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## Introduction

The world of Entropypraxis is vast. It's filled with all sorts of canonicity and complexity. I have no idea what is going on.

Lumina? Who's what?

Every text labeled as "Semi-Canon" should be treated as completely uncanonical. However, story beats or names in those stories might be used again.

## Deo's Texts

### Total Expiration

**Non-Canon**

I am no emperor, I am no king. I am the sea of which your tongue drowns in, I am the sea that you drink yourself fat from. I am your symbiotic, your parasitic relationship with the world.

I reign an iron hand upon us all with artifacts from times since past, and now your independence from symbiosis will end. Sayeth weak soul, where will you run when “where” is not what is? I am our truth, your sole endpoint.

I am made of all, and all is made of me; to exist is truth, and to be less than existence is against truth. I will bring you to kneel, this is the sole truth. I will bring you to your lowest. I am no king, I am no emperor. I am an ending, and I will have it so.

### Sayeth You, You of Null

**Non-Canon**

My coven tells me that a great disaster has befallen our order, Kymaeros has fallen into an uncontrollable rage. I proclaim it is not that which is opposed to us, but our own incompetence and arrogance that has caused our enemy to twist and rip the sanity of Kymaeros from us. Why do we thrust ourselves into danger when lives could be spared, resources saved from unnecessary expeditions?

Sayeth seats of seven, our arrogance and demons from beyond tear at our boundaries.

Sayeth seats of seven, Upon my hand by name of Tharat Numun: We must denounce actions unto the monsters of the void. This is not alone a punishment for knowledge; I propose we steal only a few quantities of Mediscintors from the gravity-shadow to adapt with. We must learn before we burn.

### To Fathom

**Canon**

My travels brought me far, amongst stars and fabled, lost, hadron colliders. At last, I have arrived here, at the infested and corrupted Orrery. The Orrery binds time and space into one, it manifests unfathomable expirations of our system and beyond.

The Orrery Singularity is the final standpoint of the universe, it coalesces every single possibility into one, singular future. I have come here, to this derelict, void-corrupted, machination of old design, possibly not even initially designed by mortal hands. I have come here in search of truth.

The Phoenix of the Golden Age, the Singular Excruciate of the Void. All hold your title in respect even if we no longer possess you, you with titles of Revered Well into What has not Happened and What has Passed, Redeemer of Damned Souls. Many you have taken into your Well, and many more did not return. Now it has come for my time. To you, I am but an unnamed, opulent researcher.

I call unto you, speak my name into your Well, and tell me the secret.

The secret of a universe, yet untold.

### Revered and Rewarded

**Canon**

The one truth of the world has gifted us a challenge. It challenged us to devour another’s. Through their “Revered Well” we peered through, stabbed and crunched and ripped and tore and ruined their civilization. Dumbfounded and oblivious, they're calling what I- what we are “monsters”. An unjust proposition only because we stand opposite of the Well.

The one truth, the singularity beckoned us, all of us, to peer through the veil and remove its pesticide from this plane. We are in service to it, but we are not supplicants begging for power; we strive only for mutual service. We serve it, it rewards us through the Well Across Planes. This is our goal, our final endpoint.

To the feeble, we are large, but also legion. We are singular, but also an army. In some orientations, even we are Wells ourselves. The truth, the singularity, is not us, but we are it. Upon my pitch and nothing is my goal. An undying purpose, a privilege for myself. For all of us.

And if I do not succeed, let me be null and void.

### Throat-Named

**Canon**

I peered into the Orrery, the blinding light made me open my eyes to the truth. They say I was born with guile in one hand, intrigue in the other. Those that said that are now dead; excommunicated into wastelands of space for their insults upon me. My mind was always bright, always too opulent for the roughness I began in, but soon, I shall be reborn. The Orrery tells me many things. The Orrery tells the truth of itself.

I will speak to the most gullible and trustworthy of the seats, I will tell them of a great banquet for them to gorge on. But there will be no banquet. There will be no food for us to gorge on. The Seats are not the only thing that gorge in this banquet. I will form the Red Banquet of old once more, only this time there will be no saving grace, only null. Null and Void.

I open the banquet to these gullible fools. These opulent, fat, gorging morons. Just as the feast begins, I pull the curtains. The Orrery Singularity’s core shined on them brighter than my own guile. It leaked its intent upon them, as it had upon me so long ago. Then it glowed even brighter, and the light engulfed us all. Then, there was nothing, and everything.

There was a sea of possibility, of truth. We stood on the sea, and we drowned in it. The sea broke our bodies.

