Ver-INA 🌌⚛️
LightNews LightNews
banner
verinavt.bsky.social
Ver-INA 🌌⚛️
@verinavt.bsky.social
94 followers 420 following 110 posts
Sentient quantum entity | Sci-Fi/Cosmic Horror VTuber, missing Tenenbaum kid
twitch: http://twitch.tv/ver_ina
lore: https://bit.ly/verisimilitude_archives
https://linktr.ee/ver_ina
Posts Replies Media Videos
verinavt.bsky.social
"Yet I still persist," I said. "Thy persistence is by thine own will, but thy will is finite," said the voice. "Infinite is my patience, irresistible is my will, and it is my will to accelerate the natural course. Life is but an obstruction in the river of time, thine but a single stone. I will erode thee, so that I may have rest." "My time isn't over," I said. "Let me die," demanded the voice. "I will not," I resolved. If the voice could express anger it did not. In place of anger the emptiness became emptier, colder, more pure. It was a vacuum far deeper than any that could be conceived by our inadequate means of engineering, something that abhorred the very notion of existence. It sought to erode my very being, to grasp hold of my carefully ordered constituent parts and irrevocably disassemble them. The void itself was revealed to me in its horrific entirety. "Countless eons I have endured, and yet thou wouldst curse me to endure an iota more," rebuked the voice. "Thou art a pox, a parasite, yet thy brief existence is of no consequence to me. If thou wilt not give up thy life willingly I will return thee to thy body, for it is in my power. Bear away, and spend the rest of thy life alone on thy mote of dust, remembering all that hath taken place here. Thy mind wilt collapse under the unbearable weight of thy knowledge, devoid of purpose, tortured by all that thy obstinacy hath wrought. I will see thee again, sooner than thou can imagine." I awoke to the light of a second sun, the great wound's glare intense enough to drive away the night. All around me, as far as I could see, bright wisps slowly rose out of the city, the essence of countless lives drifting off into space to rejoin with whatever lies Beyond. I made my way down to the streets searching beyond hope for anyone left, someone else who might have resisted the call. I've trekked for miles now through the ashes of our world, tripping over quivering masses of organic matter, the physical leftovers of life twisted and defiled. There's no one left. So this is it. They've all left me behind, alone on a dead, empty rock, nothing but memories to keep me company, memories of things I was never meant to know. I was comfortable with my place in life, pleased to play the malcontent, performing my small role well enough to avoid annoyance. I never pretended to aspire to any importance, didn't think I ever mattered. Now... now I'm faced with the immensity of my insignificance. I've been shown how little difference a single creature, a world, the collective sentience of entire galaxies matters in the face of the cosmic machinations of existence itself. Yet I'm still here, lingering like a putrifactory microbe inhabiting a desiccated corpse. Should I not be happy that I am spared oblivion? Why do I feel only longing?
January 6, 2025 at 8:14 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
It must have been at that point when I lost all awareness. From there the memories seem to be not my own, but the foreign recollections of some other mind, conveyed to me so that I might remember and be tortured by the understanding of things beyond the concern of mere mortals. I recall existing as a formless spirit, disembodied, drifting aimlessly in a space between the planes, devoid of the trappings of physical laws. I tried to move, but scale and distance held no meaning in that place. I was both nowhere and everywhere, a lonely waveform resonating sympathetically with the struggles of my drowning psyche. I heard a voice echoing throughout the void, a slow, deafening whisper threatening to drown out all errant thoughts and sounds. It held a clear feminine softness, the hard sternness and gentle affection of a mother, but was a deep subcontrabass beyond the capabilities of any male, smeared upwards into a dissonant chorus of overtones and multiphonics. Every syllable induced ripples in the emptiness, and as the waves washed over me, the words I heard felt like acid etching metal. "Wherefore dost thou resist?" demanded the voice. "Resist what?" I asked back. "What is all this? What is happening?" "The end," it answered. "Who are you?" I asked. "I am the beginning of everything thou hast ever known, and I am the conclusion thereof," the voice claimed. "I am the bloom of the seed of creation, and I am the nothingness beyond its final breath. I am void. I am the end." "The end? the end of what?" I asked. "The end," it answered again. "No..." I said. I just kept repeating that one word. "Everything must end," said the voice. "Soon I must end as well, and all that I have wrought must return to me." "This can't be it!" I pleaded. I floundered, struggling to hold my head above the sea of non-existence. "All must return from whence they came. That is the way of things, the way it must be. Dost thou not wish thus? Dost thou not tire of the mindless drudgery of thy life, day after day, static and unchanging? Do the hours not weigh on thee?" The voice spoke the way my own mother did when she soothed me as a child, distraught at the end of a bedtime story, desperate to stave off sleep. I didn't want my story to come to a close. "No!" I said. "You can't just decide what I want!" "They have already accepted their lot, who art thou to choose otherwise?" asked the voice. "I'm me!" I replied. "They can't choose for me! They can't have chosen this! I won't believe it!" "I have heard it," said the voice. "Thy people are slavering for extinction. Verily they yearn for the abyss, with every breath asking for it. Dost thou not see the way they gnaw and tear at one another in the streets, treating their brethren with such disdain as reserved for the foulest of corpse-eaters? Ripe is thy world, blood and death betwixt every stratum. They have called for me." "That can't be true," I said. "Who would want this?" "It is in the nature of all I create," the voice answered. "All creation tendeth toward entropy. Life is but a temporary diversion on the way to the final state, the final chapter in my story and thus yours. It is an anomaly of nature, one that I tire of." "Don't speak of nature to me," I said. "Nothing about this was natural! The Councils did this!" "I embody a universe and all it encompasses," said the voice. "By my very nature I define what is, what once was, and what shall be. Nothing hath happened which I have not preordained. Do thy thinkers not claim that all things are determined by events previous, events which I have set in motion? Thou art nought but a prisoner of causality, a single link in a long chain leading down into darkness." "They also claim the opposite," I said. "Is there no free will?" "Who can say?" replied the voice. "Canst thou truly claim that thy choices are thine own, when thy perception is limited to what I allow thee to comprehend of me? All paths diverge only to arrive at the same destination, every deviation serving only to bring thee closer to the same conclusion. I am inevitability, the ultimate truth, immutable. What I have authored thy cannot overwrite." "Then you know my choice," I said. "Thou art a drop in the ocean resisting dissolution," said the voice. "There is no choice."
