SARASTRO.

every cycle takes a bit of work .

[sarosastro]

an independent and mutuals-only rp blog for the wizard sarastro , an original character of my own lore ( not connected to the magic flute ). created by ka. other blog: @drachnslayer

a tale about : the welcoming host ( but if you eat from his table your will belongs to him ) . / a good friend who sees the potential in you ( and its use to him ) .

sarastro ( here: from 'saros' and 'astro' ) ; the saros period is the time that passes between two identical eclipses. it is 18 years 11 days and 8 hours long. one saros period after an eclipse, the sun, earth and moon return to approximately a near straight line, and a nearly identical eclipse will occur in what is referred to as an eclipse cycle.

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! contains themes of : emotional manipulation, death, murder and mind control. if you're uncomfortable with those please don't follow or block.

plots / dynamics guide & ideas.

🌖 CARRD. 🌘 RULES. 🌑 ABOUT. 🌒 HCs. 🌕 MEMES.

[nchdhfjdj-deactivated20260301]

"The Passage of the Hours" by Edwin Austin Abbey (1909 - 1911)

[sarosastro]

ALSO you can be damn sure that sarastro smokes this

and there are probably bubbles coming out of it instead of smoke lmao

[ghiblifilm]

Spirited Away (2001) dir. Hayao Miyazaki

[rosieandthemoon]

Wightwick Manor, in Wolverhampton

[1five1two]

[sarosastro]

sarastro is bound by an ancient oath he took at the wish of his beloved sunna. if you demand it, he has to make a potion for you with the effect of your choosing. the two rules are that you have to tell him to do it (asking doesn't work bc he can refuse) and the effect of the potion has to be either good or neutral, like healing or memory retention or easing night terrors. this also only works once.

and you also have to know this in order to make use of it ! it's not common knowledge and not written down anywhere. but you can definitely hear a rumor about it somewhere

[haidaspicciare]

Alexander Fehling, “Im Labyrinth des Schweigens” (Giulio Ricciarelli, 2014).

[brokenmagxc]

the praise is taken with surprise, like a touch arthur was not expecting. it lands on the shoulder, warm as a blanket, and at the emptiness in his chest. black curse thrums in excitement—warmth, however meager or artificial, is another bright thing to swallow. and isn't that exciting ?? a meal indeed.

arthur's eyes widen a fraction, but he holds himself otherwise unchanged. a step forward is taken. then another. not enough to crowd, but enough to show interest. “ you have a garden ?? ” that implies a home now, doesn't it. or some space the other has so deemed safe. not an outrageous thought, that the other would have a home nearby, but arthur is curious now indeed. for a man as practical and pessimistic as sarastro sounded, the slayer wondered what such a haven would look like for the wizard. a place to grow a garden... whatever it was, it sounded nice. would it be so bad to see for himself ?? he could indulge, couldn't he ?? if only for the short while he had left.

“ now, that just sounds like something i should try. if you'd have me, of course. ” he says gently. he's trying not to push, of course. he has no idea what sarastro could want with him after all. but now he's a bit eager at the heart, a bit restless. a home !! what a silly thought indeed.

“ and this martha—you'll have to tell me more about them. i'm always eager to meet a good cook. ”

[sarosastro]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the other seems to soften, bloom even, at what he is being told. he tries to hide his excitement, but two steps taken forward and eyes shining bright with interest tell sarastro enough to affirm his suspicion. it is that simple crumb of bread dangled in front of a starving man : a garden. and with that the vague promise of a home, even if it is someone else's. the realization has the old and bitter wizard awestruck, his own pale eyes widening for just the fraction of a moment, an invisible marionette's string pulling the corner of his mouth backward.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀then sarastro smiles, convincingly, as though that house they've come to speak of truly promises the warmth of a home.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀once seated at each end of the long dinner table they do almost make up the illusion of simply two friends come together for a meal. sarastro's posture is relaxed. he lets a finger glide up and down the stem of his goblet, unhurried. he knows down to the minute how long the staff will take to prepare and bring the food. from experience, and because their heartbeats echo like a ticking clock inside his consciousness. this is not all natural, of course. but arthur will learn of that eventually, just as he has learned by now that sarastro's home is not all natural, or usual. some books have picked themselves up from the floor to make a good impression for their guest. but in the dim light of the evening arthur sadly will not see the place in all its many and unmatching colours. “ i'll show you the garden by day, i promise, if you're still so interested in it. in this forest darkness really hits before you even know it. ” he chuckles, little more than an airy sound. “ i'm sure you have somewhere close by to stay for the night ? ”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he says this knowing full well that they are miles deep into the forest.

