I'd like your attention for a moment, after some internal review we need to issue a rare rebalancing for Rocky.
NO CHUCKABILITY - We had not seen Rocky with earth-like gravity, and so needed to adjust for this oversight.
NO BONES - We were unsure how to solve this, but after much deliberation, we have come to the conclusion that whatever Rocky has got ain't bones.
MAX MEDIA LITERACY - We had an unchecked earth bias that clouded our judgement. Rocky's ability to adapt to a culture which is literally alien is extremely impressive. That they were chosen for such an important mission must mean that they are an exceptional Eridian, and their ability to communicate across such a wide gap should have easily gained them that third star.
I am really enjoying going through the tags on this post. I know a lot of you asked what constitutes "weird", or prefer the term "niche" but I did say "weirdest" for a reason, because that's for you to decide - of all the stuff you do, what do you think would classify as "weirdest"?
Tagged by @zmwrites (thank you kindly!), I'm tagging @talesofsorrowandofruin @stingraydrien and of course @andrevalias because i know you started a new project and im holding your feet to the fire
The words I was given were: Season, still, door, and light
Your words are: Cruel, narrow, lost, and bend
Season
It was that night on the shores of Ursus that a rumor began to blossom. Born from the heart of a bonfire and seasoned with the flavor of Ursine hospitality, whispers slowly spread across the Ophidian Sea of the quiet and unexpected return of a brother once thought to be dead. A miracle. A survivor. A bad omen.
Still
Still limp from the paralytic injection, the boy’s eyes had seemed to follow them wherever they went as if they were prey he was studying to hunt, and he never, ever blinked. At first, the soldiers had found it funny, but no sooner had the dragon shifter regained use of his tongue than he began to lash every soldier around him with a myriad of insults, threats, and nasty promises. They locked him away in a kennel usually reserved for the legion’s bloodhounds, which—obliged by one brave soldier—was covered by a filthy sheet so the squadron wouldn’t be distracted by his unnerving, reptilian stare. Now that the paralysis had completely worn off, the covered cage would periodically rattle and growl and shake with conviction, but Giles did not intend to indulge the little beast until after their return to Balcona’s Might.
Door
Rohan blinked at the invisible map. “I need to see the whole thing,” he decided, getting to his feet. “Slade has one in his quarters!”
Still on his belly, Jespar caught him uselessly by the ankle. “No! At this time of night? Are you mad? He’ll kill you!”
“Like he killed me all the other times I got on his nerves?”
Jespar thunked his forehead on the floor and let out a strained laugh. “There’s this thing called ‘boundaries’ that we usually try to respect as colleagues—Rohan!”
Rohan had already taken up the lantern and was halfway out the door. Hastily but careful not to put pressure on his bad foot, Jespar pulled himself to his feet, snatched up his crutch, and hobbled after him. Rohan at least stopped in the hallway to wait for him, but it seemed his mind was made up: they were going to break into the Captain’s cabin for the sake of poorly-timed education.
Light
“I wish they’d actually take King’s word into consideration,” Lucia confided in Slade late on the second day of travel. It was evident in the way she held herself that the Aldegar rumor was weighing down on her.
“Ye think that after all these years, these folks would suddenly take the word of their House Lords as gospel again?” Slade replied, quiet so as not to be overheard. “They still blame us fer the Empire shovin’ their ugly foot in the door, and most of the lords who let that happen have been dead fer over a decade. Our word means squat.”
Aldegar might as well have been struck by seven bolts of lightning. There was no coming back from the rapture of the Spirits.
all are from to paint the winter sky aka seal book
cruel
Valdemar’s love is warm. It is perhaps what many sealfolk spend their lives searching for, and yet never find. But his warmth is not that of the sun, or a quaint fire in the hearth. His is the kind that melts ice. That brings monsters out to play. To let yourself be consumed by him is to lose yourself forever.
Monsters. What a cruel word. Could any creation of the Blessed be deemed such? Is that not an insult to the gods themselves? Do they not breathe, sing, watch the moon, just like any ordinary sealfolk?
narrow
The man sitting beside the bucket, knees pulled up to his chest, looked up at Val with narrowed eyes as he approached. The seaside breeze ruffled his long silver-spotted hair. He gave a brief nod. A silent good catch. Such compliments often went unspoken between the two of them.
“Think that’ll be good for today?” Val said softly. He settled down beside his companion, who shifted enough to place his cheek on Val’s shoulder.
“It’ll have to be,” he murmured. His gaze was fixed on the falling sun as it was swallowed by the ocean like a fish down an orca’s gullet. The end of their world as they knew it grew ever closer.
lost
The Crescent raised his hand, and silence fell like a thick blanket of snow over the gathering. Even the Stagehand could not resist the moon’s pull.
“If you are so insistent on meddling in the northern ice caps,” the Gibbous said, “then it is there you shall remain. Encased in the ice, among the monsters the sealfolk fear. They will not know of you. Your responsibilities will be redistributed. Your name lost to time. Domain over the theater will fall to someone else.”
bend
He’d wait. Sooty had the brush, for the Blessed’s sake; it would almost be easier to free Val than to leave him here. After all, he was the Brushkeeper. He could bend the rules if he wanted to. He could forfeit a day late. If this was the god whose rules they’d be breaking, he suspected they didn’t have much to fear at all.
He realized Luka was looking at him curiously and he wondered if gods could read minds. “What?”
“You have a choice to make,” declared Luka. “Stay here, await your execution, and look into your lover’s eyes as you die—or forge your own path, with no seal-pelt to keep you warm.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. That’s terribly ominous.”
leave it all on the canvas @stingraydrien - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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