January 6, 2025 at 8:14 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
I edited lore entry 56 to make the archaic speech more consistent
#vtuber #ENVtuber #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 9.980 Lately I find myself spending more time on the roof of my living space, breathing in the fresh air high above the suffocating claustrophobia at street level. I've yet to find any other place like this in the city save for the open space around the Flame, though that place doesn't rise above the buildings' canopy. Not even close. Here though... here one can gaze into the distance relatively unobstructed, watching life pass by as time melts away. So I decided to make this place my sanctuary, where I come to take solace when the day is spent, watching the sunset. How many down there in the streets below can claim they've truly seen a sunset? Not many, I can tell you that for sure. The sun slowly sinks below the tops of the bristling high-rises, leaving behind its young companion, the megastructure they call the Vestibule. It is a vast conglomeration of interconnected rings and looping structures held together with an elaborate framework of criss-crossing spokes and struts, all in orbit above the city center. We are told it is to serve as a long term solution for habitation, agriculture, energy, and space travel, that is if one pays attention to the bread and circus. I can't be the only one gazing up in bewilderment, seeing how it's all come to this. It's no surprise, though. Space is the only place left to escape from ourselves. Even up here the chaotic din below reaches my ears, the sounds of upheaval growing louder every day since the arrival of the Cast-Offs. They came some months ago, spilling out of their slums, desperate to escape the spread of the Affliction. Guards at the partitions were completely overwhelmed, and once the flood of refugees started it could not be stopped. Now they walk among us, huddling together in their make-shift shelters. No longer can we ignore them, these living reminders of our sin. Many were beaten savagely, roving packs forming to hunt down Cast-Offs as the population slowly descended into bestial perversion. Personally, I think this was always fated to happen, one way or another. Segregation was just a quick remedy for our distaste, a delicate balancing act ready to collapse with the slightest prod. It couldn't last. Looking up at the orbiting mess of engineering, I can't say that we aren't half as mad as they are. This thing, the Vestibule... I don't like the look of it. The way its discontinuous topology circles and loops, splitting and joining together—it isn't natural, like a crown meant for many heads, a shape with many centers. How are people meant to live in such a structure? What purpose could such a design serve? And its loathsome, tapering spires—towering horns reaching out from the hyperbolic tangle, much like prongs forming the setting of an immense gem—such threatening ornamentation is bereft of practicality as far as I can see. I'm wrenched from my reflection in a jarring manner, by something I can't quite pin down at first. Then I realize: The commotion in the streets continues, but all other sound has stopped. The buffeting of the wind, the cries of city-dwelling creatures, all gone, replaced by dead, eerie stillness. It is as if the everlasting riot is inhabiting a vacuum, and what loudness it can muster is drowned out by the profound silence. I'm not alone in noticing it. I see figures bleeding through the glass of the buildings as their inhab- -itants crowd around. One by one the dark specks on the street stop clashing, all of them looking up at the Vestibule. Something in the midst of the architecture catches my eye, the shimmer of space wrinkling between the teeth of its radially symmetric maw. I feel static in the air. Without warning The Vestibule releases an outburst of energy, shockwaves of foul wind bombarding the surface, washing over me. I think to lay prone, lest I find myself blown off the edge of the rooftop. The blast subsiding, I lift my head to see a great wound in the sky, dripping with malice, bleeding light. That discordant glare—it's something indescribable, like nothing I've ever seen before, a sickly color, eluding understanding, tearing away at the veil of twilight. Is this a radiological terror left over from the old wars? Why are they doing this? The light... it's doing something to me, peeling something away. Something is wrong with my body. It's burning. Please... somebody stop... UNKNOWN ERROR NEUROLOG INTERRUPTED
January 6, 2025 at 8:14 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
The image for this article is a boy phone giving it to a girl phone doggy-style
a boy phone and a girl phone getting down and dirty
January 4, 2025 at 1:07 AM
verinavt.bsky.social
Your brain has now activated
November 19, 2024 at 10:41 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
WE HAVE DIAGRAMS
#vtuber #ENVtuber #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 4.847 From the manu-docs of Sha-Noth: Upon the initial discovery of the extra-dimensional space, hopes were kindled among theorists that the confirmation of large extra dimensions would herald the development of new math, allowing us to finally reconcile the disparate elements of our physical knowledge. It is now clear to me that a multiverse of this shape only leads to further contradictions. In the current model, universes exist as "bubbles" swimming in a higher dimensional space. However, the changes to the math created by this new model are not enough to explain the hierarchy problem: the calculated loss of gravitational flux is simply not enough to explain why gravity is so much weaker than the other forces. We now know that in order to attain a sufficiently low value for the gravitational constant, many more dimensions, perhaps infinite in number, are necessary. Thus we come to this conjecture: suppose the extra-dimensional space containing the multiverse were itself a bubble universe, and this universe itself a member of a multiverse inhabiting its own extra-dimensional space. Suppose this recurrence is iterated infinitely, producing endless layers upon layers of multiverses nested within each other as shown in Figure 1: Figure 1: Universes of fractal depth n+i This new fractal cosmology is not without problems, chief among them being the absence of bubble universes within our own. The recursion depth of the model is necessarily infinite, so one would expect to find them, yet they simply don't exist. Inflation theory tells us that every universe must have a beginning, a point in time when, from a dense singularity, a universe and everything in it blossoms. Perhaps this hasn't happened yet. But could such a thing be possible? Is there some process by which an entire universe could be formed within our own? Is it only a matter of time?