[astrronomemes]

AND WEAPONS DON'T WEEP: STARTERS

a collection of dialogue prompts for or about characters who have been treated or trained as weapons by others, valued only for their capacity for violence, destruction, and harm. trigger warnings for mentions of murder and violence. change & alter as needed.

THE WEAPON:

"I'm not proud of the person they've turned me into. But it's all I know. And it's too late for me to change now."

"If there was ever any good in me, there's none left anymore."

"I don't know where the blood ends. Where my hands begin."

"I do what it takes to survive. And I don't care if that makes me a villain."

"I'm good at hurting people. I'm not going to apologize for doing what I'm good at."

"I'll never know who I could have been if they hadn't made me into this."

"This is your fault! You did this to me! You're the reason I'm like this!"

"Don't try and get close to me. You'll just get yourself hurt."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm not very good at being good."

"I don't really know how to be gentle."

"I'm not nice, and I'm not going to pretend to be. Deal with it."

"They made me a monster."

"They're all afraid of me. And they're right to be. You should be, too."

"I know I'm a villain. I don't need you to tell me that."

"Look at what they did to me! Look at what they made me into! It's their fault! They ruined me!"

"I wish they'd just killed me. I wish they'd just killed me instead of turning me into this. Being dead is better than being a monster."

"I know you're scared of me. It's okay. Everyone is."

"What does it matter whether I feel guilty about it or not? I still did it. Being sorry doesn't change that."

"Who am I if I'm not a monster?"

"No one could ever love me after everything I've done."

"Why aren't you afraid of me? How can you not be afraid of me?"

"I don't even know who I am without them pulling my strings."

"You want me to be the villain so bad? I can damn well provide."

"I don't want to be like this anymore. I don't want to hurt people. I want to be gentle. I want to be good."

"Who am I if I'm not what they've made me?"

"I don't need a weapon. I am one."

"Do you think I have it in me, to be good?"

THE WIELDER:

"You look so beautiful covered in somebody else's blood."

"And where did this little crisis of conscience come from all of a sudden?"

"You don't get to say no to me. Not after everything I've done for you. You owe me."

"You belong to me. You're mine."

"Where would you be without me? Who would you be without me? ...That's right. So let's try and be a little more grateful, hm?"

"I gave you everything, and this is how you choose to repay me?"

"I made you! You're nothing without me!"

"You don't make the rules, darling. That's my job."

"You are a dog, and I hold your leash. Never forget that."

"I didn't make you a monster. I just brought out what was already there."

"Look at you, coming when I call, eating out of my hand, doing everything I tell you... such a good dog, aren't you?"

"You think you can just walk away from me? Where are you going to go? Nobody else could possibly love a sick thing like you!"

"Monster is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as... helping you reach your fullest potential."

"I've got you trained so well, don't I?"

"I thought you knew better than to disobey me."

"Do you really think you can be a hero? After everything you've done?"

"Well, then, if I really ruined your life like you say, why don't you just kill me? We both know you're good at that."

"This is all you're good for. Don't go getting delusions of grandeur on me now."

"You couldn't survive without me. Don't ever delude yourself into thinking otherwise."

"I give the orders. You take them. Not the other way around."

"Destruction is really the only thing you're good at, darling. Take that away, and what's left?"

THE OBSERVER:

"You don't have to be what they tell you to be, you know? You're not stuck. You can change."

