in deepest hollow of our minds

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You stand before a tomb. It is not a building - rather, it is carved into the side of the mountain. The wind whistles around you, whipping your cloak against your body. The ledge you stand on hangs above a steep drop of jagged rock that disappears back into the valley. The entrance to the tomb is unassuming. There is no ornamentation carved into the stone - no intricate facade or metal embellishment. Only an open doorway and the words "Enter, Friend" carved above. You step inside, and the harsh whistle of the winds quiets immediately. It is dark and cold, yet it does not feel unwelcome. The room is small with only a stone coffin set into an alcove that has been carved from the mountain. A line of unlit, melted candle stubs sits in front of the coffin. The floor is covered in a clean layer of freshly dried grass. In the corner, a ragged yet neatly folded blanket rests next to a small chest.

The chest holds a few unused candles, a small flint, and a bulbous glass lantern. The glass of the lantern is uneven and dark, as though dirtied with a thick layer of soot. The handle is a simple copper hoop, and a small tassel hangs from the bottom.

Codex Entry: The Lantern of the Dead

Material: Dark, textured glass and copper ornamentation This object is not for use in combat. A lantern of simple design with dark glass and simple copper ornamentation. The shape is reminiscent of that of a skull. The lantern cannot be lit with mortal flame and must instead be lit with an invocation spoken by the bearer. "Friend to the Dead Guide my feet, calm my soul, Lead me to my rest." (X) When lit, small orbs of blueish-green light fill the lantern and the air around the bearer. The bearer is also adorned with a pair of spectral wings that form a glowing shroud around them. This shroud is not visible to the living. The lantern will guide the bearer along a sure path through darkness or across perilous terrain, and also grants the bearer night vision. The bearer will hear the whispers of the dead when in possession of the lantern. The whispers will grow louder as time passes. Continued use and exposure will lead to mental distress and eventual psychosis. While lit, the lantern sustains itself on the bearer's life force. This toll may be offset with an offering and a blood sacrifice. However, the bearer will hear the voice of the one that was offered, haunting them for the remainder of the bearer's life.

You light one of the unused candles and set it by the coffin before huddling under the blanket in the corner. You cradle the glass lantern in your lap. The candlelight flickers strangely across the textured surface of the glass. You brush your finger over the copper handle.

"Friend," the wind sighs from beyond the entrance to the tomb.

A phrase comes to mind. The words cluster against the back of your teeth, begging to be uttered.

You are faced with a choice. Do you:

⟡ Speak the works and light the lantern

⟡ Fight the impulse to speak and leave the lantern behind

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Developer Notes Below!

putting these together in a nice, cozy, sweet cuddle collection <3

Damsel |01062026 _

Day1 ✦ Day2 ✦ Day3 ✦ Day4 ✦ Day5 ✦ Day6 ✦ Day7 ✦ Day8 ✦ Day9

Falon'Din — Friend of the Dead💀

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You enter a cavernous sandstone chamber. A wave of heat crashes into you, and sweat immediately begins to drip from your brow. The roof has decayed, and great shafts of sunlight fill the room. Dried, dead leaves litter the floor - fallen from the gapping holes in the roof. Frescos fill the walls, too faded to make out distinct images, but there are traces of golden and orange pigment in the grooves of the stone. The floor glows, almost too bright after the gloom of the forest. A dead vine crawls limply across the back wall - withered and dried from the lack of shade and the oppressive heat. At the end of the room, a gleaming copper chest sits atop a raised dais. It is unlocked. Within the chest is a small dagger in need of sharpening, an empty flask, a rusted key, and a spiked, metal crown. The metal of the crown is dull despite the overwhelming brightness of the room. You reach for it and immediately slice open your palm on the sharp edge of the band. A drop of blood lands on the golden velvet that cushions the chest.

