#hermitverse

The Hermitverse is full of odd entities, but among them are Extraterrestrials.

Extraterrestrials generally do not have any stakes in the affairs of earth. Most contact with Extraterrestrials has been either explorers or accidental collisions. There are at times however, times where roaming bands of pirates and poachers from beyond the stars do, in fact, meddle with humans.

The Sentinels: Point of First Contact is Unknown, but they were first confirmed in 3000 BCE. They seem to wuite literally be intelligent metals that use electric charges as substance and communication. They seem to have multiple forms, but the tallest and most prominent is the "Fallen Angel," with smaller single ocular forms known as "Cherubs," having a more Cephalopod-like appearance.

The Aeroprisk: Confirmed First Contact in the 1830s, they are composed of silica-like compounds and have a texture akin to graphite. They are well known in their martial prowess and seem to possess intense psionic properties. Aeroprisk were originally believed to have been dimensional hoppers, but this wad disproven after their home system was found on satellite imaging.

Faltwu: Confirmed First Contact is 1952. Famous for the Flatwoods incident. They are intelligent plasma-forms that create carbon shells to interact with other forms of life. While they first arrived on accident, subsequent specimens have been documented crwating research facilities. Can somehow hybridize with carbon life.

Frelma: Confirmed First Contact is 1961, and their appearance was conflated by conspiracist to be in relation to Roswell. Mesothermic synapsids,seemingly amphibious with soft water retenting skin. They have come to earth for "business", aka human organ trafficking. Most unpredictable alien to date, and most widely sighted.

"Celestidactyl": First depicted 20,000 BCE. Void faring entities running off of nuclear fission. They are collosal size, smallest documented was an infant at 13 feet long and 12000 lbs. Wholly nomadic, multiple cultures have been documented, yet only two were hostile. They are mostly passing observers, though the hostile specimens encountered proved cpaapble of outmaneuvering any terran craft.

Atlants: Point of First Contact is unknown, first documented in 3000 BCE. Carbon-based, posessing both an exoskeleton and endoskeleton, described as either having a stickbug-like gait or a "delayed gallop." They use living organisms as tools for every day to day life. Views Earth as a reservoir, though some specimens have been labeled as "poachers."

Mad Hunters: First Contact speculated 1846. ".Carbon-based organisms, capapbel of undulating their body to move on land. Seemingly evolved from aquatic stock. Non-verbal communication almost explicitly. Earth is a hunting ground, done in the name of "ritual." All technology in possession is seemingly textile and pheromone based.

"There is a small house south of Kettlewood. It lies at the south most corner of the St.Francois Mountains, resting nicely in a nestled patch of forest. The trees leading up to the property do a great job obscuring it from view, but gives it a wide scenic display of the Ozark town below from Sauk Lake towards the little Glimmer of the Highway. The house itself was of craftsman make, with a sharp pitched roof that led to wide eaves, and its two stories were made entirely of timber painted white. The second story had three windows facing the stone driveway, and within view of the Westmost window was a boy. 

Strawberry blonde and with angelic curls, he hid his face behind a plush owl, holding it against his cheek as if afraid, even in his sleep, it would fly away and never return. Perhaps he had drifted off watching the lights of the distant town and highway. Maybe that's what brought him fear, in some child-like imagination he had perceived some threat lurking out there. Maybe a shadow passed by that cowered the lights: a break in the distant luminance of headlights and the concentrated urban glow. So he hid under green sheets, too scared to tell the others in the house the feelings weighing his chest down and stilling his legs.

But despite his fears, he knew this home was safe. For why else, though spooked, did he deem it safe enough to rest, without closing the blinds? Maybe he just found it safer to have some light shine in, than face the pitch-black. Faint moonlight illuminated him as it broke through the trees, almost as if the world acknowledged him trying to shrink in on himself. And yet the little plush barn owl did everything in its power to shield him from the light above.

Outside the world was vocal, for this late spring had now heralded crickets and katydids venerating the rains earlier and the promise of warmer afternoons. An old bloodhound, whose muzzle was now given a silver sheen, rested on the porch. In its youth it would have explored in the darker hours before returning around 9 pm, unless he had been called in otherwise. Chasing off coyotes from even the scent of the chickens and quail the man of the house raised. Or skulking around the trees looking for possums to spook. Now he was too old to leap over logs mid chase or turn to defend his haunches from an equally annoyed raccoon's bite. He could run up to a truck after it had recently parked, crawl into his owners' laps, and steal an unattended porkchop from the table.

