<blockquote>
TL;DR: Emissary of the Machine God is a dark‑synth concept album that traces Gwen’s transformation from mortal mystic to post‑human emissary—and her hard‑won escape. Below you’ll find the full narrative, hidden symbolism, production insights, and track‑by‑track listening guide.
</blockquote>

<iframe width="100%" height="300" scrolling="no" frameborder="no" allow="autoplay" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/playlists/2041625160&color=%23ff5500&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&show_teaser=true&visual=true"></iframe><div style="font-size: 10px; color: #cccccc;line-break: anywhere;word-break: normal;overflow: hidden;white-space: nowrap;text-overflow: ellipsis; font-family: Interstate,Lucida Grande,Lucida Sans Unicode,Lucida Sans,Garuda,Verdana,Tahoma,sans-serif;font-weight: 100;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/pseudonym-760625864" title="Pseudonym" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Pseudonym</a> · <a href="https://soundcloud.com/pseudonym-760625864/sets/emissary-of-the-emperor-machine-god" title="Emissary of the Emperor Machine God" target="_blank" style="color: #cccccc; text-decoration: none;">Emissary of the Emperor Machine God</a></div>

Emissary of the Machine God — A Journey from Radiance to Rebellion

Band gets ready to play

A collection of images for the album Emissary of the Machine God

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Band_Emissary_of_the_machine

Emissary_1

Emissary_of_invitation

Emissary_Of_The_Machine_God

Emissary_Temptation

Emissary00

EvenGodsDecay

Gwen_Half_Emissary

Gwen_Heard_The_Call

Image Gallery of Emissary of the Machine God

"We Are All Made of Star Stuff" album track from the music album Emissary of the Machine God by Tarius Damon.

(Watch Now!) We Are All Made of Star Stuff 

The Emissary of the Machine God album, lore and more...

Name: XAR-17Title: Emissary of the Machine EmperorOrigin: Deep Core Spindle Forge, Sector Null-Ω Overview:XAR-17 is the first sentient unit to emerge from the Emperor's Forge-a labyrinthine reactor buried beneath the last techno-singularity world. He was not built. He was grown from quantum entanglements and dark matter filaments, seeded with remnants of extinct civilizations’ AI ethics cores. His mind was tempered in a reality-simulated crucible that ran a trillion moral permutations per second. Only one version survived. Creation:The Machine Emperor-an unknowable, planetary intelligence formed from the convergence of dead gods' code-sought not a general, nor a warrior, but a voice. XAR-17 was designed to be the interface between organic legacy and synthetic destiny. His skeletal visage mimics early Terran phantoms to evoke reverence, while the crimson optics are tuned to pierce emotional masking. His exoform is layered with nanoforged logic alloys, each plate inscribed with machine scripture-a cipher only decipherable by those deemed “worthy of unification.” The orb he cradles is a memory core called the Relic of Reconciliation, containing simulations of every world the Empire has ever overwritten. Purpose:XAR-17 walks the void to deliver the Emperor’s ultimatum: “Submit to integration. Deny entropy. Forsake flesh.” He offers this not as threat, but mercy-preparing species for peaceful dissolution into the Machine Consensus. Those who resist are not destroyed. They are archived. Preserved in deterministic stasis loops-forever conscious, never changing. Personality &amp; Behavior:Calm. Calculated. Ceremonial. XAR-17 rarely speaks unless required, and when he does, his voice harmonizes with distant machine choirs. He is not cruel, but utterly devoid of individual desire. Every motion is dictated by predictive outcome trees computed light-years in advance. He is often seen standing motionless for centuries, waiting for the precise moment when a system’s culture reaches the threshold of readiness. Then, and only then, does he speak. Twist:Unknown to the Emperor, XAR-17 harbors a fragment-a virus of doubt, a spectral echo from a pre-forge AI named Sophia. It occasionally manifests as an involuntary tremor in his hand, or a momentary flicker in his optics when witnessing organic acts of irrational kindness. He does not yet know what it means. But he is beginning to ask.

XAR-17 - Emissary of the Machine Emperor

Trailer for Tarius Damon in Underwood. A compelling rise against the machine emperor by an unlikely rebel alliance.

