Dismarlutte ~ Author of DISMALIA WILD HUNTS.
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dismarlutte.bsky.social
Dismarlutte ~ Author of DISMALIA WILD HUNTS.
@dismarlutte.bsky.social
360 followers 2K following 1.4K posts
🇲🇽 / Philosopher & Writer.
28.
Read about DISMALIA here:

https://marlutte.itch.io/dismalia-wild-hunts

https://marlutte.itch.io/

https://ko-fi.com/marlutte1

https://linktr.ee/dismaliazone

https://bsky.app/profile/dismalia.bsky.social
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dismarlutte.bsky.social
Despite everything, the conceptual design works of Bioshock Infinite remain a superb source of inspiration for character and creature design. My favorite remains the evolution of the Handy Man from Better Men Autobodies. So much ominous character exuding from these brawny monstrosities.
November 18, 2025 at 4:56 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Philosophy of the Demoniac Grotesqueries ~
Concept art for GYNOUG: Wings of Wor by Satoshi Nakai.
November 16, 2025 at 11:19 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
LOVING your Doom Series of Demons, but this one in particular is spectacular! Really embodying the fierce features of a Regal Behemoth, brusque yet noble in its beastly brutality. A formidable opponent for any Demon Slayer! Can imagine Praetoria having a blast brawling with this horned bruiser~
November 13, 2025 at 6:04 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
SERPENTINE SERAPH! EGYPTIAN MYTHOLOGY GANG OF CHRISTIANITY, WE ARE THRIVING! Viv has RESEARCHED.
November 12, 2025 at 4:58 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
The look for these storming days.
November 11, 2025 at 8:12 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
I love that Hazbin Hotel's Heaven unironically looks like this but with a more cosmic skybox.
November 7, 2025 at 4:02 AM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Not a Win.RAR, but a roaring ravenous revenant Mystic Demon~
November 6, 2025 at 4:52 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
I am laughing for the dumbest reason because my snarky ass ia thinking "Well, don't we all get paler when we die?" But I am restraining myself of saying that whole heartedly.
November 6, 2025 at 3:22 AM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
To the risk of sounding nostalgia poisoned, but rather appreciating the artistry on marketing with effort when it once mattered, Coca Cola had some uniquely surreal and charming commercials when they actually invested funds into the animation, like the Grand Theft Auto or Happiness Factory ones!
November 4, 2025 at 11:35 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
HAVE a gruesomely glorious harrowing halloween on this fine Season of Storm, dearest followers and confidants! All the way from the deadlands of Dismalia!
October 31, 2025 at 2:18 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
THANK YOU! Slightly cropped version, as the full one has a wider scope fitted perfectly for the scene it is adapting for the finished story of DISMALIA Wild Hunts GAMBITS - Gambit of the Cyclopean Mastodon. Set to be published hopefully soon when the funds are gathered!
October 27, 2025 at 5:38 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Mustering up the primal essence of the demonic Dermic Embracer, masked with the carved skull of his most recent slain prey. Chimeric power of fang, tail, horn, claw pours into him, granting his body massively increased ferocious speed, nourished by the blood of his prey. Art by @windlass.bsky.social
The perched up Flayer of Fiends hanging bleeding bait of a lesser Demon to attract a greater Cyclopean Behemoth, art by Windlass.
October 27, 2025 at 5:31 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Incomprehensibly, he seems extremely resigned to remain exclusively on twitter. Won't share exact names or details, obviously, but I was put off by his reasoning behind that decision.
October 27, 2025 at 5:28 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Despondent dweller of dark dimensions distraught by the Demonic dermic embracer, deviously draining vitality in exchange of valorous excellence, strived by all Slayers of the Dismal Lands ever far from grasp, yet ever maintaining the inertia of our eternal hunt. I solemnly hire the Flayer of Fiends.
