GGaD » Burnt Scripts

AshTheAvaricious · October 25, 2022 12:03:53

The god sat upon a chair, not a throne, and waited for you. You, who had never worshipped it and never could again. It speaks with the reverence of grief and a heart of all that you are not, "As all that You have come to Be, can You see Me? See all that You, little power that You are, could never have become?" Your words fumble, they are smooth as weathered stone, you speak the truth, you tell a falsehood, it listens with disinterest, with curiousity and devouring all that you indulge it with. The god, reveling in what Is Not, speaks a request in a language you've never heard, cannot hear; cannot listen to, "I ask one thing of you, shapeless mortal, devote your thought, your mind, your soul, your blood to Me." You accept, you decline, and kill the god, and embrace it like a setting sun.
It, all that you cannot, speaks only in the tongue of destruction, of creation, and ushers one command. "I am sorry for what I must be, what I do, but You are not Me. I am hunger, I am dying, and You are all that is left for me to devour. I plead for your flesh, for your bone, and I will not be refused." The beast, dethroned and bleeding, stands with no law binding you and you shutter, you steel yourself, you ready your tools. You fight, you run, you freeze, and a corpse falls.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (October 25, 2022 12:08:46)

AshTheAvaricious · October 25, 2022 12:07:58

There is a gateway at the back of my yard. It used to serve a different purpose, as evidenced by the hooks on either side, but now it is a gate to the forest. Within the forest lays lives I could not know, rot that cannot be seen. The forest is older than I could likely imagine, and it will hopefully grow forever older. When I am rotting and forgotten, I hope that the forest will consume me and within I will forever be prolonged. All it takes is one step through the gateway, and I could be willingly lost into its depths forever. I am not certain it is the way I wish to die, but it is the way I wish to be buried. At the back of my yard lays a wooden gate, now covered in moss, and one day I will cross its boundary a final time and become subject to the woods' will. I cannot say what it will be like, but I will learn when the last of the dirt is packed and a stone etched with my name is thrust into the ground it came from. One day, sooner than we think, there will no longer be a gate into the forest; there will only remain a few nails and two rusted hooks consumed into the woods.

AshTheAvaricious · October 25, 2022 21:22:14

Imagine with me, a camp. It’s simple, a purple tent with stakes to hold it to the ground, a cold campfire surrounded by stones embed into the ground. There’s a picnic table with a kettle nearby, along with a coal grill drifted away from the campsite; it’s fuel layed silent in a black bag shifted against it. There are snapped matchsticks scattered across the ground surrounding both the campfire and the grill. It’s snowing, or you think it’s snow. It’s getting hard to tell as of late. You might search for food, but there is none. You might try to light a fire, but you will find it’s much too cold for the matches to stay lit for very long. There is a blue sleeping bag in the tent, and the tent is surprisingly warm once you enter. You close the entry flap of the tent, and wrap yourself in the bag for a final sleep. You’re much too cold, just sleep now and maybe we’ll join hands wherever you wake.

Time · October 26, 2022 19:11:15

((OK this might sound weird, but do you mind if I post reactions?? Ik some people would rather like to have a thread like this clean w/o interruptions))

AshTheAvaricious · October 26, 2022 22:49:21

oh yeah absolutely, i do not pretend that i don't like when people respond to the stuff i make

AshTheAvaricious · October 26, 2022 23:09:26

When I fall to rest six feet under footsteps, do not mourn. I continue, I live on. When my grave, the moss takes, do not weep; I am not there. I live in half-moments of remembrance, I thrive in forgotten conversations forever marked into the world. When forgotten my grave fades to ruin, do not pretend that I am dead. I continue in the fact that I lived, in the memories shared between those that outlasted. Don't throw roses as the stone marking where I rest, can't you see me waving at you from behind the willow's weeping?

You will not have lost me when the warmth leaves with my breath, nor when flesh and bone blends into the dirt encapsulating. You will only lose me, when you cannot remember to grieve what you lost. You will not hear my call until together we are gone, until together our songs whisper through the leaves. Until you can hear me again, I will carry on through the world you see. You will remember me when you play games that we always played together, when you act as I did. When you think to hear my laughter as you tell jokes silently to yourself, I will not be forgotten. It would be a terrible day to rain, on the days you think of mourning what you thought lost to the eternal river.