Now, laying down next to his dog bed he stared out at the night, his vision not as sharp as it used to be, but his nose was still sharp enough to make out any poor critter trying to sneak by. It could be a fair distance, he could smell them 3 miles down the road, on a good day with the wind on his face, he could get a good fragrance range of the valley below. So it did rattle the dog when he could smell something coming up the road. And for the life of him he couldn't remember a scent like this. There was something like a horse, sulfur, and wet rain. Yet there was a new scent it just couldn't identify. Like club soda but… way way stronger. The bloodhound covered its nose and whined, exhaling as though he was trying to involuntarily cough.

As the smell got closer, the bloodhound got up, walking down the wooden steps of the porch and towards the dirt road, staying on the stone and grass of his owners' domain, knowing too well how reckless drivers could be on these dirt roads in these dark midnight hours. He smells it, and as he does he hears something rustle above him in the trees. To the bloodhound in that moment, they just resembled obscured, somewhat flat shapes running through the trees. And stopping where the branches hung over the road. They made no motions towards him, and when he turned back around to face the end of the road, he heard a sharp whistle, and could see a faint glow of blue in the woods below.

The dog was in no state to leave the yard and chase after the glow, and some primordial part of its brain told it to run back to the house. It started at a fast walk, whatever was in the trees above him following along when he suddenly jumped at the sound of something collapsing onto the dirt road with an audible thud, sending rocks in a scattered wake. He started to pant, a growl welling in his chest as he observed something that looked like an intruder. Even amidst the night this figure was pitch black, sulking in any light around it minus the white, piercing, vertical slits in place of eyes it possessed. It was riding something, a horse of some kind. Though it seemed to be made of a similar shadowy Ether that constricted itself to a horse's frame. However its face possessed no lower jaw, and many smaller tentacles. The Hound didn't even consider the massive wound on the collapsed steed, that was literally eating away at its body as though individual polygons were being erased from reality. The chorus of the night had gone silent, and as the steed writhed against somewhat red clay hued pebbles, its rider shakily left its back, and crawled its way over to the dog. 

Panic. Raw, inexorable. The dog unconsciously whined, tail between its legs as it scampered backwards, bumping into the truck as it tried to step back away from the crawling hominid. The shadows of its head were too sharp, too angular, as its face came out like a shallow curve. Its neck was thick, attached to a bird-like chest which spouted gangly thin limbs from sloping shoulders. It made no noise as it tried to clamber to the dog, whose own claws scraped against the ground as meager rasps for barks exhumed from its quivering face. 

That's when the shadow before him was dragged back, as those strange flat things from the trees had tried to drag the creature away. They resembled well, the odd bastardization of a colugo and a bird of prey. It's sharp-billed, flat-head nipped at the feet of the shadow. It writhed and attempted to sway back. The Carpet Birds with long, slender front and rear limbs that possessed a large membrane of skin that extended between their paired limbs, rolled and awkwardly waddled away from the shadow, hissing like angry barn cats as if to catch the crawler's attention. The dog made a stiff jog away, but no sooner did it that the Carpet Birds scuttled away from the shadow as well. The Bloodhound turned back to face the attacker, confident enough to start barking at the figure. Before its eyes shot wide and it tucked itself low to the ground.

Holding the shadow above the ground was a being carved from some abstract paradigm. The shadow writhed in its touch, clawing at its basalt carved form. It wad like the odd perversion of a torso, a floating triangular shield where a head would be. Instead a row or six lights around the collar focused on the shadow, each glowing a lightning blue. Intricate carvings moved from its body to its limbs, long and skeletal, mechanical, carved. The hand of this entity, crushed the neck of the shadow, sending a strange blue light into its ephemeral inky form, and sending the aberration to flicker out of existence just like its steed. The standing construct looked down at the bloodhound, upon stilt legs mirroring stakes, as the dog practically went limp at the sight. The air felt like static, the being before it thumming with something undeniably alive, but not in the traditional sense. It simply began to walk away, the truck audibly unlocking and locking in rapid succession, before disappearing behind the curve of the greenery and down the road. 

The Bloodhound waited till the springing motion of its locomotion could no longer be heard before it ran to the door and scratched against it, whining. It was frantic, and given with such force that the hinges sounded like they might possibly break, as the dog called upon some forgotten strength it never knew it possessed. Opening the door, shotgun in hand, an old man wearing full body gray pajamas opened the door, looking around for any possible varmint or intruder. His sourpuss face, wrinkled and filled with utter annoyance, scanned the yard with his flashlight. Nothing stood out to him, except when he panned the flashlight down to his whining mutt, looking up at him with pleading eyes. The dog wasn't easy to spook, having lived through several feral dog attacks and having aided the man in boar hunts earlier in the two's shared time together. So the old timer moved to the side, as his companion ran inside and up the stairs of the home, claws tapping against wooden boards.

