
Soon enough, it becomes clear. The grave is sucking things into it, a black hole to swallow the town whole.
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