Because it’s rather pointless to ask what people would “like to see / read / learn more of” when the greater part of your project is entirely unknown to them, here is a crash-post on the Levels and who rules them in relation to the Infernal Opera. I wanted to pair these with mini illustrations, but I won’t have any time to take care of that until much later, and I’m all for instant gratification - so here they are:
Rulership of Hell’s Levels of Punishment as of current times is as follows:
Pride, First Level, ruled by Isxunhek the Warmonger, 752 Founder: Isxunhek is one of 1,000 cycling incarnations of the Founder, the strongest being in all of Hell below Hell itself. Isxunhek is Hell’s most decorated General, a cunning devisor of destruction and war machines both living and non. Considered the most merciful of the Founder’s faces, Isxunhek does not Punish without just Judgement. However, it does not know forgiveness. All other demons in Hell are wary of its vast armies and unfeeling nature. Its children are Pride’s only sentient people.
Gluttony, Second Level, ruled by Yomesh: Hell’s most jubilant of rulers, Yomesh is a demon of class and impromptu celebration. However, his welcoming demeanor overshadows a system of dictatorship and paranoia. Under the rule of Yomesh, Gluttony is the only Level that still openly practices slavery, segregation, and unregulated information surveillance amongst the demon populace. Yomesh controls all forms of information or people coming into and leaving Gluttony, which he is very careful to hide. The city of Nis is often referred to as the Gilded Prison by emigrants for this reason.
Wrath, Third Level, ruled by the Conflictor: Known as the Worm, the Conflictor is the least accommodating of Hell’s rulers. It cares only for gratuitous displays of violence, spending its time pitting the Damned under its rule against one another in its great Coliseum built in the crown of Rrg’mndrr, the Tree of Violence. Its sibling is Maunstrou, the Godkiller, which it has disowned and denies any relation with should the subject ever arise.
Envy, Fourth Level, ruled by Morziel: Known as the Tri-Faced Eagle, Morziel is Hell’s greatest manufacturer of weapons. Its armaments are the literal envy of Hell, the demon spares no expense for presentation or effectiveness. Morziel’s three faces represent the jealousies of the past, present, and future. An appreciator of the chaos created by manipulators of religion, Morziel collects holy and blasphemous imagery and items. Its weapon of choice is the Unbeliever’s Hammer, a combination sword and bludgeon wrought in the image of a blasphemic crucifix.
Greed, Fifth Level, ruled by Ellis: Hell’s least competent of rulers, Ellis personifies Greed’s qualities to a fault. Considered unfit to rule by her subjects she has become a shut-in, turning her Fortress into a personal asylum. Under her rule Jis has fallen to extreme poverty and disrepair under obscene tax laws to feed Ellis’ lust for any and all possessions. The people of Greed subsist on thievery, poisoned water, and cannibalism. The outrageous costs to live in Jis have prompted many to attempt to escape the Level, but Ellis enforces a hefty “emigration tax” to prevent her subjects from leaving.
Sloth, Sixth Level, ruled by Uvogis: Hell’s most scholarly of rulers, Uvogis is rumoured to have been a pupil to the Ten-Faced Beast, Hell’s only Lord Over Sin. Uvogis rules Sloth with an apathetic fist, his people primitive and animalistic. The fumes of the River Lethe destroy the memories of the people of Sloth throughout their lives, rendering those closest to the banks unable to remember names, words, or who they are. The city of Uis stands in disrepair and wreckage the further from the Fortress it extends, resembling marsh flotsam.
Lust, Seventh Level, ruled by Magara, the Lady of the Lust: Lust’s most current in a long line of controversial crown-holders, Magara has set a standard in Lust’s social culture by promoting equality in Punishment. She is considered the most progressive of the Level Lords but her stances should not be confused with ideals of mercy or allowance of weakness. Magara is a brutal ruler over the Damned that funnel to her Fortress, and she spares no quarter to demons who dare to tamper with her patience.
Dis, Eighth Level, home of the Four Horsemen and the Ambassadors of Darkness: Dis is watched over by the Ambassadors of Darkness, who reside in the High Chapel of Dis and the House of the Fly. A monument to urban chaos, the Level of Dis is covered by housing of every shape, size, and class, with no bare strip of land spared. Demons of greater social class are housed towards the centre of the Level, while those of lower birth crowd the outer expanses. The Level is so densely populated it is, as a whole, a city. Low-cost housing is built in layers in an effort to give the sheer number of demons living in Dis a roof. Due to its incredibly high population density, each rise and fall of Algol results in the destruction of billions of homes and the deaths of just as many demons.
