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Three Goblin Art

tannertan36
Sade Olutola
No title available
ojovivo
NASA
trying on a metaphor

PR's Tumblrdome

★
will byers stan first human second
Peter Solarz
KIROKAZE
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

JBB: An Artblog!
taylor price
AnasAbdin

pixel skylines

⁂
DEAR READER

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@thxpurifier
Send a 🐈 to give my muse a kitten!
The sender may specify what the kitten looks like. If sent to a multimuse, specify who gets the kitten. If you can’t see the symbol, send ‘Ball of fluff’ instead!
askahzekahriman:
The transport landed, and although Ahriman and his companions were greeted by the locals, he showed little interest in them. There was the surface politeness but nothing more. He made it very obvious that he was not here for them. He got a sense of relief from the minds that he brushed against, but again that made little difference to him.
A few questions, a few scans and Ahriman knew where he had to go. For some reason, the streak of light he had seen had made its way into the mountains. He cast his thoughts out, searching and finding the right way to go. Behind him, the rubricae followed. He barely needed to focus to get them to do so now.
The weather was fair, a light wind picked through the short grass. Warm sun shone on his face and he was remind of a long dead home in a far stretch of the galaxy. He dismissed it and focused on the task ahead.
What he saw when he reached the hillside was not what he had been expecting. Surprised registered on his face, though that was hidden behind his helmet, his aura was not so hidden. Before him, sat on what he perceived as a bench, was a tall woman with a huge spear in her hand. Locks of white hair framed a fair face as pale as his was tanned. The wings were an unusual addition and he kept distance between them.
“You are the one that fell through the galaxy,” he said. He used his natural voice rather than the silent speech. It would not be wise to do so to a being he had no awareness of. His words were not a question. He bade the rubricae to step backwards with a thought. As one, they did so. A single step that thudded against the neat ground.
[ ✙ ] -
Ears pricked up as he let his voice finally be heard, she had however known of his approach. She had come to the end of her ground etching it seemed and stepped back ever so slightly to examine it. Armoured finger tapping against her pale chin before she turned to the new presence.
“Ah, you are the little warrior who I felt as I entered into this world. I wondered when you would get here.”
Avacyn nodded, obsidian hues examined the warrior from top to bottom, he was large by human standards but at her height? she dwarfed him easily. He wore rather lavish and elaborate robes, and to top it off he decorated himself with that brash golden horned helmet that made him look larger than he truly was. This was a man with much pride, when he walked into a room he expected people to know who he was and know his worth.
Avacyn had met many men of such pride. She was in fact crafted by one originally. Men who place themselves up so high, have a nasty habit of falling down. Hard. Poor thing, a tragic figure really. Beneath his layers of pride she could sense a sadness about him, something he had done and sought to undo.
She then gazed at the two Rubricae, she heard nothing from them. No thoughts, no aura, no feeling. She furrowed her brow. She would ask him about those later on.
“ So what is it that I can do for you?
Ahzek? “
ask-the-crimson-king:
“You were not allowed to experience such emotion before. It hurts because…” He trailed off, thinking for a moment or two in order to find a good enough answer. “You feel pain because I believe you are coming to terms with things you did not know about yourself. Things that you wish were not a part of you, yet they are inseparable.”
He thought about his response to her second question. Was he kind or was he cruel? In many ways, he was both. He thought of humanity first. He did show some semblance of care for his sons, though he did seek to lock them away from things Magnus felt they should have known.
Should they have known them, or would it only make them fall more quickly?
“He was a bit of both,” he finally answered. “He thought of humanity first. His goals for our species were noble. His means… I have some qualms with.” He sighed. “He made myself and my brothers as generals. Warriors. We were made to be killing machines, and so were our gene-sons, our Legions.” He paused.
“But not all of us just wanted to wage war. Lorgar hated being a warrior. I wished to pursue other things outside of the prosecution of war, such as my own studies into the Warp. I wished to enlighten humanity. We were supposed to slowly develop into a psychic race, I could see that, but…” He closed his eye. Memories of Nikaea flickered through his mind’s eye.