AshTheAvaricious · October 28, 2022 09:22:01

AshTheAvaricious wrote:
oh yeah absolutely, i do not pretend that i don't like when people respond to the stuff i make

just in case that last short writing covered it up, i don't dislike people giving me attention on this thread, and i'd accept criticism because i like being better than past me

AshTheAvaricious · October 30, 2022 18:33:42

A hole in the shape of a god of no thing. A being of not, of never was. It is clothed, robed, in forgotten, not remembered. It is a tyrant of the roiling, boiling, seas where the sirens sing in erasure, and of couldn't not have been. The god and sirens alike despise those that Are, tearing, rending, at the realms of Is to exact their rage, wrath. Their chorus, wailing wind, steals, seals, the minds of those that Are into the realms of Not. Can you hear their beckoning, creature of Is?

Time · November 1, 2022 12:50:10

I like them. All mysterious, and I kinda feel a cryptic feeling from all of them in their own way? Nice.

Are they connected in some way? Or are they just current thoughts?

AshTheAvaricious · November 1, 2022 17:02:32

thanks, most of them are written to lack a context to explain all of it.

a few of them could be connected, but there isn't a connection thought of before writing

AshTheAvaricious · November 4, 2022 11:10:45

Once a God, Now a Tyrant.
Once there was a God of Light, a joyous creature that sought to memorize all that it saw with its glowing prestige. It thought a terrible thing of wars and death, and realized it had a solution to all the problems the mortals it watched were chained with. For years that lasted beyond years, the Light learned and made magicks. The lights of other realms watched, waiting for the coin to land. On the sigil's head there was a scorching crown, when made manifest it would become blinding. Of the other side, there is a trail split to two. Fate flips it, and the Light of the world continues with its studies.

After eons of mastery, the, now old, God of Light found its chorus of transformation. With its immense skills and power, it cast a spell to steal matter into light. As the spell took effect, demanding the ways of matter be abandoned in the force of energy, Fate's coin landed. As the last whispers of form was reshaped into naught but light and thought, the coin of fate bared its head of the Blinding Crown. The Light was consumed, transformed into the God of Tyranny, and the abrupt change of all that it was drove the God mad with visions of sirens from No Where. Once there was a God of Light and the wondrous sight, and in its shadow now stands a maddened God-King of Tyranny.

AshTheAvaricious · November 6, 2022 14:31:11

At the edge of all that Is, one might find the hallowing halls of the King. The God of Gods, The King Of All Forevers, The Entity of All Creation and Preservation is far above the gods playing keep away from each other. Its gaze is deep enough to pierce through the layers of Is, and its might enough to render half of it gone with a sigh. In its halls, The Divinity bellows a ward against the Tyrant of Never, but its voice will not last. The Destroyer seeks to end all that could and couldn't be, to drown Is and Is Not into silent Forevers and Nevers. The seas of No Where shake the shores of Be, dissolving both into silence. The Being of All, bids its cry to shake the roiling and boiling seas of Naught, to drive the erasure back.

AshTheAvaricious · November 8, 2022 23:53:02

Burning, scorching, descends a god. Its wings melt like a wax, flying too close the the peak of the tower crumbled. The sky wraps the dying god in hateful flame, spiting its former master. All of the world watched with satisfaction as the god's folly was made clear to them. The seas laughed and wailed as the foolish god fell near, and the storms awoke to torment it in the god's last. A stone can take two birds, but it can also set the motions to shoot the sun out of the sky.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (November 9, 2022 06:02:48)

AshTheAvaricious · November 16, 2022 16:58:37

Isn't it strange that even that without thought will scream and rend for memory? How impossible forges that tower over worlds longer than any among them can truly know, know of their ruin and burn ever brighter for a moment longer; just to persist a second longer before their own might consigns them to memory? Stars are not akin to creature in many ways, most notably in their reaction to their death closing in. Few beasts will rage in their last age, and their fires burn slower and colder with each hour that passes them. But stars, the near eternal flames that guide creation? They despise the thought, and burn themselves quicker and hotter and brighter in a futile attempt to drive their petrification into memory back. Stars are not beasts of memory, and do not understand its purpose to those they burn. They aren't aware of their deaths until their forges cool for a moment; until their fires waver.

AshTheAvaricious · December 2, 2022 20:13:56

Not so much of a writing, but an idea:
A duo of gods, a hunter and its prey. Heat and cold. Judgement, and the sinner.

The hunter, once a victim, brings forth summer and fire, as well as judgement as it chases after the first sinner. The deed burns fiercely in the hunter's bleeding. Blistering day follows the hunter like an executioner follows a judge.

The guilty, originator of sin, consumes all energy it can steal to flee from judgement. Winter chills the air at their presence, Their act is forgotten in the sprint from punishment Freezing night chases the prey like a victim's screams haunts a murderer.

