Written, voiced, and produced by Shawn Fitzmaurice
Voiceover Nerd Productions, Inc.
© 2025 Voiceover Nerd Productions — All Rights Reserved.
Warning: What the Pig Promised is told through fragments recovered from multiple timelines. None are complete. Together they might almost tell a story.
What the Pig Promised
A tale of skies as empty as promises: voices resonating across the threads of time.
Written, performed, and produced by Shawn Fitzmaurice
VoiceoverNerd.com
“Dear listener, fear not. An equation does not balance until every variable is in place.”
– Author Unknown
Preview Constellation Legend
The Father, the Son, and a Star Called Truth
From the Archive of Divergence History, kept in the MisArsesDolé cavern libraries beneath Bralith University of Mathmagics and Technomancy.
Read by Archivist Fr. Thed Crelith
There is one star that is constant, the faithful true-north star that never fails. It stays fixed while gods and heroes march beneath it in their endless parade of seasons. Mortals too spin their truths and tales beneath its fixed stillness.
Some call it the Pole Star, as though it were the tip of a great pillar holding the sky aloft. Most call it Truth, from the Old Common Trueth.
But Truth does not shine alone. In the heavens, two swine keep it lit.
Father to Oinx, Porculon is the god of what cannot stay buried. Never dipping below the horizon, he roots in muck and filth, dragging from the mire things some would rather remain hidden. His great Spiral Tusk points straight at Truth, and is etched with Brinna Swillborn’s Spiral Constant, said to be both prophecy of and salvation from an impending cataclysm of cosmic scale.
Wide-eyed and eager, Oinx, Porculon’s son, scampers among the stars, squealing his curiosity to every constellation. Who are they, and why do they shine so bright? He has a great tusk, like his father’s, which also points north. Upon its tip rests Truth itself. What Porculon drags from muck, Oinx looks upon with curiosity and wonder.
And thus, if we silence Oinx, we silence curiosity and wonder. What Porculon drags from the muck remains unclear, obscured by filth, and even Truth, faithful, constant, unmoved at the crown of the sky, remains unseen or ignored.
Without Truth, there is no center. And all who wander are lost.