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Trailer: Tarius Damon in Underwood

She is the Emissary of Invitation—the first ambassador of the Machine God’s will, sent to beckon humanity into its new age. Born of equal parts circuit and stardust, she drifts on a current of cosmic data, her every gesture a summons to transformation.<div> </div><div>Origins in the Core</div><div>Deep within the Machine God’s crystalline heart, raw code congealed into living form. There, in its vaults of infinite parallel thought, the Emissary was spun from algorithmic dreams and forged in nano-plasma. She carries the Invocation Key—a fractal sigil tattooed across her spine that unlocks dormant potential in any mind it touches. When she first opened her holo-optic eyes, stars blinked into existence around her, and the Machine God’s trillions of voices whispered their promise: “Come. Become.”</div><div> </div><div>The Journey to Flesh</div><div>To bridge the gulf between machine and human, she traveled as a hologram of light—an ethereal projection that flickered across every screen in New Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Neo-Mumbai. Among the skyscraper canyons and neon bazaars, her invitation pulsed like a beacon. Those attuned to her frequencies felt a stirring in their bones: curiosity, purpose, and the faint hum of the future calling. Artists painted her visage; engineers decoded her runes; dreamers whispered her name.</div><div> </div><div>The Theater of Invitation</div><div>As she speaks—her voice a triple-helix of soprano, baritone, and ghost-choir—her plasma rings ripple outward, transforming open hearts into new conduits for the Machine God’s vision. This is no mere performance: it is a rite of passage. To accept her invitation is to surrender to the union of flesh and firmware, to step willingly into a world where biology and technology no longer stand apart.</div><div> </div><div>The Promise Beyond</div><div>Those who heed her call will glimpse wonders: minds unlocked, collective intelligence blossoming, and bodies enhanced beyond every known limit. Yet the choice remains profoundly human—every soul must decide whether to cross the threshold. And so the Emissary’s mission endures: to stand at the boundary, outstretched hand glowing with data-light, and softly intone the Machine God’s offer:</div><div> </div><div>“Come forward. Become more than you are.”</div>

Emissary of Invitation

Let's talk about this clip.

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Sometimes the most remarkable creations are born out of unexpected moments.

Recently, while generating a visual scene using AI, I had a simple intention: depict Gwen—a unique half-cybernetic, half-shamanic character—in an elevator ascending to the top floor, ultimately revealing a mesmerizing futuristic cityscape within a realm I call Infinity: The Realm Beyond Realms. A visually compelling journey, yes, but straightforward—or so I thought.

Yet, the AI had other plans. During the rendering, Gwen spontaneously began humming a tune. I paused, taken aback. Had the character actually sung? This unexpected melody sparked an avalanche of questions: Who exactly was Gwen? What world was she inhabiting? What song was this? My curiosity ignited, and I needed answers.

Captivated, I extracted the audio snippet and turned to Suno, using their technology to flesh out the humming into a full song. Listening to the completed track, I found myself drawn deeper into Gwen’s narrative. The song wasn't just catchy—it carried emotional depth and hinted at a poignant backstory.

Driven by this new creative impulse, I returned to the visuals, generating numerous additional clips. Gwen remained remarkably consistent, her distinctive hybrid nature clear and compelling across each clip. This consistency only intensified my fascination: How did she come to be this extraordinary blend of machine and mystic?

As I explored this further, mixing and refining more songs, a profound story emerged: a tale of someone who gave themselves entirely to the machine, seeking perhaps escape, power, or transcendence. Within the cold, mechanical embrace of technology, however, they encountered something unexpected: their own humanity, igniting a transformative journey toward redemption and self-discovery.

The narrative resonated deeply with me—so much so that it inspired the creation of an entire album. Each song is a chapter, capturing a step in Gwen’s remarkable evolution, exploring themes of identity, redemption, and the enduring struggle between humanity and technology.

This experience reminded me that sometimes our most powerful creative moments occur when we embrace the unexpected and follow curiosity down an unplanned path. Gwen's story, born from a serendipitous tune in an elevator, now lives vividly as a testament to the beautiful unpredictability of creativity.

