Viz the Bogeymart

@bogeymanviz

Worldbuilder, Author, College Instructor, ex-Political Hack, the Marten In Your Closet 🎃 She/They/🏳️‍⚧️/Métis/Bi/37/Marten ΘΔ🎃 💚 @calacene.bsky.social 🧡 Mostly SFW, but 🔞 Author of Horror Shop: Icon by @midnightmarten.bsky.social

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amateur

Ist das dein Profil?Übernimm es — dann gehört dir bogeymanviz.dirty.social.Profil übernehmen

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jul 7

Of course, the question is who fell for whom's trap, hmm? --- Obviously, I also had to get a spicier version of the previous piece from @xeshaire.bsky.social of Viz getting a bit excited by her predicament. #fursona #furryart #furrynsfw #marten

Art by Sachi. An anthro marten with black and orange fur tied up and bound, exposing herself, half-erect. She has a mane of orange hair streaked with violet, and her fur is marked with orange and violet runes. She has an annoyed look on her face as she pulls against the restraints.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jul 7

Oh no! Seems like Viz got a bit tied up during an investigation... how could this happen? --- YCH commission from @xeshaire.bsky.social of Viz experiencing some consequences for her hubris. #furryart #fursona #marten #furrynsfw

Art by Sachi. An anthro marten with black and orange fur tied up and bound, exposing herself, though there are no details. She has a mane of orange hair streaked with violet, and her fur is marked with orange and violet runes. She has an annoyed look on her face as she pulls against the restraints.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jul 2

It belongs to mart now.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 30

Of course, Viz is more than happy to play whatever kind of games you we're thinking of, she is rather flexible... switch, bi, marten, occultist... --- A bit more NSFW variation of the last YCH piece from @nahura.bsky.social! #marten #nsfwfurry #furryart #fursona

Art by Nahura. A black-and-orange-furrned marten lies back on a white bench. She is wearing nothing more than a pair of orange-and-white sneakers, and a trans-pride coloured athletic wristband. Her orange-blond hair is dyed through with violet streaks, and tied back in a tail that covers her left breast, and violet and orange run up and down her fur. Her erection is is rising up from her lap. She is sticking out her tongue and looking seductively at the viewer, while leaning against a wall with the trans flag on it.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 30

Pride month might almost be over, but it looks like Viz still has some energy left in her for celebrations of various kinds... --- Fun pride-themed YCH I got from @nahura.bsky.social of Viz looking ready to enjoy some... extracurricular activities. #marten #nsfwfurry #furryart #fursona

Art by Nahura. A black-and-orange-furrned marten lies back on a white bench. She is wearing nothing more than an orange-and-black jock strap, a pair of orange-and-white sneakers, and a trans-pride coloured athletic wristband. Her orange-blond hair is dyed through with violet streaks, and tied back in a tail that covers her left breast, and violet and orange run up and down her fur. She is sticking out her tongue and looking seductively at the viewer, while leaning against a wall with the trans flag on it.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 29

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 25

Got my pride as my armour and that's more than enough --- Gorgeous pride-themed wing-it comm I got from @nixsmis.bsky.social! #marten #fursona #furryart #furrynsfw

Art by Nix. An orange-and-black furred anthro marten--her fur covered in glowing orange and violet runes--stands proudly, a transgender pride flag entwined with a bisexual pride flag behind her back. Her blonde hair, with violet streaks dyed in it, is tied behind her back. She is naked, and she looks at the viewer with a proud, playful smirk on her face.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 21

Advertise your Bluesky account with a Simpsons gif.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 19

And, of course, I had to get an NSFW version too, because this is just a fantastic piece. Once again, thanks to @nightlinez.bsky.social for the comm! #furrynsfw #furryart #fursona #marten

Art by NightlineZ. An anthropomorphic marten with black-and-orange fur floats on a background of blue, pink, and white lightning. The marten has orange-blonde hair with violet streats, grey eyes, and her fur is covered in orange and violet runes. She has a playful expression on her muzzle and she is making a blep with her tongue. She is naked and her breasts, bellynips, and sheath are all visible.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 13