Codex Entry: The Crown of The Sun

Material: Unknown metal +60% Critical hit damage bonus +60% Attack power +60% Increase in mana for mages +40% Mana regeneration for elves +20% Fire damage +20% Resistance to fire damage +10% Critical hit chance A spiked crown that mimics the rising sun above the head of the wearer. The metal is dull and lifeless with sharp edges which seem impossible not to cut oneself on. When worn, the dull metal begins to turn a rosy fired hue as though heated by flames. Slowly overheats the wearer's brain and causes blood loss through cuts and wounds where the crown touches the wearer. Can only be worn for a maximum of 300 seconds before death of the wearer. Causes irreversible damage at intervals before death of the wearer. After 60 seconds: Internal bleeding begins After 120 seconds: Nerve damage and loss of sensation in extremities begins After 240 seconds: Degradation of mobility in limbs begins For mage class: Wearer will hear a low voice encouraging the use of blood magic which increases the speed of blood loss. Blood loss will weaken the wearer but add +3% chance to cause spontaneous combustion in enemies.

You hear scrapping from the hallway outside of the chamber - like long claws being dragged across stone. The dagger may come in handy, but what about the crown?

You are faced with a choice. Do you:

⟡ Take the crown along with the other items

⟡ Leave the crown behind but take the other items

⟡ Take nothing

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Developer Notes Below!

for @evanurisweek

The two of them, Elgar’nan and Mythal, revel in their victory. Together in their power, together with the other spirits who have manifested, they have brought down their first Titan. The elves, in their triumph, have already set to work, tapping and breaking through the rock-hard exterior of the fallen Titan, carving into the veins to draw forth the glorious blue glow and potency of its blood - lyrium.

The elves have taken their fill of it, already planning for the next wave of spirits who wish to manifest, working with urgency and careful attention to carry the lyrium spilling forth back to their growing home, the foundation of the first dynasty they will raise in glory. Oh, the designs that Elgar'nan and Mythal have.

As the last elf leaves the site, bearing the final vessels filled with lyrium, Mythal and Elgar’nan remain behind, standing in the wake of it, staring upon their victory.

Read the rest on AO3 - Take Thy Victory, All Father and All Mother

Day 1 prompt: Elgar'nan

You wake. Everything aches.

The sharp tang of iron coats your tongue, and the thready beat of your pulse thrums along your neck.

With great effort you open your eyes, flinching from the blinding sun that filters through the canopy of leaves above. You roll to your side, and a flare of pain races along your spine. Your vision blurs. You blindly reach your hand out to brace against the tall object in front of you. Rough, textured, like bark. A tree? The shifting shadows and dappled sunlight flickering through the leaves makes your head spin. Nausea twists through your gut.

After a moment of labored breathing, your vision clears. Your eyes land on a scrap of parchment abandoned in the roots of the tree, crumpled and damp as though it was recently clenched in a sweaty grip. There is writing. The scrawled lines are blurred but still legible.

Come to the ruins. You will find what you seek there.

"What I seek?" you croak.

A flicker of recognition. The handwriting is familiar, yet your mind is a haze of emptiness and confusion. Where are you? And... who are you?

You stand, brushing leaves and sticks from your cloak. The fabric is worn at the seams, and the tattered ends sway in the breeze. A gust of wind slams into you, nearly toppling you to the ground. You twist, eyes squinting against the sun - one hand raised to shadow your face while the other braces your weight against the tree.

You stand near the edge of a cliff. Before you lies a valley so thickly forested that you cannot see the ground beneath the tree canopy. Across the valley your eyes catch on something, something nestled into the base of mountains and crawling up to the highest peak. Spindly structures - buildings - ebb and flow like vines along the face of the mountains. The jagged bones of decrepit towers pierce the sky along the crest of the mountains. Crumbling buildings on islands of stone halo the highest peak.

"The ruins," you murmur.

Your grip tightens around the note. The folds of the parchment fit neatly into the creases of your palm.

You are faced with a choice. Do you:

⟡ Descend into the valley

⟡ Discard the parchment note and abandon your journey

Developer Notes Below!

Sleepers Peace @copperboltsblog has suggested that the concept of the sculpture of the same name by Greet Desal would be great do with Henry and his animal companions - and I totally agree! So here's my take on it |06052026