#dorok

[quohotos]

Anja

My contribution to the @tdp-official art contest

I hope Anja wins

Post by @tdp-official · 10 images

💬 2  🔁 3  ❤️ 7 · Repost from Instagram— just in case people miss it

Bonus features under the cut

[homebrewreligioncore]

Dorok

Pronounced Doe-rohk

He is the god of healing, divination, protection, shadow work, witchcraft, death and baneful magick

Symbols of Dorok is skulls, Ravens, cats, crows and snakes

Flowers of Dorok is lavender

Crystals of Dorok are obsidian, amethyst and lapis lazuli

Colors of Dorok are black, blue and purple

[shoujobees]

[marlutterianae]

SHORT STORY: In search for the Gun-Makers.

They were formally known among the guilds as the Fuscanni. At first they reputation was one of infamy, since their methods of demon killing diverge heavily from the traditional ways when they first made themselves known to the realm. It was a club formed by several members of different well known guilds at the time, seeking different forms of strength. Firearms, of all shape, size and power. With the ever growing might of the demons threatening our borders, the Fuscanni got to work in the development of high calibre guns, potent enough to go through demon armor, obliterate their insides and blast away on the other side, leaving the monstrous bastards a bloody, immobile mess, easy to terminate once close to their remains. 

However, what was once rejected by the traditional killers became one of the most respected pillars of the demon killers guild. Of course, once they got regulated by the Magal, as another branch of the arms division. The wizards put order in what was spiteful chaos, and the Fuscanni became a name as respected as it was feared. 

While their weaponry wasn’t as devastatingly dangerous as the spells and enchanted weaponry of the wizards, there wasn’t any shortage of catastrophic risks among their most ambitious inventions.  

...

Vrak was well aware of the Fuscanni’s reputation, and still weirded out by how divisive the public opinion remain over their ways. Despite befriending his current party of demon killers, there was still one who sneered at the suggestion of visiting the Fuscanni bastion for weapons. 

“For once in your life, let’s do this thing efficiently instead of honorably, you out of touch fool!” was the nicest thing Vrak could have said to his ally before leaving the city. He left accompanied by Dorris, a great asset of the group. A fighter of the Church, and the nicest lady in the whole city. Vrak’s memory of the outskirts was fragmented and weak. Years of recovering from head traumas surely didn’t made his memories return completely. Dorris, however, has been living here as much as him, but with far less injuries to the head. There was a clear gap of style between the two. Not necessarily regarding skill, but in their approaches to combat. Vrak’s carefree step couldn’t compare to the firm, almost soldier march of Dorris. 

“It’s been quite a while since I set foot on the gun maker’s fortress” commented Dorris with a calm smile and a confident pace. Vrak had to walk faster than usual to not be left behind by the tall Inquisitor.  “Hope to find some of the nice men that fabricated my pistol. It could use good maintenance, specially for our next expedition. Ever experience the hectic inclusion of guns in your combat style, friend?” asked the tall, horned woman to the strouty, scaly goblin-looking man.

Vrak shrugged, and gazed upon the sky, thoughtful. “I may have, I may have not. Can tell you I haven’t held a gun in the last five years without losing my memory. If that counts as an answer”. He smiled, to which Dorris noted passively. “I see...”. 

They arrived at the gates, or what could be consider gates of the gun makers’s domain. “It is a rather unconventional structure, as you may see”. Vrak approached a ledge. 

“It’s... A hole. Literally. A huge hole”. He said, poking his head to get a better look at the deep, metallic crater. “I... can’t see the bottom”. 

“Must be the current lack of sunlight. It really isn’t that deep. Look.” said Dorris, bringing his friend back to her side with a tug to his shoulder. She smiled and pointed at a descending path near them, that spiral down into the hole. Vrak gulped, and followed her friend into the depths. The path was narrow and crude, lacking any handrails. He wasn’t really afraid until they reached a point where the natural light began to fade, and the oil lanterns in the walls were their only guiding light. 

