#temirtau

[cosmonautroger]

Pasha Cas, Temirtau, Kazakhstan, 2010

[maxgaelmartin]

⏹Red rocks - Nura/Temirtau⏹ . . #redrocks #nura #kz #temirtau #nature #beautiful #freedom https://www.instagram.com/p/B0IiOArJPFW/?igshid=55tkv9kl502w

[zolotaya-siberia]

[feely40k0p2]

Sex Girls in Temirtau girls, temirtau

[hariesautomoto]

Ikarus-280.03 by HariesAutoMoto

[hariesautomoto]

Temirtau railway terminal by HariesAutoMoto

[needlenubbins]

Temirtau is slowly going mad, the waters whisper.

All the way mad, that is; he’s always been a little mad, always been the addled sort of oracle. The prophets of his line have been that way since time immemorial. To hear the bubbles pop, they have to make the water fizz before they drink it in, and the further they go from the Sea of a Thousand Currents, the more intoxicating that bubbly is.

(To abstain from swimming, for Temirtau, is to dry out in both the literal and metaphorical sense.)

But that was the dotty sort of madness, giggling and nonsensical. Very proper, for his brand of oracle, very traditional and entirely harmless. It is neither proper nor harmless anymore.

“You’re not hallucinating,” Fortaleza tells him. “Everyone can see the fish.”

“I am grateful for the reassurance,” Temirtau tells her, because he appreciates the intent behind it. That it isn’t a comfort at all is no reason to bristle at her words.

Hallucinating is fine. Hallucinating is what he’s supposed to do. He’s a Water prophet; he hears the song of the sea, the quick staccato of the bubbles, and it makes his head spin with visions that his drunken trance helps him weave into words. What he says may be for any dragon who can interpret it, but what he sees is for him alone. Temirtau has always seen the ghostly little fish. He’s never manifested them.

He knows what happens when prophets go this way. (Especially imperials, the little fish whisper.) The fish-ghosts are just the start of it. Anything he sees, everything he sees, is fair game for the maddened magic. Temirtau sees long-ago past and distant present, and an endless multitude of possible futures, some glorious, some deadly, and some mundane--and every single one of those visions, now, might manifest around him. If he can stay out of the water, out of earshot of the bubbles, free from his visions, then there is no risk. But there is no staying away from that fizzing song. He’s been drinking it too long now.

Temirtau is slowly dying, Songkhla says, and for all her distress and frustration, when he hears it all he can think is good. He’ll die before the madness gets too far, and he’ll drag the ocean’s ghosts down with him.