AshTheAvaricious · December 4, 2022 01:11:48

"The flame beneath grows brighter and hotter, and yet ye who once laid faithful dare now question our god's devoting heat?" The blinded priest bellowed his words of hateful doctrine as the lake sprites and the dryads from 'cross the eternal woods bound him in rough and true vines. His chapel collapses around him, rotting in the might of our Misted Lady's presence. The forsaken priest continues babbling of sacred fires and scorching pyres, unaware that it was the God of Bleeding Heat who set us on the maddened mutt. The worshipper angrily yelps out a curse, "Hear my words thee cretinous, and bend yer knee! The Bleeding Fires of His Holy Heart will bathe you heathens in ashen punishment! So be it was, so it will bec-" The Twilight Queen cuts his voice short, silencing his in her quiet voice, "Kersdin will do no such thing for a traitor of His faith." And with a wave of her shimmering form, we obeyed and slit out the heathen's tongue. We bit and tore, until the fool was no more, and our bellies filled with meat. And so it was, the memory of the foolhardy preacher devoured with his flesh, and his treasonous temple decayed into the ground. We can't say by what urge our Lady bequeathed our service to the Bleeding Pyre, but our service was complete. The dryads set a pilgrimage forward, out of their forest, and the sprites went back to their lakes, and we returned to the sky with the Queen of The Dark.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (December 4, 2022 01:15:53)

AshTheAvaricious · December 25, 2022 00:12:19

happy mrishcats have a dust ficlet for a not ggad roleplay

Dust was in a blizzard of rocks, not uncommon for the planet it found itself on. Less common however, was the enormous worm trapped in the sky by spears of darkness long enough to cover the sky. It speaks in no human tongue, but Dust understands it; so I will transcribe them to the best of my ability. "Wha..t does the Shad- Shadow of Vengeance... seek from Yaklogth?"Dust's body cracks and strings itself larger, lacing it into a monstrous net that covers the dead world. Dust doesn't know or care what it sounds like to the wretched sinner god, only that the foul beast knows what it says. "You brought ruin to your worshippers, crushing them under rocks and erasing the memory of them. And for nothing more than a petty insult from a child that couldn't know better. Yet you beseech me, asking how Vengeance found you in this hollowed domain? You are a god of no world, of no merit, and your slain flock scream for you to join them."

And under the maw of darkness, flesh and rock were consumed the same, as that ancient cthonic god-worm was devoured with its planet.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (December 25, 2022 00:13:00)

Time · December 27, 2022 00:38:27

Very nice

Not ggad rp? How many alternate dusts are out there in the world?

The one with the cookies? It seems too dark(?) For that

AshTheAvaricious · December 29, 2022 12:48:34

so there's ggad dust which is basically just my tool for creating violence currently, there's the one with the cookies where it's solely tormented people, and then there's the one where the concept of space is domesticating it

AshTheAvaricious · December 29, 2022 12:50:36

there's also the two au versions i've thought of seperate from any role play, the devoured god(the one where it ate all other divinies) and the shade wolf(doggy. is also being characterized as a protector spirit)

AshTheAvaricious · January 4, 2023 16:14:54

She had called to the gods for years, and none had come. Not until that darkest night, when The Blade erupted out from the forest.

It was massive, as gods tend to be, and its howl tore through the property; causing the shadows to writhe in hate. Its power smothered out the stars in the sky, as The Wolf fell through darkness to reach the one who called its name.

It arrived to her in an unkempt room, fit only for a dead beast, and saw her bruises and scars. It saw her lack of a gaze, and saw the dirty bandages wrapped around her eyes. The god arrived to her, and its voice called from the woman. She heard only her slavers, but knew the malice of its voice was directed not to her."Tell me, Devout, what have they cursed to your soul?"

And the nameless woman signed her injustices, revealed to the eldest god the beatings and cuts, shuddered out the sin that had stolen her violet eyes. The god listened for quite some time, and it took her pain away; into itself. The darkest beast spoke now again, in The Devout's forgotten voice. "And what is your wish, Devout?"

The Devout's voice had been stolen after her prayers began, cut out by her slavers, and hearing her voice again would've sent her crying if her eyes had remained. As it was however, the named woman urged The Shade of Rot to bid the vile one act. Devour.

"And so it shall be."

The Bleeding Divine shook the earth in its might, as night was slain and the darkest abyss hungered. It howled once more, piercing the air like teeth through flesh, and its wrath devoured that estate built on bones. By morning, there was nothing. The cotton and grass wilted under a sea of The Wolf's burning blood, and the houses were burnt to naught but ash. Nothing remained of the sinners, but under starless nights you can still hear their pleads and screams.

