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ava-does-dumbassery · 1 year

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I wrote a thing!

A grieving eldritch entity becomes attached to a young human… (this is basically just what if that one Greek myth about Demeter trying to burn the mortality out of a child but with Lovecraftian horror gods).

It’s probably somewhere around a 13 minute read.

Content warnings for death and body horror.

Maybe she should run away from home for real this time.

She could. She runs out often, to think, to be away from everything. Maybe this time she could just never come back.

Except she can’t. Because it’s April, April 3rd, and she didn’t wear gloves. Her hands are burning from the cold, but she’s crying and she doesn’t want to go back home. She wonders how long it is before frostbite sets in. Will her hands fall off?

She turns down a street she only partly recognizes. She’s been down it once or twice, but not often. It’s a cold day, and almost no one is outside. Less people to notice her crying. She starts running slightly, as though she’ll escape from her problems if she goes fast enough. Then she almost collides headfirst into an old woman.

The girl skids, trying to stop herself, and tips over. She lands on her back on the sidewalk. The woman leans down, and grabs her hand to help her up.

“Are you alright, dear?” When the old woman speaks, the girl thinks for a moment that she can hear the sound of strange, high flutes.

The girl doesn’t know how to answer. She isn’t alright, and if she speaks, her voice will betray that she’s been crying.

The old woman is still holding onto her burning hand. She places a second hand on it now, too. “Do you want to come inside? It’s warm in there.”

The girl does want to come inside. She nods.

The old woman guides her up the porch steps and through the door. There’s a living room near the entrance, with a big window she can see the street from. The old woman directs her to a couch. It’s awkward, being in a stranger’s house, but the couch is soft. The girl slips off her shoes and curls herself up on it.

A vent in the floor is blowing up warm air beside the couch. The girl puts her hands over it, but the old woman stops her. “Don’t do that. They’ll hurt more if they warm up quickly.”

Looking out at the view of the street from the large window, the girl feels that she doesn’t remember this house being on this street before, or that she doesn’t remember it looking like this.

She has stopped crying long enough that she thinks she should be able to speak now. “Did you move here?” She asks the old woman in a soft, timid voice.

The old woman nods. “Yes.”

“From somewhere far away?”

“Very far away. Another country. I had a position there,” the old woman recollects. “I was… a teacher. I watched over many children. But then there was a terrible accident. Now, I am here.” A tear slips softly down her wrinkled face.

“Oh.” The girl feels bad for asking. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” the old woman tells her. “There’s nothing that can be done about that now.”

Soon, the girl’s hands are warm again, and she feels she can go back home. The old woman tells her she can come back to visit if she wants, and she nods.

As she walks down the porch steps, she realizes she has a slight headache.

. . .

It’s April 8th, and the girl is running again. There’s a big bruise all across one of her shoulders. However, she thinks it is mostly hidden by her shirt, besides a little spot at her neck.

It’s warmer out today, so she doesn’t need gloves. Maybe, this time, she could run away from home for real. Pick a direction and run as far as she can. But she’s too scared to really do that.

She passes the street with the old woman’s house and stops. A second goes. Then she makes up her mind, turns down the street, reaches the house, and rings the doorbell.

For a moment, there is silence. The girl wonders if she should leave. Then the door opens, and the old woman invites her inside.

The old woman directs her to sit, and asks her if she wants tea. The girl does want tea. She hopes her voice doesn’t quaver too much as she speaks.

“Is your shoulder alright, dear?” The woman asks as she pours her a cup.

The girl jumps. She moves to adjust her shirt so it covers the spot at her neck.

“You should put some ice on that, dear.” The old woman bustles over to her freezer and retrieves an ice pack.

As the pack is pressed against her shoulder, the girl shivers. Then, she leans her head against the old woman’s side—just slightly.

The woman places a gentle hand on the girl’s head.

The girl presses her entire face into the old woman’s body. She is sobbing. The woman says nothing, but she strokes her head comfortingly.

The girl can hear the sound of flutes again. High, thin, and strange. Their song is about something, she’s sure of it. But that meaning is incomprehensible to her.

After 20 minutes, the old woman removes the ice pack from her shoulder. The flutes stop.

The girl hugs the old woman before she leaves. When she steps out the door, the headache is worse than last time.

. . .

It’s April 15th. The girl is visiting the old woman again. She just got off the school bus, and she came here first instead of back to her house. She did that yesterday, too.

She isn’t sad today. In fact, she hasn’t been sad for most of the past week. It’s been a good week, and today was an especially good day in that good week. She’s telling the old woman all about it.

The one bad thing is the headaches. Over the past week, they’ve gotten very painful. She told the old woman about them, and the old woman gave her an Aspirin, but that didn’t seem to have any effect.

“My birthday is in less than a month,” the girl is saying now, while the old woman sits sewing and listening. “So I’m excited for that, too—I’ll be 14 soon.”

The old woman makes a disdainful clicking noise with her tongue. The girl isn’t quite sure what that means.

“When’s your birthday?” She wonders.

The woman chuckles. “Not this year. I’m very old.”

A pendulum clock on the wall, painted and carved like a little house, indicates six o’clock. The girl jumps. She should be back at her real home by now.

She she stuffs some math homework, which was laid out on a table and then ignored, back into her school bag. As she rushes to the door, she tells the woman that she’ll probably come tomorrow, and stay longer, because it’ll be a weekend.

