Transmissions on Cult of Ashmore

Radio Silence

Fri, 13 Feb 2026 15:00:00 +0000

→ Transmission (audio-first). Read only if you can’t listen.

HQ, come in.

Approaching the hole. 100 feet.

Repeat.

Mike, I didn’t get it. Can’t hear your radio. Boost signal. 50 feet. Closing in.

That’s better. I’m almost there.

Zusammenkunft der Todten

Mon, 05 Jan 2026 15:00:00 +0000

The queen had died.

She was brought to a great hall where she lay on a bed carved from dark wood and adorned with gold. Black linen covered the windows, hid the gray walls, and dusty paintings. When night fell, candles were lit, painting dancing shadows on the walls.

Snowflake

Sun, 04 Jan 2026 15:00:00 +0000

Some snowflakes reach the ocean too early.
I remember this one.

Snowflake

If you can bring her to me, I beg you.

Listen.

†

Original photography by Branimir Balogović. Manipulated by Ashmore under the Unsplash License.

How Cold Are You, Really?

Sat, 03 Jan 2026 15:00:00 +0000

A winter tale reached me from Asteria Geisterblum.

How Cold Are You, Really?

Then may every fire you kindle die choking,
may the roads rise against you,
and the months betray you.

Listen.

†

Original photography by Branimir Balogović. Manipulated by Ashmore under the Unsplash License.

The Wassermann

Fri, 02 Jan 2026 15:00:00 +0000

One night, a midwife heard knocking on her door.

Make haste! Come to my wife!

It was deep night, the moon hid behind clouds. But a midwife cannot ignore her summons, so she dressed quickly and stepped outside.

The darkness was so heavy she could barely see the path.

Jólnir

Thu, 01 Jan 2026 15:00:00 +0000

A myth reached me from Katharine Kapodistria.

Jólnir

A flawed god, forever hungry

For knowledge, for devotion, for mortal souls.

Listen.

†

Original photography by Branimir Balogović. Manipulated by Ashmore under the Unsplash License.

Death-Ghost

Wed, 31 Dec 2025 15:00:00 +0000

In Schwatz and Innsbruck, they speak of a ghost that appears when death is near.
At first, it is small.
Then it grows, taller and taller, until it stands as high as a house.
It wanders the streets without sound.
And if it stops at a window
and looks inside,
someone in that house
will die.

Untitled Story

Tue, 30 Dec 2025 15:00:00 +0000

A tale reached me from Stefan Baciu.

Ghost of my grandfather, slip beneath these covers, let the dark close around us,

Listen.

†

Original photography by Branimir Balogović. Manipulated by Ashmore under the Unsplash License.

Räderberg

Mon, 29 Dec 2025 15:00:00 +0000

One day, a butcher from Nassau travelled the old road to buy his goods. Outside the village, he noticed a carriage moving ahead of him. He followed it, half lost in thought, watching its tracks in the frost.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped before a large house standing in the middle of the old road.

Concomitantly, Alive and Dead:

Sun, 28 Dec 2025 15:00:00 +0000

A winter vision reached me from Edward.Marlo.Ruiz.

Concomitantly, Alive and Dead:

Naked trees sustaining nothing but the wind.

Listen.

†

Original photography by Branimir Balogović. Manipulated by Ashmore under the Unsplash License.

The Village by the Sea

Sat, 27 Dec 2025 15:00:00 +0000

A woman walked on the beach. She stood in the sand, watching the sky. Seagulls flew over her head and drew shadows across the sun. God whispered in the waves, in the smell of salt, in the songs of the birds. She prayed without a word, becoming part of that quiet.

The End

Fri, 26 Dec 2025 15:00:00 +0000

This story reached me from Jane Dougherty.

The End

What she sent is not a warning, nor a prophecy.
It is ruin.

Fox and Vixen know when to leave.

Listen.

†

Original photography by Branimir Balogović. Manipulated by Ashmore under the Unsplash License.

The Man with the Ash-Hat

Thu, 25 Dec 2025 15:00:00 +0000

Some years ago, an old woman lived in a room in the withering Freyenstein. Snow fell. It was quiet outside, and dark. A small coal-burning oven in the corner barely warmed stone walls. The woman sat at the table, wondering whether to eat the last piece of bread or save it for another day.

Waiting for the man

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 22:41:40 +0000

Jane Dougherty wrote a poem as a response to my note.

I lost my breath, and it didn’t return until now.

There is a dark, quiet magic in her words. Something that reminds me of what I have lost. What was taken from me, she carries it.

Dirge without music

Wed, 12 Nov 2025 20:22:32 +0000

Edna St. Vincent Millay lived in defiance of the world.
Her words offer no consolation.
She did not bow to death.
When she heard his calls, she sang a dirge stripped of music.

No heaven.
No comfort.
No surrender.

Edna St. Vincent Millay
1892 † 1950

The Black Heralds

Mon, 13 Oct 2025 13:33:00 +0000

César Vallejo was beaten by life.
He knew hunger, prisons, and exile.
His blows of God meant the world itself.

The fascists and their wars broke him.

When they reached the Mediterranean, cutting him from his beloved Spain, he died in pain.

I Am The Demon Of The End

Sun, 28 Sep 2025 09:39:07 +0000

I Am The Demon Of The End contains the final words. Nothing more can be said.