Of The Devout, there too was little left. The dark god shrouded her in its domain of the dark and of the hearth, and the nameless woman was never seen again. The Darkest Devout now roams the realm, called by the ruined and beatened to bring warmth and dark nights. Under moonless skies, she seeks those with wronged blood, whether ancient or new, smothering their hands, and bleeds out the sinners.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (January 4, 2023 16:17:27)

AshTheAvaricious · January 29, 2023 14:20:11

Humanity is a lot like snow and water.

It is akin to snow, in that all individuals are wholly unique, but when massed together they become as one mass. They come together and form structures and reshape the land.

Humanity is similiar to water in that a drop, a single person, will not change almost anything. But together, carried by one another, they can shatter cliffs and wear down the earth. When carried in wrathful winds and fueled with angry retribution, both can tear away the grounds and leave naught but ruin in their wake.

AshTheAvaricious · January 31, 2023 01:56:45

I like FromSoftware games. Yes, because they are fun and drive intrigue into your mind as you explore. But also, because of the feeling of clawing down those thought divine and untouchable, because as you continue through the games you become better. And as you become better, it feels like you are not climbing to the stature of the gods above, the lords of the flame, the grand beasts; no it feels like you are striking them down, forcing them to look a meagre being in the eyes and feel fear. As you draw near the end, it feels as though you have broken down those that oppose you, crumbled their golden thrones, and bled them dry.

I relish the feeling, growing claws and battering the immortal to naught but ash. I love that you have to grind endless lives 'gainst the base of their reviled power, until it shatters. You watch as those unquestionable die struggling, and it fills me with more lust for their blood than a starved wolf hunting sheep. I would succumb to beasthood quicker than any would truly admit, if ever I drank the blood of those uneffable gods in bloodborne.

AshTheAvaricious · March 23, 2023 20:19:14

Hell is bleak, desolate, and motionless. There is no dirt, no trees, no life, not even shifting sand or hard stone. There is only endless, biting air, and unceasing black glass. There is no wind to carry your wings, only stagnant sulpheric staleness.

There are no tormenting demons, or mocking imps, only the deathly silence; that which wears down even the strongest wills and the sharpest minds. Truly no punishment befits the damned like the solitude of their own minds, and the endless wandering upon broken obsidian.

AshTheAvaricious · March 23, 2023 21:52:38

Isn't it strange how devastatingly simple fire is, despite how much nuance there is in its connotations?

Fire symbolizes a scorching death, pain, life, heat, forest fires, healing, motion,hunger, rage, power, and devastation. All at once.

The flame is so simple a thing, merely heat consuming fuel and creating light. And yet it is the catalyst for so many grand things, least of all the meagre man that learned to use it. From its hunger was birthed ash, death absolute; and yet full of all the things life needs, just lacking in energy. From its heat was born cooking, which breaks down organic matter and makes it more free to exploit for its protiens and energy.

Most of all, fire is heat, the contrary fading thing. It is life, and yet it burns through life solely to thoughtlessly take more and more, and live life eternally. Heat can burn, and broil, and suffocate, but without it there is no motion; there is no life, there is no death.

It is a tool, which can be wielded for both health and torment. Think of cauterization, and brandings. Push your thoughts to witch burnings, and the hearth. A guiding light, and now a ravaging flame. All things, terrible and great, and yet none without the source of heat. Think of yourself, and think of others; all different and yet all burning with the same flame.

Among so many other things, fire captivates. It inspires awe and fear, inspiration and hate. It is no wonder that fire is treated with the divine so widely, for it is a terribly hungry divinity that raises both beast and man to ever higher heights. Do not follow Icarus and Daedalus in their wax wings, carve your own in the dancing fire; and rise to meet the sun's terribly patient fury.

AshTheAvaricious · June 10, 2023 11:14:06

Do not look for me, under the weeping of willows; for I do not breathe beneath the stone. You will find only my name, carved an eternity ago in the months past. Nature has taken what was left, growing in moss and lichen over cool bark and cold stone. Roots have dug through the meagre protections of man, and taken my vessel.

Do not look for me, in the skies and the wind; for they carry ashes no longer. The wind carries calm in its wild charge, ever onward and ever forward. It carries forgotten laughter, and quiet voices, but you will never make out my old words. The clouds hold images, of many things that you do and do not know. Do not be sad that I cannot tell you what they look like, for they carry now my visage.

Do not look for me, in the early dawn and late nights; for the moon's maiden does not guide my light. You will find only the stars of long dead heros and saviors, peering through your lense of glass and silver. My eyes do not linger there, for I do not watch the stars with you anymore. I watch you, from above; between the stars and the moon, for there is not a more beautiful night.