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Jun 4

Disrobed, certainly, but never disarmed... --- Gorgeous commission from @tridark.bsky.social of Viz giving a little demonstration of the arts sinister and dexter here. A good witch is always ready for a show, after all... #furryart #fursona #marten #furrynsfw

Art by TriDark. An orange-and-black furred anthro marten--her fur covered in glowing orange and violet runes--advances towards the viewer. Her blonde hair, with violet streaks dyed in it, is tied into a tail which hangs over her left shoulder. She is naked aside from her, and she looks at the viewer with an cocky grin as magical flames rise from her hands--gold from her right hand, and violet from her left.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· May 21

Witches can be quite the handful, especially when you get them going... --- Incredibly hot commission I got here from DKJ on Fur Affinity of Viz showing off all her assets. #furrynsfw #marten #fursona #furryart

Art by DKJ. A naked orange-and-black furred anthro marten trans woman--her fur covered in glowing orange and violet runes--holds up her breasts and looks at the viewer. Her blonde hair, with violet streaks dyed in it, is held back in a rough ponytail. She is partially erect, and she looks at the viewer with a playful, inviting smirk.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· May 12

Pretty certain I've seen this dook at a con...

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· May 12

rararararararar

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· May 8

Something caught your attention, hmm? And I'm gonna guess it wasn't the shadow magics? --- Got this wonderful commission from @exy.bsky.social, and, honestly, having my girl drawn by a fellow marten was a real treat 🧡 #marten #fursona #furryart

Art by Exy/Renee. An anthro marten with orange and black fur, and orange-blonde hair streaked with purple. She is wearing black jeans, a black jacket lined iwth orange, violet oggles, and is leaning on a black cane. Violet and orange run up and down her fur, and black shadowy spirits swirl around her claw. She has a mischevious look on her face, and, also, she's topless.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· May 6

VIOLENCE!

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 27

Oh, it's hyena day? Here's Joker, my yeen-monster! ...who I sadly haven't done a lot with over the past few years!

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 27

appl gud

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 26

Sure, why not? Also, give me my single-player Secret World, pls. grids.fun/t/about-me-v...

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 26

Very

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 26

I don't know how to stop send help.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 26

Also I totally wrote wereskunk rules for Werewolf: the Apocalypse 😏

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 26

Fall incarnate 🧡

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 25

Halloween, cool old English pubs, and SCP facilities... Fuck, I'm just making Secret World again, but this time with 100% more mustelid shapeshifters.

The Chronistic Quarter
The Mapachon's district is a spiralling alleyway that looks like the back-stock room of a hoarder’s antique shop that erupted out across the side streets of a rain-drenched metropolis. The architecture is a hectic medley of eras: neon cyberpunk signs buzz over stalls built from ancient Roman chariots and 1980s arcade cabinets. The street lights here flicker out of sync, forming shadows that move a few seconds before the objects that cast them. The shop windows display artifacts from futures that haven't happened yet and pasts that were successfully averted. Grandfather clocks tick in reverse, and billboards advertise brands that won't be invented for another decade. The apartments and dens overlooking the alley are overflowing with milk crates full of stolen paradoxes, misplaced car keys, and heavily warded temporal artifacts. A Victorian gramophone plays a scratched jazz record next to a sleek, stolen Technocratic display. It feels like an eternal 3:00 AM, laden with the smell of vintage books, warm rain, and the distinct feeling of extreme déjà vu. The whole quarter is a frustrating, brilliant, and deeply comforting mess where the wereraccoons can finally stop outrunning the clock and simply sleep off their chronal dysphoria among the things they stole tomorrow.
Individual Mapachon of Emperios rank or higher receive a private apartment off the alley, while those of Sophistes rank or higher maintain their own warehouse of anachronistic artifacts.
Cloud-Walk Shrines
Far above the claustrophobic alleys of the Crossroads, above even the Undone Spires and the Storm Relays, the architecture of the Triodía pierces the clouds. The Cloud-Walk Shrines are perched on the precipices of mist-shrouded mountain peaks that grow out of the iron scaffolding of the Triodia’s looming skyscrapers. This district is defined by the piercing bite of thin, high-altitude air, and the smells of crushed pine needles, burning myrrh, and

