Descend into the shadowed depths of Hades, a cinematic dark fantasy soundtrack inspired by the mythic underworld and the river Styx. This piece features ancient horns, flutes, voices, lyre, and orchestra. 🏛️
As always, thank you for joining us on this journey. 🌿
WORLDBUILDING SUBMISSIONS: We now accept submissions from Writers, DnD players, Roleplayers, DMs, Authors, Game developers, and any other World Builders! If you’d like us to create a soundtrack for your world, please send us the name of your world, town, city, or location, along with its history or how it fits into a larger story. Please send submissions to [email protected] 🧭⚔🌳
DISCLAIMER ON MUSIC:
All music on this channel, is 100% original and composed from scratch. Every melody begins at the piano, then fully orchestrated and produced by me. No AI has been used in the creation, composition, or production of the music—everything is written and arranged by hand.
However, the thumbnails and artwork are AI-generated and then carefully animated in After Effects to bring them to life. To reiterate: All music is fully original, composed by me, and NOT AI-generated.
~ Hades: The Amendment 📜
You don’t remember what came before. Only the slow rocking of the wooden boat.
The Ferryman stands silent before you—skeletal, cloaked in a tattered black cloak, a woolen cowl over his bony head. Around his neck, a small wooden pendant. Emerald light glows from his hollow eyes, casting ripples of green across the water.
In your hand: a coil of parchment. Tattered. Familiar. You’ve carried it for centuries—or maybe it’s carried you. There’s no need to unroll it. You already know what it says. And that the agreement must be amended.
You look up at the Ferryman. “I know you... Don’t I?” He doesn’t answer.
The boat drifts for three days and nights across an emerald lake. The water sparkles faintly as four sirens sing from somewhere unseen. You remember their voices—once fatal above, now mournful and sweet. They sing of the kings and queens of Thalmyros, of beauty too unbearable for the living.
On the fourth day, ice winds from the South Marshes howl through the boat. The Ferryman removes what remains of his cloak and drapes it over your shoulders.
He guides you east, through Kaltheia. Crimson peaks rise along the banks, weathered since your last passage. Odysseus’ ship still rests on the northern shore, half-sunk and skeletal. No crew remains. Only Odysseus, rusted armor clinging to his frame, grey hair blown by the wind. He stands at the helm. Watches you pass. You nod—an old greeting between old souls.
Weeks pass. Or maybe hours. You sail between the thousand-foot twin basalt pillars of Hera. Jade waves crash against silver stone. On the steps of the right pillar sits a lone figure — elderly, robed, bald at the crown, beard coiled with dust. Hemlock grows between the basalt cracks at his feet. The lawyer for the damned.
When the Harpies of Nysa find your boat — circling, shrieking, conjuring a typhoon above you — the Ferryman steps forward and casts out a plume of molten fire at them. Athenian protection magic.
The emerald sea narrows to a lake, then a river. Then ruins. You pass what remains of Cerberus’ keep — a shattered doghouse of black stone. A low thunder stirs the sky. The vibrations press against your chest. Ripples spread around the boat. The pup must still be sleeping.
You pass beneath the scorched gates of Hades. The Ferryman, now very tired, turns to you. He removes the wooden pendant from his neck and holds it in his hands. Beyond the glowing hollows of his eyes, he almost seems to smile. He nods once — then crumbles to dust at your feet.
You look down. Etched into the wood: a word. A name. You nod gently in recognition. Yes. That was your name once.
You now float alone, down a narrow channel lit by a hundred torches. And then—him. He waits at the end of the channel. Tall. Still. Cloaked in obsidian. Regal. Terrifying. He looms above you, smiling.
He extends his hand. You place the scroll in his palm. “Enough?” he asks, voice like stone dragged through ash. The air thickens with sulfur. His jagged teeth glint.
“No,” you say. “One more time.”
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