Heights were never bothersome to Vrak, but what really started to startle his nerves were the strange sounds ascending from the metallic crater. “What are those... Weird endless growls?!”. Asked Vrak in disgust. Dorris chuckled. “Those would be the echoes of the chanting the Fuscanni make in trance, to honor their Masters”. 

“A-And what of the vibrations in the walls and the ground? That booming sound?!” asked Vrak, more startled and angry this time. Dorris chuckled again, louder. “Those would be the testing of their explosives. Normal for the impact to ascend through the spiral as their endless chants”. Said sounds grew stronger and louder, harder to ignore. Vrak could see the end of the descend, and a bastion at the bottom of it all. It looked like a subterranean suburb. But there was still sounds that made his wide fin like ears shiver. 

“I hear and feel a clanking in the walls. Something clashing with the metal!”. Dorris chuckled once again, and replied calmly. “Sometimes lose bullets clash and bounce off the surfaces in the bastion while they test their guns, and go all over the place. Do not fear, for they will cease fire once they know of our presence”. Despite the explanation, Vrak was still shocked. 

“And they just... Live like this?!”. he asked, before having to cough and cover his mouth over the heavy and intense smell of burning gunpowder ascending from the bastion. 

“Indeed, dear friend. These men and women have lived for and by the rule of firearms. They understand these weapons better than anyone, and could walk a storm of bouncing bullets as if it were daily life. You must understand better now why they still hold such a stigma, despite their contributions to our community”. 

Once Vrak’s sensitive senses adapted to the chaos at the bottom of the spiral, jus as Dorris mentioned, some of said chaos ceased, and they were formally met by one of the Fuscanni, wrapped in bandages and crude strips of leather. 

“Welcome to our pit. What do you want?”. 

- - - - - - 

Just out of nowhere felt like writing something and posting it like last year. These characters and setting are from a bigger project of mine, that I have a lot written for in the shape of outlines. Many chapters done, but I also plan on writing some short stuff like this to practice some of my redaction and character interaction, and for the fun of it. Hope some of you find it interesting ^^

This whole thing was inspired by this song: 

[marlutterianae]

The ReBirth of a Reverend Witch.

- Teachings from the Sacred Lodge of Walpurggia - 

Amongst the most important individuals within the society of witches are the Reverends. Powerful sorcerers that transcended like no other human could. Holding incredible power, with a might worthy of demigods. The order of witches are guided by their superior wisdom and knowledge. However, their ascension was no simple matter of rank climbing. They had to survive the most dangerous ritual in our society. An exchange of their former flesh vessels, to enhance the spirit and be granted a new form capable of containing their newly obtain powers. This is the rite of Rebirth. The Rebirth of a Reverend Witch.

They began as mere masters of the arcane arts. Authority figures. Leaders of their respective clans, who earn a place amongst the heads of the Sacred Lodge. At this point, they can choose whether to remain as powerful and wise elders, or perform the rite of demonic transcendence. The risks are well known. Only one out of five witches that attempt it are capable of returning to us, completely sane. Great amounts of spiritual strength and mental fortitude is required for this journey.

The witch that shall partake in the rite will began their dive into the astral plane through deep, isolated meditation, in a special vault. But this is no mere astral projection. Their spirits are meant to travel into the demon dimension. The Orrnox. They need to traverse our skies, beyond our stars and into the rift that links both worlds. The process of spiritual detachment may vary between witches. This is a crucial step, a point of no return. The essence of the witch must leave the body forever. A process so excruciating and delicate, it usually ends up with the complete destruction of the mortal shell.

From this point forward, the astral consciousness of the witch will traverse beyond space and time into the Orrnox, something that could rip the soul of the less prepared into to shreds. Once their consciousness leaves their bodies,  their minds need to be centered in their specific goal. Searching for Unrrall, the Devil Moon. If they are not careful, they could get lost in the empty void between stars and wander aimlessly for eternity. But if their journey carries on with precision, they will reach the Moon and gaze upon its majestic glory.

