Even as a kid — nature, space, dinosaurs. The weird one. The one other parents warned their kids about.
I was the child asking questions at church that nobody wanted to answer. The one who saw in webs, not straight lines. Who always felt like something was slightly off, like I was trying to run a program on hardware it was never designed for. I wasn't doing anything wrong. The fit just wasn't right, and it took me a long time to understand that wasn't a me problem.
I'm autistic. I process differently, I feel differently, I move through the world differently — and for a long time that got framed as a flaw. It isn't. It's just how I'm built. I see patterns other people miss. I go deep on things I love until I know them from the inside out. That's not a bug. That's the whole point of me.
When I prayed it felt hollow. Not angry-hollow, just — empty. Like trying to pour water into a shape that had no bottom. I didn't understand why for a long time. Then something else sparked.
Witchcraft didn't feel forced. It didn't ask me to perform a peace I didn't have or believe in a structure that never made room for what I actually was. It fit the way I already moved through the world — in webs, in the old patterns, in the language of wild things. Something actually lit up. An ember I didn't know I was looking for.
I don't say any of this to cast shade. I'm still healing from my upbringing around Christianity — it wasn't a good one — and I'm doing that healing through my craft and my own work, on my own terms. The path I'm on now is mine. It was always going to be mine. It just took a while to find it.
My path is Omni Pagan — built one tradition at a time. Right now I'm deepening into Ásatrú and Norse Heathenry, learning the old ways the slow way, the way that actually sticks. I work with Loki — not the Marvel version, not the villain version, but the real one. The trickster. The shapeshifter. The one who tells the truth sideways and sits with you in the uncomfortable places. He found me before I had the language for what we were doing, and I've stopped questioning it. That relationship is part of my practice, part of my craft, part of who I am.
I hold that science and magic are two faces of the same coin. That nature is not a metaphor. That the old ways were not primitive — they were accurate. They read the world correctly. The web I see in is the same one everything is built from. I didn't invent that. I just never lost the ability to see it.
Worldbuilding is how I think. It always has been. I don't build worlds to escape — I build them to understand, to process, to put into external form the things that are too large or too complicated to carry internally. Every world I make is a mirror. Every character is a question I'm asking myself.
I write — specifically the dark stuff, the horror, the psychological weight of things, the complicated aftermath of things that happened and can't unhappen. I use fiction the way it was always meant to be used: to say the true thing in a container that can hold it. Folk Horror and Southern Gothic are my natural habitats. I grew up in the American South. I know what it looks like when something beautiful has something rotting underneath it.
I play D&D, Dead by Daylight, Monster Hunter, Pokémon, Path of Titans, Minecraft. I play guitar, slowly learning Norwegian, and I collect more interests than any one person should probably have. Dinosaurs have been a constant since before I can remember — my favorite is Acrocanthosaurus, which tells you everything you need to know about my taste.
I'm a recluse by nature. Two close friends. No interest in expanding that. What I lack in social breadth I make up for in depth — I go all the way in on the things I care about, and I care about a lot of things very much.
Take away the pointless needs. Pull it back to the start. Give us the intelligence we have — but put us back in the world as it was when the world was new, wild and free.
That is Velkenoor.
It is my ideal Earth. The one that never made the mistake. Where humanity stayed intelligent and feral at the same time — where the old ways didn't end, they just deepened. Every age of Velkenoor is not the story of what was lost but of what was learned, within a world whose laws were already written before the first creature was alive to read them.
The world began with violence — a planet named Theo struck Velkenoor at the deep end of time. Two worlds collided. Everything unmade and remade. And the remnant of Theo has been orbiting ever since, watching. Every Velken who has ever lived can look up and see the thing that made their world possible. The beginning is always visible. It doesn't go away.
The dinosaurs didn't end here. They adapted. Some became dragons — scaled up across millions of years into things that the Velken mind can only process as gods. Because that's how it actually works: a creature so far beyond scale that the only word your brain produces is that is something other than what I am. The Velkens didn't invent their gods. They recognized them.
The Velkens are not a species. They're a people — a cultural name, the way Northmen were called Northmen. Humans, elves, shifters, anything of humanoid shape that has been shaped by this world long enough to be of it. They have full intelligence, full language, full capacity for meaning. What they don't have is comfort purchased at the cost of the old law. They stayed.
The law of Velkenoor is not written in any book. It was set before anything existed that could write it. Cause produces effect. Stupidity earns its prize. The wolf doesn't hate what it kills. The storm doesn't choose its target. There is no hierarchy that sits above this law — not even the gods.
I built this world because I needed it. Because there is something deeply correct about a world that never forgot what it was — that stayed honest about what nature actually is, that didn't romanticize the wild but also didn't fear it, that understood predator and prey not as horror but as the most truthful system that has ever existed.
And because sometimes you need a mirror that shows you what could have been. Not as grief — as direction.
"Nature is a horror story no human can ever recreate."
The Motto of VelkenoorThe world is bigger than Earth — nearly double the surface area, one continuous body of forest and sea and field. The forests won. They kept winning. There are redwoods old enough to remember the Forging. Pine forests that run for thousands of miles without interruption. Seasons that answer to nothing predictable, because a set seasonal wheel is a civilization concept and Velkenoor never became that.
The pantheon is real and present and hungry. Apex predators in the truest sense. They hunt. They have territories and natures as specific and unalterable as any creature's. They've been here longer than anything else. The Velkens who have lived longest know to pay attention — not because the gods demand worship, but because disrespecting an apex predator earns exactly what disrespecting an apex predator has always earned.
If something in this world sparks an ember you've been needing to light — then it did exactly what it was made to do.
You found it for a reason.
My personal triggers are few but real. If you interact with me or send me content, please tag or warn for the following. I'm not fragile — I just need to choose when I engage. Misgendering and deadnaming in particular: don't. There is no version of that which is acceptable.