#cult sim

[artificial-radiance]

the door in the eye, also known as the watchman

[croholz]

He gives you a look.

Iii Uhh mainly made this for a cool pfp look and also bc I was in the mood for this wonderful man

[dateable-npcs]

NEVILLE CULTIST SIMUALTOR!!! MY SMALL LITTLE MAN

Neville (Cultist Simulator) - he/him - Bisexual (?) "Truly? Thank you. I mean, yes, of course!"

A little guy. Nervous and Kind. His primary aspect is Knock, the principle of openings e.g. wounds, locksmiths, thieves all fit under this principle. Seemingly in spite of this, he is polite to a fault. He can be romanced at Streets Strange by Moonlight. His personality follows when romanced, and his actions are nothing but kind.

[leggypuppy]

i just won the ghoul victory (pog)

[hyyperfixxation]

hes so babygirl

[bars-across-the-sun]

I enjoy how the principles are in general.

If you deep enough down, everyone has each principle, but the act of having it show through means you are an extreme, perhaps maddeningly so.

To yearn too much, to inherently crave change in all ways, is to showcase Moth.

To be mindlessly persistent and energized far beyond common mortal capabilities is to be Heart, and to be utterly insatiable in all aspects of your life and to crave fullness is to be Grail.

To create and destroy and recreate and repeat is to be Forge, and to unabashedly seek wisdom beyond your comprehension is Lantern.

With Edge there is comradery and the rivalries that go too far, where the edge is both a blade and a cliff where brotherhoods and blood are tested. And Winter is the quiet in the wake of it all, and is honestly the most mortal in nature, but also the most artificial in it's deafening emptiness.

With Knock there are the ways in which we go about life, where it is the opener of the Secret Histories we crave, where we let others use us as a stepping stone.

Everyone is every aspect, and the Hours are the reflection of our whims just as every god before, showing a piece of every person, even deep down, and those that rise below them are their utter extremes that we keep buried.

— The Nonnigus

[mara-xx217]

I've become totally obsessed with The Cult of the Lamb... Legit it's so much fun and I highly recommend it!

[triquizzies]

The Craftsman’s Tale

Once upon a time, in a land of dark forests and bright fields, there lived a Craftsman. He worked in stone and clay and wood, creating objects valued for their beauty and their use. In time he sought to refine his skills, and travelled down the great river by which he lived. Whenever he passed by a town or a village, he would find his counterparts and learned what he could. But he learned little from them, for he had already mastered their arts. Soon word of his quest spread faster than he could travel, and he was turned away before he could say his name.

"We know who you are!" they would say. "We can't help you, so begone!"

When the Craftsman asked where he should go, he was told that if he went south-west he would find the great mountains. If he braved their winds and their chills, he would find a land of plenty, where the greatest artisans worked and where caravans plied goods from the edge of the world. From there he should go to a city by the sea, nestled on the edge of a mountain that spewed smoke and ash. In that city, the Craftsman would find the master he sought.

So the Craftsman set off. He braved the chill of the mountains, crossed rivers and valleys, until at last he found the city beside the sea, hidden in the shadow of the mountain. In that city he found the Hundred-Handed God, and begged him to take the Craftsman on as an apprentice. The Hundred-Handed scoffed at the ragged mortal who prostrated themselves before him, and bade him to leave until he could present a worthy tribute.

So the Craftsman left, and with what little money he had he bought materials. The Craftsman had never worked in metal before. Now he begged the use of a forge, promising free labour and eternal gratitude. Eventually a smith relented, giving him one week to work - no more and no less. The Craftsman put all his skill and knowledge into it. He did not sleep, and ate little. Finally, at the end of the seven days, he had created a suit or armour that could walk and fight on its own. The Craftsman went once more to the Hundred-Handed God, and presented the armour to him as a sacrifice.

Once again the Hundred-Handed laughed. He mocked the Craftsman's form, now thin from hunger. He mocked his efforts. Then the Craftsman grew angry, and threw the Hundred-Handed's insults back in his face. Who was he to spurn the gift that had been offered? Who was he to act like the petty smiths of tiny villages? The Hundred-Handed God was silent then. As the Craftsman turned to leave, disgusted by the thing that called itself a god, the Hundred-Handed spoke. He begged the Craftsman's forgiveness, offered him a place amongst his servants. The Craftsman smiled and accepted the offer, but he did not forget the insult, and nor he did not forgive it.