soothing phosphorescent twilight of jungle creepers that twist along the ceiling. Break rooms, briefing rooms, and archives branch off the main floor through a dizzying maze carved into the cold earth. There is very little spoken noise here, but the air is incredibly dense, charged with the ethereal weight of dozens of interconnected minds coordinating strikes, analyzing data, and sharing sensory input in real-time. The fronds of ferns shift and rustle on psychic currents, and the trickle of small waterfalls provides a chill humidity and perfectly echoing white noise before falling to the cisterns below. The whole place smells damp, but clean and earthy. It is a citadel of the mind, a place where the highly coordinated tacticians of the Galikos can drop their psychic shields, rest their aching telepathic muscles, and finally turn the volume down.
Individual Xmacon of Emperios rank or higher receive a private room and archive, while those of Sophistes rank or higher manage an entire floor of the precinct.
The Key and Cauldron
"Leave the cursed swords by the umbrella stand. And if you shift into Derion form and break my bar stools again because the ref made a bad call, the damage is coming out of your Galere’s next cut of Syndicate funds."
A sprawling, three-story English pub that has somehow seamlessly merged with the trunk of a primeval oak situated just a few winding, leaf-strewn alleyways away from the Agora of the Nine. Wrought-iron lanterns shed a warm, inviting amber light over a brick patio where jack-o'-lanterns sit cheerfully on the railing. The Key and Cauldron is the central meeting place for Galikos the world over. Whenever two individuals or Galeres need to coordinate, share highly classified knowledge, or simply hang up their bloodstained jackets and relax with some old friends, the Key and Cauldron is their favourite destination.

after a gruelling twelve-hour shift. Occasionally, a trusted outsider—a Corax informant nursing a shiny trinket, a Hinzhaal diplomat looking for someone to help rough up some necromancers, or a Nuwisha ally looking for a place to lie low—might be found sitting in a quiet booth, blinking at the sheer, audacious volume of the Galikos as they loudly mock a local Tremere Regent’s terrible warding syntax across plates of greasy fish and chips.
The pub’s proprietor is an entity known only as the Barkeep. He appears to be a heavily tattooed, burly human of Western European descent in his mid-to-late 40s, usually wearing a stained apron and drying pint glasses with a cloth that looks curiously like a shredded Hermetic robe. The Barkeep is possessed of a perpetually unimpressed expression, never answers personal questions, and pointedly ignores the fact that his patrons occasionally shift into seven-foot-tall, furious wolverines when the football match on the fuzzy CRT television above the bar goes poorly. His exact nature is not known—he’s neither an Epiphany Spirit, an elder Galikos, nor a Daimonon—but he has been wiping down the bar since Kaniehtí:io first stepped foot inside the Triodía, and hasn’t aged a single day in the three and a half centuries since.
The Barkeep retains a small, unseen staff of minor household spirits—brownies and hearth-hobgoblins—to help out with the cooking and cleaning, but neither his stores of food nor drink ever seems to require physical restocking. The Key and Cauldron offers a staggering selection of drinks and dishes from across the globe, a fact which the Barkeep simply handwaves away by gruffly stating, “We’re at the Crossroads. Everything ends up here eventually.”
No Galikos has to pay to eat, drink, or rest at the Key and Cauldron. The Barkeep will simply slide a warm plate of food across the bar and mutter, “The Lady’s covering your tab.”