When the girl leaves, the sound of the flutes follows her. Last weekend, she started hearing them whenever she was visiting the old woman’s house. A few days ago, she was able to hear them on the walk home, then at school. Last night, their song played in her dreams while she slept.

She’s certain the song means something. Love, or sadness, or pain, or something like that. It’s hard to think about it with her headache.

On the last porch step, the girl trips. She lands knees first on the concrete sidewalk, but it doesn’t sting. There’s no blood.

Still in a good mood, she picks herself up and skips jauntily back home.

. . .

It’s April 21st. The girl has found a mouth under the sink.

She stares at it. It’s not the first mouth she’s found in the old woman’s house, and it’s not the even the second. She saw the first one last Sunday, above one of the couches in the living room.

They all looked the same as this one that she’s found under the sink, although some were bigger and some were smaller. A pair of lips, inhuman in shape, and without any teeth inside them.

They all move, but studying them and trying to guess what they’re saying makes her head hurt very badly. So does trying to tell if they’re attached to the walls or cupboards where she discovers them, or if they’re floating against the sides of them. This one, the one she’s found under the sink, is big enough that she could probably stick her head in it.

The girl shuts the sink cupboard doors. Then she opens them. The mouth is still there.

The girl shuts the doors again, and walks all the way to the opposite side of the kitchen and back before opening them up. The mouth is still there.

She doesn’t try to touch it. That would be rude.

The girl closes the cupboard doors once more, and leaves the kitchen before returning to open them. This time, the mouth is gone.

At seven o’clock, the girl remembers she should head back home. The sky will start to get dark soon. As she leaves, the old woman waves at her from the window. The girl waves back, and notices another pair of lips, mouthing words she can’t decipher right above the front door.

. . .

It’s April 24th. The girl is in her bedroom, laying down. She is pondering things.

Really, a body is just a mass of nerves, flesh, and tissue that our brains let us have awareness of, she thinks. Anything could be someone’s body, if their brain made them aware of it. This bed that she’s lying on could be her body if she wanted it to.

And, she thinks, we move our bodies as the muscles in them were built to allow for, by having our brains command those muscles to move. But she doesn’t need to limit herself to that. She could move her body in ways that she has no muscles allowing for, if she really wanted to. She could make those contortions happen with her brain, the same way she’d use her brain to move in ways muscles allowed for.

She’s thirsty. She needs a glass of water. She needs to get up from where she’s lying, open the door to her room, and exit through it to go to the kitchen and get water.

Except she doesn’t, she thinks. She doesn’t need to stand up. She doesn’t even need to open the door.

With her mind, she contorts herself in ways her muscles don’t allow for. She folds and melts until she is a new shape, no thicker than a puddle of spilt water.

Her new shape has no means to push or propel itself in any direction. That’s alright, though.

With her mind, she sloughs herself off of her bed, and glides across her bedroom floor. She slips under the door like a shadow.

Now she reforms. But there is a problem.

Her hand. It’s misshapen. It’s smaller than it shoulder be. It’s smooth and fleshy, like the skin of a newborn baby. There are no pores, and no lines on the knuckles either. The bones feel wrong; she can’t get it to open up to show her palm, or to close into a fist. All she can do is flex the fingers slightly, while the hand dangles limply on her wrist. Two of those fingers are fused together by the skin. She thinks the metacarpals may all be welded into one bone now.

She shrieks, holding it with her good hand. She tries desperately to get it to go back to how it was, but it won’t. She shrieks again, as it dawns on her that she may be stuck like this.

Sobbing, she runs downstairs, while keeping her hand clutched to her side. She throws on a jacket, and stuffs the hand deep into a pocket where no one can see. She feels tears on her face, hears the sounds of her shoes against pavement, and then she is at the old woman’s house.

She throws the door open. The woman is inside, washing dishes. A bowl falls from her hands when she sees the girl. She crosses the floor between them with quick steps, and only when she is right in front of her does the girl, whimpering, pull the hand out from her pocket.

Seeing it again, the girl wants to scream again. But the old woman has put her own weathered hand on the girl’s shoulder, and she is looking into her eyes with such care and concern that the wail is silenced in her throat.

She can’t bring herself to say what happened, though, or perhaps she can’t understand it enough to explain it, so she stands, unable to say anything and shaking helplessly, until the old woman guides her upstairs.

She leads her to the room with the medicine cabinet where the Advil came from, but does not open it. Instead, the old woman gingerly takes hold of the damaged hand, and places her own hand once more on the girl’s shoulder. The same shoulder where her bruise used to be.

Before she sees it, the girl hears that the playing of the flutes has intensified. Passion has risen in their lullaby, with such strength that it is almost heartbreaking.

Then the girl sees the old woman’s entire body.

The rest of the world seems to vanish when she looks at it. The floor, the walls, the medicine cabinet, they are gone when she gazes upon it, because there is not enough space in her mind to see that body and anything else at the same time. She cannot even see all of it at once. She can only look at one individual part at a time, because each feature is so much that it fills her mind completely, and anything else there could be for her to see disappears from her sight and her thoughts.

She sees massive veins, maybe miles long, visibly expanding and contracting with the pumping of blood.

She sees that those veins are twined around scaly limbs, above the skin instead of beneath it.

She sees that attached to those limbs are many, many mouths and eyes, some much bigger than she is.

She sees, in the centre of all those limbs, a vast cavity that all the all the veins spill forth from.