Deep in the ornate halls of these lodges, ancestral insight on Demonology is inherited from Rokyu Warrior to Rokyu Warrior amidst this ferocious fraternity, shared to newer members in theatrically extravagant ways, recreating their heroic hunts and wondrous duels to the death with their quarries, consisting of their crucial weaknesses, exploits and tricks to carve through bodies and reach their most precious organs with stylish ease. There is always scandalous gossiping to be heard and read inside the Rokyu lodges, amidst the cacophony of frenzied feasting and depraved over indulgence. Bosco rarely participates in these flamboyantly foul celebrations of carnal delights, but he does pay respects to their traditions in his own subtle way, as well as paying attention to their exaggerated tales of big game hunting, picking apart the most crucial details with surgical precision as if plucking out the most essential bits and giblets of succulent knowledge about Demons without getting too tainted in the process. Decapitation is the pinnacle of graceful slaying, and the Hunters of the Rokyu Brotherhood consider the severing of Demon heads as the greatest form of execution. If the esoteric arts of the Rokyu are invoked during a Hunt against a Demon that is Bloodied, on a critical success the Slayer can fly towards the defeated foe and decapitate it majestically. Even if the body remains alive, which requires the destruction of its core, the head is claimed by the Rokyu that performed the decapitating ritual. Whenever the Butcher Bosco slays a Demon, he carves the corpse of the dead fiend with swift precision to harvest more parts to attach to the Dermic Embracer. Art by Necronauts Toys. Demon Blood is wealth in Dismalia, and it nourishes our veins. From an intrepidly bold entrepreneur making the best out of his condemnation, came forth a magnate of Demon Hunting. The Butcher Baron of Phobos, head of his own Slaying Company, the sovereign of a system that inspired dread and glory simultaneously into the broken hearts of new Exiles. This is a vision of frivolous management techniques, the Rokyu that exchanged passion for cold efficiency. New methods, same results. The Reclamation is progress, obtainable only by oiling the cogs of the monstrous machine with the blood of Demons and Slayers alike, fusing as one. The disgraced Rokyu bedecks himself in the flayed flesh of slain Demons, incarnating the bestial brutality of their chimeric ferocity, remarked by veterans of the eternal hunt as a virtuous vivisector capable of melding perfectly amidst Pandemonium like a brooding revenant in perfect stealth, imperceivable by the concealment of his human essence beneath layers of cadaveric Demon matter. Engaging in the rudimentary hunting procedures, the Rokyu ravaged the pack of Grotesques before they could retaliate meaningfully, pouncing from the darkened corners and aiming his gleaming Irkianite cleavers for tendons and arteries, preserving the Demons's bodies in pristine condition, as much as it could be salvaged for the grisly craftsmanship inbound to occur through occult means. The Butcher hauled the lesser Demons' corpses into the darkness by meathooks tied to ropes, and he got to do the dirty work. "Demon Matter gathered. Meatsuit in the making”. Art by Isaiah Worrington (Cyberdreamsss). The Flayer of Fiends learns the truth about the ultimate optimization of Demon Hunting, by dehumanizing the Slayers of his Company as a means to a greater end. A sustainable, efficient system that transmogrifies suffering into strength, madness into brilliance, resentment into righteousness. At first, Bosco thought himself to be better than the Magal Guild; smarter, more in touch with his humanity, bonding with the members of his Company as a family rather than as assets of a grand scheme. Fix their mishandling of the Dismalia Frontier, be the head of a movement of independence to the Exiles of Phobos, those doomed by the selfish curiosity of the Mages. Instead, he perfected their methods. Just like an alchemical formula scavenged from the ruins of Berelithian Laboratories, restored and refined by the lucidity of the Waking Century, and its herald, the Butcher Baron. Taking their gnarly greed and callous curiosity and transforming it into meticulous optimization, the one constant amidst all those wondrous variables was the piling of bodies, Demons and Hunters alike, bleeding as one, blending all the same. Yet, now the machine kept the flow of flesh immaculately, without the clogging and sabotage that defined the now distant Magal negligence. He learned the true meaning of value in the form of Demon Matter, as well as the human spirit. Clashing of bodies, measurement of worth. Categorizing Kin for their utility, calculating acceptable losses for the income of substance and matter. Wondering how to applicate violence versatilely. Art by Ahmonza. "I want you, reader of this record, to envision ever so evocatively, the reasons why other brothers of the Rokyu Guild loathe the one known as Bosco, the Flayer of Fiends of Phobos. In the dullest terms, he is is a try-hard of the highest caliber. Because he hides, hunts and harvests in such sequential perfection that the man is indistinguishable from an automata. He comes to the carnage and collects all carnality and then leaves. Rightly, the rumors of him being a manipulator spreading outside of his sinister circle refer to how he lets his other gang members deal with the front of the fray, while he merely and meekly pulls any debilitated Demon by his meathooks and vivisects it in the spot. His form of fighting being less combative maneuvering and more systemic assassination and butchery (thus the name). But this rejects all the vigorous virtuosity expected of his Guild. But if you dare, curious reader, to as his party, the one known as the 'Butcher's Company', no one is gonna dare to sell out Bosco. They all respect him, understanding deeply the risks he puts himself through. They will make a passing mention of his experiments and the "Embracer". The Meatsuit. They'll mention how he's slip inside the open wounds of Demons and crawled towards their hearts, cutting his way out of their colossal corpses. How he's allowed himself to be hurled and tossed like a human sized javelin to swing at the necks of tall Demons for a single cut decapitation. Tell experiences that, from their witnessing, rather than awe inspiring sound disturbing. Because they know him. They know he is aware of the risks. Wether he seeks death or has so little self preservation, to clash ironically with the slander of cowardice from his own Brothers, remains a contested idea if asked by his party". Confessions of an anonymous disgruntled Rokyu Slayer, recorded by "Inquisitor" Donna Drukalli, Baroness of Phobos. Art by Nathan Anderson.