Do not look for me, where I do not reside. My home is mine no longer, filled again with life; but none that I knew. Memories still hold its halls, and you might find what I lost in years past, but you will not find who you lost in those rooms. Do not despair, for the kitchen still holds the smells of all our wonderful creations.

Do not look for me, for I have never left you. I live with the willows, who's weeping is not for me but for you, and I live above the clouds; who hold my face so gently. I live between the stars, in patterns you might find; and I live when my home was still mine. I live in you, and you will not forget me, not yet. You will feel my presence at your side, though you will not see me. I thrive in your memories, now stained in tears, and I whisper a thousand words in your dreams; you need only to listen.

Do not look for me, for we will leave together. I cannot hold you as tight as I once did, but the wind will still carry my love forever more. Do not leave, for there are others; who will look for you where you no longer linger.

I will wait here, in the dark corners and the old laughter; until we are forgotten and leave to join the stars.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (June 10, 2023 11:15:26)

Time · June 10, 2023 23:34:29

Dang.

Honestly real nice stuff.

AshTheAvaricious · July 21, 2023 10:17:23

There is a gateway, into the woods, behind my house. It was not always as such; evidenced by rusted hooks and memories, but that old purpose has been forgotten by creation and creator. There is a boundary, created by grass, and ash, and root; which will not always align with the gate.

Some day, near or perhaps far, it will be a gate without a border. A memory, lost to mind. But time will always love it so dearly, even as man forgets its worn wood. Some day, near or perhaps far, I will be claimed by root and worm, and the wood will be the carrier of my life; whether it be charred ash or rotted flesh. Time has its hooks in each and all, after all play has ended.

There is a forest, with a gateway, soon to be overtaken, and it is loved ever so dearly by man and time. One needs only to see the simple gate, merely three planks sewn together by tools of man, to see the wear from age and hands. It takes only a look, to see the piece torn from the top, and it only takes a touch, to feel the number of hands which have grazed its grain.

But some day, the gate into the woods will be no more, reduced to rot and rust. Until there is only two rusted hooks, lost in foliage. Until there is only time, and its eternal love.

AshTheAvaricious · October 4, 2023 09:22:39

Sometimes, I think forward. To where I want to be, when I grow old. To where I want to be able to call home, with worn wood and beautiful imperfections. Where I can feel safe, at the end of my days. Where I will watch the sun set, one last time.

And I think too many people think of cottages in nowhere, of gardens they can't tend, and of places they can't go. Too many people dream of the concrete spires that reach into the skies like Babel, with all the noises of a cluster of human life below. I think that too many people envision life on a farm, when they are too old to tend the animals; and too young to admit it.

I think that I would like a simple home well enough. Away from the prying eyes of people and beasts, but never too far for a curious child to come poking about. I would like a room of beauty, of flowers and scriptures and a thousand other wonderful nothings. A small garden of wants. I would like a chair, nearly as comfortable as a bed, sat near a fireplace; so that I may sleep next to the hearth in the cold days of winter. So that I can dream of the crackling wood, as it is consumed by the flame.

I think that I would like to be near friendly faces, where we can breathe the same air and live the same rain. Where we can embrace and feel each other's warmth, and we can wave goodbye at the end of the day. I would like to pretend that the mist of our breath in winter is like the dragon's flame, to joke and play with them as though we cannot feel our aging bodies. I want to be able to reference jokes decades old, and invent new ones that fade into memory as soon as the laughter quiets. I want a collection of oddities that we'd call stupid, and yet buy for each other as gifts.

I think that I would like to be in a body that is mine, that does not smell like something else; and does not weigh me with what it is not. I want to feel like it isn't my body, but me. A reflection of what I wish to be, and not what had been decided without thought. I want a voice that is mine, not a voice that happens to come out of my mouth. I want to be able to say that I am as I wish to be.

I think that I would like to grow old, to be forgotten, remembered, and loved.

Last edited by AshTheAvaricious (October 4, 2023 09:28:51)

GalaxianExplosion · October 4, 2023 10:10:02

Beautiful. I think this excerpt was especially poignant because of how it doesn't employ any fancy fantasy-related words but conveys a love and zest for life nonetheless. Not to mention, the speaker feels wise to have embraced a vision of what they want to construct old age to be for them (and I'm saying "the speaker" because I'm not sure what perspective you're writing from, be it your own or someone else's, not that it matters to me in this context). Thanks for sharing this.

-Galaxian-