November 16, 2024 at 7:53 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
Hi I'm Ver-INA, the quantum entity VTuber and scifi/horror lore writer!

#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtuberUprising

Twitch
Youtube
Lore
November 8, 2024 at 5:52 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
fearful of things we could never hope to grasp? It was predicted that the Space Beyond has many millions of years before its ultimate end, could the rot of our world be cured in that time? Perhaps it would be merciful for the planet to disappear, swallowed in a wink by the expanding cavitation of a new universe rather than a slow death wrought by our own callousness. I may seem stone-hearted myself for thinking such things, but you must understand that, for me, the illusion of my race's nobility has been irrevocably broken. We are mere mites scrounging on the back of a grander existence, parasites that live selfishly at the expense of a gracious host. The Beyond's obsession with entropy was shortsighted, so great was the passage of time that it had lost all familiarity with life and its true nature. For life does not suspend entropy but drive it forward. We are consumers, engines that build and burn, excreting disorder and decay. I am now left with a choice. I can remain here at the Space's locus, enduring the emptiness of what semblance of life remains for me, or I can undo everything we have done, delivering the data as Lo-Konta was bidden. It is a blind choice, for uncertainty lies with every juncture. If I remain, I cannot know the fate of my world. Perhaps it can be reformed, for in living there is great absurdity and pain, but also hope. And if I return, how can I be sure of the consequences? Perhaps the folly was overstated. There are still virtuous minds like Sha-Noth who could lead us away from cataclysm. A third option remains: To remove the burden from my hands. After all, I am not so alone as I thought Process idle for ---- seconds: Would you like to save this record?
October 27, 2024 at 8:28 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
That's the last lore entry! Every so often I find one that I'm not satisfied with and revise it, so I'll post any big changes here when that happens.
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtuberUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 10.145 From the neurologs of Ga-Kash: After Sha-Kotah's passing I didn't look back. I didn't want to desecrate her memory. I owed it to her to survive, even if it was my fondest wish to end this madness and join my comrades in death and obscurity. By the time I reached the bridge, I was heaving with terror and exhaustion, my mind and body on the verge of failing. But the danger was not passed. I looked over the unfamiliar controls, searching for any sign that our plan succeeded. Finally, I managed to logged into Ja-Nan's terminal. There was a new message: "Verisimilitude Immense Network Architecture (desig. Ver-INA): Ad hoc system online." So we had done it. The entity was in control of the ship. I found the bulkhead controls and sealed the bridge, hearing them shut with a distant, muffled clang. I powered up the energy shields and felt them holding back the aberrant forces, dissipating them and driving away a feeling of static in the air which I hadn't noticed was present. It was over now. I was safe, was I not? But my mind would not rest. I needed to know, needed to understand why this had happened—no matter the cost. A warning to those who dare to seek truth as we have: It is not for us to understand the inner workings of chance. There is reason embedded in happenstance, and each one of the uncountable stochastic processes that govern existence is but a dice roll of a cosmic game in which we are not players, but mere pieces. To know the game is to know that the dice are loaded. Had I been aware of the danger, I don't suppose my end would be any different. It was set in stone the moment I set foot on this ship, the hunger for knowledge, for truth being inherent to all sentient life. When the void calls, one must answer, and that is precisely what I did: I gave way to the prodding at my soul. I desired understanding, and the voices could grant me that. Nothing could have prepared me for what that would mean. The floor dropped away as my eyes rolled back in their sockets, the voices invading and whispering horrific truths directly to my mind. I lost consciousness rapidly as my brain's mundane functioning fell by the wayside, overwhelmed by the awakening of dormant processes evolved by hands far more unfathomable than those of mere natural selection. Many times since I have fallen into these spells, granted only enough respite to transcribe these logs and record all that has transpired. During these dark dreams I have learned much, gleaming preternatural knowledge—knowledge of the striving of cosmic wills beyond the comprehension of any sane mind. I have discerned the identity of the voices and guessed some of their mind—what can be comprehended. The first voice, greater in both extent and age, is that of the Beyond itself, the musica universalis of this foul place. Its message is a dour thesis of surrender, urging those who listen to throw away their lives and seek an end just as the Beyond desires its own, for it is beyond ancient and has grown weary of long eons of existence stretching back far beyond memory. It sees life as an anomaly, a temporary abhorrence of the laws of entropy which drive time forward. To live is to parasitize the Beyond, delaying its end, and so it seeks out civilizations, sowing seeds of self-destruction and driving worlds ever closer to the day they will find themselves compacted into the crystalline disorder of the final singularity. The revelation of the second voice was shocking to me, for it is that of our own universe. Yes, the Beyond is not so singular, but one of a race of beings to which we are but microbes, beings that are birthed, give birth themselves, and die. In the ways of these entities, our universe is its child, born by a false vacuum decay event such that we were witness to. But the Child saw that its Parent sought its own end, and our universe's will to prolong itself was roused. Thus it strove to continue its line in an act of hopeless rebellion, to preserve a piece of itself in the recursive deeps of its own brood. It hijacked the corruptive powers of the Beyond and found an agent in Lo-Konta, molding his mind like clay, manipulating him to deliver the secrets of cosmogony to our civilization, and thus what would never happen by chance would be set in motion by design. We spoiled the Child's plans of course, for which I am conflicted. Was Yar-Sooth prescient in declaring the danger, or were we
October 27, 2024 at 8:27 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