barren, terrifying odour of absolute zero and crushing temporal pressure.
The Oubliette doesn't look like a glowing mystical cavern or an ornate, arcane vault. It looks like a massive, blast-proof bank vault door set directly into the side of a steep, muddy embankment in the middle of a misty, overgrown graveyard. Wrought-iron fences twist as if grasping fingers around the perimeter, and the air around the vault door is so dense it is difficult to breathe, physically shuddering with the suppressed, radioactive energy of thousands of cursed artifacts, bound Banes, and apocalyptic grimoires locked in the dark below. The grass surrounding the vault door has been petrified into grey ash, and a persistent, low-level psychic static buzzes in the back of the teeth of anyone who stands too close.
Beyond the threshold is not a standard dungeon, but a long, gruelling descent into containment. It begins with a claustrophobic network of flooded boiler rooms, transitions into root-choked earthen caverns, and finally bottoms out into a brutalist concrete bunker lit by harsh, buzzing halogen work-lights. Corridors stretch for miles, lined with heavy submarine-style bulkhead doors and lead-lined lockers designed to store the most dangerous artifacts in creation. The air is freezing, and the ambient magical radiation is so thick it leaves a cloying copper taste on the tongue. It is a terrifying evidence of the immense volume of apocalyptic trash the Galikos have successfully swept under the cosmic rug.
Warning signs in a dozen languages—both human and spirit—are bolted to the walls alongside heavy iron chains, reading "DO NOT OPEN. MEMETIC HAZARD. RUSTS THE SOUL," or "DORMANT NEPHANDIC IDOL. KICK THE DOOR IF IT STARTS WHISPERING," and "TEMPORAL ABERRATION: IF YOU SEE YOURSELF IN THIS HALLWAY, SHOOT FIRST."

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 25

And yes, I did spend the past few days working on "HOUSING OPTIONS" for the various houses of weremustelids.

Nightmarket operates on a strict barter system—cash is entirely worthless. The currency of the Crossroads is intel, surveillance gear, and favours. The market operates on a strict code of mutual survival; no one is here to rip anyone off, because the person you cheat today might be the person pulling a summoned demon off your back tomorrow.
Here, in the disordered jumble, you can find a Promethean perched on a balcony, meticulously rewiring a stolen Technocratic Wonder with copper wire and salt, while down below, a member of the Circle of Kronos argues ancient Taksis law with an Epiphany spirit over a game of chess played on a plastic milk crate. Occasionally, even the Daimonon drift through the crowds in their ghostly silhouettes, offering cryptic counsel or dire warnings to those brave enough to ask.
The Loom of the Spheres
"It's basically the Library of Alexandria, if Alexandria had been designed by a paranoid conspiracy theorist with a crippling caffeine addiction."
Located in a quiet, heavily forested district of the Crossroads where the surrounding noise of the city fades to a dull rumble, the Loom is where the Hydor and Ge go to read the Tapestry. It is a massive, terrifying Umbral storm suspended in a state of absolute tension—a raw manifestation of the Nine Spheres of True Magick leaking into the natural world, caught and held within the sweeping boughs of a massive, ancient weeping willow tree. However, upon moving closer, one can see that the cascading "vines" and "branches" of the tree are actually a mess of fibre-optic cables, glowing ley-lines, copper

Sphere. The Aniwon tend to a garden of glowing, poisonous flora; the Brochon maintain an extensive subterranean forge; the Kushtakon swim in inverted waterfalls that pour upward into the sky.
The Verdant Ward
To find the Far Home of the Aniwon, one must follow the fragrance of flowering nightshade and medical-grade antiseptic down twisting, moss-choked alleyways or dirt roads until one reaches the wrought-iron fences that denote the borders of the Verdant Ward. The Aniwons’ district is a jumbled Victorian maze of greenhouses crashing through the corroded framework of abandoned, modern triage hospitals, all woven together within a wild, unkept botanical garden. The glass ceilings are utterly destroyed, allowing the eternal autumn night to feed the terrifyingly aggressive flora that strangles the architecture. Phosphorescent moss glows to the rhythm of a heartbeat across rusted surgical tables, IV drips feed glowing nutrients into rows of dark, writhing mosses, while massive, spiny vines crack through tiled floors, bearing bloated, toxic fruits that the Aniwon use to engineer their biological plagues. The Aniwon despise the sterile feeling of modern architecture, so their home feels aggressively alive, a place of accelerated growth and decay, while the air itself hangs fetid, swampy and humid. Glass apothecary jars line sagging iron shelves, filled with perfectly preserved organic anomalies and synthesized venoms. The wereskunks lounge gracefully among the elegant decay, fiddling away with the fundamental building blocks of flesh and flora without the smothering constraints of modern science.
Individual Aniwon of Emperios rank or higher are given a private room in the Ward to serve as a den and lab, while those of Sophistes rank or higher manage their own entire greenhouse.
The Foundation Forge
If the Triodía is a metaphysical city, the Brochon reside in its subterranean boiler room, where the massive root systems of the colossal oaks and redwoods wrap around the