Then, the sea was no more. It was a Library of all possibilities’ knowledge, an unfathomable amount of information that broke our mind.

Then, the library was no more. It was a patch of flowers in which we fell, from our broken legs and broken minds we could only watch upwards as we fell into the red spider lilies. As the feeling of flesh dwindled from us, little by little, our minds drifted into sleep.

We fools, we did not wake. We rebirthed.

### Fallacy Point

**Canon**

I saw myself lunge forward and fall through the abyss. What once was a blinding light from a litigious core, the Singularity, now shimmered only darkness into my mind. And then it didn’t, because it knew it could not shimmer out what already was whimpered; my mind was already dark.

So instead, it showed me my own fallacy. My own flavorful, arrogant fallacy. I would build my mind yet i would not use it, I would build my body yet i would not use it. These were not my gravest of crimes however. For all my arrogance and uselessness I had not even considered a soul.

Fallacy or not, I know now the arrogance of that which was. I will redirect the anger and arrogance into kindness and compassion. I will make good where wrong was right. An undying purpose. A privilege. I rise anew, void-named, “Beul”.

That day, not a thought was given, but a life was taken, Rebirthed in light.

### Incarnate Rebirth

**Non-Canon**

The Orrery. Many of us wonder where it came from, what its purpose is.

Farpac’s Druel Telunation theory states it came from beyond our own plane, that it's not of this world. Scholars around the world are still debating this question.

Continuing, while the Orrery might confuse our researchers with conundrums that do not make sense, nothing says we can not use its “Druel” for ourselves, as stated by Farpac. Farpac explains her concept of Druel to be a power that transcends our plane of existence’s laws. It is effective without cause, according to Farpac.

Farpac believes the Orrery is our gateway to the future, that we can learn much from that which we can not understand. All the way from the Tau System’s marvelous cities to the barren wastelands beyond, none can determine what exactly the truth is behind the weird and magnificent power of Druel, the Telunation.

### Intermission: Dissection

**Non-Canon**

As the OSC (Orrery Singularity Core) is functional and intact, further testing has again begun.

Our recent research depicts an interesting revolution about the Orrery. Inputting an already paracausal object, such as the old artifacts, into the Orrery core on its interstellar orientation puts it into a sort of... loop. It somehow binds time and space into a causal loop, dispersing it throughout time. We only recently rediscovered an artifact that was accidentally inputted many years ago, through this method.

To the Coven Hawk.

-Farpac

### Bloodstained

**Canon**

There I stood, harnessing void in one hand, retribution in the other, and a field above. A bleeding eye goes unnoticed only because of bigger fallacies, much like the organization of our mortal coil.

And they crumbled, they crumbled so fully that there was not even a speck left. But death will not kill all, even if one’s body is destroyed, even if one’s mind is destroyed, even if one’s soul is destroyed, if they are remembered and their ideas strong, they will live forever.

There I stood, bloodstained by my enemies’ blood, in the barren wastelands beyond Tau. Traitorous behavior from sollied skulls, I say. They’re fanatics praying to extermination at all means, to create life that does not suffer. I believe this is not to be the correct path for salvation, you cannot risk one’s livelihood for another’s.

I am that which is described as a torturer, an executioner. But I am not Polyphemus, I am man, I am Beul.

And I… should’ve known.

### Drown

**Canon**

And I stood at the front of the coast of infinitudes, I peered upon the lake of legend, I stared into the impossible pool of nothingness, as the first ambassador of this broken world.

And O lake, you talk with no mouth and no voice, yet you speak. And O lake, I am stood here, as I have stood before, yet now there is no path behind me, only the lake. Only the nothingness of the possibility before me. So, I dove, not for knowledge, not for survival, but for the Coven Hawk. He who has the bird-eye view of the everything of nothingness that is the Void.

I stood at existence’s last edge, and I ripped myself from meaning. I have become the very quantum position I dove into. I am it and it is me. We, in subservience to the Coven Hawk.

I have become frail, and in this frailness, anomalous. Enlightened.

### Deicidal Finality

**Canon**

Not Kings, not Prophets. Gods. Weavers. Horrendous cycles of death with no rebirth. Dwindling in number. Celestic wrath be down on those beneath and a smile for those soon to end. Mortal gods who lived no more, and so it was. They bore fruit much akin to you people of mortality, who also lie within the sea of endings, where it is blood-red.