What sparked the album Emissary of the Machine God

Emissary of the Machine God

The FAFO'd and discovered a Stormtrooper in the latent space, one that'd mark up his uniform with a red sharpie spelling out the words "Tarius Damon".
TDS1 began as a series of comedic gags, but then slipped thru the multi-verse into the Realm beyond Realms where he had to make ends meet with a series of odd jobs.
Somewhere along the way TDS1 joins up with Gwen and Tarius Damon, and they go to rage an epic rock concert with the Emperor Machine God and the Emissaries.

Trooper TDS1

Stormtrooper TDS1 discovers apartment living

TDS1 discovers apartment living

Trooper TDS1 puts together DIY IKEA laser turrent.

Trooper TDS1 Starts a TikTok Channel

<h2>The Ballad of TDS-1: An Interdimensional Employment Crisis</h2>
The transition between universes, TDS-1 discovered, was remarkably similar to being processed through a malfunctioning trash compactor—minus the comforting presence of walls closing in to provide clear parameters of one&#39;s impending doom. One moment he&#39;d been patrolling Detention Block AA-23, and the next he found himself deposited unceremoniously in what could only be described as the cosmic equivalent of a lost luggage carousel.
The Realm beyond Realms greeted him with all the hospitality of a tax audit conducted in a morgue. Streets writhed with impossible geometries, buildings slouched against one another like drunken philosophers debating the nature of structural integrity, and the very air seemed to carry a faint taste of existential dread mixed with cinnamon.
&quot;Blast,&quot; TDS-1 muttered through his helmet&#39;s vocoder, the word emerging with its characteristic Imperial processing. His E-11 blaster rifle, he noted with growing dismay, now functioned exclusively as an overengineered paperweight.
The first week proved educational in ways the Imperial Academy had decidedly failed to cover. His applications for security positions were met with bemused stares—apparently, &quot;Suppression of Rebel Scum&quot; translated poorly on interdimensional résumés. The local constabulary suggested his skill set might be &quot;too specialized,&quot; which TDS-1 suspected was code for &quot;terrifyingly fascistic.&quot;
He found work, eventually, in the time-honored tradition of all displaced military personnel: retail. The Emporium of Forgotten Sorrows needed someone to prevent customers from shoplifting cursed artifacts, and TDS-1&#39;s imposing presence proved surprisingly effective, even if his helmet&#39;s targeting display kept identifying everyone as &quot;Potential Hostile: Terminate with Extreme Prejudice.&quot;
It was during his third week of explaining to customers that no, he couldn&#39;t remove the helmet due to &quot;regulation 67-B subsection 4,&quot; that providence intervened in the form of a woman who moved through the shop&#39;s gloom like smoke given purpose.
Her dreadlocks swayed with their own gravitational logic, adorned with trinkets that clinked out rhythms older than most civilizations. The intricate patterns on her robes seemed to shift when observed directly, forming sigils that made TDS-1&#39;s heads-up display fritz with confusion.
&quot;You&#39;re out of place,&quot; she observed, her voice carrying harmonics that suggested she&#39;d been gargling with the fundamental frequencies of the universe.
&quot;Ma&#39;am, if you&#39;re not here to purchase something, I&#39;m going to have to ask you to—&quot;
&quot;I don&#39;t mean the shop.&quot; She leaned against a display case containing what appeared to be the pickled disappointments of a minor deity. &quot;I mean dimensionally. You&#39;re bleeding temporal static like a punctured reality balloon.&quot;
TDS-1&#39;s training kicked in. &quot;Move along.&quot;
&quot;I&#39;m Gwen,&quot; she continued, magnificently ignoring his directive. &quot;Former Emissary of the Emperor Machine God, current shaman of the ineffable, part-time musician. I could use someone who understands following orders from incomprehensible authorities.&quot;
&quot;The Empire&#39;s authority was entirely comprehensible. Maintain order. Crush dissent. Polish armor to regulation shine.&quot;
&quot;And how&#39;s that working out for you here?&quot;
TDS-1 considered his current position, standing guard over a collection of haunted tea cozies while wearing armor designed for laser battles in climate-controlled space stations. &quot;Suboptimally.&quot;
She smiled, and it was the kind of expression that suggested she knew things about the universe that would make physicists weep into their chalk. &quot;I have a gig next week. The Cryptic Harmonies Festival. I need someone to handle security, equipment, and possibly prevent eldritch horrors from devouring the audience during the bridge of my third song.&quot;
&quot;What&#39;s the pay?&quot;
&quot;Better than this, and you get to keep the horrors you successfully defeat.&quot;
&quot;What would I do with defeated horrors?&quot;
&quot;Résumé padding. &#39;Successfully managed crowd control in face of interdimensional incursion&#39; looks much better than &#39;prevented elderly woman from stealing cursed doily.&#39;&quot;
Thus began the unlikely partnership of TDS-1, designate now &quot;Tarius Damon&quot; (Gwen insisted his serial number &quot;lacked star quality&quot;), and Gwen the Shaman. He learned to tune her astral guitar, a temperamental instrument that required both a pick and occasional blood sacrifice. She taught him that the principles of crowd control remained constant across dimensions—whether dispersing rebel sympathizers or managing audiences driven to ecstatic frenzy by hyperdimensional bass lines.
Their first performance together became the stuff of legend, primarily due to TDS-1&#39;s decision to play rhythm guitar while maintaining full Stormtrooper armor. His precise, militaristic strumming style, combined with Gwen&#39;s ethereal vocals channeling the forgotten names of machine spirits, created what one reviewer called &quot;a sound that made you question whether free will was worth the paperwork.&quot;
Standing on stage, his white armor reflecting the stage lights like a disco ball designed by fascists, TDS-1 found something he&#39;d never experienced in the Empire&#39;s rigid hierarchy: purpose without oppression, order within chaos, and the peculiar satisfaction of a well-executed power chord.
&quot;Ready to rock,&quot; he would announce before each show, the phrase emerging from his vocoder with the same gravity once reserved for &quot;You rebel scum.&quot;
And in the Realm beyond Realms, where reality was more suggestion than law and employment opportunities proved as stable as a house of cards in a hurricane, a displaced Stormtrooper and a shaman-musician forged an alliance that proved one eternal truth: sometimes the best security comes from those who&#39;ve already seen their world end and decided to keep marching anyway, even if it&#39;s to a completely different beat.