"You're not a monster. You're my friend."

"Being gentle doesn't come easy to you, does it?"

"You're a good person. I'm sorry they made you think you aren't."

"You kind of have a little... blood... on your face. ...Don't worry, I'll get it for you."

"I'm not scared of you."

"So, have you ever... you know... killed somebody?"

"You're sick, you know that? You're really sick. I can't believe you seriously do this kind of shit."

"Look, I know who you are. I know what you've done. And I'm not running away from you. You can't scare me off."

"You really are a monster."

"Why do you listen to them? Why do you take orders from them? You don't have to obey everything they tell you."

"So, let me get this straight: you know how to kill a man fifteen different ways, just with your bare hands, and you wouldn't even break a sweat... but you don't know what to do at a party?"

"You're not as mean as you want everyone to think you are."

"You say you're not a dog. So why do you blindly follow orders like one?"

"You don't have to do this. You don't have to be like this. You can choose your own path."

"You really are as bad as they say."

"Don't touch me. You have blood on your hands."

"I know you won't hurt me. I trust you."

"No! Stay away from me! Don't come any closer!"

"The world isn't just heroes and villains. You don't have to be one or the other. And just because you've been one doesn't mean you can't be the other."

"You don't have to listen to them. You don't have to obey."

"They don't get to decide who you are. No one but you gets to decide who you are."

[lunarscorching]

He seems to prod and pry with a fine-pole fishing rod; upon it a string, which his lithe and bony hand has tied a hook, catching the sable hairs of her brow, reeling. For she wore no expression on a good day, or at least very rarely did she emote— what he has to say, again, arches a singular brow high to paint her uncertain of his intended meaning.

"I am destined to serve those whose contracts are stamped with my blood." She finally says, after an exceptionally long time spent eyeing him in their close proximity, searching his moon-pale expression for clues.

"If I were to spend the rest of my days delivering herbs I would hope you would be so thoughtful as to gift me a more comfortable pair of walking boots." Knowing her answer is not what he sought to hear, she returns it to him, "And you?" Gravely now, menacing as a looming sentinel of glittering marble stone, the Knight leans towards him. "Are you satisfied to extract your might all for little potions and poultices?"

[sarosastro]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀she does not back down or falter at his teasing, not an ounce of fear in those resilient, steely eyes. and to say that he isn't disappointed by her reaction would be a lie, but at the same time there is a subtle twitch of the wizard's lip upwards that betrays that he is at least a bit charmed by her reply.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀she throws the question back at him. bold. but in this, too, he can find joy. sarastro's attention moves from the other's piercing gaze down to the empty air between them. “ haa-lethhh. ” he lets the name sizzle upon his tongue, dragging each syllable across it, stretching them as though he were trying to find a deeper meaning in the letters. it has an interesting sound to it. a child born during an eclipse. again, what are the odds of that ? he, both master and servant to the lunar cycle. it might have meaning. one that will show itself one day. though whether that will be sarastro's downfall or his luck remains a gamble.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀pale eyes are lifted again to the marquinian knight, though only briefly, before he turns away, returning to the golden orrery in the middle of the room. his lip twitches into a subtle grimace, like the thought unsettles him after all — to be wasting his talents and his time on potions. but sarastro has never wasted time. he has created more of it. it is his life's work. and work he does with patience. that is his greatest skill. far more potent than his magic ever could be. too many underestimate the power of simple patience. “ every little thing has purpose, dearest. nothing is built in a day. ” crack of a small smile. it holds something for once, not empty. he waves the other over to the table with its built in orrery. “ come ! see how patient our cosmos is. ”

[sarosastro]

THE WAY i craave to write these long-term slow-burn dynamics of sarastro and someone who he can't decide whether to be evil to or not bc he's conflicted (and then of course is evil duh what did u think) while also suffering the biggest writer's block rn is so frustrating

[gracelis]