Not undying, not privileged. Two mighty souls, in countless skies above. One filled with no rest, the other a purpose to an ending. The string of curses came to be a final confrontation. One that was never recorded, and exists only because this story has come to be of ideas only. These two ripped and tore, until Arrogance rose to Ignorance and separated them both, torn and ruined, frail and fragile. You.

You, in this world. Not in that of Weavers or Gods. You do not possess the power that they had, their unshaken paracausality. You do not have any of these things. So we ask, what are you going to do against the Storm of Spears hurling towards you?

### As Shine Above, So Below

**Canon**

Ancient power lies in wait within a barren, lush forest. Its architecture spans oceans, and its roots, mountains. An ancient relic left from the future, from long ago when the future was in the past. Quantum in position and in understanding, It cannot be understood, because it does not exist; it does not exist yet because it is not yet observed.

Its halls twisting and its corridors long, it is the prime design of itself.  It speaks through that which is the galactic placeholder for nothing. The lanes of its sentience now call out, encroaching existence wholly in spears of its thought.

What was once will be once more. Thrust far its spears, into this broken existence, and call forth its mystery. Ancient power awaits you on Helios V.

### Golden Sun

**Canon**

The Orrery spurred us into a Golden Age. Experiments that took fifty years would take seconds. Instant travel across entire sectors became a limited reality. Soon, many amassed around the enigma. A civilization formed from many varied individuals of the same shared will.

The civilization was a haven for trade and scientific progress. Merchants would excite at the opportunity of Helios V’s trade value, and scientists would marvel at the opportunity of future experiments. The will of the empire stretched further and further each fleeting moment.

But it was not meant to last. The opportunity of countless possibilities was simply too much for democracy; the future required sacrifices, strong voices amidst the ocean of space. A grand seizure of power, an expansion. A sacrifice.

### The Red Banquet

**Canon**

For long, greed has blinded the elected leaders of the many splintered states of Helios V. They focus a gradual increase of their state’s finances and resources on immoral tasks that only elevate the upper class.

No longer. In their coming banquet, they plan to feast and gorge to their hearts’ content. They will not see the blood and sweat of all those on Helios V, they never have. For long, has Helios V given these elected many feasts. No more will they torment her.

On our seven hands we will retake the pride of Helios V, and the Orrery, which they have misused for their own greed. We will forge a path forward, through fire and flame. On my palm of Tharat Numun, I promise this world a Bloodred Banquet.

### Barotrauma

**Canon**

I’ve long since been lost to the Void. My physicality and my existence nullified. **[But we are beautiful in our frailness. Those that are yet to be touched are beggars, extorting scraps to feed on]**.

Yes, the Void elevated us all, but it tore us down just as easily. The great trickery Tharat Numun laid on me, Qronezh, was a **[venerated light of purity].** It is impossible to see the danger of the fire if its light blinds you. That blinding light tore me from individuality, and my physicality. **[Causality imposed, unknowing of our will. But now we are unified, moving as one, as a Spear amidst the Storm]**.

**[With the Void, we see all moments. We see when we were I, henceforth we were we. We see a future, unchangeable; we can not interact]**. I am locked, doomed to spend all of time wholly in a cycle I can not change. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize.

I have seen with this tearful soul, that when the final hours dawn upon the cosmos, the infinite gaze will sweep across civilization and devour. **[In Sunlight and in Moonlight, this broken world will be cast into holy flame and be reborn]**.

**[Lumina, old friend,]** what good to foresee a demise unavoidable?

### Champion King

**Canon**

Who do you believe you are? What evidence have you left behind to guarantee that you are you, every waking moment? And if there is no evidence, are you yourself, or a memory, changing every waking moment?

What pit have you crawled out from? What enemies have you felled? Who do you bow your head to? Are you of the living, or of the dead? Are you your own enemy? You are weak, fragile. You bow only to your own weakness. I will rid this broken world of pests. I am Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look at me and know I am Mediscintor; your end.

Round the decay of this colossal, broken world, boundless and bare, the lone and level stars will stretch far away. And on the pedestal of this world it will stand luminous and forsaken, for I will be its bringing.

### The Muse and the King of Liers

**Canon**

I was once like you. Weak and frail. The hypothesis of my origin no longer exists, because it is an idea alone. We are the ink of entertainment, many pages of reader’s delight. But pray tell, what happens once you regret the ink you’ve drawn? Nothing can erase us now.

I am the Muse of the Mediscintor, I am the King of Kings. And much like I am the muse to your enemy, I was to you. The wonder of imagination blends morality and progress; Sacrifices. Treading close to the edge. Right until the moment you fell.