“Superstition stopped that, and my father helped.”
[ ✙ ] -
She could sense his discomfort in that answer. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked that question. Her black pitless eyes came to rest their gaze upon the hand he had put on her shoulder. His hands were large and clawed, crimson like the rest of his skin, she reached up to intertwine her fingers with his own, even at her immense height he was still larger, her hand seemed soft and delicately enveloped in the red satin of his own.
She let herself lean into him hoping that sudden closeness would break him away from the persistent line of thought that was now plaguing him. She could hear it loudly... He probably hadn’t realised how much he was broadcasting it. But she could tell it hurt.
“ Villainous are the men who play god and thus their children will know no peace.”
She murmured before turning her gaze back towards him. In that regard they were of the same kin and ilk. Two beings created to play to the tune of another’s intent. Two children who strayed from their father’s vision and were punished for it.
“ My own creator he too was always obsessed with ‘balance’ and order. But he never saw how much his vision was so selfish and how it hurt others. He had the best intentions but not the best heart.. “
Could you please reblog this if it is okay to ask you straight up if you want to ship?
{Continued from here }
@ask-night-haunter
[ ✙ ] -
Avacyn found herself brought back into the moment with the sudden sensation of body heat close to hers and a raspy voice that over powered those within her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose before turning to face the creature that had joined her. Obsidian met obsidian in their gaze, like her he too was pale of skin, black of eyes but it was there that their similarities ceased it seemed, cosmetically anyhow.
“I am sorry... I wandered here seeking silence. nobody seems to come here. I hoped it would make all of their voices stop. It did for a bit.”
She furrowed her brow for a second before wiping away her tears on the fabric of her skirt. She then recalled he had asked her a question before that but it had been so mixed up in everything else she heard she only processed a few fragments of his sentence.
“You... said something before? about doing things?”
She sat up from her hunched position, moving her knees away from her torso to be brought to a more graceful sitting position. Although she found herself in distress it seemed she did not wish to present herself as frightened or helpless. There was very little that scared Avacyn, of at least that she felt sure. And as for her large companion? She did not wish to seem in fear or to be feared.
ask-the-crimson-king:
Magnus could feel her melancholy, stopping his writings and turning his attention to the Arch Angel. He let out a soft sigh, then pushed himself up and walked over to her. He sat down next to Avacyn, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“No need to hide yourself,” he said softly, extending a wing and gently wrapping it around her. “It is okay to cry. Crying is a natural emotion, just like anger or joy. You’re allowed to cry, Avacyn, no matter who you are.”
The book itself was a moving one with a number of good lessons within it, but he knew it was much more than that that was affecting her. She was, in a way, like the so-called monster. Full of emotion, an intellectual, a living breathing being, but still shunned.
She too had been shunned. But she was also made with a different purpose.
It did not matter. One could still empathize with the plight of the poor thing. Magnus felt himself identifying with the monster too, when he first read it. He was created to be a warrior, a conqueror, a destroyer. But he could also be an intellectual, a scholar, a man with compassion and dreams and visions of his own.
They shared more similarities than he had first assumed.
[ ✙ ] -
Natural? there was nothing natural about Avacyn. She wasn’t born of a mother and father, only a father. She was created, crafted to fulfill a purpose. And when finally the time came that she would question his intentions, question how he created her out of self serving interest. How she pointed out that of all the demons and monsters she had ever known, ever fought. He was the worst. A mad man who had lost every scrap of his humanity.
And yet she couldn’t hate him. It would be so easy if she could but she couldn’t hate him. He was her father. Her creator. She loved him.
“I wasn’t made to feel. But now I can... it hurts Why does it hurt?”
Her porcelain tear stained eyes did fall upon his face, dark orbs staring and taking in each crease and feature. He has a sort of timeless face. Neither young nor old. Stern and pronounced, she imagined he was what one might visualise to be the very definition of a king. It was then she realised, he too was crafted.