     ❛    this house is only my home due to duke delwyn’s great kindness. i am but their ward , no one of importance.    ❜ rehearsed lines spewed forth from her mouth before she even realized what she had spoke. wincing at the words , figure swiveled away from him stepping down the stone steps. after all , she had been sent away for stepping on lady georgina's dress for speaking vile words to one of the butlers. well , she had also snickered as the lady fell over the ice display.

     focus went up to the balcony where he stood &. back to the flowers , voice rising a bit so he could hear her , sing song tonality with an air of joy. ❛    i should feel offended that you think them as odd since i am the one that planted them.    ❜ sweet laughter chimed , ❛    however , i am quite amused that you think flowers remain purposeless if they do not open their petals for you in daylight.    ❜ hands passed over a trunk outside of the garden shed , lifting the heavy lid. grabbing a book , she began to read by lunar light. , ❛    you may continue your moon gazing , you are most likely bored from conversations about flora. there’s a telescope behind the gardening shed.    ❜ not lifting her head from the pages , finger pointed over her shoulder as she paced.

[sarosastro]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ they are perfectly odd, ” he reaffirms that earlier statement. no regret about it. there is no shame in the cosmic oddity that is the moonflower's bloom time. the night is a peaceful, beautiful thing. and sarastro always has believed that its darkness reveals the true character of all. “ just the way they are supposed to be. ” a quick empty smile to her as she descends the stairs — weak praise, reassurance from a stranger after her falling-out with the party crowd.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ flora is as interesting to me as the stars. ” sarastro tuts at her accusation, feigning nonchalance. though no celestial body in the night sky could ever draw in his attention as much as she who lights the sky up by day. but he doesn't talk about her much. she does not deserve the attention, that shining, already-too-big-for-her-own-good thing— and he can not give himself away like that.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀curiosity piqued the mage descends the stone steps. the ward of his kind host is no one of importance. and so, instead of mingling with the guests, she reads a book beside the garden shed. sarastro raises a brow at that, throwing a glance into the direction she has pointed to. he looks back to the reader then, herself interested in the sky, it seems, unless the telescope is someone else's, an old hobby and an old relic forgotten in the garden. “ yours ? ”

[nemfrog]

Eclipses of the sun & moon. Smith's illustrated astronomy. 1854 ed.

Internet Archive

[sarosastro]

“ nothing wrong with false hopes, ” sarastro muses. there is a smile hidden somewhere in the corner of his mouth, though his mockery is in plain sight, even as he glances up towards the heavens, eyes wide and god-fearing. or perhaps that is just an eye-roll. this knight is seething at his words and for a moment it looks as though they've half a mind to let out their anger on his poor potions guidebook. before that can happen the wizard's pale hand lets go of the old thing. after hovering in the air for another moment the book starts to spin around in place, twist itself around its own axes, then extend its leather binding like wings and begins its journey homewards, pages flapping up and down.

sarastro clasps his hands behind his back and with his brow creased in honest thought he begins to circle them slowly. “ and is it returned to you ? that help ? appreciation by the masses ? ”

[saintsdawn-a]

like the driest of kindling, his words. the more that are spoken, the more their temper flares and threatens to burst. always the hot-headed one, aren’t you? but is it really their fault? why should they hold their temper, but he not hold his tongue?

“ i do not do it with the expectation of it being returned. doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a good deed ? why should i expect someone to do the same ? ”

they do not like this feeling; circled and examined, judged like a market discovery. whatever he finds, they do not want to know. hunt down your book, they think, and leave me with the misguided flock.

“ is it strange to you ? an act of kindness without an ulterior motive ? ”

[sarosastro]

lips pull up into what would be a smile. but there is nothing else there to accompany the plain movement of muscle, no emotion. his eyes remain purely empty as they regard the other. " humans are social creatures. it is unnatural for us not to expect a response to our actions that we deem appropriate." perhaps he is attempting to generalise his initial claim just a little to distract from himself.