Pandemonium, Ninth Level, home of Cerberus, Originallsin, and the Grigori: Considered unholy ground, few civilised people roam Pandemonium. Hidden in its wastelands lies Originallsin, the manifestation of the Sin of Knowledge, forbearer to all forms of Sin and Vice. Buried around it are the bodies of its children, the Grigori, angels born to burn in Hell for all eternity. Most Grigori lay dead, their bodies converted into great chapels by the Puric, angels who fell from Heaven in the age before the Ten-Faced Beast. Those that still live breathe once every one-thousand years. The most notable of the Grigori is the Watcher, a single angel still in the throes of being born, caught half-delivered from his mother’s womb since ancient times.
Obnox Abyss, Tenth Level, home of the Dark and the Soul of Hell: Considered scared ground, no creature of Heaven or Hell dwells within the Obnox Abyss. Within this Level lies the Dark, the eyes, ears, and tongue of Hell, and Hell’s Soul, the manifestation of Hell’s consciousness. The Abyss possesses a single construction, the remains of an ancient castle of an unknown builder. At its centre rests the full account of Hell’s history, penned by an unknown hand.
Robert Johnson Was Wrong
Not a cloud was in the sky,the day was warm and soundless as the mid-day rolled in over the middle of nowhere,one tall tree lay in the wake of the outskirts of a great wasteland like open plain,a small dirt road went not far from the tree but if one looked in both directions there was nothing to see for miles around,one big void of any kind of life just the air dancing over the dust sweeping across wasteland,the lone tree was old yet still green casting a shade how it survived in this wasteland was a good question ,from said shade came a hum of an old tune Crowley sat in said shade looking over the passing dust clouds unfazed by the rising temperature of the day after all contrary to popular belief they ran very cold,looking back to the tree above his head at one specific spot where an initial ‘A’ was carved he smirked “Told you,you’ll wait forever didn’t I?” he commented to the tree before looking back over to the plains as the tune continued a thud near by was heard as if of someone falling on the dirt ground he almost laughed
I love seeing you discuss IO again, worldbuilding is so delicious and boy do you provide. Now my question is what are these "gods" you mentioned? Where do they come from and how powerful are they? They sound like all sorts of fun.
Hoo, are you referring to the gods mentioned in this post? Gods in general manifest via the faith provided by those who created / believe in them. Their “power” varies depending on what their people believe of them / what they believe their god can do. However, a god’s true power is limited by the number of people who believe in them. EX: a god believed to be able to create a world would probably be able to do just that, provided enough people believed in it. If only a small number of individuals worshiped that god, it wouldn’t be able to accomplish such a feat. Decreasing faith will weaken and eventually destroy a god. A god with no believers will die / fade back into the void from which is was conceived unless it chooses to continue living in either Heaven, Hell, or wherever, but bereft of its godly powers.
Pigface was originally a god of love and fertility, but people converting away from the faith that built him weakened and drove him insane. He cannibalised his celestial host (ate his children) in an effort to stay alive but eventually succumbed to madness entirely and killed his own people. Without anyone to believe in him he fell to the void. His anger towards being “robbed” of his people kept him alive long enough for Urd to find and tempt him with a chance for vengeance.
Maunstrou is a demon who has gained godly status by murdering gods and then posing as them to their believers, taking their faith for himself. He has rewritten scriptures to suit the Dement’ted gospel. The gods he’s murdered include Yahweh and Ra.
ETA ETA: I totally forgot to mention, gods of any kind are not specifically of human make. Gods can be created by anything with sentience.
crispyfishsticks said: Heaven forbid they have to scroll a little more than usual.