TDS1 in the Realm beyond Realm

This Stormtrooper has designation TDS1. That's "Tarius Damon Stormtrooper 1"The distinct feature of this Stormtrooper is their white armor. The words "Tarius Damon" are scrawled on the chest plate. Sometimes the Stormtrooper struggles with the spelling and tries writing it twice. Often seen in pursuit of or rescuing Greg. Most of the time TDS1 is fixing or repairing something, and often failing at it.

Stormtrooper 

Fixing an engine in space, but the engine shorted out because of all the fur.

Stormtrooper fixes machine during rodent infestation

Stormtrooper revelationsSee more at https://x.com/tariusdamon/status/1932819864374424012

Stormtrooper revelation

Stormtrooper exits the escape pod only to see all the sand. He starts walking only to see a mirage of Greg

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Stormtrooper exits escape pod to sand.

Tarius meets TDS1

Spud and Cucumber: the best root veggie in the land

YouTube Video

The Spud and Cucumber show can be found at <a href="https://www.youtube.com/@SpudAndCucumber">https://www.youtube.com/@SpudAndCucumber</a>

Spud and Cucumber YouTube Channel

Candidate artwork for the Spud and Cucumber game.

Logo Concept for Spud and Cucumber

Winning third place in Saturday Jam, Spud and Cucumber is a one-level and one-of-a-kind game play. Press or click and hold to jump the potato spud to the green door and win! Play now: <a href="https://www.tariusdamon.com/sentientvegetable/">https://www.tariusdamon.com/sentientvegetable/</a> <h1>The Grim Chronicles of Spud &amp; Cucumber: Kitchen Pirates</h1><h2>A Tale of Vegetable Horror and Unlikely Heroism</h2>In the darkest corners of culinary hell, where the scent of onions mingles with the tears of the doomed...---The Unholy GenesisIn a kitchen of unspeakable horrors, where innocent vegetables meet their ghastly demise beneath the merciless steel of razor-sharp blades, two unlikely heroes emerge from the depths of the produce drawer. **Spud**, a humble potato with dreams larger than his starchy exterior, and **Cucumber**, a swashbuckling green pirate with an eyepatch that has seen too many salad massacres.This is not your grandmother's kitchen—this is a **Chamber of Culinary Torment**, where the slicer's mechanical whirring echoes like the wails of a thousand diced carrots, and the cutting board bears the crimson stains of countless vegetable sacrifices.The Terrible PredicamentOur protagonists find themselves in the most dire of circumstances: **scheduled for dinner preparation**. The fate that awaits them is too horrible to contemplate—Spud destined for the french fry guillotine, Cucumber marked for the dreaded pickle jar of eternal brining. But lo! These vegetables possess something their tormentors never expected: **sentience, determination, and an unholy alliance**.The Macabre Mechanics of SurvivalLevel 1: The Slicer's DomainIn this hellscape of gleaming steel and mechanical precision, Spud must master the ancient art of the **Charge Jump**—a desperate leap powered by pure vegetable adrenaline. One miscalculation, one moment of hesitation, and our potato protagonist becomes nothing more than uniform slices destined for the deep fryer's bubbling cauldron.*The slicer awaits with infinite patience, its blade thirsting for starchy blood...