Source JSON
Post #571870 · 1 source
weasyl.com · 2571482:9830699 · selected
Downloader metadata · database Download
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"description": "<p>WARNING: DARK</p>\n<div><p>In the frost-kissed hinterlands of the DRST, where the Great Father’s light pierced the chill like a divine lance, Diocesian Ikanov tended to his rural parish with the quiet devotion of one who was deeply familiar with the cycle of seasons. Though silvered, his golden eyes burned with compassionate fire that never dimmed. Shroudveil approached, the DRST’s harvest festival where they pay respects to the Great Daughter. Moon-veiled nights honored the silver celestial body in the sky as she reflected the Great Father’s light in the nighttime, an ever-present reminder that he is always there.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>This year’s harvest festival would be at a communal estate in a neighboring area to the East. Ikanov hadn’t been out that way in quite some time, so he didn’t quite know what to look for aside from the address. He donned his regalia; the high-gloss latex raiments in solar gold and brilliant white, hugging his strong frame with an accentuated shape. He drove off on in his four-wheel-drive following the GPS. Partway through the journey, it seemed as if though the directions had changed. An unfamiliar twist that he was almost certain he had not seen before. It was a simply correction, one that did not appear in any way to be malign at the time.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The manor was up ahead on his trail with an unpaved lot just ahead. He saw what looked to be decorations from afar. The manor appeared to be in right order for the festival, but the vehicles parked at the lot appeared to be in various states of disrepair. This is no way to treat such fine machines. He would have to have a word with someone about these. They looked as though they had been rotting here for years with the differences between them being stark. But that was for another time. Ikanov’s rubber boots pleasantly sunk into the yielding as he got out. A wonderful feeling. And no problem for him clear off in those environment-proof raiments.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He made his way to the manor, a spectre amidst the cobfields, spires piercing the sky where constellations mocked familiarity. The stars. The stars were wrong. He noticed it immediately. Looking back, the parking lot was gone, replaced by an expanse of wilderness. Looking at the manor, it dawned on him that something anomalous was occuring. The moon. It was not the Great Daughter. It was someone else. The surface was wrong. The color was baleful. It did not reflect the light of the Great Father. This was someone else’s daddy in the sky. The decorations that dotted the manor moved. They twitched. Writhing as if in pain. Grasping and struggling against their binds.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>Ikanov had seen and realized all of this in a short instant and turned tail. It didn’t take much for him to realize it was not safe here. His rubbery clothes squeaked and squirked while his boots plodded and squelched in the mud. He tried to run, he really did, but he got nowhere. He was only slipping in place as the ground began to greedily swallow his latex-gilded body. His knees slipped beneath as he was stuck in place. He reached down to try and free himself but the ground only siezed his paws. He was yanked. He yelped as his back arched and was forced into a painful position. He felt tar rising from the ground. A viscous, bluish white wax that filled the gaps in his raiments, devouring them and him. It plunged into his mouth, gagging him as he choked on the wax. It covered his face and soon he was left unable to breathe.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He gasped and gasped and gasped as the wax clamped and crushed his body. He yelped in pain. He felt his head swimming he felt his lungs burning. Breathlessness. Acute hypercapnia. 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"description": "<p>WARNING: DARK</p>\n<div><p>In the frost-kissed hinterlands of the DRST, where the Great Father’s light pierced the chill like a divine lance, Diocesian Ikanov tended to his rural parish with the quiet devotion of one who was deeply familiar with the cycle of seasons. Though silvered, his golden eyes burned with compassionate fire that never dimmed. Shroudveil approached, the DRST’s harvest festival where they pay respects to the Great Daughter. Moon-veiled nights honored the silver celestial body in the sky as she reflected the Great Father’s light in the nighttime, an ever-present reminder that he is always there.