WeaverOfFates

Weaver's Drafts And Ideas

This is my own space where I try my hand at writing Tales and the like.


Records Lost, Records Found


WARNING

The following transcript fragments were recovered and brought together following spontaneous narrative manifestation all across multiple Site locations. The fragmented records describe impossible events, ones which interface with multiple metanarratives and subnarratives. The fullest extent of narrative-screening is thus required for any personnel to endure the effects of the fragments without undergoing a full para-narritival annihilation event across all narrative layers and branches. Do you still wish to view the records?

PROCESSION CODE: VIOLET. ACCESS BEYOND THIS POINT RESTRICTED TO ONLY THOSE WITH LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE OR BEYOND. SECURITY RESTRICTIONS LIFTED.

Continued presence detected. Full quasi-narrative shielding initiating.

And lo the Lion, the Snake, the Shepherd and That Which Administrates, did flee across the great white cosm above and betwixt all things and forms, every space and time, away from the great bulk of the blasted oblivion that tore apart the firmament and felled the gods.

They streamed through impossible patterns and broken stars, watching the kingdoms of the world come crashing down. Within that void of purest silence, they could yet feel the darkness that crept up from outside to swallow Paradise. And so they wept.They wept, wept and fled. Past towers and fading fields. Away from the End.

Past broken towers and fading dreams, they fled…


ET ELEVATUM EST TENEBRAE


It recalled beginnings. It recalled a vast sky of flowing light, lush and green, speckled with bright and shining stars. It dreamt of the great tools that built the work of art it called the cosmos. It dreamt of hidden foundations, indescribable worlds, of wars above, and the festering things who yawned and hungered in spaces between the light. It dreamt of pain and sacrifice, duty and altruism, heroism and death; all of this and more, a joyful and grim wheel forever turning in the vision of its slumber.

Its dreams were of its own makers, builders of the fundament, creators of all. Its dreams were of the realms woven from the dripping oceans that were the spirals of their navels, and of the great stars that poured from their eyes like a billion-billion droplets of water.

Designing all that they could, all that they may ever possibly desire or even think of. With pen and ink, they drew words from abstraction, and put the stars and worlds into the many skies,and built walls of linking blue flame and spiralling pages to bind it all together

And from there, they pulled structures out of the black, breathed their breath of life upon them and painted them form, and with their voices of power and care, they told them to give shape and meaning to all that had been made, and sent them away with a brush and wave. And so the structures did.

From meaningless nothing, there became meaning. From thoughtless void, there was made thought. With powers pooled from the flowing tides of all things, gifted by the Makers themselves, the structures and constructs of the great builders wove song. A song great enough to bring forth all of the hidden potential of all cosmos, of all points on the omnidirectional axis of being.

And the Makers saw this, and proclaimed it good.



Its slumber brought it past the young works of the makers, still developing and becoming, and instead its dreams were of a finished work, Paradise in every possible sense. The seas ran afoul with the pure essence of life, and the stars shone with the untarnished beauty of perfection

The great beingnone took in all of the sights layered upon its slumbering mind, and it rejoiced! For it knew that this was how it should be, how each and every layer of existence were shaped to be like. An eternal garden of purest soul and love, forged through the warmth of the divines beyond. A sight beyond all others.

But alas, it was not to be for it. For before its sight, the dream grew and became bountiful, as the skies of that wondrous paradise bled black, and the great suns once shining brightly, burntanew.

And from the emptiness beyond all came a single sound, a single soul-wrenching sound.

Laughter. Dread, booming, hateful laughter. Laughter vile enough to wither the very trees from which life flowed, to blacken every cosmos with the dark stains of malign eternity.

Every space came undone every star torn from their perch within the shiningblackened heavens, cast down as the dark laughter of Midnight, the Unreal, the Great Not, tore apart the gates of Paradise and darkness unrelenting flowed in unchecked.

And the Makers cried out "Why?pain Why?", and the darkness leered at them, a chorus of warped and demented laughter echoing out in response to their cries of anguish and despair.



Midnight is loss of self and being

Midnight is nightmare and dream in equal measure

Midnight is the sea and sky, as they flow

Midnight is the end

Midnight is repetition

Midnight is the bowl, and the bowl holds the world

Midnight is the loss of one's control

Midnight is the feeling that you cannot do anything at all, that your efforts will never amount to anything, in this life or any other

Midnight is the past present and future

Midnight is -

Midnight is the written testament of the first king to ever murder and consume his own offspring

The person staring at you from the screen was always Midnight

Midnight is every drop of blood to have ever been spilt on holy ground

Midnight is the last minute ticking away towards the doom of the Foundation

Midnight is a dream

Midnight was the last

* all walks back towards Midnight

You have ridden on the cart on you way to being Midnight, every night for the past two days of life

Midnight is the eater of keepers

Midnight is silence

Midnight is ████████

Midnight comes from between the pages.