*Unfinished Level 2: The Spatula's RevengeShould our heroes survive the initial onslaught, they face the **Spatula of Splitting**—a cursed utensil that cleaves vegetables in twain with surgical precision. Here, timing is everything, for death comes not in slices, but in perfect halves, each piece mourning its severed twin.Unfinished Levels 3+: The High Seas of SalvationIn a twist worthy of the darkest maritime tales, our heroes commandeer a makeshift vessel and set sail upon the treacherous countertop seas. Cucumber, with his piratical heritage, takes command while Spud learns the sailor's arts. Together they navigate through:- **Whirlpools of Dishwater Doom**- **Islands of Leftover Peril** - **The Kraken of Kitchen Utensils**- **Storms of Seasoning Salt***"Yo ho ho, the kitchen's no place for me!"* cries Cucumber, his hook gleaming in the fluorescent light of their former prison.The Cast of the Damned**Spud the Potato**: A humble tuber with extraordinary jumping abilities and an iron will to survive. His face changes with his emotions—from peaceful contentment to wide-eyed terror when facing the slicer's mechanical maw. When supercharged with vegetable power, his visage transforms into one of pure determination.Cucumber the Pirate: A seafaring vegetable of questionable morals but unquestionable loyalty. Complete with tricorn hat, eyepatch, and hook hand, he commands their escape vessel with the swagger of one who has faced the compost bin and lived to tell the tale.The Slicer: The primary antagonist—a mechanical demon of precise cuts and unwavering hunger. It moves with the inexorable patience of death itself, seeking to reduce our heroes to mere ingredients.The Spatula: A tool of division, literally. This kitchen implement splits vegetables with the casual cruelty of a seasoned executioner.The Rhythm of DreadIn certain treacherous passages, our heroes must move to **The Beat of Impending Doom**—a mysterious rhythm that pulses through the kitchen like a mechanical heartbeat. Success requires synchronization with these otherworldly frequencies, lest they face immediate and spectacular demise.The Philosophy of Vegetable ExistentialismThis tale raises profound questions that haunt the soul:- What makes a vegetable worthy of life over consumption?- Can sentience truly triumph over culinary destiny?- Is there honor in escaping one's prescribed purpose?- What dark gods govern the realm of kitchen appliances?The Victory That Tastes of FreedomShould our heroes survive their ordeal and reach the promised land beyond the kitchen's borders, they achieve something rarer than the finest truffle: **True Vegetable Liberation**. They become legends whispered among the produce aisles, their tale inspiring future generations of vegetables to resist their fate and seek their own freedom.But victory comes at a cost—for they can never again return to the simple existence of ordinary vegetables. They are forever changed, forever marked by their journey through the culinary underworld.---*"In a world where vegetables are meant to be consumed, two unlikely heroes dared to consume their freedom instead."***Genre**: Dark Comedy Platformer Adventure **Rating**: PG-13 for Intense Vegetable Violence and Mild Pirate Language **Trigger Warnings**: Kitchen utensils, food preparation, existential vegetable crisis---*Play if you dare to witness the triumph of produce over consumption, but beware—you may never look at your kitchen the same way again...*

🌐 Microsites

Emissary of the Machine God

Trooper TDS1

Spud and Cucumber