The Undone Spires
Perched unstably in the highest boughs of the Crossroads' redwood canopy, interspersed with the scaffolding of half-collapsed Gothic bell towers, sit the Undone Spires, a set of ancient mage towers that have been claimed by the Crainon as their Far Home. The interiors of the Undone Spires are far larger than their exterior size would suggest, and have been remade into an amalgam of an occult pawn shop, a magical laboratory, and a medieval hunter’s lodge. The air around the spires sizzles with the intense static electricity of raw Prime energy and smells of ancient books, pine sap, and burning sage, while the ancient stained-glass windows and flickering mage-flames captured in iron sconces along the walls cast a prismatic illumination across the stone floors. The walls are panelled in varnished wood and hung with tattered tapestries and faded paintings, while the halls are lined with heavy shelving units containing thousands of inert magical foci. While still-active threats are contained within the Oubliette of Hubris, decommissioned trophies from past hunts are exhibited throughout the Spires: wands snapped in half, sitting in glass displays; cracked crystal balls used as paperweights; and ritual athames dulled and used to open mail. The atmosphere is quiet, cozy, and studious, as the weremartens burn the midnight oil at well-used wooden desks, cataloguing magics, researching ancient manuscripts in the extensive libraries of the Spires, or updating their own personal journals with discoveries and strategies. Elder Crainon regularly gather their Galeres, or groups of Mathitos, in one of the towers’ grand lecture halls to provide regular operational debriefs, updates on research projects, or to share discoveries made by Galikos across the Triodía.
Individual Crainon of Emperios rank or higher receive a private den and trophy room, while those of Sophistes rank or higher oversee one of the grand lecture halls used for operational debriefs.

The Storm Relays
A dizzying, vertical playground of sheer kinetic chaos. The Storm Relays exist in the upper reaches of the Triodía, where the scaffolding of half-finished skyscrapers interlocks wildly with the swaying, upper boughs of massive redwood trees. This district resembles nothing so much as dozens of mad scientists’ laboratories, exploded across the Triodia’s canopy, linked together in the most haphazard fashion—an architectural reflection of minds moving at a thousand miles an hour, and bodies that treat gravity as a mild suggestion instead of a law of physics. The air is incredibly thin, biting cold, and completely saturated with static electricity that makes fur stand on end. The Kamaiton who call this district home never sit still, constantly bouncing off the walls, running across vibrating suspension bridges, riding thermal drafts, and sliding down steam pipes. The whole domain smells intensely of soldering iron, burnt fur, and an absolutely absurd amount of coffee. The "rooms" are open-air workshops clinging to the brickwork, packed with half-finished perpetual motion machines, stolen Technocratic Wonders, and screaming kettles wired to car batteries. Massive, ticking gears occasionally serve as impromptu platforms, while thick copper wires and high-tension cables stretch across elevator shafts like zip lines. The domain is deafening, filled with the drone of massive generators, the drone of dozens of windmill generators, and the blinding crack of static electricity discharging between lightning rods. Desks and workbenches are bolted haphazardly to the walls at ninety-degree angles, buried under piles of half-finished kinetic fetishes, dismantled weapons, and piles of empty mugs.
Individual Kamaiton of Emperios rank or higher are given a private workspace, while those of Sophistes rank or higher manage their own dedicated laboratory.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 25

Is it too self-indulgent to make the weremustelids' Umbral homeland pocket dimension basically be a combination of Halloween Town and a super generic urban fantasy setting? ... I mean, I did make them the chosen servants of Hecate, so...

