#songheart

[oddclangen]

Moon 83

Well Leaf-bare do be like this, thankfully next moon a bit lighter

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[ultraviolente-art]

[thallian-blog]

A New Beginning

The door slowly shut, the plate gauntlet guiding the door to its resting place quietly. Approaching a dresser, the plate covered figure began unlatching his gauntlets and armor, setting them in a corner for the next day. His fingers ran over new bruises and cuts from the days practice, shaking his head slowly. It had been too long since he had been able to openly move around the city, and to do so without worry.

It was a routine, every night he would return to his families estate, place his sword and shield in their respective places in his quarters, and retreat to his room to undress himself. It was also the worst part of the man-boys day, as it was a constant reminder of what has befallen his family. As if by clockwork,  he moved to the mirror he had placed in his room not too long ago. He stared back at himself, undressed from the waist up, staring at the purple skin that was still new. It was a constant reminder of a moment of weakness, of fear, of cowardice.

It is a gift, young one. Embrace us. Shaking his head, already it was apparent it would be a rough night once more. They never left, never stopped. Their constant whispers something he was warned of many times, yet not once did he stop to think of the actual repercussions that could arise. Already, he felt himself slipping up at times, becoming overly agitated or frustrated with the most simplest things. Isolating himself from those he KNOWS cares and loves him, yet it’s almost by habit and force than by choice. Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to wander, to lure his own thoughts back to the surface. Once content, he collapsed into a chair, holding his head in his hands. Again, a nightly routine that seemed to have no end in sight, one he has chosen to endure.

It’s a wonder how Saeylann deals with this, he laughed to himself, shaking his head. He always thought he was mentally stronger than this, that all those years of reading and studying would have prepared him to fight back against any whispers or voices that would have made it into his head. Never in the boys life was he more wrong, as he expected large waves of sick thoughts, horrible visions, things he could deal with and push away for days. Never would he have expected it to be a nagging pain, filled with subtle ideals and lies that hid themselves in his own mind. Shoving himself out of the chair, he laid in his bed, his lower armor still on.

He would get no sleep tonight, as the night before, and the night before that... For this was Thallian Songhearts new life, as a Ren’Dorei.

[oddclangen]

Moon 70

This moon is just damn, happy for Hopcaw retirement

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[oddclangen]

67 Moon

I drew this one like a while ago, but the depression hit and i fargot about this blog lol, but i am here now.

66 moon - 68 moon

Going to try and change the moon layout a bit during the next one

[oddclangen]

Parts of a moon that are important, but i didnt have time to draw them

Still a moon of all times

[thallian-blog]

Terrors

Thallian rushed to his mother and father, skidding to a halt as he threw his shield and sword to the floor beneath them, cradling both of them in his arms, “No, no. Wake up, you’re okay, wake up!” He whispered, shaking them roughly. The haze of war surrounded him, yet it all felt very supernatural, artificial and forced. The tears that fell on both his father and mothers armor, though, were completely real. He didn’t remember how he got here, what had happened, but he knew they had protected him. They were shielding him. From what? Thallian couldn’t answer himself, holding his parents lifeless bodies to himself and allowing the anguish and pain to hit, letting loose the tears that he had attempted to hold back. It felt as if his heart had finally been ripped from his chest and crushed into a powder, multiple times over. He had just recovered both of them, just finally began to be a normal family once again, and it was stolen once more.

“You are alone, Young Songheart. Once more, you see it with clear eyes. Come to us.” The voice sounded deep and foreboding, as it had the night before. Covering his ears was no use, as he had a feeling he had tried once before. It was everywhere, waiting and watching. Preying on his fears and emotions, his conflicted attitude of what to do,“I promise I’ll return to collect your bodies. Rest easy, Mother and Father... I love you both,” Gently, he placed their bodies back in their original position, shutting their eyes to give them a moment of respite from the purple sky that was above. He turned, grabbing his shield and sword and began to walk into the haze, his body and mind numb. 

What felt like hours of walking eventually rewarded him with a familiar sight; his estate. Though burned and crumbled, it was easy to make out the unmistakable features of the Songheart manor. Marching into his home, he was greeted by the stench of decay and rot, his brothers and sisters items littering the floor, with their laughter echoing throughout the halls. Muttering a small prayer, he kept moving forward, to the courtyard ahead, “You have felt it, the gifts We offer. There is much you’ve yet to feel, Young Songheart. Teachings you’ve yet to learn. We offer them to you,” Setting his jaw, he stood in the middle of the gardens, brandishing his blade and shield with pride, he shook his head. They knew, for they watched his every movement and motion with interest, tore into his mind with claws of words and teeth of despair, “You take the world from me, and expect me to follow? You are foolish. You will fall.” Laughter echoed through the world, making the very ground shake, as abominations of terrors marched to Thallian, “Time has yet to break this one,” The tentacles of the monsters lashed out, cracking against the Ren’Dorei’s shield. His blade followed suit, striking at the arms to shorten them, though barely leaving a scratch. He pushed forward, using his shield as a bludgeon to parry their strikes away from himself, stabbing out with his sword for naught, as they slowly encircled the boy, “Let us in, Young Songheart, or die.” A strike landed against the boys back, sending him crashing to the ground with a gasp, as the air escaped his lungs. Turning, they stood over him, staring and waiting, their arms raised above their heads for a final blow. 

The sudden surge of power flooding his system was more shocking than the grotesque faces of the abominations. With a roar of anger, Thallian slammed his shield into one of the creatures legs, using the momentum to roll to his feet. His sword cut through the creatures torso as if it was paper, turning to find the creatures running. Chasing after them, he threw his sword expertly into the closest ones leg, sending it crashing to the floor. Climbing atop the creatures body, he pulled his shield from his arm, laughing maniacally as he crushed the creatures skull with the shield, holding it with both hands and slamming it onto the creatures head, over, and over, and over, “You will all DIE!”

“STOP!” 

Thallian had awoken himself with his own yelling, sitting upright immediately. Another nightmare, he thought with a sigh. He peeled the covers from his sweat covered body, making his way out of bed. He didn’t remember when falling asleep, nor did he remember getting undressed to sleep, only laying atop the covers to relax at days end. Making his way to the window, he saw that daylight was bright and strong, indicating it was afternoon, which meant his scream would have likely been heard by his family. Shaking his head, he mentally prepared himself for the inevitable conversation he was sure to occur later that day. Dragging his feet over to his dresser, he slid open a drawer near the bottom, moving miscellaneous letters and envelopes to the side to reveal a leather bound journal. Setting it atop his desk, he flipped open the journal, pages and pages of crude drawings, writings of the nights dreams and dangerous thoughts showing themselves. Taking the pen off the dresser, he wrote, 

Again, they revealed themselves to me through sleep. There’s no respite from their constant onslaught of “promises” and visions. Father and Mother were dead, slain by, what I can only assume, the terrors they call “soldiers”. Aza and the rest could not be seen, but heard... Wonder what that means.

Shutting the journal, he placed it back into its resting place and covered it once more, shutting the drawer as he finished. Rubbing his temples, he went to get dressed and suited up, and start the day once more...

[seanpatrickmc]

Baby's room doubles as recording studio while recording studio is under construction. #songfinch #songheart (at East Nashville, Tennessee) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjivquJruvn/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=