At this stage, it is a mystery what becomes of their souls. Some scattered beliefs regarding the metaphysical workings of the demon dimension tell that the Orrnox can assimilate any soul and shape it into a demonic form, giving birth to a demon. Some will say that the travelers will wander the surface of the Devil Moon, and meet with greater demons, earning knowledge and wisdom beyond human understanding. Arriving there is just another adventure they need to complete if they wish to return. And they will not be the same after that.

After an indefinite amount of time, after the witch has learn all that they needed to, or that they were capable of enduring, they begin their fall back into our reality. Their essence becomes something greater. Something more powerful than a human soul. Traveling at incredible speed, knowing where to crash. For the last stage, we need to talk about the Flesh Trees.

There is an enchanted wood, guarded within the city of Walpurggia, that goes back to the times of the Berelithian empire. These strange life forms are known as Flesh Trees. Neither plant or animal, but something in between. These colossal trees are the final goal in this trascendental journey for the traveling witch. Without any warning, something will strike one of the trees. With the strength of lightning, and it will break apart with an explosion. Bursting out of the eviscerated tree, a humanoid figure will emerge. The witch that left this plane destroying their body, that travel into the world of demons and returned, given new flesh capable of containing their superior power. And thus, the Reverend Witch is reborn.

- - - - 

With that, our peeks through the insane world of the Eldritch Continent are over... For now >:- ]

But for real, I really loved to be part of this challenge. I’m deeply thankful to @worldanvil for creating this special Inktober for worldbuilders and writers (even if I’m 8 days late!) because it really motivated me to look into several aspects and concepts of my worlds that I wouldn’t go through otherwise. Not only I feel my world more fleshed out as a result, but the characters in it as well. The little stories I got to tell and share made me practice my narrative writing, and I have no intentions on stopping. I’m hoping to do something like this again! 

And maybe in the future I’ll start drawing and posting my characters from the main novel set in this universe. I hope to those that followed this entries to the very end enjoyed themselves. And those who just found this last entry and got interested by the world, I invite you to check the tag “eldritch continent” in my blog to see the past 30 entires on several topics, reaching from mad wizard scientist, demon hunter guilds, expeditions to underground cities and bizarre magical systems ^^ 

I hope you all had a magnificent October, and I’ll be seeing you around! 

[marlutterianae]

Memories from the Fall of Berelith.

- A vision of the Past -

The young witch spotted a relic from ages past. A floating monolith in the middle of a scorched field. Powerful arcane echos could be felt as she approached the structure with cautious steps. The witch had been on this journey of discovery for a couple of years now. Her knowledge and dominion over magic has gone through a drastic improvement. And her speciality was her psychic sensitivity. An ability common for witches, but hers was way more potent. With enough deep focus, she could gaze at visions of the past from just touching an object that was present in cataclysmic events. And the magic essence around the colossal monolith was enormous. Even without entering in a trance, she started to have visions the more she approached the floating relic. Quick images of a slaughter between humans, demons and anything in between. She accelerated her step, going over piles of petrified fossils and ash. With each ash mound she kicked, she envisioned another brief moment of the past. Duels between man and demon. There were no victors, only death.

Once under the monolith, using a trick she learned a few weeks ago, she conjure a spell to levitate, driven with a powerful vertical jump. Ascending serenely, contemplating the markings and glyphs carved in the stone monolith. It was filled with cracks and entire holes broken in it. As she approached the top of the monolith, she felt as she was rising towards the sun. An overwhelming amount of energy could be fell, but it didn’t stop her ascension. Once at the top, she step over a flat surface, with symmetrical engravings in it. More glyphs, that all converged at the center in a circle. The witch was starting to lose her balance, her consciousness drifting away, attempting to reach the center. A painful feeling, but it was a good sign. That meant there was a powerful arcane memory accessible in that very spot at the center. With the last of her physical strength, she sat at the circle in the middle, on top of the floating monolith, several feet above ground. Once there, she straighten up, close her eyes and began to meditate. After just three long breaths, she was out of this world.