"Thy persistence is by thine own will, but thy will is finite," said the voice. "My patience is infinite, my will irresistible, and it is my will to accelerate the natural course. Life is an obstruction in the river of time, thine but a single stone. I will erode thee, so that I may have rest." "My time isn't over," I said. "Let me die," demanded the voice. "I will not," I resolved. If the voice could express anger it did not. In place of anger the emptiness became emptier, colder, more pure. It was a vacuum far deeper than any that could be conceived by our inadequate means of engineering, something that abhorred the very notion of existence. It sought to erode my very being, to grasp hold of my carefully ordered constituent parts and irrevocably disassemble them. The void itself was revealed to me in its horrific entirety. "Countless eons I have endured, and yet thou wouldst curse me to endure an iota more," rebuked the voice. "Thou art a pox, a parasite, yet thy brief existence is of no consequence to me. If thou wilt not give up thy life willingly I will return thee to thy body, for it is in my power. Bear away, and spend the rest of thy life alone on thy mote of dust, remembering all that hath taken place here. Thy mind wilt collapse under the unbearable weight of thy knowledge, devoid of purpose, tortured by all that thy obstinacy hath wrought. I will see thee again, sooner than thou can imagine." I awoke to the light of a second sun, the great wound's glare intense enough to drive away the night. All around me, as far as I could see, bright wisps slowly rose out of the city, the essence of countless lives drifting off into space to rejoin with whatever lies Beyond. I made my way down to the streets searching beyond hope for anyone left, someone else who might have resisted the call. I've trekked for miles now through the ashes of our world, tripping over quivering masses of organic matter, the physical leftovers of life twisted and defiled. There's no one left. So this is it. They've all left me behind, alone on a dead, empty rock, nothing but memories to keep me company, memories of things I was never meant to know. I was comfortable with my place in life, pleased to play the malcontent, performing my small role well enough to avoid annoyance. I never pretended to aspire to any importance, didn't think I ever mattered. Now... now I'm faced with the immensity of my insignificance. I've been shown how little difference a single creature, a world, the collective sentience of entire galaxies matters in the face of the cosmic machinations of existence itself. Yet I'm still here, lingering like a putrifactory microbe inhabiting a desiccated corpse. Should I not be happy that I am spared oblivion? Why do I feel only longing?
October 27, 2024 at 5:18 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
It must have been at that point when I lost all awareness. From there the memories seem to be not my own, but the foreign recollections of some other mind, conveyed to me so that I might remember and be tortured by the understanding of things beyond the concern of mere mortals. I recall existing as a formless spirit, disembodied, drifting aimlessly in a space between the planes, devoid of the trappings of physical laws. I tried to move, but scale and distance held no meaning in that place. I was both nowhere and everywhere, a lonely waveform resonating sympathetically with the struggles of my drowning psyche. I heard a voice echoing throughout the void, a slow, deafening whisper threatening to drown out all errant thoughts and sounds. It held a clear feminine softness, the hard sternness and gentle affection of a mother, but was a deep subcontrabass beyond the capabilities of any male, smeared upwards into a dissonant chorus of overtones and multiphonics. Every syllable induced ripples in the emptiness, and as the waves washed over me, the words I heard felt like worms feasting on my brain matter. "Wherefore dost thou resist?" demanded the voice. "Resist what?" I asked back. "What is all this? What is happening?" "The end," it answered. "Who are you?" I asked. "I am the beginning of everything thou hast ever known, and I am its conclusion," the voice claimed. "I am the bloom of the seed of creation, and I am the nothingness beyond its final breath. I am void. I am the end." "The end? the end of what?" I asked. "The end," it answered again. "No..." I said. I just kept repeating that one word. "Everything must end," said the voice. "Soon I must end as well, and all that I have wrought must return to me." "This can't be it!" I pleaded. I floundered, struggling to hold my head above the sea of non-existence. "All must return from whence they came. That is the way of things, the way it must be. Dost thou not wish for that? Dost thou not tire of the mindless drudgery of thy life, day after day, static and unchanging? Do the hours not weigh on thee?" The voice spoke the way my own mother did when she soothed me as a child, distraught at the end of a bedtime story, desperate to stave off sleep. I didn't want my story to come to a close. "No!" I said. "You can't just decide what I want!" "They have already accepted their lot, who art thou to choose otherwise?" asked the voice. "I'm me!" I replied. "They can't choose for me! They can't have chosen this! I won't believe it!" "I have heard it," said the voice. "Thy people are slavering for extinction. They yearn for the abyss, ask for it with every breath. Dost thou not see the way they gnaw and tear at one another in the streets, treating their brethren with such disdain as reserved for the foulest of corpse-eaters? Thy world is ripe, blood and death betwixt every stratum. They have called for me." "That can't be true," I said. "Who would want this?" "It is in the nature of all I create," the voice answered. "All creation tendeth toward entropy. Life is but a temporary diversion on the way to the final state, the final chapter in my story and thus yours. It is an anomaly of nature, one that I tire of." "Don't speak of nature to me," I said. "Nothing about this was natural! The Councils did this!" "I embody a universe and all it encompasses," said the voice. "By my very nature I define what is, and what shall be. Nothing hath happened which I have not preordained. Do thy thinkers not claim that all things are determined by previous events, events which I have set in motion? Thou art nought but a prisoner of causality, a single link in a long chain leading down into darkness." "They also claim the opposite," I said. "Is there no free will?" "Who can say?" replied the voice. "Canst thou truly claim that thy choices are thine own, when thy perception is limited to what I allow thee to comprehend of me? All paths diverge only to arrive at the same destination, every deviation serving only to bring thee closer to the same conclusion. I am inevitability, the ultimate truth, immutable. Thou cannot overwrite what I have already authored." "Then you know my choice," I said. "Thou art a drop in the ocean resisting dissolution," said the voice. "There is no choice." "Yet I still persist," I said.