Above that centre of limbs, she sees something that has no eyes or mouths on it at all, but that she knows must be the head where the brain that controls this titanic body lies.

Finally, she sees that the shape of the old woman is only a fraction of this entire body, a little sliver of it twisted up into a shape humans can understand, while the rest of it remains unknown to them. Unknown, but still existing, in a level of reality they cannot see, is the whole body of the goddess Eealikue, She Who Watches Over The Twenty Seventh Realm.

“I fear I may have undersold how far away I come from, dear.” The goddess speaks with the mouth in the face of the old woman, and the girl thinks it is strange that despite all she can now see of her, her voice is still the same.

The goddess chuckles softly to herself. Then her voice becomes somber. “I came to this place from another planet. And I came to that planet from another, and to that one from another as well. But before I was in any of those places, I was in another dimension entirely.”

A few tears slip from the old woman’s eyes, and the vein twined sides of her body heave. Bizarre sounds come from the other mouths. They are sobbing.

“I was the guardian of that dimension. Then it collapsed. It collapsed entirely; an event unforeseeable and unstoppable. I have been wandering this dimension ever since.”

An intense look manifests in the eyes of the old woman, and in all the other eyes as well. The girl feels that the gaze is so strong and terrible that she might vaporize under it.

“Yes,” the goddess croons. “Stars die, realms die, gods die, and humans die fastest of all—but not right now.”

The flutes are reaching some sort of climax in their song now. They are rising, and rising, and rising. Except—she can see it now. The pain in her head is pounding, but she can see it. Those are not the sounds of flutes. They are the mouths, the twelve hundred thousand mouths of the goddess Eealikue. They are singing about godhood. About a life extended far beyond what it would have been.

The goddess takes her hand off the girl’s shoulder. The walls, the floor, the medicine cabinet, they all come back. The entire body is gone. The hand has been returned to normal.

The girl and the goddess have tea together before the girl leaves for home.

During her walk back home, the girl sees a mouth on the sidewalk. It doesn’t belong to the goddess. It belongs to her.

The girl looks around. There’s a man walking his dog on this street, and two small children playing, too. None of them seem to see it.

. . .

It is the 150th life cycle of the Eldest Infinite One. The girl is in school. There is a mouth on the whiteboard, and no one else can see it.

The girl can make it sing. She can make it move and sing in all sorts of beautiful patterns. She’s trying to get it to mimic the song of the flutes, the song about love, grief, and godhood. But just when she gets it right, she finds she can’t move the lips any more. They are non-responsive, like dead tissue.

The girl can’t move the two mouths she sees in the hallway between classes, either.

In the next class, she finds an eye. She tries to open it, and she can.

What she sees is like being punched in the face. There’s too much, too much all at once. She can see things in this classroom that she didn’t know were there, and things very, very far away. She can see them all at once, and her mind is in agony. She shuts the eye, and cannot open it again. It is like dead tissue.

. . .

It is the 150th life cycle of the Eldest Infinite One. The girl doesn’t know if she was at the goddess’s house when she fell, or if she was somewhere else but ended up here. But she fell, and she can’t get back up.

It is all dead tissue. Rapidly growing dead tissue, that cannot be moved but keeps forming anyway. Her mind is screaming in pain, and the Advil doesn’t help.

The goddess is with her. The goddess is worrying. It shouldn’t be like this, she says. You should be able to move, she says. She holds the girl’s human hand in her human hand, and her scale covered tendrils in her own scale covered tendrils.

The song of the flutes is frantic. It is trying to go back, but it cannot. The goddess did not foresee this, and now she cannot stop it. She is trying, however. She is trying very hard.

With every second, with every slow turn of the Infinite Ones in their sleep, there are more limbs. More organs that do not work, more veins that do not pump, more senses that cannot be accessed. There is more, and more, and more.

And then there is nothing. There is nothing at all.

The girl dissipates. Limbs dissolve, organs fade, and her screaming brain finds silence. It was too much, and now she is no more.

The universe is shaken by the shrieks of Eealikue, The Once-Guardian Of The Twenty Seventh Realm, She Who Wanders In Grief, before she rises from earth and flees to another corner of this dimension, in search of something to relieve her anguish.

#ava writing momence #Ava has thoughts #eldritch horror #cosmic horror #lovecraftian horror #mythology #mythology inspired

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axl-ul · 3 months

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Character Intro: Kogar Výtaušeima

Aliases:

Man with No Eyes, Majster/Majstre, Master Embalmer, Embalmer

Quote:

“An Embalmer should be the healer of the sick and the hunter of the damned.“

Physical traits:

Height: 190 cm (6 ft 2.8 in)

Weight: 85 kg (187 lbs)

Build: lean, quite muscular

Hair: dark brown, chin-length, later cut short

Eyes: dark brown

Skin: pale with ashen undertone, dry

Unusual traits: has a scar running across the forehead and by the width of his left cheek, a part of his left ear is missing with the rest being severely disfigured

Personality:

Those few who remember the Embalmer, describe him as a stoic with only a couple of words on his lip. Yet he carried out his actions as swiftly as he was able to swish his sword through the air. Cold and intelligent, he never let anything to cloud his judgement. Although, some say he was more than foolish when he decided to keep a creature he named as his only disciple and successor in the craft of the embalming. Admittedly, some of his procedures could be viewed from eccentric to drastic. Yet everyone should bear in mind the Embalmer swore to protect the sanctity of a soul. There is a rumour that the two girls from his care lived up to the adulthood and viewed the bat demon/vampire as not only their guardian (and a master for the older one), but even as their 'father' as well, though they did not relate to him by a single drop of blood. This only claims another rumour that his old heart was able to fully beat around his only children.