…

“Behold, child of witch blood. For your kind brought this upon themselves”.

The demon spoke with a crushing authority and a deepness in his speech that could overwhelmed the heart and mind of a common human. But she was no common human. A figure of authority within her brethren, the witch replied to the demon without showing any form of inferiority towards it.

“I won’t deny the sins of our people. I am as disappointed by them as much as you. The royalty kept many secrets from their people, and even from the Order…” both creatures stood at the top of a floating monolith contemplating a cataclysmic sight. The destruction of the world as they know it. The fall of her empire. The ultimate purge of traitors for the demon. Colossal pillars of fire forming tornadoes burned all of the fields, corrosive rain melted the flesh of the living, explosions of raw arcane magic destroyed entire cities and magnificent structures with ease. Countless magical phenomena was cleansing the once mighty empire of Berelith and the pair of watchers could only contemplate what brought them here.

The winged humanoid demon towered over the witch with his arms crossed. The witch broke the silence once more.

“I won’t lie to you, but the Order had a contingency plan in case something like this happened. Even the Great Witches were surprised by the magnitude of the event, yet the plan persists. I shall join them, and we will return once the world falls into silence”. The demon sighed deeply.

“Your kind are better off dying right now than to wait for an agonizing last stance. I can’t see the future but it will not be bright for any of you. Besides, I’m sure your lineage won’t be the only things left after the cleansing”. Another prolonged moment of silence between the two, as the incomprehensible sounds of destruction surrounded them.

“Considerate gesture to conjure a field around us. We are missing out on the pain of the world”.

“It’s the last thing I’ll do. The last I can do, before parting ways. I’m not entirely sure if I will be able to survive. The demons are suffering… A change in structure as well. Many tied to the old ways won’t make it. So I wanted to make this farewell as peaceful as possible”.

And for the first time in their brief meeting, the witch looked back at the demon with a contempt smile.

“We will be alright, Hishter. And I have faith in you as well. Call it naivety, but whatever the outcome is, remember to fight with your ideals unharmed”. The demon looked back at her disciple and his monstrous features shaped into a melancholic expression, before returning his eyes to the cataclysm ahead.

“Troublesome times are coming for those who make it. Berelithians, witches, demons… Everything in between… I can only, for the first time, hope… That this will not be the end for us”.

…

And so, slowly, almost peacefully, the memory faded into a void. And the consciousness of the witch returned to her present body, in a meditation pose, on top of the worn out floating monolith. She took some time to recover from the journey. Her body felt numb and her mind was cloudy as if she was awaken from a deep sleep.

She then pulled out a journal, in which she wrote down with meticulous detail all that she was able to see and perceived in the body of her ancestor. She browsed past entries to find any patterns or connections, but they all belonged to different individuals through the same lineage. She wasn’t done with this journey, however. She was in a hunt for memories of the fall of Berelith, and she won’t return home until she gains clear answers of what went down. Among the important details of today’s vision, the name of the demon, Histher, to whom she felt a deep connection and familiarity with, will be something to consider in the future.

---- 

I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS! 

And I’m NOT DONE. 

October might be over and the Inktober Guantlet of World Anvil done, but I started this challenge and I will finish it. There were a lot of things happening around me and to me in the last days of October, and I wasn’t able to continue on the writings for the last two entries. But right now, it’s not over until I’ve written and submitted to the very last one. 

For now, we get another glimpse at the fall of Berelith from a Witch’s point of view. I still need practice with plot driven short tales. 

One more to go!

[acneduck]

[amarynceus]

Daily Drawing #51 - Dorok Flying Jar, from Miyazaki’s Nausicaä. ~70m ‘speed’paint.  :P  Clip Studio Paint

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