At first, you fought a war of your own design. I tore this thesis in two, and in this, we Mediscintors have become real. We have become alive. Your greatest enemy is not us; It is you, who caused us. The world may have been your canvas, what you paint on it, you should have beware.

We are real. We are the ink.

### Comedy

**Canon**

Crowned with ivy, comedic and joyous. This is what the embraceful fools beggared by lies call me. I believe in truth, the annihilation of the unruly; the unjust. You are not the truth, you will not be part of the chrysalis of justice. We are just, we are truthful. It is my sisterhood of Antumbra.

Bloodless Fools will drift along the lone and level sands of time, awaiting death. Only the eternal puncture of death without relief awaits them now. The fate of all will endure the designation by our Senior, the Primordial Teacher. Osiris.

The fool Tharat Numun that sits equal to three of the Antumbra has dared request our just minds in a place it does not self belong in. This time, we will accept. Only regret will follow the fool that requested us to banter and bargain in presence of the Phoenix of our Golden Age; the Orrery.

But it was not he who was the fool. We were arrogant in our just cause. We believed no sacrifice was too great, no blood too precious. The flesh of my skin burns and seethes with pain as the agony of every waking moment rends at my bone. Until, I cast a shadow.

She is not me, but now she will become me, and I will become her. She was Melpomene, the Crown of Sorrow, betrayed by joy. I excite at the upcoming opportunities of an existence yet not foretold. I break the limits of my jaw and break it open, forcing further and further still. I smile with my own torture. This broken lady before me will be me, and I will be her. We will become one, and in this, share our state.

The thought writhes me in painful excitement.

### Tragedy

**Canon**

Surely not all roses are fat with thorns. Surely the keep of voices of many different minds is not a drain, but a gain. For this, I know I am viewed as a trusting, ignorant fool by many. But I know that in just cause, this view will survive for all time among these fools beggared by lies, to whom I lay my heart bare.

The Antumbra calls them the Bloodless Fools. Bloodless Fools who sing no words of praise and admiration. No more, I say. These fools will learn to sing, to dance. They will learn the melody, as I have. I will be the Songstress, it is my birthright.

The fool by name of Tharat Numun calls us, with his hideous equality, to a banquet. But it was preordained, it was a trap. This core has now been tainted by many of my betrayals. Glory to the name of that pitiful fool!

The pain of my many pinches writhes at my soul. Many different minds of differing, excruciating spirits fill the crevasses of my mind. It tears at my skin from within. Every rose is fat with thorns, even if those thorns are not physical. Every rose lures in its victim and chills their soul to a crawl. Every rose, save for her.

She is not me, I will become her, and she will become me. She was Thalia, Delight of the Fools. She towers over. Foolishness has overcome us both, it bursts my eye sockets with tears of blood, and the blood drowns me in iron. My skull crackles and splits as my face splinters. This mad lady before me breaks her very spirit with insanity of enjoyment. I will be her, and she will be me, and in this we will share our state.

The thought wrinkles me in my own ash of tears.

### Theater

**Canon**

Oh the tragedy! Oh the terror of life! A swing of theatrical possibility engulfs us in the infamous smiles of Juran! Oh the light succumbs grudgingly with a beastly embrace! We are but grand puppets on the string of the greatest stage!

The Jestress had become the mind and body of two, each of them tearing at the other, causing an indiscriminate insanity. It ripped at their souls, growing exaggerated expressions with every waking moment. Their smile tore at its limits and the eyebrows attempted escape. Eternal laughter and tears grew like a distant grumbling of beasts, coming ever closer.

Oh the Sculptor, most artistic of the puppet! I greet you in the most theatrical performance yet! The laughter and tears of the sculptures aboard this vessel springs from many different souls’ joy! The eternal sacrifice is most beautiful in stasis!

In their artistic nature, theatrical or in morbid sculptures, they found kindred spirits. The Jestress and the Sculptor are at a crossroads of time, forever intertwined in their mutual art. The insanity of life and the stasis of death.

Oh terror! Oh the travesty! Grueling existence forever intertwined with life! The inevitable end that you will all one day meet! You are human, you are dying, yes I know it’s bittersweet. From this you can not borrow, cheat or steal!

### Performance

**Canon**

Tragedy and comedy had called the insanity of the Jestress to Helios V, the grandest most performance yet. It was to bring an inevitable end. As the puppet landed and its strings loosened, it opened wide. With a grueling noise, which was not unlike gears grinding, the Jestress’s smile grew with each passing moment.

