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space wizard death cult

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dark/sci-fant knights rp blog an ossuary for masks, monsters, cultists, the entrails of change, and other remains verse-flexible, low activity, no trigger tags follows from @kylo-wrecked

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#knights panel #tag drop interest tracker

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signorscorticamente

#one dream; only master

8nin

Wishing you a safe return back to yourself.

#gotta keep 'em separated

omnia-mors-aequat-nstrwa

A Knights Dress by Frieda Lepold

#zelacore #{SIGH- when you have THE URGE to KOR but teach 6 hours of classes beginning at 7 am}#{and have to be all like adult and mature about bedtimes and stuff}

mournfulroses

Constantine P. Cavafy, from a poem titled "The Bandaged Shoulder,," featured in A Century of Greek Poetry (1900-2000)

[ 45. ] ATIENO is the first person DRAEDE sees after returning to consciousness.

{ ♣️ }

Time not place one go to. Nor come back from. River flush forward. Estuary. Upon dark sea, dark ship crawl. So like body. But body is not body at all. Body is vessel, impermanent traveler.

Black-eyed traveler. Mark of the drifter on the flesh. Flesh that is not own flesh.

This dark minaret traveler arrive at, empty. Pauldron at shoulder, a hollow casket. No breath emit from pitted helm. And then, not empty. Breath come, blown from distant autumn.

A place where trees are lunar, centuries-skinned, more bodies creaking in wind. Returned to city barrens.

“Observer.”

The armory seems to respond to this stranger, this black-eyed traveler, as stimuli. Slow-moving, reaching one palisade of an arm to the disruptor slung over a plateau.

Despite its seeming hollowness, the helm held an idle air of curiosity that flickered in it like a candle's wick.

“Long way from where you started, neh?” it croaked. “Look older, but blur like young blood.”

An age passed, and the arm came down. Artillery at rest.

“You think still things are dead things anot?”

@the27percent

#the27percent #draëde: the heavy; conductor #v. tbd