Personal life and relationships:

Master Kogar was known as a man of few words yet many actions what showed when he took under his roof three little children, two of them being wolf demons. Sources claim that his relationship was warmest with the oldest and the youngest one as the middle child often decided to misbehave and occassionally throw some blame onto the oldest child. However, the Embalmer did his best to find his way even to this girl and bring her up.

Other than the three foter children, most probably belonging to the tribe of the Wendic demons (with the exception of the oldest child who hasn't been confirmed as neither a demon or a human), he kept in touch with other embalmers from his order. Which isn't much surprising as bat demons are known to separate themselves from other demon tribes, but never from their own clan.

Although Master Kogar did use the name Výtaušeima as his family name, he was never born to such a clan. Rather, it is a surname he chose to carry as his predecesor was named Výtaušeima. Killing his former master upon learning he had been involved with the cultists of the Repentent Ones, he kept onto the name in hopes to cleanse it one day for he believed in his master's innocence unitl the day of his death. The surname was also passed onto his foster children whom he had taught to never forget but always forgive.

He carried out his duty as an embalmer to his last breath when he was impaled by villagers from the neighbouring demonic settlement deep in the forest within the region of Carpathian Mountains (the most probable location for the place of the incident is suspectedd to be held in the region of Low Tatras, however no certain claim has been made so far). Left to succumb to his wounds, the only witness to this horryfying scene, apart from the demons who carried out the execution and later died in an inexplicable incident, was his successor, Ulfrika Výtaušeimová, the Master Embalmer of many names but only one face she covered with the mask of her deceased master.

Role:

A minor character in Empire of Dust (mostly mentioned)

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Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added): @vanessaroades-author @rubywrite @aohendo @rbbess110 @jgmartin @outpost51 @athenswrites @kainablue

#writeblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #character introduction #character intro #kogar výtaušeima #lore corner #writeblr community #writers on tumblr #it's finally out and i'm so sorry it took so long to post #btw i decided to put extra more information in Kogar's lore since well #there hasn't been much posting from me lately #and i came up with new ideas i wanted to share #sorry if there are grammar errors but i don't have much stength to make a new edit to this #maybe later during this (upcoming) week #mythical creatures #slavic folklore #mythos #mythology inspired

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lumilasi · 5 months

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I originally meant to first make all 4 House staff for Harrow's manor (the dad of my story's protagonist) before posting, but I decided to plop this out already. Did this a bit differently by basically just using the sketch again, no lineart.

IDK exactly why I decided that in this new form (while not born there) he comes from Romania, but I'm guessing its because I've seen glimpses of content related to the country a lot recently (A documentary on tv, that tumblr post about Romanian nuns helping out that kid scared of vampires, a game taking place there, etc), so it was in my brain when thinking of his origins lol

His bio below(W.I.P)

Name: Mihail (His surname is not an actual surname of his, he's just started using it jokingly when people ask, it is just the Romanian word for dog. Mihail has no surname as he doesn't recall his birth family)

Age: Unknown, but he is likely between 50-70, so among Grimmhounds he's considered to be an adult in their mid-to-late 30's, if converted to human years (Generally in this story, beings' lifespans tend to be measured in centuries, so they have a "true" age, and "human equivalent" age)

Family: birth family unknown, honorary little sister figure Scarlet Duffy

Friends: Harrow Araknos/Blackthorne (Soul eater & his boss) Thalia Swanson (The butler/head of staff) Roman Bosco (later, a former member of the same Grimmhound pack he was in)

Love interest: Aiden O'kelley (Human, their gardener)

Occupation: The chef/guardian of the Blackthorne Manor

Abilities:

Regeneration: His kind regenerate most injuries insanely fast, and are generally among the most durable land-dwelling beast types outside non-flying drakes.

Transformation: He has two forms; The humanoid skull-hound form, and a full black dog form the size of which he can change at will. He is insanely fast, stealthy and durable in these forms, with the skull-hound form being physically strongest, and the full dog form being fastest.

Shadows: He can merge with shadows to hide himself very well even in human form, and can attack you through them.

Bite force/claws: He has very strong bite force and can actually tear people's throats open even in human form. His claws can also be used to easily cut limbs off and damage metal.

Keen senses: Being a predator type of beast, his sense of smell is about as accurate as you'd expect from a trained bloodhound, he also has excellent night vision, and can pick up the faintest of sounds from hundreds of meters away. Also he's generally just very aware of his surroundings.

human weaponry: He's good at whipping out a knife and stabbing your eyes out with it when you least expect it.

Weaknesses:

Due to his disdain for his past self, Mihail tends to hold back too much in some situations, where he might get hurt needlessly. The same time though, in other cases he might use too much force, which may require some clean-up help from Harrow and Thalia.

He still has some bad habits from his past, namely he tends to come off as really rude and crude/blunt to people who don't know him well, even when he's not intending to do so. That's just how the group he was with talked. He tends to not realize when he's coming off rude either, and needs to be told about it.

Light magic spells are naturally effective towards his kind, as they tend to dispel the skull-dog humanoid form and force them to turn back to full humans, which is their weakest form. It does specifically need to be some sort of sacred type of light, you can't just whip out a flashlight to force them to transform. (Unless it has somehow blessed light-bulb I suppose...)

he's very protective over Scarlet, and would do anything for her.