For the Remaining five years of the Bloodhound's life, he slept indoors at the feet of the boy facing the westmost window. It was safer inside during the night. "

The Wyvern'tl are an ancient lineage of Parave, that in a more geological scale, their rise to intelligence is incredibly recent, evolving just a little before humanity. They are incredibly efficient predators, using their powerful wings to catch the rising drafts of the land and their talons to snatch prey in midflight. Wyvern'tl are defined culturally by their role usually as the "village elder." Due to their long-lived nature, a wyvern can accumulate a athenaeum worth of knowledge or the experience of hundreds of battles. Socially more reclusive Wyvern'tl are no less brighter than their outgoing cousins, but they are far more distrustful of the other races.

Few species are so naturally predisposed to curation and legacy quite like the Wyvern'tl. Once found across the earth with the same prolific status of humanity, historical persecution usually forces them into seclusion away from prying eyes. And while most need to be sought for their knowledge, some wish to spread their skills on word of wing.

Wizard: Like the mages of those before, wizards are Wyvern'tls that are obsessed with magic. They may offer their services to covens, as a wizard has a horribly sharp mind, and it allows them to catalog and recount all manners of myth and legend.

Windshearers: Wyvern'tls who descend from far more aerial lineages, allowing them to ride on wings like the Ahzas and their feral brethren. Windshearers have an uncanny knack for aerial combat and are just as prone to descending onto their opponents as if they were a bird of prey.

Saykts: These Wyvern'tls are of a caste that allow them to practically live their whole lives on the ground. With more reinforced "hands" for combat, and thicker tail and necks, it is said they descended from Wyvern'tls that worship a long gone God, which in exchange for adept flight, gave them immense strength.

"Earth, a seven billion year oddysey. It is known to many races outside its confines as a death world, filled with hostile fauna, rugged environments, and viral anomalies alike. Yet its story, complex and ever weaving, shows us patterns. And its history, though lost to most, is not completely forgotten.

Ancient forces once thrived here, their legacy flowing through all matter and energy in this "Solar System", and theoretically beyond.

And though they would disappear, the spark of life persisted. Evolving and changing. Civilizations would rise, than fall. Often to hubris, sometimes to things beyond their control. Earth as we know it, is reeling from one such situation, which birthed a great period of harshness, leading to the rise of one species: Humanity.

Mankind dominated every biome they roamed through, erecting great sites of commerce, and weaving tales of things beyond their grasp. They weren't always alone, surrounded by beings alive and dead, by beings made before time, and life of artificial creation. They once coexisted in a time now dimly remembered. A period they called many things, but one stood tall: The Age of Myth.

Led by an Old Kin named Duran'Orl, it was an age of heroes, monsters, great sorcerers, and awe inspiring kingdoms. This age provoked and inspired great change, erected demigods, and created immortal warriors. Runestones were erected to harness the earth's magic, and they peered and found answers in worlds beyond theirs.

Though it was full of strife, those who remember it, remember it as their Golden Age.

But like all golden ages, it was doomed to collapse.

Duran'Orl vanished, and soon many fell into conquest. Humanity fed into a new found ego, and those who profited in blood and deceit, created something. A voice in the darkness which referred to itself as Forbidden Truth, which soon cast upon a great shadow on the world. It created dismay, but it could have only been manifested if such vile wrath was already there. And like a great wind, scattered the many species, tribes, and cultures of this age, leading only humanity to be plentiful enough to take over. With the last of their strength, the other species hid away from mankind to create something new…

And there the curtain was draped, and as humanity grew stronger, those within humanity considered that acknowledging the other species brought only ruin, and threatened their hold of the world, and worked tirelessly to keep them hidden. Humanity prospered, while the others lurked far, far away. But mankind grew larger, and larger, and there was only so much earth. This hubris, and those in power meddling with things beyond their control, created a horrifying arms race that would decide the fate of the earth. Terrans face many threats these days. Threats native to the planet, and Invaders from beyond their system.

Covenants and Cabals seek to to scavenge the remains of prior Golden Ages, hoping the ancient's tech can allow them to inherit the earth as their own.

Warmongerers came for available territory and resources. For conquest. Some represent the dark underside of humanity's status quo, others its dismantling.

