Leshy Inscryption - Tumblr Posts
Inscryption is a pretty cool game you guys, I liked it when he stole the moon
Imagine taking care of Leshy- he often neglects to spend the proper amount of time in the sunlight, often forgets to eat properly, to groom himself, to treat himself gently. He focuses so much on making a good game for you, that he forgets that he's the reason you keep coming back.
Imagine that you make a proper meal for him, lead him into the sunlight for a picnic, to nourish both his body and soul. Imagine that you lay his head in your lap and you gently pick out the dead and dying foliage from his hair and beard. Imagine that you lull him into a gentle sleep, treating him with the kindness that he neglects to give himself.
Imagine loving him wholeheartedly, and imagine him returning that love tenfold.
(inscryption spoiler ahead)
when grimora reached out her hand and held the protagonists as she got deleted, that shit hit me right in the mommy issues
edit: legit right after I posted this leshy said "you did well." and that hit me right in the daddy issues 😭
Inscryption headcanons:
I am pretty sure the original version of inscryption before it was messed with would have worked like this, once the chosen Scrybe you wish to replace is challenged, they would have taken over the game turning it 3d for act two.
This would change it to their own version, each version using two of the mechanics, as we know Leshy would use blood and bones, and po3 would use energy and mox, as for the other 2, I think magnificus would use mox and blood, sacrifices are common for those that use magic, and Grimora would use bones and energy, being related to life force if you will for the undead.
they would turn the other scrybes into cards, and steal the new game card, where your goal would be to solve their puzzles to get the new game card back by defeating the scrybe, thus ending the game, and allowing you to take on a different scrybe instead, with them using their subordinates as bosses, aside form po3, since his would have been gone.
As for what card they would use for their final phase, we already know Leshy uses the moon, I think grimora would use the bonelord, magnificus would use Edoxia, by pianting the symbols to summon them, while for po3, I don’t know what big powerful card they would use.
Scrybes in different art styles ‼️
old man who trapped me in his cabin and made me play card dnd with him
I recently got my dad addicted to inscryption BUT he keeps telling p03 to shut up-
. Starting off very well with the challenge yesterday I completely forgot to share that I'm posting each day in AO3! I also forgot to share yesterday's entry here, so, I'm gonna leave both the link and the entry now:
Day 2: Apple scent
Nic was hungry. Starving, more precisely. They held their stomach tightly, their fingernails digging into their exposed flesh as they stumbled around the forest in a desperate search for something, anything to put into their mouth. PO3 had always fed the now-satyr; as long as they worked in the factory their plates were full and wallets… not as full, but still with enough foils to afford some extra meals here and there if needed. But it wasn't like the machine had done it out of the kindness of its cold, robotic heart, no. Instead, it had been to keep Nic alive, a way to ensure its precious resource didn't expire. A minor inconvenience the scrybe of technology had been willing to stand to assure its biological helper didn't run away so it could keep exploding Nic.
But now? Nic knew there was no coming back to the factory, no pleading with that insensible metal box to take them back. It wasn’t like it would have greeted them with open arms anyway. As they walked, Nic tripped over something, and too weak to react in time, they collapsed on the ground with a thud. Groaning, the satyr sat up, carefully examining their foo- hoove to check for any visible injury. They felt a wave of relief wash over them as both their hooves seemed and felt unharmed, soon overshadowed by a piercing stab of hunger in their belly. Nic curled up, clutching their abdomen and muttering an array of curses.
Regardless, they got up once more. The hunger was stubborn, but so was Nic.
Their eyes scouted the area in search of anything remotely edible, occasionally glancing down at the uneven terrain. “Your legs are skinny and weak. They lack proper muscles. You must eat and walk more”, Leshy had told them not too long ago. At the time, Nic had merely scoffed —as if that old bunch of twigs and leaves knew what he was saying. The problem wasn't their “lack of musculature” or diet; it was that their human legs were gone, replaced by those stupid satyr ones. “Stupid satyr legs, stupid new body, stupid PO3, stupid fore-” their mumbling trailed off as they spotted something. Hidden in between some bushes, the satyr managed to spot a glimpse of a reddish colour in between the foliage. Their ears went up instinctually as if checking their surroundings before hesitantly approaching the bush. Berries. Those were actual berries.