“Was your creator a kind or cruel person?”
She murmured, her armoured hand coming up to softly rest upon his larger one.
[ weep ]+
Konrad did not sleep well, ever. He was always too alert to fully switch off. He supposed it had everything to do with surviving on the Nostramon streets and needing that awareness so he didn’t get knifed while trying to rest. He had been a child then of course, but some habits died hard. So it was that as an adult, he never truly switched off.
What brought him sharply back to consciousness this time was the muffled sound of someone weeping. That wasn’t good. What was he supposed to do with weeping people?
He got to his feet and looked around. He couldn’t see the source of the noise, and this was not his space on the Night Fall either. The Legion had been staying on the planet they had just brought into compliance. It had not been an especially bloody one; this one submitted on hearing their name and it had been most boring if he was honest. Even the celebrations the previous night had been tedious. Konrad was not made for such events, he much prefered the active parts of war where he could let his restless counterpart take charge and satisfy the urges he had.
Konrad poked his head out of the room and looked both ways. There, slumped against the wall, was a woman sobbing into her hands. He blinked. He should stick his head back in and shut the door. What did he say to someone in that emotional state? People cried at him, because of him and when they saw him. How did he sort that out.
He coughed and stepped out of the doorway. “You alright?” he asked, knowing his soft voice sounded halting and awkward.
[ ✙ ] -
This place must have once been a sort of Palace or temple. Humans had such strange habits of building such places in points of power. Was it an instinct that drew them to such places? who knew. And was that why she was brought here? perhaps. This world was one of many that she had begun to visit, but as time grew on many questions began to plague the archangel, if that was what she could even be called anymore.
This planet was highly populated and she had hoped the collective noise of thousands of minds all chattering away at once might be enough to drown out the noise of her own mind, but it just made the noise louder and harder to ignore.
She had heard him though with all the noise she had simply assumed that his voice was one of the many minds ticking away through her head. She had believed herself to be alone. It had appeared that the people of this planet had chosen to avoid this place for some reason. Had she chance to focus she might have been able to discern what it was that drove them away from here.
Simply she found herself huddled up, spine pressed to the wall as dark eyes stared empty at the room she had found herself in. Wings brought to rest beside her like feathered shields. She muttered to the silence expecting no answer.
“How do humans do it?”
ask-the-crimson-king:
“Ah. A good choice.” Magnus smiled a little. “It is an old tale, but it is a good one. I am surprised it survived so long. Most tales from its time have, unfortunately, been lost in some capacity.”
He took out the book he was working on, grabbing his stylus and writing once more. The room became silent as he allowed her to read, understanding how gripping a new book could be. When he was young, he would sit for hours on end, doing nothing but practically devouring books one after the other. As he grew older and had more responsibilities, such a habit dwindled.
Especially once he commanded an entire Legion.
However, he did not cease it completely. Especially not now. But now, instead of reading, he found his time to be filled with transcription and adding new writings to his libraries.
A bit of a tedious task, but a necessary one in order to preserve knowledge for the ages to come.
[ ✙ ] -
The practice of reanimation described within the tome reminded her of similar practices upon her home world. Such monsters were stitched together by power hungry Nephalian nobles as toy soldiers in their little games of ascendancy. Such a profane injustice to the dead, a complete lack of dignity thrust upon the deceased and their mourning loved ones. Such diabolical actions as these she had since wished to curb. And when her softer touch wasn’t enough and the madness took hold, her justice became bloody.
But this monster was different from those mindless undead pawns. This monster had thoughts, feelings, he was intellectual, he could be kind and compassionate yet so full of rage and despair. He was the product of a man playing god. And he reminded her... of herself as she had once been.
It wasn’t till a tear did fall on the back cover of the book did Avacyn even realise she was crying. This was new, she had never cried before. She was never given such a capacity to feel such pain. This was new, different, it frightened her a bit and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
She held the book to her chest as if to cradle it as she pulled her knee’s close, her wings now wrapped around her. She didn’t want to be seen crying. Angels don’t cry. Not like this.