Personality:

Mihail is very stoic most of the time, coming off very intimidating to most people. Despite this he is a fairly chill guy with a good - albeit sometimes morbid - sense of humor. He is mischievous and absolutely takes advantage of 1.) his natural intimidating vibes, and 2.) the fact he's attractive to many people (Within reason of course)

He has a fairly strong moral backbone nowadays, perhaps to atone from his past behavior, and generally tends to be willing to help people with things they don't want to do, even if he'd find the chore boring as hell and would rather be stabbing his eyes out. (he will admit this point-blank if asked whenever he actually enjoys doing the chore in question)

While he seems quite relaxed once you get past his intimidating exterior, Mihail is always keeping an eye out for any dangers, especially around Scarlet who is a troublemaker.

Fun Facts

He began flirting with Aiden pretty soon after they met, he just didn't realize Mihail was doing so, because it was disguised with jokey comments, such as the ones about the "Ghost Dog" lurking around the manor grounds. (Also Aiden is kinda oblivious)

He ended up in the Blackthorne manor, because Scarlet wanted to go steal something from there and they got caught. The house owner (Harrow) was amused and impressed enough by her bravery and trickery, that he ended up hiring her after finding out about her situation of not really having a home.

Mihail wasn't hired properly until later, when they found out he's a good guardian AND a cook, freeing Thalia from having to be responsible for so many things at once as the only staff Harrow initially had.

He has a Slavic accent, but no one can ever place exactly where its from, not even native speakers of the language family.

The languages Mihail knows include Romanian (naturally), English, Italian, and Japanese.

His name was given to him by the old woman & her daughters Mihail initially stayed with when younger, before they were killed in a house-fire that was accidentally lit by a stray spark. (Mihail was out at the time)

He and Roman had some tension between them initially, because while Mihail was never one that personally bullied him during his time with the pack, Roman was afraid of him due to him being one of the strong ones.

#oc ref #digital art #artists on tumblr #lumi's chaotic creations #lumi's art scribbles #Night city parlor #Mihail Caine #my oc #grimmhound #black dog #mythology #mythology inspired #spooky #oc reference #The mage and the mobster

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moustawott · 1 year

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One of my favourite discoveries this year was @hyperbolicreverie’s One Piece fics, especially the ones that feature the goddesses of the four Blues. The worldbuilding was so good I couldn’t help but want to draw my interpretation of each goddess. Sadly, I’m working on other stuff, so this quick doodle of how I see the North Blue is the only thing I have 🥲

Well, I also have an even messier doodle of the personification of the Grand Line here:

North Blue’s appearance is obviously inspired by selkies and Irish clothing. For the Fateweaver, I wanted to pull from Ashanti culture, using Anansi the spider god of stories as reference. I’m planning to refine these designs and also draw the other Blues, who’ll also be inspired by coastal cultures :)

#my art #digital art #doodle #folklore #selkie #mythology inspired #fairy #fairy art #we set our wishes upon her waters

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hecatesdelights · 2 months

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#gateway arch #mystical gateway #mystical creatures #mysticism #mystical #magic doorway #doorway #gates of hell #gates of The Underworld #ai art #dark fantasy #dark aesthetic #mythology inspired #mythology art #mythical art

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sasha-chambers · 2 months

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Short Horror Stories: The Bloody Mare

In the quiet villages of Wales, the people knew of a mischievous spirit by the name of the Mari Lwyd, a tall spirit with a human like body wrapped in white robes with the skull of a horse in place of its head with glowing green eyes like emeralds set into its eye sockets and a wreath of colorful flowers and ribbons adorning the top of its head. This spirt moved door to door in these quiet towns during the late night, often followed by local merry makers, engaging in singings contests with local home owners, wagering the contents of their larder.

For those who lost they happily welcomed the spirt and its cheerful followers with open arms and provided them with food and a hearty helping with alcohol. If they bested the equine spirit then it simply moved on to the next house and engaged them in the same wager. Many villages had come to enjoy their encounters with the Mari Lwyd, preparing it's winnings before hand or becoming so competitive as to prepare their lines beforehand in preparation for the spirits arrival and betting on who it would best.

Eventually the spirit was more of a local friend, many drunkards awaiting the spirit eagerly to follow it as if it were a long lost drinking buddy. However, during one particularly dark and cloudy night, as one of these small villages encountered something they were not quiet expecting. One house after another they heard a voice singing outside of their homes, but it was not the lively, jovial tones of the Mari Lwyd, the voice was cold and low, like one speaking from the end of a long, dark tunnel.

When the owners of these homes looked out through their windows they spotted a sight not too different from the one that they were familiar with, a tall and slender figure wrapped in robes, though these robes were as black as the night as opposed to the moon white robes of their drunken companion. A skull of a horse also topped its shoulders but the ribbons cascading down over its shoulders were a mix of darker colors and in place of a wreath it wore a crown of thorns and it's eyes emanated a dim orange glow like the dying embers of an old fire. And lastly, instead of the bleached white of the Mari Lwdys skull this spirit instead had a skull dyed red as if it had bathed in blood. Lastly the creature was completely alone, not a single companion followed it on it's path through the village.