Something within them rattled with hesitation, as if warning the brain not to proceed. But hunger overrode caution. They lunged themselves towards the bush in a starving frenzy, rashly yanking the small red globes from the bush and shoving them into their mouth. For a few blissful seconds, relief washed over their body. It seemed too good to be true—and it was. A bitter, vile taste flooded their mouth as soon as they started chewing on the strange berries. Nic’s fur spiked up, their nose scrunched in disgust, their ears pointing downwards. Gagging, the satyr quickly spat out the berries, coughing out any bits that could have gone down their throat. Their stomach growled harsher than before, making Nic bend over in pain. The promise of food and the sudden lack of one had only made matters worse; it felt like the woods were teasing them, mocking them. A few tears threatened to appear in Nic’s eyes, but they refused to let them fall. They would not cry. They would not let that weak, imperfect, organic forest win. Nic was better. Nic would not succumb like all those beasts around them; Nic was NOT one of those beasts!
A maelstrom of emotions filled Nic’s mind—frustration, exhaustion, anger, resentment. They couldn’t bear it any longer, and against their better judgment, they let out a primal yell as they stomped on the damned bush. Hidden spines retaliated, attaching themselves to the satyr’s fur, but this only fueled their anger. It only made them want to destroy every single thing that resided in that forest even more. Their hooves went down with crushing force on the plant, the few remaining berries getting squashed on the ground and leaving sticky, crimson sap on the dirt. They grunted and huffed as they used all their remaining strengths to take revenge on the bush.
Minutes later, Nic stood panting for air, famished, and with those wretched spines still clinging to their legs and lodged in between their hooves. Their breath was ragged, the stinging aftertaste of the berries remaining in the back of their mouth as bile threatened to rise from their painfully empty stomach. It growled again, and Nic clenched their fists in frustration.
“Food”, they reminded themselves, as if the thought had slipped away in their frantic waste of energy “I need food”.
So, without letting their hunger stop them, the famished satyr plucked away the spines from their pelt and forced their legs to stop shaking. They inhaled deeply, getting ready to keep going, when they heard something—a subtle crack , loud enough for their receptive ears to catch. Nic’s right ear twitched, so they turned in that direction, only to find a small squirrel standing next to a rotting tree stump that the satyr had passed earlier. A small, brown squirrel that had a nut in between its tiny hands. Nic stayed still, very still, and observed the animal further. The squirrel was small and probably faster than them. But it was also weak. And Nic was hungry .
Before they realized what was happening, Nic threw themselves at the squirrel. The small rodent let out an alarmed squawk and shoved the nut in its mouth before running away, Nic following closely. The squirrel dashed through the forest ground, agile, almost as if following a hidden path only it could see. All while Nic stumbled over and tried to recover their balance repeatedly; the uneven terrain and sudden turns made it even harder for their legs to work like they wanted, trying to step and run as they were used with their human body. Ragged and uneven breaths tore from their throat, sweat dripping from their forehead and pain shooting up from their hooves and hind legs as they begged for a stop but were forced to keep going. Yet moments later, the pursuit proved to be another failure. The little beast ran up a tree with ease and hid inside a hole in its trunk, far too high for Nic’s exhausted body to reach. The satyr panted for air as they looked upwards, as if hoping the squirrel would come out with its tiny arms full of nuts to share.
Was that all, then? Defeated, time and time again by that realm home of small critters and dangerous beasts, tricky and deceiving, filled with nothing but pain and… sweet smells? Nic’s stomach roared again, the now-familiar pain gnawing at their empty insides. But the satyr was too focused on something else to care. That smell. They sniffed the air, their nose now proving much more useful than it had ever been. It was there—faint, mixed with scents of musk and dirt and other fragrances that made the forest smell as it did. But that smell was different. It belonged, it wasn’t a foreign one like the scent that lingered in their older clothes from the factory, oily and pungent to no end, with hints of smoke from the large pipes that polluted the air and everything around them. No, this scent belonged to the forest. A sweet, rich, apple scent that made the satyr’s stomach growl.
Without much of an alternative, Nic let their body guide them. Their hooves stepped carefully through the undergrowth, their nose being the only guide to tell them where to step next. They took reluctant steps at first—Nic’s mind wasn’t too happy or trusting of this new side of them that acted as a guide, that instinct that fit more the mind of a beast rather than the one of a machine. Yet the hunger lingered and grew, and their muscles were already too exhausted as it were to spend any remaining efforts in any other useless attempts. So for once, they turned off their rational side and just let their senses guide them.