$The Triodia, the Crossroads “Step off the pavement and into the puddles. Follow the rustling of the dead leaves down the subway stairs until the electric lights turn to gaslight, the concrete turns to cobblestone, and the railings are choked in ivy. When you hear the thunder roll and smell the woodmoke, ozone and burning sage, you're home. Mind the gap." The Space between Spaces, the fractal home and refuge of the Galikos, lying at the inner-outer reaches of the Membrane. It is not a localized pocket dimension or a static kingdom. The Triodía is a metaphysical root system, a tangled intersection that exists simultaneously in the Middle Umbra—the domain of nature and spirits—and the High Umbra, the astral domain of human thought and magic. It is the dominion of Apotropaia, the ancient witch-goddess of magic and thresholds, and the Umbral homeland of the Galikos. To human eyes, it might look like an endless, foggy maze of Roman cobblestones, twisting tunnels, wind alleys, autumnal woods filled with winding leaf-choked paths, and dense, bramble-choked ravines, all overlapping and folding in on themselves like an Escher painting. Stepping into the Triodía feels nostalgic—it is a place where the modern and the primal, the wild and the willed, exist in a curious harmony, where the carefully controlled sprawl fractures to reveal the wilderness that lies within. The Atmosphere The Triodía is a liminal realm, perpetually suspended in an autumn twilight, caught between one moment and the next. It is simultaneously mundane and supernal, familiar and terrifying, a perpetual Halloween night in which the veil between worlds is whisper-thin. Here, a broken asphalt alleyway, lined with humming streetlamps, smoothly fades into a mist-shrouded old-growth ravine overlooking a rushing river. Towering, ancient redwoods wear the twisted remains of fire escapes like jewelry, while their massive roots burst through the tiled floors of abandoned subterranean subway stations below.$

lots, or overgrown, moonlit cemeteries–places to travel through more than proper destinations.
A heavy mist constantly rolls through the streets, carrying hints of myrrh and burning sage, which mixes with the smell of burning leaves and the omnipresent ozone-like fragrance of primal magic that suffuses this realm. Wrought-iron streetlamps, flicking with cold blue witch-fire, and the subtle glow of late-night storefronts cast shifting shadows upon thick, primeval oak trees. Ancient bronze braziers sputter at the intersections of dirt paths and a four-lane suburban road, while piles of whirling, orange-and-gold leaves gather in the gutters of cobblestone alleyways. Jack-o'-lanterns with malicious, glowing grins sit on the stoops of brick brownstones, their guttering glow serving as warning beacons to ward off darker spirits of the deep Umbra.
In the distance, the crash of an ocean surf, the rush of a freeway, or the crackling of a bonfire can be heard, though a traveller can never quite escape the meandering lanes to discover the source of the sound. Woven within the architecture and the trees, motifs of three-faced owls watch over every intersection, their stone eyes judging every visitor to this sacred domain of the witch-goddess. It is the ultimate burrow, a network of choices in which every path leads somewhere dangerous, and every bend in the road hides teeth.
Finding Egress
One does not “step sideways” into the Triodia; one has to find a proper “seam” in reality and follow it all the way down.
The Entrance Mechanic: A Galikos must utilize a physical crossroad, doorway, threshold, or ley-line intersection. By spending a point of Gnosis and rolling Wits + Enigmas (Difficulty 6), they "burrow" not just into the Penumbra, but straight into the Triodía.