"you can deny your nature if you want, but there must be something that you seek doing what you do. something that feeds your happiness. that in itself isn't entirely selfless."

but it gets even sadder. and so, fittingly, sarastro would regard them with a look of pity, as dishonest as it is, coming from him. "but we digress... I asked if the kindness is returned to you."

[vulpesse]

　 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘. he speaks of himself with an achromatic placidity, each word barren of color and rhyme ; he does not see the poetry that every heart - beats weaves, nor does he relish the beauty that may be found in the ruptured skin / in every crimson droplet / in this fleeting pain that is naught but primal and visceral pleasure. and mayhap, the truth is that the wild nymph harbors an abundance of pity for this lonely man who knows not how to kiss his own wounds, taste his own blood, and celebrate the beauty of his own vulnerability.

she saunters closer, now. the woman - fox does not ask for his permission, for such things are futile and impractical in the realm of the wilds, before her hand gently takes hold of his own: his hand, formerly nothing more than an appendage, now blossoms in the same brazen reds of the giggling roses. the tip of a finger traces each cut, as if she was trying to follow the odd shape of an unknown constellation ; maybe, there is a secret to be found there, where no one ever bothers to look. ❝ you're quite the practical person, aren't you ? it is arduous for you to comprehend what i've said, because you have never seen a flower weep, nor a tree grieve. ❞

his blood is warm, pleasantly moist. it clings to her pale skin, paints the edges of her too - sharp nails in a dark red. for a fleeting moment, it is almost wholly impossible to ignore the urge of lapping at it⸻ like the wild, starving animal that she has always been. ❝ tell the roses about your losses, and they will tell you about theirs. or, mayhap, you could tell me ( ... ) give me more than just your blood. ❞

[sarosastro]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sarastro will take in the stranger's assessment of himself quietly. as peculiar a creature as she is, many of those are said to dwell in the woods. she is not so special, he assures himself. but he can not help but find something unusual in her hunger, in the way she peers at the blood dripping from his palm. she is perhaps as wild a beast as any other, and yet it is as if she looks at it not only with that primal greed but with appreciation almost. and perhaps it is her bold touch of his injured hand that keeps him quiet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but soon his brow creases again in puzzlement at her idea of the flowers as a sentient thing, a friend, a listener. would they listen to a selfish, rotten creature like him ? curiosity opens him up to the thought, if only hypothetical, for just a moment. but then anger rises in him, a rage both sizzling and quiet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀what does she know ? that blooming thing, that forest demon driven by hunger ? are his troubles only important enough to be heard by the flora of the woods ? though he would never admit it, there is a longing in him to be heard, or truly seen, by someone else. and that someone else is surely not a predator that will listen to his woes only to get its sick joy out of his misery.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ your roses die come winter. ” he states flatly. and in sarastro's anger the thorns detach themselves from his flesh, revealing that he is not as helpless as he may seem to be. she is not the only one who can speak to nature's creations. though they each do it in a different way. at the wizard's silent command the thorns lift themselves into the air, their bloodied tips now turned towards the fox - woman. they glide closer slowly, hovering just before her pale face. how that soft and impeccable skin would tear if the wizard let them slice into her. how satisfyingly they would maim their own admirer as they have maimed his aging skin. there is a sudden bitterness in him, a jealousy perhaps. “ why bare my soul to them ? ” he all but whispers, cold gaze boring into her. there is no feeling in it, no mercy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀but then there is a shift. as though his own words bring back that reminder of the death that haunts him, anger and tension seem to lift off of him all of a sudden, replaced by exhaustion. the thorns drop from the air, falling to the grassy ground between the two just as sarastro's shoulders slump. “ i am dying too. ” he admits in a low voice drained of strength, baring at least a part of himself to the predator against his better judgement. pale blue eyes are locked on that perfect texture of the other's skin. they linger for a moment, as if to savour it. then he turns away, trudging back to the rose bushes. he is so far into the lunar cycle unsuccessfully that even that small use of magic hurts.

[sarosastro]

this is him btw... also he would wear that with exactly that serious expression