Those accursed and ravenous worshipers of death, feeding the infernal hunger of their dark gods or hedonist lords. Earth to them is just proof of bloody ritual.

And those strange living constructs, hellbent on recreating reality in their own brutal image. Something about earth makes them pause in their desires, or is it planning?

Humanity fights among themselves, as well. Though now, as their world grows sicker and smaller, some, human or not, are banding together. To rebuild. To heal. To explore the world before its mysteries are revealed for all to see, and to try and take the power away from tyrants and murderers. Only time can tell if this however, meant anything in the grand scale. For those ancient, patterns that foretell collapse, are repeating."

An original project of mine, Awakened: Bleeding Realm has gone by many names and covered many time periods. Once known as dawn, it was the take of tradional fantasy in the prehistoric age, where we saw the rise of elves, dwarf, lizardfolk, and man during the settings last glacial maximum. Now, roughly 6 years later it has been made into a more modern setting, taking place within our own timeline. And has been given the project name: The Hermitverse. The Hermitverse is a setting in which the myths and conspiracies of our world are not entirely founded in fear or superstition. Within the context of this world: cryptids, spirits, monsters, aliens, shadow agencies, hard AI, gods, vast underground complexes, and alternative dimensions are indeed real. Despite this, the human populace is for the most part unaware of these entities or believe them all to be hoaxes. This masquerade has forced many of these beings into hiding, causing strain between the “two worlds” as the modern day proves that such a herculean task of hiding them is no longer feasible. The setting takes on multiple narratives, following the dilemmas of the many peoples of this world and how they interact with the ever changing landscape. There are characters I've focused on however. While I usually don't write human leads, I have one for this setting: His names Gabriel: A once lonely, scarred hermit of a man. Raised in an evangelical household and used as a prodigy (mouth piece) by his mad woman of a mother so could get cloud from her church, he was later placed in custody of his grandparents, who after passing on left the house to him to inherit. As he grew up, he grew an intense fear of the faith, but not the idea of God. It drew him some comfort that perhaps some greater power out there could, in one way or another, offer safety. Doing just enough to graduate high school, he took himself to working odd jobs, becoming heavily disenfranchised with the rest of the world.

Though some chance encounters change that.

Awakened: Bleeding Realm is being about him healing through learning to thrive within the "two worlds" , and making his own family while trying to help others around the country out.

The Amphisbaena is a Small Wyvern of gluttonous but skittish manners. Once found throughout Africa, West Asia, and India, it now can only be found in the Savannas of Sub-Sahara Africa, where it forages on large arthropods and small game.

Also known as the Fighting Rooster Wyvern, it's "spine studded back," extravagant patterns, killer claw, and hooked bill able it to quickly turn back around and attack if it feels cornered. Their "second head" is a modifird tail club with a hard, rough texture meent to resemble a head to confuse predators and thrash them if they get too close. As opposed to venom that the stories like to regale, it has a nasty habit of spewing "Cropshot" or bone and sand fragments at its attackers or just things it doesn't like to see

They are part of the "Soft Crowned Wyverns" or Cockatrices and are the second largest among them.

"The two witnesses described an abnormally large bird resembling a giant owl flying over the tower of the 13th century parish church in Mawnan Smith. The two young girls who had been camping in the woods nearby were attracted by strange hissing sounds. They described the huge bird as having red eyes and strange claws shaped like two blacksmiths pinchers." -4/17/76

Nightmen or "Owlmen" are often conflated with Mothman, despite Nightmen being genuine Owls as opposed to North America's resident Agnuronathid. Existing on the Islands, which make up The UK and Northern Ireland, the Owlman is a aggressive predator of the night, relying on its claws to squeeze small prey or its powerful legs to kick them into exhaustion. Most children should be safe from a Nightmen Owl, but a large or desperate individual might look at a toddler with curiosity, for food is still good no matter the form it takes.

They are solitary until breeding and rearing season and lay at max a total of three eggs. The mother and father take turns chsperoning and feeding the young until they decide the chicks are strong enough to fend for themselves, in which all parties part their separate ways.

Ring up Kuzembo, we might need those models Helios conjured up."

A Wildframe "Hornbill" is a frame used to deal with Fleshgait Infections, horded, and Body Disposal. In-between the "bill" is a flamethrowing mechanism, designed to be kitted out to either deal with combustion-based gas nozels and tanks, or petrol-based piston mechanisms.

The body itself is Elevated, as so it can look above the flames and trample survivors. Its body is durable and shelled, which while front heavy from its many carapaces, a massive tail is used as counterweight so it can continue operations at a terrifyingly quick pace.