October 27, 2025 at 5:27 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Consulting one of my inspirations for Dismalia in search of the power to keep this inertia.
October 25, 2025 at 8:15 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Vitriolic Vitruvian Vivisector. Bosco the Flayer of Fiends, Butcher of Dismalia. Emerging from the abyssal void displaying the ghastly glory of his demonic Dermic Embracer, charmingly known as "The Meatsuit" by allies.
Done by Isahia Worrington, Cyberdreamsss from the ruins of the other social media
"Meat, must gather meat, for the Meatsuit". Declared the Butcher upon sliding down his bone mask, knives drawn and eyes glowing, striding into the dismal cavern with a stealthy but steady step. Upon glancing at a trio of Ghoulish Grotesques at a corner feasting on a pile of Matter (resource) rooted to the damp corner, the spilled blood agglutinating on the rocky tiles to form a Portal Puddle. "Done, alright". Stated through gritted teeth, taking a hunched skulked position against the wall as his silhouette melded with the fog of war prevailing in the dimly lit grotto. "Their pelts will form the fine patchwork for the dermic suit". Engaging in the rudimentary hunting procedures, the Rokyu ravaged the pack of Grotesques before they could retaliate meaningfully, pouncing from the darkened corners and aiming his gleaming Irkianite cleavers for tendons and arteries, preserving the Demons's bodies in pristine condition, as much as it could be salvaged for the grisly craftsmanship inbound to occur through occult means. The Butcher hauled the lesser Demons' corpses into the darkness by meathooks tied to ropes, and he got to do the dirty work. "Demon Matter gathered. Meatsuit in the making”. Bosco stealthily skulks beneath the shadow of the mountainous Praetoria, infusing her veins with a cocktail of volatile Elixirs concocted in the moment with the artificial organs in his Meatsuit, from Choleric power pills to regenerative Sanguine ichor, tactically adapting to the increment of hostility from the Demons in this gauntlet; leaving in the wake of her wrathful onslaught a trail of limbless Demons and amputated appendages desperately seeking their respective original bodies, before being collected by the Rokyu huntsman. Handled with dexterous care to break their gnarly joints and stuffing them in jars filled with a solution that delayed their regenerative potential, essential for the transportation of gory goods back for trading with the Magal alchemists back at Phobos.
October 24, 2025 at 7:04 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
The trajectory of cosmic procession must be transmitted into the minds of enlightened vessels, the fungal mutators shall provide proper nourishment to expand beyond carnal limits. I adore this form of ethereal ascension to reach the orbiting satellites. Also, can't believe mongrel used facts & logic
October 16, 2025 at 9:21 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Nathan Anderson is one of the greatest artists I've had the glorious pleasure of working with and I hope to do so more in the future, as he's illustrated three of my main characters of my DISMALIA Wild Hunts series with the same expressive stylized realism that only his style can truly master.
October 15, 2025 at 12:25 AM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
One of my favorite inspirations for armored raiders are Los Vagabundos of Lost Planet 2, who are inexplicably hispanic speaking despite being in a distant science fiction future. Festive hunters of the sands, fending off monstrous aliens and scavenging technology and that precious thermal energy.
October 15, 2025 at 12:18 AM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
That time of the year, once again.
October 8, 2025 at 4:06 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
Meeting curious creatures on a walk out for Ice Cream.
October 7, 2025 at 12:52 AM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
The answers lie deeper. Hunt them down. There is no end of the world. It only ends when you D I E.

DISMALIA WILD HUNTS.

Visions of DISMALIA, edit done by @cubicskull.bsky.social. Cover Art by @elizbee.bsky.social.