The hesitant movements soon turned into decisive strides—their legs lunged their body forward in small jumps every time their hooves met the ground, impulsing themselves into the air for a fraction of a second before returning to the soft soil and repeating the process all over again. Nic was soon dashing through the forest, the scent growing stronger and stronger as they moved. It wasn’t only their legs that allowed them to move faster, but their whole body working in tandem to reach their destination. Nic’s ears twitched when their head neared a branch or another obstacle, allowing them to duck before that happened; their tail moved along with the direction of their upper body and helped them keep their balance in those tight turns they hadn’t been able to perform earlier. The satyr felt a surge of adrenaline from within, and a vague sense of something they couldn’t quite determine. Despite the sweat, pain, and overall uncomfortableness, a smile tugged at Nic’s lips.
That was, until they reached the origin of that sweet, juicy apple scent. Leshy’s cabin. Nic stopped before the small house, catching their breath as it dawned on them what had happened. Inside the cabin, the elderly scrybe of the beasts carefully sliced what looked like a homemade apple pie, its aroma filling the air and reaching the famished satyr. Nic’s stomach growled once more, impatient, and Leshy turned his head. There was a brief moment where nothing happened, the young satyr staring at the older one as he stared back, knife in hand. Nic was tired, hungry, and now scared as they recalled the way they had parted from Leshy’s care—they had refused their help as soon as they were capable of standing on their hooves again, insulted the scrybe for trying to nurse them as if they were a fawn or a weakling, for bringing them clothes that fit their new body better and keeping them safe and warm inside his cabin as their ankle recovered. Nic wouldn’t have been happy if they had been in Leshy’s position. If they had been in the scrybe’s shoes, they would have raised the knife and run after Nic until they were no longer. The younger satyr’s fur spiked up in horror as they realized they wouldn’t be able to outrun the scrybe of the beasts in his own realm, even if it meant saving their own life.
Leshy held their gaze through the window for a few seconds, then glanced back down to the pie. He brought down the knife and finished slicing a triangular piece, a bit bigger than he had meant to, but no matter. The tree satyr hummed as he set the portion of pie on a plate, only to then repeat the process. He wasn’t oblivious to the way the little fawn’s mouth watered at the sight of the pie Grimora had so kindly baked and gifted him with the apples he had grown for her. And it seemed like the aroma had also caught their attention. Moving slowly, with the experience of one used to dealing with frightened animals, he reached out and extended his arm through the open window, offering the plate with a bigger slice of apple pie to Nic. The hesitation was evident, their ears flattened and their tail hidden in between their legs as he debated whether or not to accept his offer. And then, in the blink of an eye, the slice was gone and the younger satyr was devouring the food with a hunger of a pack of wolves. Leshy would have offered them a spoon or fork if needed, but it seemed they were far too hungry to wait for utensils.
The scrybe of the beasts hid a smile beneath his leafy beard, amused by how quickly the fawn had forgotten their pride in favour of basic needs such as nourishment. A hint of surprise rose above, too; the older satyr hadn't expected the young fawn to last for so long in such unfamiliar lands without added help. He welcomed the surprise, either way, and as the fawn finished the pie and locked eyes with him again, he gestured to the door. There was much they could learn about the forest and its residents, and whether Nic liked it or not, it seemed like that place would serve as their new home. At least, until they figured out a way to change their new body for their old one. But in the meantime, they had plenty of apple pie to share.
So... Now, thanks to your sis, i want to make myself some about others...
The photo, the scan, the paint and the ink, are only four links between moment of blink, and rebirth in the decks of a powerful scrybes, with others you'll rise, or meet your demise...
Photograph of beasts, with mushrooms and leaves, the fair forest master, with moon up his sleeve... Leshy, the scrybe of big creatures and small, does not have big goal, nor call to the all. No, he's roleplayer with masks and a map, of gold, of the fish, the trade and the trap. Tip of the scales, to the left, to the right, the cards sacrifices in tabletop fight. The candle was blown, another was soon, and life, once your own, now card with no boon. So come in the cabin of puzzles and decks, and solve there the story, of tale after hex...
So my younger sister made a poem about Grimora and it’s so fuckin amazing
You guys should like
Read it
Under the cut
:)
Читать дальше