“ He’s just like me...”
She hushed to herself in broken tones.
;// I am really burned out right now so I won’t be writing tonight.
Softly she pinches hold of one of his helmets horns, shaking it slightly as if to inspect its sturdiness. "You put effort into appearing like a deamon and yet you detest the ruinous powers. Why is that Little Warrior?"
“Helps to blend in,” he said jerking his helmet out of her poking, prying hands. “Strikes fear into the hearts of the enemies. I stole it from the corpse of one of my most hated enemies and it reminds me of my victorious ways,” he snorted. There were countless reasons why he wore this helmet, and why he looked as he did. He was unsure what it had to do with her!
[ ✙ ] -
A smirk rose to the archangel’s mouth as she chuckled through her words.
“Ah I see. So much like a little peacock you are, Little Warrior. “
ask-the-crimson-king:
“I assumed we were exchanging thoughts freely. Or did no one teach you how to keep your own thoughts to yourself, Avacyn?” Magnus retorted, crossing his arms. “I can see much with but a glimpse. I know no one taught you how to use your telepathy properly, but you could have taken some time to practice and teach yourself. Unless you never expected to meet a fellow telepath, that is.
“Regardless, I do not have a particular favorite, no. I could read almost any tome you see before you and experience a similar level of enjoyment from each one.” He gestured to the shelves around them. “I have books from almost every time period in mankind’s history, and of almost every genre. To say I had a book from every time and every genre would be a ridiculous statement, since a new era of history is continually being made. As for genre, subtleties in subgenres can come about with a new one. Or perhaps someone takes inspiration from a forgotten age and compounds it with contemporary works, making something new from something old.”
He flicked his wings, plucking out a loose feather and letting it fall to the floor. It slowly began to curl until it became a vibrant chameleon who promptly scuttled away to a shadowed hiding place. Magnus paid no mind to the small creature, instead returning to his desk to complete his transcription.
“You can read one of them, if you would like. I do not mind. Knowledge ought to be shared.”
[ ✙ ] -
She shook her head as she pushed away from her perch. Flying came easy to her. Combat came easy. But the telepathy? that was new. And inbetween the chaos of back home and the birth of a new form she had no time. She came to a hover as she scanned the spines of each book.
“ No. No one did. It was a new gift that evolved from the meddling of another.”
One she had never fully had the chance to explore. Blank eyes took in the names of the book. She recalled some sort of saying regarding not judging a ‘book by its cover’ and she didn’t know if this was something to be taken quite literally. But she couldn’t help but be drawn to the more elaborately decorated tomes. She took out a book with a red leather cover and golden decorations across it. The sides of each page had seemingly been gold leafed to create an elegant effect. Orbs ingested in the elaborate calligraphy title.
“Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus?”
She purred, her fingers gently opening the cover to peer upon what might lay beneath.
She was hovering for sometime before beating wings came to a stand still and she did perch herself down upon the flooring, book open and in hand. Eyes had not left the pages to seek out her companion, utterly entranced in those words she sat quietly cross legged.
ask-the-crimson-king:
Magnus hummed thoughtfully, keeping his eye on her. It was out of curiosity, mainly. He carefully read her, trying to find more. She could see his thoughts, but he allowed her to do so. Any who entered this place could pull off such a feat if they truly wanted to. He noticed her look around his library, snorting softly.
“You and I both,” he muttered. “You are correct, the future is always filled with uncertainties. It is much easier to retell the past than predict the future, despite what others may think.” He tilted his head to the side, his gaze turning to an emerald hue.
“I usually ask ‘was’ instead of ‘are’. Our pasts make us who we are in the present.” He rubbed his chin, then turned his attention to his collection.
“I noticed you taking an interest at my little library. Millennia of work, all kept here. Some stays in the Material realm, but the more precious has a copy within these walls. I have memorized every word written on every page. Consider it a contingency plan. You can never be too certain of what may happen.”
He looked back upon the Arch Angel, his gaze now seeming to pierce her, searching for something.
Avacyn. That was her name.