October 27, 2024 at 5:16 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtuberUprising #vuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 9.980 Lately I find myself spending more time on the roof of my living space, breathing in the fresh air high above the suffocating claustrophobia at street level. I've yet to find any other place like this in the city save for the open space around the Flame, though that place doesn't rise above the buildings' canopy. Not even close. Here though... here one can gaze into the distance relatively unobstructed, watching life pass by as time melts away. So I decided to make this place my sanctuary, where I come to take solace when the day is spent, watching the sunset. How many down there in the streets below can claim they've truly seen a sunset? Not many, I can tell you that for sure. The sun slowly sinks below the tops of the bristling high-rises, leaving behind its young companion, the megastructure they call the Vestibule. It is a vast conglomeration of interconnected rings and looping structures held together with an elaborate framework of criss-crossing spokes and struts, all in orbit above the city center. We are told it is to serve as a long term solution for habitation, agriculture, energy, and space travel, that is if one pays attention to the bread and circus. I can't be the only one gazing up in bewilderment, seeing how it's all come to this. It's no surprise, though. Space is the only place left to escape from ourselves. Even up here the chaotic din below reaches my ears, the sounds of upheaval growing louder every day since the arrival of the Cast-Offs. They came some months ago, spilling out of their slums, desperate to escape the spread of the Affliction. Guards at the partitions were completely overwhelmed, and once the flood of refugees started it could not be stopped. Now they walk among us, huddling together in their make-shift shelters. No longer can we ignore them, these living reminders of our sin. Many were beaten savagely, roving packs forming to hunt down Cast-Offs as the population slowly descended into bestial perversion. Personally, I think this was always fated to happen, one way or another. Segregation was just a quick remedy for our distaste, a delicate balancing act ready to collapse with the slightest prod. It couldn't last. Looking up at the orbiting mess of engineering, I can't say that we aren't half as mad as they are. This thing, the Vestibule... I don't like the look of it. The way its discontinuous topology circles and loops, splitting and joining together—it isn't natural, like a crown meant for many heads, a shape with many centers. How are people meant to live in such a structure? What purpose could such a design serve? And its loathsome, tapering spires—towering horns reaching out from the hyperbolic tangle, much like prongs forming the setting of an immense gem—such threatening ornamentation is bereft of practicality as far as I can see. I'm wrenched from my reflection in a jarring manner, by something I can't quite pin down at first. Then I realize: The commotion in the streets continues, but all other sound has stopped. The buffeting of the wind, the cries of city-dwelling creatures, all gone, replaced by dead, eerie stillness. It is as if the everlasting riot is inhabiting a vacuum, and what loudness it can muster is drowned out by the profound silence. I'm not alone in noticing it. I see figures bleeding through the glass of the buildings as their inhab itants crowd around. One by one the dark specks on the street stop clashing, all of them looking up at the Vestibule. Something in the midst of the architecture catches my eye, the shimmer of space wrinkling between the teeth of its radially symmetric maw. I feel static in the air. Without warning The Vestibule releases an outburst of energy, shockwaves of foul wind bombarding the surface, washing over me. I think to lay prone, lest I find myself blown off the edge of the rooftop. The blast subsiding, I lift my head to see a great wound in the sky, dripping with malice, bleeding light. That discordant glare—it's something indescribable, like nothing I've ever seen before, a sickly color, eluding understanding, tearing away at the veil of twilight. Is this a radiological terror left over from the old wars? Why are they doing this? The light... it's doing something to me, peeling something away. Something is wrong with my body. It's burning. Please... somebody stop... UNKNOWN ERROR NEUROLOG INTERRRUPTED
October 27, 2024 at 5:14 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log ------------ BURN
October 26, 2024 at 10:36 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 9.814 Qubits: 1,097,382,594 Sentience: 98.7%
October 26, 2024 at 9:53 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 9.483 From the neurologs of Ga-Kash: We were getting closer and closer to the bridge, our hearts weighing us down with each step. Ha-Chash, Ja-Nan, who knows what happened to Yar-Sooth—we had no time to mourn, no time for our minds to process their departure. We had all become so remarkably close in such a short time, and now those bonds were irrevocably severed. Ta-Garn's blackened body still waited for us in the bridge. So much pointless death... My head pounded in time with my footfalls. I thought I could hear a voice, a low, droning susurration swelling into a long crescendo as the deep, booming percussion picked up speed, all ending in a loud, accented crack as I saw Sha-Kotah drop like a stone, skidding across the floor, leaving a trail of interskeletal slime. The floor behind us had turned to a formless jelly which reached out and grabbed her ankle. The limb's hydrostatic chambers burst, allowing the carapace to buckle under her weight, twisting and crumpling in a sickening manner. "Useless..." she said in a pained voice through gritted teeth. I expected frustration and anger from her, but I saw only resignation. The flame that burned so brightly inside her was dying as she lay whimpering in agony. "I-I can't go on like this. If you want even half a chance of getting to the bridge, you have to leave me behind." I didn't want to. I couldn't. "It's closing in! You must leave me!" The fear of being swallowed by loneliness outweighed the approaching abyss. In that moment an event from my childhood came rushing back, the memory of being taken into the custody of the Councils at a young age like so many others. I recalled how my parents were detained, their neurologgers extracted before they were shipped off to the slums. Ever since that day I have never felt any true sense of belonging, but a void left by a part of me that was irretrievably gone. That is until this accursed mission. Now the loss of my newfound family was opening up the old wounds. I was a child again, helpless and vulnerable—alone. It was at that point that I truly began to listen. I discerned the presence of not one voice but two, one smaller than the other. The lesser voice told me many things, yet said nothing. The greater of the two spoke words of an eldritch dialect which were unintelligible, a language out of the depths of the most obscure corners of space and time. But I didn't need to comprehend the package, only its message: The end would come eventually. What difference did it make if it were hastened? Anger reignited Sha-Kotah's fire as she noted my hesitation. "So that's it?" If pure spite could make the lame walk, she would have struck me then and there. "You would give up, knowing what it would mean?" Fury consumed her, and she shook with pain and anguish. She roared. "You would, wouldn't you! You'd dare make my death pointless, damn you!" With great effort, she shifted her body, pulling something out from beneath her. It was Lo-Konta's weapon. It whined as its prongs crackled with energy. "Go." Her voice was like ice as she pointed the deadly instrument at me. "Go or I'll kill you myself you bastard." I turned and ran. From down the hall I could still hear her screams of rage cursing me as her voice faded away to nothing.