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>This year’s harvest festival would be at a communal estate in a neighboring area to the East. Ikanov hadn’t been out that way in quite some time, so he didn’t quite know what to look for aside from the address. He donned his regalia; the high-gloss latex raiments in solar gold and brilliant white, hugging his strong frame with an accentuated shape. He drove off on in his four-wheel-drive following the GPS. Partway through the journey, it seemed as if though the directions had changed. An unfamiliar twist that he was almost certain he had not seen before. It was a simply correction, one that did not appear in any way to be malign at the time.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The manor was up ahead on his trail with an unpaved lot just ahead. He saw what looked to be decorations from afar. The manor appeared to be in right order for the festival, but the vehicles parked at the lot appeared to be in various states of disrepair. This is no way to treat such fine machines. He would have to have a word with someone about these. They looked as though they had been rotting here for years with the differences between them being stark. But that was for another time. Ikanov’s rubber boots pleasantly sunk into the yielding as he got out. A wonderful feeling. And no problem for him clear off in those environment-proof raiments.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He made his way to the manor, a spectre amidst the cobfields, spires piercing the sky where constellations mocked familiarity. The stars. The stars were wrong. He noticed it immediately. Looking back, the parking lot was gone, replaced by an expanse of wilderness. Looking at the manor, it dawned on him that something anomalous was occuring. The moon. It was not the Great Daughter. It was someone else. The surface was wrong. The color was baleful. It did not reflect the light of the Great Father. This was someone else’s daddy in the sky. The decorations that dotted the manor moved. They twitched. Writhing as if in pain. Grasping and struggling against their binds.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>Ikanov had seen and realized all of this in a short instant and turned tail. It didn’t take much for him to realize it was not safe here. His rubbery clothes squeaked and squirked while his boots plodded and squelched in the mud. He tried to run, he really did, but he got nowhere. He was only slipping in place as the ground began to greedily swallow his latex-gilded body. His knees slipped beneath as he was stuck in place. He reached down to try and free himself but the ground only siezed his paws. He was yanked. He yelped as his back arched and was forced into a painful position. He felt tar rising from the ground. A viscous, bluish white wax that filled the gaps in his raiments, devouring them and him. It plunged into his mouth, gagging him as he choked on the wax. It covered his face and soon he was left unable to breathe.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He gasped and gasped and gasped as the wax clamped and crushed his body. He yelped in pain. He felt his head swimming he felt his lungs burning. Breathlessness. Acute hypercapnia. And then… and then… it just continued. Burning, yearning. He did not pass out or die. The pain only flared as it became a agonizing torture session. He felt his bones creak and bend and break and reform as the invasive wax seeped in through his skin to make adjustments to his insides. Finally, a pop. Something fixed over his head, firmly, roughly. He felt his neck snap once, twice, three times until it was fixed into a new position. He was left shaking, stumbling, now free from the mud as four boots plodded in the mud. His body squeaked loudly. His glossy form underneath the baleful moonlight.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The manor had remade him. In some twisted design, it had made him into a Shroudveil decoration. A white jack-o-lantern with blue eyes. He could see nothing. But he knew. Somehow he knew. By the weight of his head. By the sight of the fresh decorations on the manor he had seen before. He knew.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The Feral Manor had taken in a new collection. A new harvest festival from a distant world. More decorations with new victims from another unlucky world. For Ikanov, it would be Shroudveil unending. No more teachings. No more celebration, just the intimate latex eternity until he himself loses his mind and goes</p></div>\n<div class=\"align-center\"><p>feral<br> </p></div>\n<hr><hr>\n\n<p></p><div>Featured characters and owners:<br>Shroudveil Jack-o-lantern - Ikanov (Starfoth)<br>Halloween Jack-o-lantern - Pumpbree (Caou)<br>Scarcrow - Kikko (Kikko)<br>Gumbale - Mittens (Tyler)<br>Gumbale - Milly (Miller)<br>Gumbale - Ranako (Tuch)<br>Gumbale - Rhys (Rhys)<br> <br>Alt Version: <a href=\"https://www.weasyl.com/~starfoth/submissions/2571481/the-cobfields\">https://www.weasyl.com/~starfoth/submissions/2571481/the-cobfields</a> </div><br><br><p><a href=\"http://www.postybirb.com/\" rel=\"nofollow ugc\">Posted using PostyBirb</a></p>\n"
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.api.json · embedded sidecar fallback Download