He could see the tumult settling inside of her. He found stark similarities between the two of them, though they did have a great number of differences also. He found it intriguing. She was not of this realm, that much was plain to see now.
[ ✙ ] -
She scowled at that outlook. She didn’t want her past to be what she was right now. Though she had to agree that because of who she was it had now lead her to seeking out a new identity. So as much as she disliked it, there was truth to his words.
She shuffled uneasily. She could feel the reach of his minds eye peering within her own. She felt exposed and uneasy. She hadn’t meant to listen to his own thoughts. Rather she still had little control over such an act. And it had however been an invitation for him to pay in kindness. But she hadn’t expected for him to be so probing.
“Did no one teach you to ask a lady’s name and not take it by force? Magnus.”
She furrowed her brows turning to face him once again. She sat there listening to him with the expression not unlike that of a pouting small child. Placing down the Moonsilver upon the top of the bookcase once again her eyes switched to that of the books. She was tempted to pick one up and examine the content. But why? She’d never had such a desire before. Was this what genuine curiosity felt like?
The desire to explore something for the sake of exploring it? This was new. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Or a completely good one. It was strange. Like an irritable desire.
“ Do you have a favourite?”
She muttered, armoured fingers gesturing to the tome collection.
[ ✙ ] -
A cindering smell hit the angels Nostrils like charred plastic, thick and miasmic . An uncomfortable feeling shook her core as she sensed something new creep its way into her dwelling. Yet more corruption? Was her work to never truly be fulfilled? Moonsilver spear in hand Avacyn took off like a bolt let loose from a bow, gliding through the sky like a creature entranced in some blood lusting hunt. She flew on to meet this intruder upon her lands.
Clouds would part upon her passing, the very world itself bending to her rage induced will. Whomever dared to impose upon her plane would do so at their own Peril.
He was easy to notice. She heard his thoughts first, from a mile off sharp eyes like a hawks picked him out ever so easily. His bright mustard garb unlike any would dare to parade themselves in. Far to ostentatious for even the most eccentric among the nobility.
He looked human. And once upon a time he had been. But his scent did inform her otherwise. The sickly stench of blood, the ichor dripping poison that would circle his veins marking him no longer of the mortal stock. A stolen body. A century of sin. Vampire. But not like those who dwelt among the ranks of the Innistradi denizens. A type not from this realm. This would not stand.
“Leave Planeswalker or I shall leave you a blighted stain of ash upon the stones you stand!”
She jeered as wings beat hard bringing her to a distant hover.
@diotheworldus
✘: Who do they detest the most? Do they typically avoid this person or antagonize them?
Avacyn tends to largely avoid her creator - Sorin. As a vampire she is naturally repulsed by him and yet through his link to her she cannot hurt him, disobey him or argue against him.
He makes her feel vulnerable and like a tool which makes her feel weak and empty.
nonverbal memes
add + to reverse who does the action
[ attention ] for your muse to touch mine as a way of getting their attention [ sleep ] for your muse to wake mine [ cover ] for your muse to cover mine with a blanket or a jacket [ lift ] for your muse to give mine a hand stepping up or over something etc. [ kiss ] for your muse to come up to mine and kiss them without warning [ run ] for your muse to run their fingers through mine’s hair [ braid ] for your muse to braid mine’s hair [ embrace ] for your muse to hold mine [ smile ] for your muse to smile at mine from across the room [ wave ] for your muse to gesture to mine to come closer [ panic ] for your muse to grab mine’s arm or get behind them in a moment of danger [ touch ] for your muse to rest their forehead against mine’s [ weep ] for your muse to catch mine crying [ eat ] for your muse to offer mine food [ hit ] for your muse to attack mine [ love ] for your muse to touch mine as a show of affection or reassurance [ nap ] for your muse to fall asleep against mine [ rest ] for your muse to rest their head in mine’s lap [ look ] for your muse to catch mine staring [ seduce ] for your muse to touch mine sexually [ help ] for your muse to lean on mine for support [ give ] for your muse to offer mine their arm [ entwine ] for your muse to hold mine’s hand [ laugh ] for your muse to laugh at something mine did [ dance ] for your muse to dance with mine [ sit ] for your muse to pull mine into their lap [ yell ] for your muse to calm mine down [ cry ] for your muse to wipe mine’s tears away [ dream ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare [ surprise ] for your muse to show up at mine’s house without explanation [ fix ] for your muse to treat mine’s injury [ sacrifice ] for your muse to get hurt protecting mine [ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger [ taste ] for your muse to cook for mine [ sing ] for your muse to sing to mine
{Continued from here.}
@ask-the-crimson-king
[ ✙ ] -
“Who Was she”
The angel did almost mimic his thoughts in words before realising that she had spoken out loud. Slowly she did step down from the Rafter and perched herself atop one of the many library cases. Black eyes fixated on his form, unblinking. With some element of grace she did come to rest, her legs now dangingly over the edge. Never had she encountered a library of this size. Human libraries were made for human sizes, No way could one stretch out her wings or come to rest.