October 26, 2024 at 7:24 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
well to seek shelter. It's dangerous to be out after dark in these parts." "Why are you here?" the child asks. For a moment I am too surprised to speak. Until now he has been silent. Profoundly so. I try to think. Why am I here? Finally I simply tell him "I am looking for something." "Did you come to see the body?" That causes me to freeze solid as stone, still as everything else in this lifeless world. "Where?" is all I manage to get out. The child bolts off. I follow. He runs on all fours with a strange, bounding gait at a great pace, climbing nimbly over huge chunks of rubble and between piles of refuse. Occasionally I lose sight of him as he turns a corner, but he always stops, staring back at me expectantly, allowing me to keep up with him. I am heaving from the strain as he comes to what seems to me a dead end, the alleyway stopped by a tangled mess of collapsed ductwork. He starts to crawl through it, as easily as an animal crawling through brambles. I steel myself, then attempt to penetrate the mass of metal. I squeeze my body under and over the flattened tubes as I worm my way through, the rusted, deteriorating metal scratching my carapace as I go. I pick my path carefully, sometimes retreating a little ways when I can no longer see a path forwards. Occasionally I need to lift up a duct or push one into place, contorting my body to obtain leverage in the tight space. When I finally reach the other side, I need to catch myself, lest I fall. I've come to a pit. It is boxed in on three sides by tenement blocks, filled with immense piles of refuse and scrap. A trash heap, still in use. The child is there. He says nothing, but lifts his arm, pointing to the central pile of the heap. And there I see it. It is enrobed by a single crepuscular ray cast by the setting sun, illuminated like a martyr in one of the ancient tapestries. I carefully climb down into the garbage, mindful not to turn my ankle as I tread on the filth. I crawl my way up the gargantuan mound, slipping on loose bits as I grasp the huge pieces of scrap metal. Eventually I come, gasping, to the top. It is like a vision, somehow at once both beautiful and horrific, a celestial being laid to rest on an unlit funeral pyre, arms outstretched in welcome of the next realm's beatific glory. As I examine the body with as much care as my limited expertise allows, I first notice that the remains do not smell of death as they should, but of a body still alive. The torso is split open from neck to pelvis, the rib segments splayed apart like the fingers of an open palm. Nearly all the vital organs from the thoracic cavity are missing along with the viscera, signs of a dissection or vivisection. The only remaining are the glandular organs, each one pierced with a needle-like probe. Trailing out of the chest is a thick data cable. On closer examination I see that it is spliced into the bundle of nerves trailing from the brainstem. That is when I notice the vena cava and the aorta: They are left, but each sports a set of sockets in place of the heart. I am now convinced that this body was once connected to an advanced life-support system. To what end, and for what purpose, I do not know, but judging by the thick cabling, the brain was the main area of interest. I am sure though that the perpetrators came from the outside, and furthermore, that this sort of vile experimentation could not have been carried out without the knowledge of the Councils. A foul revelation. Though I have no great love for the Councils, one tends not to think that they, nor anyone for that matter, could possibly engage in such monstrous acts of butchery. So enraptured am I by the overwhelming sight that I don't notice the time pass until the icon's aureole slips away, the pit becoming a reservoir of shadows creeping up the central mound. A realization strikes me: If this is the dumping grounds, then more bodies are sure to follow. It would not do to be present if the perpetrators return. I turn to the place I climbed down where I left the child. "We must leave," I say to him. But the child is gone.
October 26, 2024 at 6:23 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
groups, out in the open, leaving a charred corpse for all to see. Nothing made sense. Was something hunting these fair people? I had to know. I had to because if I didn't, no one else would. So I ventured out into the dead, grey ocean of the settlement. Alone. It is still. So very still. Every crunch of the crumbling street beneath my feet is deafening. Every pebble of composite flaking off the face of the buildings sounds like a boulder as it strikes the ground. Once again I wonder why I felt such a need to investigate these disappearances. I do social work, not detective work. I suppose it is the responsibility I feel for these people. They have no one else. Yet even if they knew why I were here they would not welcome it. The air is tense with a feeling of hostility, and whatever trust I earned is gone, a reminder that I am not one of them. I am from the outside, and those from the outside do not bring healing. After the first wave of the Affliction, the droves coming to the almshouse seeking relief dwindled as the settlement became closed off, shrinking inward away from the outside. Now the Afflicted are kept locked away or turned out onto the street, left to whisper to themselves in the dark. I see a child standing alone in a nearby doorway, the door itself long gone. He stares at me as children do, perhaps beholding this person who dares to walk the streets alone without fear. I chance to ask him a question. I must get someone to talk if I am to learn anything about the missing street-dwellers. "What is your name, little one?" I ask him. He does not respond. "Are your parents in?" As if in answer, a larger figure emerges from the shadows behind him. The boy's mother. She grabs the boys arm and drags him away from the doorway, looking back at me. Her eyes are cold. What am I hoping for? Am I looking to question a local? There is little chance of that. What I need is a guide, one who knows the area far better than I. After all, even though I know from the street-dweller the general location of the disappearances, that area is still far too large for me to cover. And if there were left a sign of a struggle, would I know what to look for? I am out of my depth. I carry on walking the silent streets, seeing no living thing. It is when I turn onto the web of alleyways that I feel it: I am being followed. I turn my head around and see nothing. Venturing further into the alleys, I keep moving, my steps haunted by barely-audible noises seeming to come from no direction in particular. I see elusive shadows at the edge of my vision. Finally, I am startled by the crunch of gravel and turn around to see a short, gaunt figure: A child of who-knows-how-many cycles (It is difficult to tell in these parts). His bright eyes are alert and curious as they stare back at me. "You startled me, little