#d00m2p0ken

[hiredpencil]

Inktoberstuck 23: Faestuck

I wanted to borrow @d00m2p0ken for this one!

[corvidave]

==> Doom Spoken

A video is posted.

Our view is mobile, showing the interior of a garage messily retrofitted into a workshop, complete with shiny new tools and materials strewn about on a floor covered in tarps and newspapers.

The camera pans to an animatronic, partially dismantled and sitting on a table.

It looks worlds better than it did the last time we saw it. The honeycomb is gone, and its faded skin has been painted a warm brown.

New earrings hang from its goatlike ears, and its horns have been painted a shimmering metallic gold.

The camera gets closer and we can see its eyes, one blue and starry, the other a fiery red and filled with clockwork.

One set of eyelashes is pure white, standing out in stark contrast to the rest of the figure's black hair.

Two sets of twin fangs hang out of the creature's mouth, but somehow make it look adorable instead of intimidating.

Bright and clean, each joint oiled and double checked.

Crowkid does something off screen and the figure's eyelids flutter, before the entire thing sits suddenly upright with a whirr.

It opens its mouth, uttering its first words in eons, "Mala tempora currunt."

Bad times are upon us.

Its voice is lisping, glitching, and doubled as if echoing down a long forgotten hallway.

The creature looks at the camera with eyes far too real and clear, filled with the recognition of a living thing.

Outside, there is thunder.

And the workshop goes dark.

[corvidave]

🔴 LIVE!

Should he be recording this?

No.

Is he doing it anyway, if only to legitimize his experiences and cement the fact that he's not crazy to nobody in particular?

Ye.

The camera is on, live streaming this time.

The House is understandably dark, the backup generator is off and it's like half past 9 at night.

The crows are agitated as Crowkid leaves his bedroom, Table Turner in hand.

Somewhere in the House, there is scratching.

Scuttling.

Something hard clacking on the bare floors.

Heels?

Hooves?

It's hard to tell.

The phone's flashlight sends bright white light spilling across the walls and floor of the House like milk.

The silence is heavy, and smothering. Eerie and slick, like ropes of monster drool falling onto a protag's shoulder from somewhere out of frame.

The stairs creak under Crowkid's feet as he goes down them, the sound nearly deafening in the dusty emptiness.

The front door is wide open, hinges squeaking painfully.

Crowkid closes the door with his bat and turns around to go back upstairs.

And there, ghostly in the glow of his flashlight is a figure standing on goat's legs, ears back and sharp teeth bared in a hideous snarl.

We know this face well, it's the one Crowkid's been restoring for upwards of a week now.

Fear burns bright in mismatched red and blue eyes, electricity arcing between dual horns like a taser come to life.

The creature lunges, and Crowkid swings Table Turner hard but somehow misses the creature wholesale.

Swearing, LOUDLY, Crowkid bolts for the kitchen.

The figure's hooves thundering behind him.

He reaches the back door but finds it stuck, frame swollen from all the recent humidity.

He turns, and the thing is in the kitchen with him, hissing like a snake, fangs dripping what's probably venom.

It hits the floor and BURNS THROUGH IT like acid.

"You DARE try and strike ME? I am the Doomspeaker, Lisping God of--" they break off, sniffing at the air before scuttling forward and grabbing a jar off the counter.

The Doomspeaker sniffs the jar like an excited dog, forked tail wagging wildly, "YOOOO dude is this honey? Can I have this?"

Silence.

Crowkid clears his throat, "Uh... yeah?"

"Sweet!" Lisps Doomspeaker and they unscrew the jar, lapping the honey out like a dog with a jar of peanut butter.

"...Well I sure did ruin a pair of underoos for nothing." Crowkid mumbles shakily as Doomspeaker greedily enjoys the honey.

The video stops shortly after.

[divine-duality]

@d00m2p0ken fuck yes I am, thanks for notiicing.

Figures there's more gods on here. Sup?

[coccineous-gangue]

A gift for KK appears in a flash of red and blue lights, it's a wicker basket covered with a crab patterned handkerchief, in the basket is a very ugly but perfectly edible loaf of bread, accompanied by two jars, one of honey and the other of fresh butter. A note tucked into the basket reads "ii hope you liike iit 💛" (@d00m2p0ken )

> !!!! Oh FUCK yes. You peek under your new favorite handkerchief and sniff at the contents.

Hello dinner, you're gonna eat like half the loaf, honeyed and buttered of course.

OH SHIT, THANKS DOOMY! THIS SMELLS SO FUCKING GOOD HOLY SHIT!

[ask-discworld-death]

For Bill, a loaf of very ugly fresh bread clearly made by a beginner, paired with a jar of honey and a lump of homemade butter wrapped in waxed paper. Everything has been set into a wicker basket and covered gently with a honeycomb patterned handkerchief, the note on top reads "from Doomy 🍯"

Death looks up from the wax-dribbled desk, eye-lights flickering momentarily. Then He reaches for the bread, pausing halfway to call out through the house.

ALFRED? THERE IS FRESH BREAD IN THE OFFICE.

He tears off the end, smears it with butter, and tears it asunder one honey-dipped bite at a time. He eats neatly, stickying neither robe nor fingers. When done, He scrawls something on a spare scrap, stands, and walks through the house to the front yard, where there is a tree with a swing through its middle and a stack of iron ingots. Death pins the note down with the topmost ingot, and then the stack disappears with a click of boney fingers.

THANK YOU :<], is all the note says.