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He donned his regalia; the high-gloss latex raiments in solar gold and brilliant white, hugging his strong frame with an accentuated shape. He drove off on in his four-wheel-drive following the GPS. Partway through the journey, it seemed as if though the directions had changed. An unfamiliar twist that he was almost certain he had not seen before. It was a simply correction, one that did not appear in any way to be malign at the time.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The manor was up ahead on his trail with an unpaved lot just ahead. He saw what looked to be decorations from afar. The manor appeared to be in right order for the festival, but the vehicles parked at the lot appeared to be in various states of disrepair. This is no way to treat such fine machines. He would have to have a word with someone about these. They looked as though they had been rotting here for years with the differences between them being stark. But that was for another time. Ikanov’s rubber boots pleasantly sunk into the yielding as he got out. A wonderful feeling. And no problem for him clear off in those environment-proof raiments.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He made his way to the manor, a spectre amidst the cobfields, spires piercing the sky where constellations mocked familiarity. The stars. The stars were wrong. He noticed it immediately. Looking back, the parking lot was gone, replaced by an expanse of wilderness. Looking at the manor, it dawned on him that something anomalous was occuring. The moon. It was not the Great Daughter. It was someone else. The surface was wrong. The color was baleful. It did not reflect the light of the Great Father. This was someone else’s daddy in the sky. The decorations that dotted the manor moved. They twitched. Writhing as if in pain. Grasping and struggling against their binds.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>Ikanov had seen and realized all of this in a short instant and turned tail. It didn’t take much for him to realize it was not safe here. His rubbery clothes squeaked and squirked while his boots plodded and squelched in the mud. He tried to run, he really did, but he got nowhere. He was only slipping in place as the ground began to greedily swallow his latex-gilded body. His knees slipped beneath as he was stuck in place. He reached down to try and free himself but the ground only siezed his paws. He was yanked. He yelped as his back arched and was forced into a painful position. He felt tar rising from the ground. A viscous, bluish white wax that filled the gaps in his raiments, devouring them and him. It plunged into his mouth, gagging him as he choked on the wax. It covered his face and soon he was left unable to breathe.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He gasped and gasped and gasped as the wax clamped and crushed his body. He yelped in pain. He felt his head swimming he felt his lungs burning. Breathlessness. Acute hypercapnia. 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He knew.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The Feral Manor had taken in a new collection. A new harvest festival from a distant world. More decorations with new victims from another unlucky world. For Ikanov, it would be Shroudveil unending. No more teachings. No more celebration, just the intimate latex eternity until he himself loses his mind and goes</p></div>\n<div class=\"align-center\"><p>feral<br> </p></div>\n<hr><hr>\n\n<p></p><div>Featured characters and owners:<br>Shroudveil Jack-o-lantern - Ikanov (Starfoth)<br>Halloween Jack-o-lantern - Pumpbree (Caou)<br>Scarcrow - Kikko (Kikko)<br>Gumbale - Mittens (Tyler)<br>Gumbale - Milly (Miller)<br>Gumbale - Ranako (Tuch)<br>Gumbale - Rhys (Rhys)<br> <br>Alt Version: <a href=\"https://www.weasyl.com/~starfoth/submissions/2571481/the-cobfields\">https://www.weasyl.com/~starfoth/submissions/2571481/the-cobfields</a> </div><br><br><p><a href=\"http://www.postybirb.com/\" rel=\"nofollow ugc\">Posted using PostyBirb</a></p>\n",
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.description.json · embedded sidecar fallback Download
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"description": "<p>WARNING: DARK</p>\n<div><p>In the frost-kissed hinterlands of the DRST, where the Great Father’s light pierced the chill like a divine lance, Diocesian Ikanov tended to his rural parish with the quiet devotion of one who was deeply familiar with the cycle of seasons. Though silvered, his golden eyes burned with compassionate fire that never dimmed. Shroudveil approached, the DRST’s harvest festival where they pay respects to the Great Daughter. Moon-veiled nights honored the silver celestial body in the sky as she reflected the Great Father’s light in the nighttime, an ever-present reminder that he is always there.