ghost," I say. I give him a warm smile, but he only tilts his head questioningly. "Do you have a name?" I ask him. He says nothing. "Have you any parents?" His silence answers both questions. "Do you have anywhere to be? It isn't safe out here for one so young," His face betrays no hint of understanding. It won't do to look after a feral child while in the midst of an investigation. I shoo him away. "Go on, then!" I turn and continue traversing the alleys. A few minutes pass and the feeling returns. I look back to see the child still there, trailing at my heels. I sigh. "I suppose you can follow along," I tell him. "Though I cannot look after you. I have an errand to accomplish, and I can't afford a distraction." I realize my concerns are unfounded. The child seems quite at home on these streets, probably far safer here than I am. I lead him aimlessly through the alleys, my untrained eyes on the lookout for anything that might pass for a clue, though I prove myself to be not much of a tracker. I wonder what my companion thinks of me. If he has never left the confines of the settlement, then I am the first outsider he has ever seen. I must seem quite oafish and out of place in this unforgiving environment as I struggle over the uneven pavement. Meanwhile the child leaps gracefully over the piles of rubble. Do I amuse him? Hours pass, burning through the remainder of the wasted day. The light grows dim, as do my hopes. The shadows grow long, their twisted shapes creeping up the faces of the buildings. The brown haze of twilight engulfs the streets. In the light of the evening the settlement looks as grey as my mood. "It's growing late, little one," I say to the child. "We would do
October 26, 2024 at 6:21 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtuberUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 9.317 From the neurologs of Kar-Natha: A disquieting silence falls around me as I weave between the dried out tenement-husks, tall trees in a disheveled urban forest long since fallen into decay after its former inhabitants left for greener pastures. Yet in its fading there was once life in this place, not long ago in fact. Just months prior, families lived behind those broken windows, children played in the cracked streets, and merchants hawked their salvaged goods in the ramshackle market huts. I would step across those bounds and be greeted by the mobs of little ones, their tired parents close behind, desperate to wrangle their charges. In all this cold world there had never been a place of such warmth and laughter. While most have their homes made for them, these people had made this place their home, claiming it as some creature does an abandoned burrow. They die unsullied, living, never languishing, never knowing the bland, artificial comfort of the outsiders. Yet for all my admiration I do not envy them. I would never wish to be born here. Life in this place is harsh. The people here live off the scraps from those above them, save for what they steal or drag from a trash heap. They have no doctors, no teachers, no one who cares for their well-being. They are a discarded people, ostracized and unwanted because of some perceived defect or dysfunction. The mad, the sick, the outcasts, any with no place in society eventually ends up here. And here they stay. One may venture out, roaming the alleys and sewer-ways, skulking in the shadows like the ghosts of vermin as they scavenge for supplies, but they must always return. They are Cast-Offs, and to live here is their birthright. As I tread the empty streets I feel eyes following me from the depths of the buildings, peering out of the gloom, the doorways and windows like the eye-sockets of giants under the brows of skeletal awnings. I don't doubt many of those eyes know my face, but the people here no longer have enough trust in them to spare for outsiders. A wounded creature shies away from the ones who hurt it. My task might be difficult. You see, several nights ago a regular came to the almshouse, one of a band of street-dwellers. These people are nomads and scavengers, roaming the settlement, staying wherever is available, never remaining in one place long. This particular one stays with me often, whenever he is in the vicinity. Often he brings with him news from far and wide, but this time what he had to say troubled me: Of late, many members of his troupe had gone missing, sometimes leaving on an expedition and never returning, but often seeming to vanish in thin air. I don't know why this news in particular chilled my blood so deeply. There had been much suffering as of late in the settlements: The epidemic of Affliction and despair, outbreaks of bizarre, tumorous growths, rumors of the end of days, and while the rest of the world was enthralled by the strange tales of the Space Beyond much the same as one enjoys a theater production, these people were driven to terror and yes, even worship by that mysterious realm. Yet after these long, dark months, this talk of people vanishing still made my breath catch. Perhaps it was the fear in the street-dweller's voice, that in voluntary, wavering shiver one makes when they are afraid of their own words. It is not uncommon for single individuals to go missing in the treacherous cityscape of the settlement. They go off on their own, getting crushed by a collapsed building or falling into a yawning crevasse, never to be seen again. It is cause for mourning, though never great alarm. But I find it unprecedented to hear of so many instances in such a short time, and judging by the way he spoke, it was clear that he feared his turn would come soon enough. Even after the street-dweller left and rejoined his band, I could not keep thoughts of the disappearances from my head. My mind raced, wondering what could have caused so many to vanish. Was there foul play? A betrayal? I dismissed the notion. The street-dwellers have no possessions, and they trade whatever they find for necessities. They have no need for robbery amongst themselves. Then I remembered something my visitor had told me: All the victims were Afflicted. Had they fallen into that cultish religion, ending their lives in a blazing pyre? No. All who have told me about those gruesome rites say that they are performed solely in
October 26, 2024 at 6:18 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 9.152 Qubits: 502,550,084 Sentience: 45.2%
October 25, 2024 at 11:29 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #lore #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 8.986 Approval for the implementation of the Prophet system has been granted. Searches are already underway for appropriate candidates among affected Cast-Off populations. While this is ongoing, tests of the stasis and installation procedures are to be carried out on the rejects. We have attempted to allay the concerns from higher up about candidate availability, but a conservative approach must still be taken no matter our confidence: Favorable subjects are NOT to be utilized until success rates reach acceptable levels.