Urvall the Dreadful Diabolist, Abyssal Sorceress of the Butcher’s Company, empowering her aura of cosmic darkness against the encroaching Behemoth Rex, the Six Eyed King of Horrors. The Spell Sigil of the Behemoth Rex Tyrant, shaped like its skull, with its curving tusks pointing sharply upwards, and the sign of the Omega Glyph, the End of All, crowning its visage; representative of its status as the ultimate annihilator of free Life. “A POUND OF FLESH IS NOT A POUND OF LIFE! A POUND OF FLESH IS ONLY ALIVE UNLESS IT PULSATES! TO PULSATE, A POUND OF FLESH MUST BLEED! THE BLOOD THAT PULSATES INSIDE! THE POUND OF FLESH IS THE LIFE! THE LIFE OF THE POUND OF FLESH!” The Regal Behemoth rambles while prowling the abyssal void with quaking stomps, prowling predatorily the barren hellscape in search of interlopers to interrogate, craving to deliver divine death upon those that have defiled life with artificial alchemical immortality. Demanding corpses as tokens for passage into the Underworld of ITH, its Domains. Primal fury precedes its stomping hooves. On its skull are six horns, each with an eye that sees through solid rock. Panopticon of vision, symbolic for the Terror Tyrant. He can only perceive reality from the perspective of authority. From the spikes of his crown. His vestigial human eye sockets are but a testament to ancient weakness shed and eviscerated by millennia of strength cultivation by devouring demons. The Tyrant Behemoth collects corpses as trophies and wields a grotesque skull studded garrote, cursed with the twisted torment of its prey. Its mere presence bends time and space, blighting it by sheer brute metaphysical force. Praetoria Gloriosa charging at the Behemoth Cerbeboros. The living Key at the scarred Gates of Mazerith, a gate sculpted with the amalgamated bodies of arcane Mages petrified into its foundations to seal the horrors beyond and beneath. Praetoria needed to be at the peak of her barbarous rapture so it could transfer his spirit into her to possess such a mighty body. There were no words, as the demonic passions were taking over her, the last of the Demons she could smell was emerging from a dark tunnel beneath the balcony of this cultist. Three heads emerged from the warrens, mouths bridled. She expected an Apex Behemoth, judging by the tales from the Basilisk Zathan. A true beast of antiquity, solemnly monstrous. She also expected something imprisoned by insidious means or horrid hexes. She wasn’t ready to feel pity for this Demon. The smell that travelled from the depths of that ruinous dungeon beneath the master of this cavern was that of a refined ancient Demon. Tasting behind her nose the essence of fermented ferocity and restrained wrath, exhausted by eons of crushing earthbound pressure. It shambled its way to only emerge partially, its three heads viscerally entangled by spike chains and metallic bridles that held its mandibles tightly from being opened. The central head was the one allowed the most freedom, while it tugged and jerked the other two at the side by the chains on its bridle and neck straps, dragging a dozen thorny chains linked to rusty Berelithian weapons impaled through its coal black flesh. The Glory Seeker telepathically demanded the Demon to reveal their names; solemnly, once the telepathic bond was formed instinctively. “Our names are Kærr, Bærr & Boros, three in one, Ancient Apex Behemoth of Ouroborea". She gripped the handle of her double headed head hunting great axe tighter, with a determined grit of anticipatory delight, conjuring the gracious hunger of a Legion, clamoring for the Demon’s blood through combative exsanguination. Horned Holy Huntress, Dorris of the Radiant Church, Blasting Blazing Blood Bullets against the ferocious Chimeric Conqueror Samiginus Samigila. On the hunt at the Maze of ITH, vertically fighting around ancient columns carved with grotesque reliefs that narrate the legends of the Six Eyed Royalty. Embracing her dreadful destiny as a missionary mistress heralding the passionate dogma of the Golden Dragon to the severely demoralized Exiles of Dismalia, the Holy Horned Huntress Dorris embarked on a personal crusade to invigorate the ethereal blaze of the Slayers of Phobos. Departing without any sentence, granted permission to march towards the Dismal Frontier, carrying enough resources and belongings to donate them to a considerable group of bleak Hunters that quickly became her congregation once bestowed with the charitable gifts of the Priestess. Heeding the teachings of the Tarnished Book of Omens and the providence of the Draconic Divinity. Solely becoming the first fountain of blazing blood in Phobos, the project of the Parish District continues as the gathering of fateful blood bound Radiant Slayers increases, exponentially incrementing the quality of life for the condemned, healing the blighted and arming their Hunters with state of the art weaponry and miraculous sorceries. Too good to be acceptable to the criminal syndicates of Phobos and the Magal Guild. Whenever she is not leading the congregation with education and meditation, Dorris Bethel roams the dismal lands fight fighting blights, Demons and other threats in the name of justice and passion. The Radiant Church encourages euphoric diligence, and Dorris is a particularly radical wild card, even for her own Guild. Highly independent, exceedingly effective, and sticking to her own codes of honor and dogma; which tends to make her overdependent on superstitious pattern recognition of esoteric messages all around her life, to the detriment of any common expectation by other Hunters. Blessed be the Dragon! "You wander the dreams of the sleepless, you stand in the solid shape shadow of the formless! The command of the rulers of the Nightmare Above are heedless in your presence, and the thunderous heartbeat of dreadnoughts runs cold and still before you. . . Hark! Slayers have butchered demons for as long as the fiendish horrors have preyed upon humanity. Their clash has become an eternal struggle for survival, one whose origins and ultimate goal have been lost to time. Why do we hunt demons? The hunt is nothing special anymore, for every Slayer has a story. These brutally beautiful brutes face arduous trails and challenges in the face of graceful engines of terror we call Demons. And every Slayer has the singular demon they would make history with. Somewhere, sometime, a new story has unfolded between a slayer and their quarry. However, right when the hunt begins, the question prevails unanswered in the turmoil of their minds; say, “why do we hunt demons?”