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>This year’s harvest festival would be at a communal estate in a neighboring area to the East. Ikanov hadn’t been out that way in quite some time, so he didn’t quite know what to look for aside from the address. He donned his regalia; the high-gloss latex raiments in solar gold and brilliant white, hugging his strong frame with an accentuated shape. He drove off on in his four-wheel-drive following the GPS. Partway through the journey, it seemed as if though the directions had changed. An unfamiliar twist that he was almost certain he had not seen before. It was a simply correction, one that did not appear in any way to be malign at the time.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The manor was up ahead on his trail with an unpaved lot just ahead. He saw what looked to be decorations from afar. The manor appeared to be in right order for the festival, but the vehicles parked at the lot appeared to be in various states of disrepair. This is no way to treat such fine machines. He would have to have a word with someone about these. They looked as though they had been rotting here for years with the differences between them being stark. But that was for another time. Ikanov’s rubber boots pleasantly sunk into the yielding as he got out. A wonderful feeling. And no problem for him clear off in those environment-proof raiments.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He made his way to the manor, a spectre amidst the cobfields, spires piercing the sky where constellations mocked familiarity. The stars. The stars were wrong. He noticed it immediately. Looking back, the parking lot was gone, replaced by an expanse of wilderness. Looking at the manor, it dawned on him that something anomalous was occuring. The moon. It was not the Great Daughter. It was someone else. The surface was wrong. The color was baleful. It did not reflect the light of the Great Father. This was someone else’s daddy in the sky. The decorations that dotted the manor moved. They twitched. Writhing as if in pain. Grasping and struggling against their binds.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>Ikanov had seen and realized all of this in a short instant and turned tail. It didn’t take much for him to realize it was not safe here. His rubbery clothes squeaked and squirked while his boots plodded and squelched in the mud. He tried to run, he really did, but he got nowhere. He was only slipping in place as the ground began to greedily swallow his latex-gilded body. His knees slipped beneath as he was stuck in place. He reached down to try and free himself but the ground only siezed his paws. He was yanked. He yelped as his back arched and was forced into a painful position. He felt tar rising from the ground. A viscous, bluish white wax that filled the gaps in his raiments, devouring them and him. It plunged into his mouth, gagging him as he choked on the wax. It covered his face and soon he was left unable to breathe.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>He gasped and gasped and gasped as the wax clamped and crushed his body. He yelped in pain. He felt his head swimming he felt his lungs burning. Breathlessness. Acute hypercapnia. And then… and then… it just continued. Burning, yearning. He did not pass out or die. The pain only flared as it became a agonizing torture session. He felt his bones creak and bend and break and reform as the invasive wax seeped in through his skin to make adjustments to his insides. Finally, a pop. Something fixed over his head, firmly, roughly. He felt his neck snap once, twice, three times until it was fixed into a new position. He was left shaking, stumbling, now free from the mud as four boots plodded in the mud. His body squeaked loudly. His glossy form underneath the baleful moonlight.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The manor had remade him. In some twisted design, it had made him into a Shroudveil decoration. A white jack-o-lantern with blue eyes. He could see nothing. But he knew. Somehow he knew. By the weight of his head. By the sight of the fresh decorations on the manor he had seen before. He knew.</p></div><div><br></div>\n<div><p>The Feral Manor had taken in a new collection. A new harvest festival from a distant world. More decorations with new victims from another unlucky world. For Ikanov, it would be Shroudveil unending. No more teachings. No more celebration, just the intimate latex eternity until he himself loses his mind and goes</p></div>\n<div class=\"align-center\"><p>feral<br> </p></div>\n<hr><hr>\n\n<p></p><div>Featured characters and owners:<br>Shroudveil Jack-o-lantern - Ikanov (Starfoth)<br>Halloween Jack-o-lantern - Pumpbree (Caou)<br>Scarcrow - Kikko (Kikko)<br>Gumbale - Mittens (Tyler)<br>Gumbale - Milly (Miller)<br>Gumbale - Ranako (Tuch)<br>Gumbale - Rhys (Rhys)<br> <br>Alt Version: <a href=\"https://www.weasyl.com/~starfoth/submissions/2571481/the-cobfields\">https://www.weasyl.com/~starfoth/submissions/2571481/the-cobfields</a> </div><br><br><p><a href=\"http://www.postybirb.com/\" rel=\"nofollow ugc\">Posted using PostyBirb</a></p>\n"
}