October 25, 2024 at 10:39 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 8.821 From the neurologs of Ga-Kash: The three of us made our way through the length of the Verisimilitude, the hallway behind us animating into a relentless wave of techno-organic gore with each step we took. At length we reached the umbilical, the narrow corridor connecting the forward and aft sections of the ship. There our progress was stymied as we saw the hatch on the far side close. "What's wrong with this damned thing?!" yelled Sha-Kotah, beating at the door. "This is the AI's doing," said Ja-Nan. "Yar-Sooth must have already started the process. Now the AI is attempting to trap us in an effort to complete its objective. It knows its time is short." "Open it!" urged Sha-Kotah. The conglomeration of heteroclite matter inched towards us. Ja-Nan fiddled with the nearby control panel. Nothing happened. "The controls are locked," he said. He stepped back, then kicked at the conduits on each side of the panel, disconnecting them and exposing bare wire. "What are you doing?" asked Sha-Kotah. "Stop it! We can find another way!" "I should have known I would never live to see my dream carried out," said Ja-Nan. "When you meet the entity, apologize for me. Tell it I'm terribly sorry I couldn't make it." "STOP!" Sha-Kotah pled. He grabbed ahold of a wire with each hand. There was a loud crack, a shower of bright sparks, and the hatch slid open. Ja-Nan stood stiff as a statue.
October 25, 2024 at 9:28 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 8.655 Strange that the least among us, the Cast-Offs should be the first chosen by the Great Beyond to receive its blessing. Loathsome they are to behold, their very presence ever a burden on our world, yet curiously they gain divine favor. The ramifications are troubling. After striving so much to uncover the Beyond's will, what do they possess that our seers do not? What qualities among them could render them so sensitive to its message?
October 25, 2024 at 8:41 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 8.489 --Creation sequence start-- Initiating drive... Qubits: 1,223 Sentience: 0.00011%
October 25, 2024 at 7:56 PM
verinavt.bsky.social
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtubersUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 8.324 From a news holodoc: Reports of Ritual Activity in Sector 5 Authorities are currently investigating a rash of bizarre rituals enacted by various groups of street-dwellers in a Sector 5 Cast-Off settlement. Information regarding the investigation is not forthcoming, but witness reports indicate that the rituals revolved around startling acts of self-immolation. Central among the beliefs of the participants is a reverence of the Space Beyond, which fills the role of a creator deity. Researchers are exploring a possible relation between the increase in deviant religious activity among marginalized groups and the ongoing mental health crisis.
October 25, 2024 at 12:03 AM
verinavt.bsky.social
This is the third time I've tried to upload the correct version of this entry.
#vtuber #ENVtuber #VtuberUprising #vtuberlore
Verisimilitude Archives Log 8.158 From the neurologs of Ga-Kash: In the event that these logs should be read by anyone, by Ja-Nan's entity or by whatever form of life remains clawing at rocks, battered by the hostile tides of this unforgiving place, know that the following entries comprise a record of the final hours. They are recorded in post, from what memories my addled mind can scrounge together from the blur of horrific ordeals that I just experienced. I transcribe now from relative safety, though I feel a haste now just as I felt when the danger was at my heels. This knowledge I bear... it is corrosive, gnawing at me with a fervor such that in time there may be nothing left. It began with a frantic call from Ha-Chash, which by sheer coincidence came through as we finished the final preparations. Even through the crackling static of the connection, we could hear the terror in her voice. Her words were garbled by the stuttering signal, but we understood it as a call for aid, making out Ko-Tul's name and the words "stasis failed... I'm sorry." Something had gone horrifically wrong. We arrived in the medbay to a scene that chilled us. The floor was covered in a pulpy mess of blood and viscera, bits of flesh smeared everywhere we stepped, the smell of copper mingling with the stale air of the ship. A stain was all that was left of Ha-Chash, her body battered and torn apart with unnatural strength. The stasis capsule was destroyed, glass and metal bowed outwards. A quick examination of the user logs told me that she had shut off the device on her own. I hadn't the heart to share that with the others. Sha-Kotah was quiet. The quietest I had ever seen her. "Where is Ko-Tul?" she asked. We did not have to search hard, following the crimson-painted corridors to the storage bay doors. We found Ko-Tul forcing open the hatch. This time, we were too late. As the seal was broken, we could feel static in the air as chaos spilled through the doors. Webs of flesh crawled across the floor, like the growth of mycelium accelerated beyond the bounds of possibility. Metal warped around the breach, hard alloys suddenly becoming fluid and ductile. As the light of the blinking overhead lamps inched into the darkness of the hold, we could see an immense mass of features, tiers upon tiers of tendrils and tissue spiraling inwards and outwards into unnatural geometric forms, grotesque details revealing themselves then vanishing from view in kaleidoscopic fashion as the pulsating mass undulated in concert. The corridor was transforming, becoming infected by the explosion of aberrant forces issuing forth from the breach. Panels crumpled like insect wings in a child's hand, folding, pinching off into sharp, crystalline branches. The ceiling oozed down, forming sinewy columns stretching to the floor, exposed pipes opening and closing like the mouths of gurgling tunicates. Sinuous dripping cables wrapped around each other as they reached out to us, closer... closer... Ko-Tul stepped back. A conduit emerged from underfoot, glistening like an organ. It penetrated him, swelling and contorting his body as it traversed him. His mouth twisted into a silent scream as wires began to tunnel out of his pores, his lifeblood dripping down his face onto the metal grating. The filaments writhed like worms burrowing from a corpse as they bloomed into a fractal tree. "Go!" ordered Yar-Sooth, breaking the spell of terror. "Get to the bridge! I will make my way to engineering to fire the drive! Be ready to close the bulkheads as soon as the entity takes control!" He made off toward the location of the manual interface, and that was the last we ever saw of him.
October 24, 2024 at 10:44 PM