“Something I’ve been pondering to myself for a time. Though I do find it interesting... You say ‘Was’... most would say ‘are’ But I find your question easier to answer. Its easier to say where we’ve been... easier than where we are going.”
Her dark gaze pulled away from his form to gaze down at some of the books housed among the shelves, taking in their names and titles. The red giant had quite the collection. She had never really read anything back home. She had no need to. Born with all the knowledge her creator had wished to gift her and programmed to never want to seek anymore. The perfect Puppet. That was who she was. But she was something different now.
“I was to protect. To serve. To herd the cattle. And then I was to purify. To lash out. And then? Then I was an example of what happens to broken toys... I don’t want to go back there.”
❛ never run back to what broke you. ❜
[Various starter thingies]
The voice caught him off guard. It did not startle him, no. He knew someone was out there. Watching. Lurking. He did not expect them to speak. He paused in his writings, looking around the small study he found himself in. He was in his own little corner of the Warp, his one true sanctuary where he could take a few moments to breathe and relax.
He just so happened to be transcribing an old Prosperine text. It was a play, one that the school children at some of the academies would perform. It was somewhat simplistic in nature, but its message was clear; do not trust the mysterious voices in the night. They are bad creatures bearing bad omens. The last copy of it had been destroyed recently after a daemon ended up slamming into one of the bookshelves in the upper echelons in the tower. So now he had to make a few new copies and make sure something like that does not happen again.
“I am not running back,” Magnus stated plainly. He shut the book, glancing around for the true source of the voice. He could most certainly sense someone was here, but he did not know where. “I am recovering a lost text. The past is best not forgotten. Especially an event such as the destruction of Prospero.” His lip curled a little. “Yes, that history ought to be remembered. That was when the Imperium showed their true colors to us. No more hiding in the dark or useless councils, that was an attempted execution. One I should never have been compliant in.”
[ ✙ ] -
Like a bird caught in the Rafters Avacyn clung to the heights of the room. She had never needed to hide in such a way back home on Innistrad, but Innistrad was a now but a dream away. And her statement? perhaps that was for her as much as it was for him. Dark eyes watched the scarlet figure from the shadows. Stealth however was not her strong suit and on catching with a ceiling beam her wings did briefly flutter allowing for a single alabaster and sanguine tipped plume to descend so serenely below.
Her feathers however were no longer stained in blood. The red hues were simply now the colouration of her plumage. Like a snake adapting its morph to that of a more deadly cousin? Perhaps. Though such a thing would imply that Avacyn was a more docile sort which couldn’t be further from the truth. Perhaps it was more that she had long since chosen to abandon the crystalline puppet she was created to be, and in finding her own agency beyond that of an artificial purpose she had retained the markings of the violence that sundered her from that path.
But had that not been what had broken her?
But was she broken? Such a notion implied that it was correct to play her masters puppet… it was correct to remain a tool. And what of him? The red man? The loud presence that brought her to this place?
“So you admit it did break you then?”