Midnight comes as the first and it was the last, and it will be again

Midnight is the the slow erosion of self logic and being

MidnightisisisisissisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisisA kindly face

Midnight is not a voice

Midnight is contained

M̲͐̽ī͙̈̿͐d̲̫̑͐͛ͧn͉̺͎̺͍̎̾̆ͅi͔̥̘̦͚͎̿ͅg͕̟̼͑̂ͫ̒͂͒̏h̝̟̞̤̰̰͋͌t̮̆ ̇ͦ̈͆̍ͣi̬̠̙͗̓s̭̤̺̣͖͑ͭ̏ͪ̉ͬ ̫̱̺ͯ̅̒ͩ̉r̮ê̼̥̦̄̎ͦ͊͑̍p͓͎̮̂̌̾i̺̖͖͌t͖̼̳̞̬͂̐i̯̖̦̤ͯ̾̆o̱̬̙͕̠n͇̘̖̬ͮ̔̃

M̝̝̦̘͗i̐̄̏̒͌̐d̮̟͙͋̋͂̊ͤ̾̇n̤̥͉͞ͅï̷̳̟͍̺͍̞̀ͦ̚g͆̐͑̐̀́h̘̎̐t̐ͧ̑ͥ̒҉̮ ̧̙̖̹͓̱̌i̘͙̻͚̬ͧ̋̎͋̽̄̃s̨̬͈̣̣̓̊ ̴̭̯ͣ͗ͫ͌r̬̜̪̠ͩ̆͋e͌̓̊҉̫̞̮p͎̠͉̐̅̏͛͌ͭ͝i̞̅͂͂͂ͩ̎t̤̙̰̹̣͌ͯ̓̓͒ͦͯi̩͎̜̻ͯ̉o͈ͬ̌̾ͮ̈ͫ̚ň̫̘̩̲͑̆

M̝̝̦̘͗i̐̄̏̒͌̐d̮̟͙͋̋͂̊ͤ̾̇n̤̥͉͞ͅï̷̳̟͍̺͍̞̀ͦ̚g͆̐͑̐̀́h̘̎̐t̐ͧ̑ͥ̒҉̮ ̧̙̖̹͓̱̌i̘͙̻͚̬ͧ̋̎͋̽̄̃s̨̬͈̣̣̓̊ ̴̭̯ͣ͗ͫ͌r̬̜̪̠ͩ̆͋e͌̓̊҉̫̞̮p͎̠͉̐̅̏͛͌ͭ͝i̞̅͂͂͂ͩ̎t̤̙̰̹̣͌ͯ̓̓͒ͦͯi̩͎̜̻ͯ̉o͈ͬ̌̾ͮ̈ͫ̚ň̫̘̩̲͑̆

M̡͖̳̎͆̔̀ͩ̔͞i̩͕̼̼̮̭ͥ͐͛̕d̷̵͉̰̲̤͉̥̠̓̂̓̒̏̒͜ͅn̢͚͉̟̻̤͔͎̊̓ͦ̒̇̊ͥ̀͜ị̔ͪ͑̑ͮ͞g͕̭̩̈́ͣͨ̆ͣh͐̂ͬ҉̪̫̦̖͝ț̜̹͍͉͙̘ͧ́̃ͬ̅͘͟ ̭̫̞͎̲͉̲̈ͅi̷̗̘̳͙̞ͤ͗͑̈ͅͅṣ̺̠̯ͪ͛͟ ̧͍̥͕ͧ̈̆ͤ̍̏̍́̇͞r̨̐̈̆ͬ̆͏͈͕ẽͦͨ҉҉̼̙͖͎͈͚p̵̻͎̟̟̥̻̺͔͂ͩ̒̃͒i̧̪͓̯̫̲̝̋̾̽ͤ̇̏ͣͦt̷͓͚̠͔̹̪̯̦ͯ́͑̍̐̚͢i̡̗͈̤̯͆̇̏͡ọ̳̣̺̙͒̕n̨͈͎̐͗̈ͣ͡