That’s pretty much my feelings on the matter. Just hit the Pg Dn button once or twice and the post is out of the way. It brings up another concern too, it’s too easy to blast by a readmore cut on the dash, I want these posts to be visible so that they can be easily seen by those who look forward to them.
silvermender said: Oh! So that’s why both folks from hell and above aren’t cool with these. Stepping outside boundaries pisses them off! That’s niiiice
Not quite! The reasons for others hating the Dement’tians so much isn’t as simple as them being rule-breakers (though said rules are in place for a reason, largely for everyone’s benefit and breaking them causes major, major problems). It’s a bit of a text wall to explain it properly, essentially I’d have to put down how Hell works and just how Dement’tia achieves total dismantlement of that system, and I don’t know how much sense that would truly make at this particular point as so much is in turmoil world-building wise. But on a basic level, part of the reason the War is taking place is because Urd was the one who declared war on Hell, and took power that did not belong to him. Urd is a tyrant, and his methods of rule and his gospel are self-destructive. The Overlord and his people have no foresight in regards to the future consequences of their current actions, which could result in the dissolution of Hell / Heaven / Limbo / Dement’tia itself. One of these “current actions” is that Dement’tians also practice soul-destruction, which is essentially converting conscious souls into non-conscious energy to power their machines. Souls converted in this way cannot reach salvation (re: the soul can’t die, more info on that here!), as they can no longer comprehend their state of being, being reduced to a murmuring, nonsentient pool of waste.
A lot of this would be easier to explain if older written pieces like Mad God and Chef’s Lament were still in my galleries, but everything is in storage and both of these pieces are so outdated that they’d probably cause more confusion rather than clear it.
Les Miserables
a Row of men stood stiffly in the conference room in a line looking straight ahead of them the silence was broken when the doors to the room suddenly flew open as a messenger ran in “Sir, She took the bait and is planning to go find the artifact with that wingflapper” the messenger all but yelled in one breath,a laugh was heard as a high back chair twirled around “Lovely then all is according to plan,oh make sure you let them get to it after all we do wish the prophecy to work don’t we gentlemen?” Crowley commented with a smirk glancing over to the people in the room who exchanged uneasy looks “Once the lady sings and our dimension rift is open we can get the plan along, after all” he waved a hand as an old scroll appeared opening it he read with the smik still there “Darkened Clouds approach the grounds where the innocent victims await the outcome that could never be forseen.They come from beneath earth, they come to block out the sun, there will be no redemption, innocent blood spilled in the name of the King. As the trident rises so shall they rise and with them it.” getting up from his chair he moved to a window looking out at the rain clouds “They really have no idea what they’re starting, do they boys?” at that he laughed
It is after all the uninvited guests have left him alone, after the nest of bottles has bred itself into a forest spread across the living room table and floor. He has not slept; there has been no particular reason to, and besides, here he is free of the unreasonable demands that mortal forms make on their tenants. Free to simply lie draped across the couch, and stare, and feel his soul fluctuate from a flat grey fog to a thumping red rage and back again.
Why would anyone tell him the truth about something like that, come to it? Why would anyone see him as more than he was ever supposed to be? He didn’t ask to be anyone’s best. He didn’t ask to have that responsibility. He didn’t ask to step outside his comfort zone. He didn’t ask for any of this.
Except he has, hasn’t he? Daring to indulge himself in those old softer sentiments. Well, we know what happens to soft things now, don’t we? They get smashed. Dissolved and spread out and smeared past identification. Nothing left in that section of his heart now but an unrecognizable, unfathomable blur. Crowley. He hates him. He wants to break that elegant smirking face, not just for the lies but for leading him on, for making him feel like something more than he knew he was, for touching him. For getting into his bones in the first place. Just for existing.
He hasn’t had the chance to be this angry in a while. It feels good.
He knows what else would feel good, too. Throwing himself back into that comfort zone. Getting back to basics. Proving Crowley right. What the Hell is he but an appetite personified, anyway? And what the Hell is he good for — at — but embodying the worst of those appetites?
(He’s on his feet now, heading toward the mirror.)
He’s done with moping. Tonight, or whatever time it is, an old leaf. He’s going into work and he’s getting himself back on the torture circuit, but first he’s going out and blacking this whole affair out of his mind the only ways he knows how.
(He taps a foot and the mirror shows him a less haggard figure; gone the woebegone, the straggly hair and the shadows under the eyes. Leather and linen, too, a look he hasn’t gone for in a long time.
Nah.
A contemptuous flick of the fingers and there’s less linen and not so much more leather as more blatant leather, clinging in a manner that would make even those who aren’t into that sort of thing stare.
That’s better.)
When he opens the door it’s going to be onto what would be the party of the year Topside, with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and an entire pack of cigarettes in the other, and when some Levathinian catches his eye and comments nice to see you not standing against the wall for once, he’ll leer like a whip and shoot back how’d you like to put me to better use against the wall? and leave her blushing. And ten minutes later it’ll be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
That was three weeks ago.
