"To be collected is to be treasured, To be collected from is unimaginable pain." ~ Geron the Black
Within the drifts of the in-between — the under- and upper-sanctuaries — there exist pockets where nightmare and awe intertwine. In one such shadowed place lies a cavern filled with glittering objects. The scent of book dust and ash filter through the air. Tiny dancing dust motes flicker through beams of light.
They are curious things: each gleams not with mere sparkle or simple magic, but with the faint shimmer of souls tethered within.
The shelves are arranged with meticulous care, each object granted its sacred place. A golden paintbrush rests upon a pedestal, bathed in a ghostly light. Nearby, a book with a gilded cover murmurs its tales of Aransha, whispering from between its pages. Other notable items include a small Mirehorn statue—a creature that doesn’t belong to this world—its sharp horns glinting with a faint, soul-like magic. Tucked away is a map of a million islands, massive and set carefully out of the light. The shelves stretch into the darkness, each piece shimmering with not just enchantment, but with the weight of life itself.
Through those halls hums a sound — soft, off-key, like the echo of a childhood song you almost remember.
And there, tending his collection, is the Gilded Collector.
Pride gleams in the way he moves, in the way he names each fragment with reverence both mesmerizing and terrible. He whispers to them—soft, affectionate things of pride and glory.
One should never linger long in this in-between. For the Gilded Collector claims what he desires.
Some say he is only myth, but the vanished tell otherwise. Each artifact in his cavern is bound to a soul — the souls of creators, those who gave too much to their craft.
Yet with collection comes obsession. There is a fine line between perfection and ruin, and he treads it with exquisite care.
In the middle sanctuary, whispers coil among the shadows of artists, poets, and dreamers. They speak of him as the one who covets—a dark muse full of haunting promise. His gaze lingers where creativity burns brightest, and where it lingers, obsession takes root.
But even dark muses have secrets.
Even collectors have closets.
It is said that those he has collected are treated with care.
It’s what lies within his closet that truly torments others.
For the Gilded Collector has a darker side. His obsession is not simply beauty, but debt. He collects from those who have sinned against creation itself — those who exploit, pervert, or hollow out the art of others. What was wrought at
The Last Lantern is, but a whisper compared to what he hides now.
Beyond the veil, if you dare to slip into that closet, you will hear the umbral screams of his truest victims.
Teeth. Hair. Fingernails.
Fragments of those whose debts he has claimed.
He collects their essence — the soul, the mind — until only a hollow echo remains.
After all, a Collector must be discerning in the quality of what he gathers.
If you are ever so unfortunate as to glimpse his macabre trove, know this: it isn’t only teeth he’s taken, but the jawbone still attached. The teeth themselves are inlaid with runes, their power stolen from the Dae.
And the jars — hundreds of them — filled with fingernails, each one torn cleanly from its bed. Long, pointed, blood-tinged, or short and jagged, they shimmer under dim light like jewels of pain.
Rumors whisper he is primordial—or one of the Abyssi Domani, a Lord of the Dae who managed to slip into the in-between. If you have found yourself here in his collection, wandering the halls of this shadowed space, remember:
And when you leave, if you leave at all, a part of you remains… waiting to be catalogued.
This article was written for Story Teller's Circle Spooktober Event If you'd like to know more about the who inspired please check out
Arc Sagas
Myth-X 
My heart is filled with this haunting vision you've rendered in my likeness. From the scattered ash and dancing motes to the den of treasures, you've honestly captured a wonderful portrayal of me, and I'm grateful for this vision. You've turned me into a thing of myth and legend; of pride and power, compassion and observance; yes even a little madness. It's an honor to have made your acquaintance; I sincerely look forward to all of our Work together.
I do as well! It was fun to write!! This will be fun! Thank you for being my Muse. Happy Spooktober. I wanted to carefully ride the edge of the knowledge from just meeting you!