M̡͖̳̎͆̔̀ͩ̔͞i̩͕̼̼̮̭ͥ͐͛̕d̷̵͉̰̲̤͉̥̠̓̂̓̒̏̒͜ͅn̢͚͉̟̻̤͔͎̊̓ͦ̒̇̊ͥ̀͜ị̔ͪ͑̑ͮ͞g͕̭̩̈́ͣͨ̆ͣh͐̂ͬ҉̪̫̦̖͝ț̜̹͍͉͙̘ͧ́̃ͬ̅͘͟ ̭̫̞͎̲͉̲̈ͅi̷̗̘̳͙̞ͤ͗͑̈ͅͅṣ̺̠̯ͪ͛͟ ̧͍̥͕ͧ̈̆ͤ̍̏̍́̇͞r̨̐̈̆ͬ̆͏͈͕ẽͦͨ҉҉̼̙͖͎͈͚p̵̻͎̟̟̥̻̺͔͂ͩ̒̃͒i̧̪͓̯̫̲̝̋̾̽ͤ̇̏ͣͦt̷͓͚̠͔̹̪̯̦ͯ́͑̍̐̚͢i̡̗͈̤̯͆̇̏͡ọ̳̣̺̙͒̕n̨͈͎̐͗̈ͣ͡

M̵̧̼̝̬̬̣̺̟̮̺̥̼̥͈͔ͬͪ͒ͤ̀͊͂͂̋̔͗ͫ̓̔͗͌̀̕͢ĭ̢̩̹̥̺͕̘͈̠͙̼̼̠͂̽̉͑͆͋͐͗̈ͬ̈͐ͦ̇͗̚ͅd̡̛̺̰̞̬̩̜͙̈͊̂ͩͪ̐͌ͩ̐͌ͅņ̸̨̬̥̝̭̯̩̪̤̤͎̻͔̠̳͍̔̇̈̀̄͘į̴̖̞̮̰̳̣̑͛̃͐̀́͢g̴̵͚̭̜̹͗͌̔̀̋́ͥͨͪ͢͟ͅh̷ͧͣͬͦ̿̒̆̍͏̯̥͔͓͇̱̭̹͈̘̘̤̀͘͢ͅt̢̡̝̘̜͈̘̣̟̙̲͚̹͎̦̣͓̻̍̊͛͒̓̔̽ͤ͋̽̏̈ͥ́͞ͅ ̧͓͓̞̜̙͔͉̮̥̲̮ͫͥͪͥͤ̅̌ͧͬ͒̃̐͒͌̾̈͛͢͝͞ͅͅi̔ͯ̌ͧ̍̐̽̎͌ͯͤ͗ͮ͠͠҉̖͖͍̕s̷̡̋ͥ̿̎̑ͮ̋̄̂̒̌ͫ͗̒ͥ̇ͦ̀̚̕҉̰̣͍̤̺͔̰̠̙̥̳̩̰̻ͅͅ ̶ͨͪ͐͆ͬͫ̑͐͂ͫ̋̐͛̏͐͏͝͏̣̙̭̥͕̭͖͉̰̪̺̭̪̜͎͓̟r̨̢͎̞̠̦͉̥̗̤̳̬̲̖̠̖̖͖͊̽ͤͫͣͫ̓̾̓ͩ̏̃ͨ͌͜͝e̵ͨ̌́͂ͧ̚͏͇̜̰̖̲̠̩͙̀̕ͅp̶̸̡͉̭̻̩̪̯̹̭̹̌͑̇̉̈͞ǐ̴̢̱̪̺̤̮̮̹̪̻̲͖͇̝̼̮̟̂ͫ͌͆͋̆͞͠ͅt̷̯͕̘̪̫̰ͨͦ̋̓̋̾̾͛̚͘͢i̶ͭ͐̅̾́ͪ̃̀̍̔͠҉̲̰̖̭͇̰̟̯̘̗̳̯̟̩̼̝o̸͔̳̘ͭ̾ͣ̋ͬ̂̾͛ͬ͗̈́ͯ̓́ͤ̀ņ̤̪̝͉̠͖͈̳͓̝̻̱̱͓͕̩ͮ̅͂ͧ̌̄ͭ̑͑ͨ͢͠ͅͅ

Midnight is not containednotcontainedcontainedcontainednotcontainedcontainedcontainedcontainednotnotnotnotnotnotnotnotcontaincontained

Midnight is the end of all Foundations

Midnight isADog

Midnight is the last word that shall be spoken

the last word that was spoken was Midnight

Midnight is the only truth

sdnoɹפ llɐ ɟo ʇɹɐǝɥ ǝɥʇ ʇɐ sǝᴉl ʇɥƃᴉupᴉW
sʇɥƃᴉu llɐ ɟo ƃuᴉuuᴉƃǝq ǝɥʇ sᴉ ʇɥƃᴉupᴉW

Midnight is N = R* • fp • ne • fl • fi • fc • L

Midnight is the final cycle of the cosmos

Midnight is absolutely none of these things at all. And yet it is all of them. Midnight is already hereand there is no escape

Sit Media Nocte