October 3, 2025 at 7:07 PM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
It arrived, the lanky visitor, vigilantly gazing at the rainy traffic, as I passed it by with incredulous concern for its intentions...
October 2, 2025 at 1:27 AM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
The Glory Seeker Berserker has a favored prey in the form of Minotaurs. Horned taurine chimeras that embody the destructive purity of the Behemoth Demon. Their ravenous relentlessness and propensity for intimately close quarters combat make them a perfect fit for this gladiatorial pankrationist.
She couldn’t be exposed to any demon in that state, but fortunately Histeria was in one piece and the demon remained defeated. Only needed to step on its body as a sign of triumph. One last display of glory for her pupil, who was picking up the large right broken horn of the demon to save time on scavenging. However, as Praetoria laid her right foot on top of the demon’s belly, she saw the wounded chest pulsing intensely and suddenly explode, as the ribs splitting open like fans and the core heart was expelled out of the chest cavity, one massive yellow eye opening between its pulsating folds and the tube shaped veins spreading like tentacles, grasping and entangling over her weapons reaching for the neck to strangle her. Praetoria was deprived of strength and couldn’t fight back this sudden murderous organ as she looked deep into that hateful eye in the core. With a valkyrie’s flight Histeria plunged towards Praetoria’s aid impaling the heart with the long broken horn of the minotaur’s corps. Its strangling grasp was forcefully removed off Praetoria and both the core and Histeria flew far, grinding and nailing it against a wall and hissing furiously at it as its beats slowed to death. The demon was properly slain now. Praetoria, wordless, simply fainted from exhaustion after beholding such macabre execution. “The Behemoths fall slain, as the heroes rejoice. They played the war horn and called for feasting. The mutants laid down their weapons and devoured the Behemoth’s carrion, as they filled their chalices with sanguine ichor and bile liquor. From its gory remains arose an explosive heart, its boiling blood took out the demon’s drunk executors as they ascended to the Nightmare Above. We truly never learned. Our need to celebrate has damned us all, forever more.” - Praetoria’s Songs of Glory, Gutting Gulch Act III. Scene fragment from the story Dual Death of the Taurine Twins at the Gutting Gulch, from DISMALIA WILD HUNTS VOL. 1. As it falls like a crumbling pillar of flesh, Praetoria rises from the corpse triumphantly after decapitating it crudely. The Demon is finally slain. Histeria observed how Praetoria lifted the taurine head by the horn and walked with shivering steps to the cliff of the canyon. Standing at the peak of glorious carnage surfing the visceral blood waves of her inner world, all the while displaying the gruesomely beheaded trophy of the horned Behemoth, both gazing at the crimson horizons of the Gutting Gulch, making its precious, pricy blood drip down below to the grotto, as if tempting its twin that stalks the depths of this biome. She is heading for it next, but first, a feast, on the Demon's flesh and blood that won’t be saved for selling back in the city. She needs to restore her body. “Our eyes are blinded and burnt by the perpetual spilling of viscera veiling our visages, yet we charge forward. Our flesh is peeled off and splintered by the broken bone shards of our demonic predators, and yet we charge forward. Our muscles tear and our nerves get eviscerated by their telepathy and yet we lunge forth, into the Demon's core.” -Praetoria’s Songs of Glory-Gutting Gulch: Act 2. - - - Scene fragment from the story Dual Death of the Taurine Twins at the Gutting Gulch, from DISMALIA WILD HUNTS VOL. 1.
September 30, 2025 at 3:02 AM
dismarlutte.bsky.social
CHARM +6,6,6.
September 29, 2025 at 3:49 AM