VIA, VERITAS, VITA

[evigilar]

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☙ indie & selective GRIGORI, of Dragon's Dogma

☙ generic fantasy & fandom verses available. strictly 21+ .  ☙ low activity sideblog to @henosiis. written by KAT ☙ affiliated with; @sunbentsky, @necremant

☙ exploring destiny, cycles, servitude, revelation, heroism ☙ DOSSIER.

[anchovy]

Everyone got that one friend that was a failed vessel for something greater 🤣🤣🤣

[miamaimania]

Iceland, 1965 by Ernst Haas △ Fire as pure color field

[henosiis]

reminder to please follow this hub blog if you're interested in interacting with any of the rp ones. it allows me to check if we're mutuals, and i often reblog memes that could apply to any/all muses. thank u <3

[dailyclassicart]

Adelsteen Normann - "Sunset over the Fjord"

[deepinourengines]

oh sure blame the guy whose fault it is

[mr-mistyeyed]

would u still love me if i were stuck in a cycle i've never been able to break

[eritvita]

continued from x ;

@evigilar

He sits upon a stone as he watches this dragon, this great Wyrm, one of Roland's knees brought up with which to place his elbow comfortably aloft.

Art there twigs and errant leaves in Roland's hair, that fresh slip of Greene, whence his bottom lip juts out slightly in his pondering. Dejected comes that handsome expression within the wide, shining scales of this massive Beast, and is Roland recognized that passive, broken throbbing of the red Heart.

"Thou art mourned for thine past kindness?" inquires he.

[evigilar]

“Iᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴏ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ, ᴀᴇᴏɴs ᴀɢᴏ. Nᴏᴡ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏɴᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴜʀɴ ᴍᴇ.”

There are things the beast knows now, in his heart of hearts - not the ones he has taken over the years, pinned to his great black claw & kept safe in his cavernous chest, but his true one, if such a thing even exists. He must have one, he thinks, for how else would he have made his way to the first of his chosen? Then again, it is not his place to fathom his Maker’s designs, to question the fabric of his being. He is nothing but a vessel, nothing but a bringer of His word.

But he gleaned his past once, as though it were ripped out of him with fierceness by the blades of the Arisen. In the end, she fell to the frightful magic of Wyrms, but the memories remained, vague & doomed to fade with immortality’s stretch. Yet he knows for certain he, too, was once a man. Was Grigori his name? Was he righteous, was he good? After a thousand thousand years, none remain who would remember him at all.

“I ᴀᴍ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀs I ᴀᴍ. Tʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ Dʀᴀɢᴏɴ, ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀᴍᴏʀᴇ.”

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Maya C. Popa, Wound is the Origin of Wonder: Poems: “All inner life runs at some delay” (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[creepish]

how are you mad at me. I'm just a vessel

[illustratus]

The Eruption of Vesuvius by Michael Wutky

[illustratus]

St George and the Dragon by Briton Rivière

[velinxi]

The dragon's favorite treasure

[illustratus]

Apollo kills Python by Virgil Solis for Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book I

[finelythreadedsky]

“CHORUS: And the grace of the gods (I’m pretty sure) is a grace that comes by violence.”

— Aeschylus, Agamemnon (tr. Anne Carson)

[evigilar]

❛ how do you rate my chances? ❜

“ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪꜰᴛ? ꜱʟɪᴍ. ”

Grigori peers at the witch, taking his measure. There is a certain strength to him, certainly. He made his way here, after all, through the very same means. But the Rift was no trifling thing. Manifold were the heroes twisted into monstrous shapes while trying to traverse its endless expanse - shapes not unlike his own, reptilian, winged & destructive. Souls greater than Alexander's have succumbed to it, time & again. The Dragon does not lie, nor exaggerate.

“ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ, ᴀɴ ᴜɴꜰᴀᴛʜᴏᴍᴀʙʟᴇ ᴀʙʏꜱꜱ. ᴍᴀɴʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱɪɴɢ ɪᴛ. ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴜᴄᴄᴇᴇᴅ... ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴡᴀɪᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ. ”

[evigilar]

❛ your face shows you unwell. ❜ from eritvita?

@eritvita.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ'ꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴄᴀɴᴛꜱ ᴀꜱɪᴅᴇ as it stirs from its dejected lounging. Like a scolded cat, the great beast is, ears flat against its horns, wings folded shut around its body & tail wrapped tight about itself. When it speaks, it is with a certain listlessness, but no small amount of surprise.

“ᴀ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ, ᴛᴏ ɢʟᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ.”

Rare are they who dare to look upon the wyrm at all, & rarer still are those who can find the mortal expressions hidden beneath his scaled, reptilian mien. But this one does so, & with perhaps unearned confidence even goes as far as to speak to him of it. 

“ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ, & ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏꜰ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ. ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴏ. ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪᴛ, ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɪ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʙᴏʀᴇ? ɪ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪᴛ. ”