As it sung it was not the cheeky requests to enter their home and devour the contents of their kitchen, but instead a request for them to plead for their lives and send it away to another. At first the skilled singers were able to turn away this strange spirit, but it was not long before one unfortunate home owner failed the match with the creature and it gained entrance to their home. It had no interest in food nor alcohol, but instead it opened its skeletal jaw, revealing a second set of teeth hidden in the shadows, lines of fangs that it sank into the neck of the villager and quickly drank them dry until nothing but a exsanguinated corpse was left behind.

On and on this creature went, it's dower songs filling the night air along with the sounds of panic and confusion as those who won against the strange spirit began to make their way around the village and attempt to warn those who had not yet encountered it. As the night grew old, the blood of many had filled the belly of this strange, perverse creature, not the night was not yet over, and there was another dweller of the night who was none too pleased with an interloper stepping upon its territory.

The residents of the village all came to remember the sounds of two horses violently calling into the night and a fierce battle taking place in the shadows as they cowered within their homes. Eventually the night became quite once more, no single person willing to break said silence for what felt like an eternity until a familiar, jovial song began to ring out throughout the streets, lightening the heavy hearts of the villagers and soothing their souls from the dark presence that had stalked them. Though the creature would be seen again throughout the years, there was always another waiting to chase it back into the shadows from whence it came, and bring merry joy to those who it's dark counterpart would terrorize.

#horror #monster #creature #original character #short story #writing #dark #mythology inspired #beast

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artie-mess · 3 months

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#art #artwork #original poem #poem #poems on tumblr #poetry #digital art #cat chariot #mythology inspired #if this counts as mythology #stars

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oonaluna-art · 2 months

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I've been brainstorming the next big project that I want to undertake after I wrap up Our New Hope. One idea that's been floating around my mind is something inspired by Greek Mythology.

Here's some deity designs for a comic project I currently called Maite.

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[My Ko-Fi] [Patreon]

#maite #demeter #hestia #hera #mythology #mythology inspired #greek myth

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highpriestessarchives · 2 months

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Divine Epithets: How We Can Use Mythology to Learn About Human Authenticity

WC: 2,504

Disclaimer: I wish to clarify that my exploration of mythology and spirituality/religion is undertaken with the aim of understanding myself and my interactions with others, similar to how I use philosophy for the same purpose. It is important to note that I am not a theologian, and I do not claim to offer definitive or universally accepted interpretations of these myths or religious texts. My interpretations of mythological narratives and religious symbolism are personal reflections based on my own pagan beliefs, cultural background, education, and experiences. I acknowledge that interpretations of myths and religious texts can vary widely among individuals and communities, and my perspectives can and will differ from those of others. I encourage readers who are interested in exploring these culturally rich stories and lessons to engage in their own research and critical inquiry. Ultimately, my goal is to foster curiosity, dialogue, and self-reflection, rather than to impose a singular interpretation or belief. I invite readers to approach these topics with an open mind and a willingness to explore the diverse and complex tapestry of human culture and spirituality.

Introduction

In my last post, I talked about the Obsessed Artist and how it is a reflection of the human pursuit of authenticity. I wanted to talk about another aspect of literature that many of us are fans of that also reflect that aspect of philosophy.

Authenticity, a cornerstone of human existence, embodies the alignment between one's actions, beliefs, and values. It reflects the quest for inner harmony and integrity, wherein individuals strive to live in accordance with their true selves. Furthermore, philosophical ideals surrounding authenticity provide a conceptual framework for understanding the complexities of human identity and self-expression. Existentialist thinkers like Sartre and Heidegger offer insights into the existential angst and quest for authenticity inherent in human existence. Sartre’s concept of “bad faith” highlights the tendency to adopt inauthentic roles and identities imposed by societal norms, while Heidegger’s notion of “authenticity” calls for enacting roles and expressing character traits that contribute to realizing some image of what it is to be human in our own cases.

Yet, the pursuit of authenticity is not confined to the realm of human experience alone; it permeates the narratives of divine beings across various religious traditions. For example, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, Kierkegaard held authenticity as a matter of passionate commitment to a relation to something outside oneself that bestows one’s life with meaning.

Divine epithets, ranging from the majestic “Aegidu’chos” (bearer of the Aegis with which he strikes terror into the impious and his enemies) attributed to Zeus in Greek mythology to the “Lamb of God” associated with Jesus Christ, encapsulate the essence of divinity within linguistic constructs. These epithets are not mere labels but serve as portals into the complex and nuanced understanding of gods.

Thus, the exploration of authenticity through divine epithets opens up a Pandora’s box of philosophical inquiry, inviting us to interrogate the nature of identity, selfhood, and the human condition. By traversing through the historical, cultural, and philosophical landscapes surrounding divine epithets, we embark on a transformative journey that promises to illuminate new pathways for understanding the enigma of authenticity in both human and divine realms.

Authenticity and Divine Epithets

Epithets associated with gods across various religious traditions serve as linguistic manifestations of divine attributes, functions, and qualities. Through the lens of authenticity, these divine epithets reveal deeper layers of meaning, reflecting not only the divine nature but also the human longing for spiritual authenticity and connection.

At its core, authenticity involves the alignment between one’s inner self and outward expression, reflecting sincerity, integrity, and congruence in beliefs, values, and actions. When applied to the culture around bestowing various epithets among deities, authenticity invites contemplation on the genuineness of human-divine relationships mediated through religious language and symbolism.

