An image from my Equestria dreamscape. This is from a dream I had in mid 2020. I immediately did the initial rough sketch, and then a couple of months ago I laid out this final drawing on its working surface. Since then I’ve been poking at the piece. Working on it when I have some time spare. Well recently I decided to finish it.
 
In the Lower Dark Realms there is a place that is infamous with denizen that inhabited the realms. A place that most wisely steer clear of. A place which is held in dread and only spoken of in hushed whispers. A place where most of the inhabitants who exist daily with death, terror, and chaos fear to tread.
 
It is a place of insanity. A vast mountain of muscle that is constantly twisting and pulsating. It towers over of a blasted plain of utter destruction. At its summit is what’s called the Throne of Flesh.
 
Legends and myths speak of a great citadel that once sat at the center of where this abomination now resides. Thousands of years ago a great and terrible being had called it their home. This being who’s name is lost time was one of greatest magic wielders in the Lower Dark Realms. Their citadel was the location of their vast library of ancient, eldritch lore. A collection ruthlessly gathered over course of many centuries from numerous planes of existence. Here this great being sought to learn greatest and darkest secrets of the planes.
 
The exact reason for their downfall is like their name. Lost to waves of time. Some tomes say they attempted to perform some hideous experiment that went terribly wrong. Other legends proclaim that the Master of Citadel summoned a great assembly of magic users, and they tried to elevate themselves to effectively godhood only to have their ritual fail horribly. Still other stories speak of a terrible treachery by another magic wielder who condemn the Master of the Citadel to this tormented fate.
 
Whatever the reason it’s place that most avoid. To even approach it is to risk madness and insanity. Long before one can clearly see it on can hear it. Millions of voices screaming, shouting, begging, and crying out at once. If one can avoid being mentally shattered by the onslaught one will realize its not utter gibberish. The voices are reciting fragments of arcane knowledge. They’re scraps and snippets of the great library that once resided here.
 
The knowledge still exist but the only way one can try and retrieve it in a coherent manner is to sit upon the Throne of Flesh. Anyone may sit upon it, but to do so one must be able to give something. To access the vast trove of dark, terrible knowledge one must be able to contribute to it. One must be able provide some piece of information that the throne didn’t already know, and is of enough importance to worthy of being added. If one fails then one consumed by the throne, and that unfortunate soul becomes part of the howling chorus. Over the ages millions have tried sit upon that blasted throne. Most have failed, and for centuries none have been able to claim to have sat upon it.
 
That changed recently. A newcomer has gained access to the library. An outsider who’s traveled to the Lower Dark Realms from above. The one who has claimed the throne now flies their colors from the summit. Their two red bows were already known and feared in the Lower Dark Realms. Now they’re sometimes seen sitting on the throne. What they’re learning or searching over is unknown. I guess if one wanted to know one could sit on the throne themselves.
 
Any takers?