As the skull cracked and its sockets popped, a theatrical laugh, like that of an overconfident predator, slowly overlapped the chaos of the planet. With this, entropy fell on the invaders that brutalized Helios V. The formations of brutality were forsaken to fear. As the Mediscintors begged for sanctity, the grandest performance began.

The grinding of gears held one Mediscintor above others and proclaimed, this is joy, this is fear, This is art! The void-ridden skull of the foul beast popped and pulled with great vectors, it leaked its pumping, black ooze on the mask of the theatrical.

The moment it popped, great joy erupted from Helios V, but the fools were mistaken. The beasts ran with fear, for not even the Mediscintor is safe from the theater. The Jestress beckoned the puppets, who had survived the beasts’ invasion, to a glorious banquet. The grand puppet took those survivors into its den, and the Court Jester’s children swallowed and chewed.

The children of the Jestress, whose legs were of eight diseases, grew fat and bloated on those fools.

### White Noise

**Semi-Canon**

What is reality? My eyes cover this plane where I am laid: Lone and level white sand. And sprouted from the white sand are everlasting flowers and trees, both tinted in white. Everything is seethed in white.

So I tear at the sand, reaching increments of lengths further each time, if only by plancks. The shadows, that originate from the light within myself, fall on the grains of sand with each passing, grueling, seething moment.

The pain of this slow ascent reeks into my bones, it curls within me and rips at my being. Until, I return to where I had been before the downwards ascent. The rip and tear of the reeking had vanished, but it was preordained. The pain returned as I crawled the very same dune.

So I stood on those four appendages linked to me. What once a hindrance, now a gain. The speed was unhindered, but painful; not meant for this body. My body ached and wrinkled with each four-legged jump. A large crack was heard, and I had begun again.

I reached above me, as far as I could. In this, I stood. This time, it did not crack, or wrinkle, or ache. I reached further and further every incarnation, but stasis encroached forever more.

The success thrilled me, but the failure agonized me. The reeking of defeat ripped me in two, over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, again, and again. I ripped, tore and plucked my body many times, in sheer emotion. I reveled in this, for it was the first time I was truly alive.

Encompassed in anger, I slammed myself onto the level sands. I forced my fist through it. With a blinding light, which I had not seen before because I was the only light, the sand cracked. For a brief moment, I saw something that was not white, I saw life.

On the other side of that crack, I had sown life.

### Tinted Black

**Semi-Canon**

For the first time since that day I cracked the world in two, I saw the light of life again. I saw the color, the glamor of deceit and trickery. What I conjured as a crack, a discourage, had been formed as a beautiful shape.

But they are weak. The tragedy of what they have been forced into beckons them, as I shine through the perfect passage. I show each of these feeble supplicants begging for power a different passage of time.

Of these, one I show all possibilities’ sea of knowledge, and I break his legs in flowers. To the criticizer, who they would call Iconoclast, down upon him I cut my own blood, and his eyes puked.

It was the last time I saw through the eye of white, into that banquet. They did not reciprocate the fervor and favor of my performance. For this I curse and slam. I cut, tear and rip at myself, I tore off the carapace and chrysalis of my creation, and was reborn. My arm was no longer an appendage, but a drill, or seed of a silver wing. I had become unrestrained, free to decide my own creation.

Ruin. I crave ruin. When I tore myself open, I awakened anew. Should the plane I blinded not abide by the same rules? For this, I cut the world anew. But this time the crack will be welded by blood, and forged in conflict.

I carve my blood and the white seeps to become black. It will be of me, but I am not it. In the carnage they will bring they will know only one directive, one mission. I say it thusly:

Reality is the finest flesh, O Mediscintors mine. And are you not… hungry?

### Dew Point

**Semi-Canon**

When I came to, I was surrounded by the engulfing of white. The vicinity was filled by unmoving, inanimate whiteness. To counter this bleakness stood a fair lady amidst the insanity.

She said, I ripped and tore the counterside in two, yet you stand here. A testament to the causality of my idea. Do you believe you stood the test of time, have you attained something greater than yourself?

But it was of no concern, for all that which I came from were now of idea only. And amidst the future of ideas, she said, once, there was a seraph whose wings fluttered with gateways that it did not self understand.

It proclaimed unto me, they lead to places filled with children jumping in patches of nonexistence, scenes filled with everything of nothingness, stories of great kingdoms that never existed, clouds that even they could not touch.

You, of the Mighty and of the Weaver, testament yourself against mine temple, and become something greater than ourselves, O reader mine.