For example, in Greek mythology, Hermes is known by a plethora of epithets, each revealing a different facet of his character and function. For instance, Argeiphontês, by which he is designated as the murderer of Argus Panoptes, embodies the role of his ability to overcome obstacles through wit, guile, and ingenuity rather than brute force. It also alludes to Hermes’s role as a psychopomp, a guide of souls. In some interpretations, Argus, with his many eyes, symbolizes the all-seeing gaze of death, suggesting that Hermes’s slaying of Argus represents his function as a guide of souls, leading the deceased safely to the underworld.

The epithet “Argeiphontês,” then, can imply several aspects of human authenticity when examined within the context of Greek mythology and the character of Hermes.

Cunning and Resourcefulness: Hermes’s epithet as “Argeiphontês,” underscores his ability to navigate challenges through wit, cunning, and resourcefulness. In the human realm, authenticity can be expressed through similar traits, such as creativity, adaptability, and the ability to think outside the box. Humans who embody authenticity may demonstrate a willingness to confront obstacles with ingenuity and innovation rather than relying solely on conventional methods.

Individuality and Non-Conformity: Hermes’s role as a trickster figure challenges conventional notions of divine behavior, highlighting the importance of individuality and non-conformity in the pursuit of authenticity. Similarly, human authenticity may involve the rejection of societal norms and expectations in favor of embracing one’s unique identity and values. Authentic individuals may resist pressures to conform and instead strive to live in alignment with their true selves, even if it means deviating from societal conventions.

Quest for Meaning and Purpose: As per the second interpretation of the myth, “Argeiphontês” is intertwined with his role as a guide of souls, reflecting a deeper existential dimension related to the journey of life and death. Human authenticity often involves a similar quest for meaning and purpose, as individuals seek to understand their place in the world and navigate the existential challenges of existence. Authenticity may entail a sincere exploration of one’s beliefs, values, and aspirations, as well as a commitment to living in alignment with one's sense of purpose and meaning.

Furthermore, the authenticity behind divine epithets is intimately tied to the human expression of religious experiences. For believers, the use of epithets in prayer, meditation, or ritual serves as a means of forging a genuine and intimate connection with the divine. Through the repetition and contemplation of divine epithets, individuals seek to cultivate their understanding of the human experience in their religious practice, aligning their innermost beliefs and desires with the divine presence.

However, the quest for authenticity in divine epithets is not without its challenges and complexities. In some cases, the proliferation of epithets and theological interpretations may lead to tensions or conflicts within religious communities. Debates over the validity of certain epithets or theological doctrines may arise, reflecting differing interpretations of religious texts and traditions.

Take the myth of Medusa, from her origins as a Gorgon to the later narrative of her being cursed by Athena. In her earliest depictions, Medusa was portrayed as being born as one of the Gorgons, monstrous beings with snakes for hair, whose gaze could turn onlookers to stone. The Gorgons were often associated with chaos, danger, and the darker aspects of the natural world. In this context, Medusa’s monstrous form can be interpreted as a symbolic representation of primal forces beyond human comprehension or control. Her terrifying appearance reflects humanity’s fear of the unknown and the inherent unpredictability of the natural world. The stories of heroes like Perseus can symbolize the ideals of heroism and bravery triumphing over these uncertainties, asserting human agency despite otherworldly magic.

As the myth of Medusa evolved over time, her character underwent a transformation, particularly with the introduction of the narrative in which she is cursed by Athena, which wasn’t written until Ovid. According to this version of the myth, Medusa was originally a beautiful maiden who caught the unwanted eye of Poseidon, the sea god. In a fit of rage, Athena, the goddess of wisdom and warfare, transformed Medusa into a Gorgon, cursing her with a hideous appearance and the power to turn others to stone with her gaze.

The shift in Medusa’s characterization from a Gorgon to a cursed mortal reflects broader changes in cultural attitudes towards femininity, power, and agency. In this later version of the myth, Medusa becomes a tragic figure, victimized by the capricious actions of powerful deities. Her transformation into a monster is depicted as an act of divine punishment rather than an inherent aspect of her nature. This narrative underscores the complexities of human identity and the ways in which external forces, including societal expectations and divine intervention, can shape individual authenticity.

On the other hand, the myth also raises questions about the authenticity of religious or spiritual explanations for human behavior and experiences. In being distant from the source material of the original mythology as well as the writers of each transformative myth, we are left with interpretations of interpretations. In this sense, one must question how valid our understanding of human nature is through these stories when we are unable to solidify a concrete narrative.

On one hand, the evolution of Medusa’s character highlights the role of mythology and religious belief systems in shaping cultural narratives about identity, morality, and the conditions in which humans, as a society, progress forward.

Historical and Cultural Context

By examining these mythological narratives within their historical and cultural contexts, we can attempt to answer that question. To understand the significance of divine epithets, it is crucial to consider the historical and cultural contexts in which they originated. Using Hermes as an example again, in ancient Greece, he occupied a central role in religious and everyday life.

The epithet “Hermes Psychopompos,” for instance, emerges from ancient Greek funerary rituals and beliefs about the afterlife. In ancient Greek society, death was regarded as a significant transition, and rituals surrounding funerary practices were deeply ingrained in cultural and religious traditions. Hermes’s role as a guide of souls, as reflected in the epithet “Psychopompos,” underscores the Greeks’ reverence for Hermes as a mediator between the realms of the living and the dead. This epithet not only highlights the cultural significance of death and the afterlife but also offers insights into the Greeks’ understanding of humanity in relation to mortality. The guidance of souls by Hermes suggests a belief in the importance of the transition from life to death.