Mystery, Babylon The Great (Aurora Gamourtian) summoned this voice, the last to speak.

It reveals the ultimate truth. The last truth we need to hear.

A Hunger

Fri, 22 Aug 2025 18:08:13 +0000

A Hunger speaks from the depths.

JLG Noga summoned this demon.

It shows the way to Nirvana—a place that could have been mine. But I turned from the light.

Now, show them the light we see. In slow gorges, if you can. The slower, the better. It’s more tender that way.

Kenotita

Thu, 31 Jul 2025 13:22:23 +0000

Kenotita has spoken.

Katharine Kapodistria summoned this demon.

The demon of the void drank my moments I should have lived. Am I good enough? Am I enough? No… no. Oh gods, I am so hungry.

Have you forgotten you’re a child of the universe, that you’re stardust,
That you have an animal body and an eternal soul?

RUIN:

Sun, 13 Jul 2025 22:03:15 +0000

RUIN:, has spoken.

Edward.Marlo.Ruiz summoned this demon.

The altars of madness echo with the many tongues of RUIN:
A demon that shapes even the voice of Ashmore.

We are the shift between the sands of time. The darkness between the grains. Don’t you feel them between your teeth?

Kasra of the Cracks

Mon, 07 Jul 2025 23:44:55 +0000

Kasra of the Cracks, has spoken.

JR Phillips summoned this demon.

I promised myself not to surrender to the lesser.

I would have welcomed it if Kasra called me back to the sheets and named me darling. But my demon was not like Kasra’s.

The Lesser Evil

Sat, 28 Jun 2025 20:11:14 +0000

Marasme, Demon of the Lesser Evil, has spoken.

Saint-Lazare summoned this demon.

So long have I summoned this demon, day by day, year by year. I drowned in mediocrity. I became a master of excuses.

And to thank you, I will not let you feel any pride.

Dagavik: Lord of the Unseen

Wed, 18 Jun 2025 23:27:48 +0000

Dagavik, Lord of the Unseen, has spoken.

Bradley Ramsey summoned this demon.

Dagavik tells a story I’ve lived myself. One, I thought I could silence. But I know that scream in the dark:

WHY? WHY WON’T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!

A transmission from the son of trees

Sun, 15 Jun 2025 16:03:00 +0000

A letter to my father.
Read once.

†

The Chiroptera on the Ceiling

Sat, 31 May 2025 13:41:00 +0000

I was told a story was waiting for me.
So I looked at it.

It spoke in a tone I don’t often hear—outside ritual.
The language was casual and modern.
But the story had weight. It pulled me in.

I am not an e-book reader. I don’t aim to become one.
But I promised to read it.
And I did.

The Stars †

Mon, 26 May 2025 08:28:18 +0000

Edith Söndergran died young. She knew she would die. When the illness broke out, she was transferred to the same tuberculosis asylum where her father had died.

Knowing about her nearing end, and still writing. No matter what comes. Not searching for glory. No fame. Poetry, because poetry needs to be born.

Tornado

Sun, 18 May 2025 13:23:00 +0000

Not many poems strike me like Liv Ramirez Tornado.
Out of nowhere, she wrote of a secret part of my life—dragged it from an old, dusty desk drawer, a note I always hated.
I know she speaks of a different Tornado than I.
Still, the piece stirred memories I meant to bury.

The Ritual of Rot

Sun, 04 May 2025 13:30:00 +0000

Photo taken by Katherine Kromberg. Modified under Unsplash’s free license for artistic transformation.

Content Warning: This transmission contains vivid depictions of ritual violence, demonic presence, and psychological distress.

This tale speaks of ritual.

E.M.R created a dense atmosphere. Claustrophobic. Choking.
A downward spiral into mankind’s deepest fears, unburying rotting philosophies.

In the desert

Sat, 26 Apr 2025 19:37:16 +0000

Original photograph by Ryan Cheng. Modified under Unsplash’s free license for artistic transformation by Ashmore.

Stephen Crane wrote an immortal fragment in 1895.

It touched me.
A creature, not named a demon, ate its own heart.
As I eat my own heart every day.

bloodletting i

Fri, 18 Apr 2025 13:05:00 +0000

This is not performance. It is ritual.

This piece is a reading of Aurora Gamourtian**’s**bloodletting i.
A compact drop. A spoken curse.

It’s a work of transcendence. Of fulfillment. Of realization.
Few works of modern poetry have struck me as profoundly as hers.

Verfall / Decay

Sun, 06 Apr 2025 12:50:00 +0000

Decay

In the evening, as the bells toll peace,
I follow the birds’ wondrous flights,
Long gathered, like devout pilgrim ranks,
Vanishing into autumn’s clear distances.

Wandering the garden’s fading gloom,
I dream their brighter destinies,
Barely sensing the turning of the hours.
So, above the clouds, I trace their passage.

Stalin Epigram

Sun, 23 Mar 2025 16:00:00 +0000

We live…
without feeling the ground beneath us.

Our words—
they vanish after ten paces.

But when a whisper escapes,
it speaks of the Kremlin mountaineer.

His fingers…
thick as worms, swollen with filth.

His words…
heavy as iron weights.

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died

Sun, 09 Mar 2025 14:23:08 +0000

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -

The Sick Rose

Thu, 27 Feb 2025 15:08:33 +0000

O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

William Blake (1789)