$The Labyrinth of Thresholds (The Outer Edge) The borders of the Triodía aren't a wall; it's an infinite, fractal ring of doors, archways, torii gates, rusted turnstiles, and cave mouths. This region of the Crossroads is where the Galikos and other visitors arrive. A Galere might Burrow through a maintenance door on the Chicago 'L' train and find themselves in a shadowy corridor flanked with eerie witch-fire torches and ancient, bleeding tree roots. At the center of every entry point stands a massive statue of a three-faced owl, its eyes radiating cold, silver light. This is the domain of Apotropaia's servitor spirits, who vet everything that crosses the threshold, guaranteeing that no Wyrm-taint or Nephandic curses hitch a ride on a returning Galere. The Paths of Silk and Stone The "roads" of the Crossroads. They are physical manifestations of the Earth’s ley lines. Some are paved with flagstones from 17th-century Parian boulevards; others are dirt trails from the Pacific Northwest; some are just bridges of woven starlight. They shift and reconnect based on the needs of those walking them. Distance here is subjective: a Galikos walking with purpose can cross the realm in minutes, while one roaming aimlessly might walk for years. The Liminal Haunts The Triodia is a realm between, and there are numerous liminal spaces throughout the domain, which the various Oikos have adopted as their favoured pathways. While any Galikos can walk any path, an Oikos may find a particular path more comfortable to trod: The Spiral-Sprawl: The paths of the Mapachon, Aniwon, and Kamaiton who thrive in the concrete jungle. These paths resemble reflections of an abandoned modern metropolis. Endless alleyways twist back on themselves underneath a canopy of swaying autumn leaves. Forgotten metro tunnels serve as fast-travel arteries. It is a shadowy playground of perfect hiding spots and secure drop points, lit by glowing jack-o’-lanterns and buzzing billboards.$

$evening. Rushing rivers cut through deep ravines, flowing under ornate, weathered iron bridges that look like they were pulled from the Industrial Revolution. This is not the undisturbed wilderness of the Garou; it is still crossed by roads and worked by will, but it is harsh, rugged and primal nonetheless. The Agora of the Nine The heart of the realm. The Agora of the Nine resembles the ruins of an ancient amphitheatre merged with a massive, petrified oak—the Dodonoi, the ancient oracle-oak. Stars dance around its branches, casting the ground below in cold, scintillating light. The air here is suffused with ambient Quintessence and Gnosis, ringing with the combined resonances of the nine Spheres of Creation. This is where Galeres and businesses meet to trade secrets, where the Daimonon hold tribunals and pass judgment on internal disputes, and where members of the community assemble to observe the induction of a newly Changed mathito. It is a place of absolute neutrality; violence between Galikos here is physically impossible, instantly shut down by the Agora’s very nature. Surrounding the great oak is a massive plaza paved by Roman cobblestones, packed earth, and modern tarmac. Ancient Roman roads merge with fractured highway overpasses and primeval ley lines to form a final, cosmic roundabout that rings the Agora. The roundabout itself is surrounded by an architectural paradox: the towering, stained-glass facades of ruined cathedrals stand shoulder to shoulder with monolithic ancient redwood trees. The vaulted ceiling is open to the silvery light of the Dodonoi above, letting the oak’s mighty leaves constantly drift down onto the pavement below. This is where the Daimonon—the elders of the Galikos woven from starlight, smoke, and ancestral memory—hold their tribunals. They sit upon makeshift thrones constructed from petrified wood and reinforced concrete. It is a place of heated arguments, chaotic reunions, and ancient traditions.$

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 25

There's no way these are real. Just a cryptid.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 25

You can fascinate a marten by providing her with orange dreamsicle energy drinks. Very cute YCH my sweet bun, @calacene.northsky.social hsky.social, got me for my birthday from @brizunzies.bsky.social #marten #furryart #fursona

Art by Feve. An anthro marten with black-and-orange fur and a ragged mane of orange-blonde hair, dyed with streaks of violet, tied back in a tail, and held back from her face by a pair of violet goggles. She is wearing a long black jacket with orange lining, black jeans, a black shirt, and red tie loose around her neck. Orange and violet runes glow across her fur. She is grabbing onto a massive can of Reign orange dreamsicle sugar-free energy drink, and has a fascinated look on her face, while her tail wags excitedly.

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 24

Because creature

Viz the Bogeymart@bogeymanviz· Apr 23

Reject normalicy. Become cryptid.