As for Ovid’s myth of Medusa being turned into a Gorgon by Athena, Ovid wrote Metamorphoses in exile and used his writing as a form of rebellion against the Roman government. He wove subtle criticisms and subversive messages throughout his work. The use of mythological narratives and divine figures in Metamorphoses provided Ovid with a powerful tool to critique the moral and political landscape of Rome, while also offering a means of catharsis and self-expression. The question then lies in our modern use of this version of the myth in serving other narratives and perpetuating aspects of human nature and authenticity while ignoring the historical context in which it originates. How valid can our interpretations be when citing works that have the intention of “divine defamation?” Or, on the other hand, does Ovid’s equating of the gods to authority figures represent his own search for understanding human nature?

The Fluidity of Authenticity

The concept of authenticity is often perceived as a static state, wherein an individual’s actions, beliefs, and values align consistently with their inner self. However, the exploration of divine epithets within mythology offers a different perspective, one that emphasizes the fluidity and dynamism inherent in authenticity. Just as gods in various religious traditions are represented by multiple epithets, each expressing a different facet of their identity and attributes, humans similarly navigate a multiplicity of identities and roles throughout their lives.

Jean-Paul Sartre, as a matter of fact, rejects the idea of a fixed, predetermined essence or identity for individuals, arguing instead that human existence is characterized by radical freedom and responsibility. In his work Being and Nothingness, Sartre famously asserts that “existence precedes essence,” meaning that individuals first exist as free agents and then define themselves through their actions and choices.

According to Sartre, authenticity involves embracing this freedom and taking responsibility for one’s choices, even in the face of uncertainty and ambiguity (re: Perseus and Medusa). Authenticity, in Sartrean terms, is not a static state but rather an ongoing process of self-definition and self-expression. Individuals must constantly negotiate and reevaluate their values, beliefs, and identities in light of their changing circumstances and experiences.

The fluidity of authenticity, as highlighted by divine epithets and thinkers like Sartre, suggests that authenticity is not a fixed destination but rather a journey of self-discovery and self-expression. Like gods who embody diverse aspects of existence through their epithets, humans traverse a complex landscape of identities, values, and beliefs, constantly negotiating and reevaluating their sense of self. The journey of authenticity involves constant negotiation and reevaluation of one’s values and beliefs, as individuals seek to align their actions with their innermost selves amidst the complexities of life. This process is not linear but rather recursive, characterized by periods of growth, introspection, and transformation. Just as gods are represented by multiple epithets, each expressing a different aspect of their divine nature, humans too embrace a diversity of identities and roles, each contributing to the richness and complexity of their authentic selves.

Authenticity and Relationality

The concept of authenticity is also inherently intertwined with relationality, as it is not solely an individual pursuit but emerges within the context of interpersonal relationships, whether it is with the divine or with other humans. The study of divine epithets sheds light on this relational nature of authenticity, as epithets serve as descriptors of divine attributes and functions that emerge within the dynamic interplay between gods and humans.

Epithets, by their very nature, are relational in that they depict the roles, qualities, and interactions of gods within the divine-human framework. For example, the epithet “Hermes Agoraios” originates from the agora, the bustling marketplace that served as a hub of economic and social activity in ancient Greek society. As a patron of commerce and social exchange, Hermes played a crucial role in facilitating trade and transactions, reflecting the economic and social dynamics of the time. The epithet “Agoraios” not only reflects Hermes’s multifaceted nature but also speaks to broader societal values and aspirations related to commerce, community, and social interaction.

Authenticity, therefore, involves not only the alignment between one's inner self and outward expression but also the recognition and validation of that authenticity by others.

Aristotle, a foundational figure in Western philosophy, explored the nature of human identity and virtue in his ethical treatises, particularly in his work Nicomachean Ethics. Aristotle’s concept of eudaimonia, often translated as “happiness” or “flourishing,” emphasizes the importance of living in accordance with one’s true nature and fulfilling one's potential as a human being.

According to Aristotle, authenticity involves living virtuously and in accordance with one’s telos, or purpose. Each individual has a unique set of virtues and talents that contribute to their fulfillment and flourishing. Authenticity, in Aristotelian terms, is achieved when individuals cultivate and express these virtues in their actions and interactions with others.

However, Aristotle also emphasizes the importance of social relationships and the role of others in the cultivation of virtue and authenticity. In his concept of friendship (philia), Aristotle argues that genuine friendships are based on mutual recognition and affirmation of each other’s virtues and qualities. Friends serve as mirrors to one another, reflecting and validating each other’s authentic selves.

In this sense, authenticity involves not only the alignment between one’s inner self and outward expression but also the recognition and validation of that authenticity by others, particularly in the context of friendships and social relationships. Authenticity, in accordance with Aristotle’s teachings, is not a solitary endeavor but is cultivated and affirmed through meaningful connections with others who recognize and appreciate one's virtues and qualities.

Conclusion

In essence, the study of divine epithets offers a rich and nuanced framework for exploring the complexities of human existence. By unraveling the historical, cultural, and philosophical dimensions of divine epithets, we gain valuable insights into the nature of identity, self-expression, and relationality, illuminating new pathways for philosophical inquiry into the ongoing enigma of our authentic selves. As we continue to grapple with the intricacies of this notion, the exploration of divine epithets serves as a guiding light, inviting us to engage in meaningful dialogue and reflection on the essence of what it means to be authentically human.

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