20220618 Sidequest: Roquet http://www.ruggenberg.nl/titels.html Broken Ashes, The Only Night, Ice of Captive, The Tears’s Wizard, The Truth of the Kiss, Soul in the Slaves (1, 2) The pain of cold describes lost hearts, for our burning souls have separated as lost prophecy, as what lies that madman who wanders the battle in this new form. 1: Broken Ashes Disheveled are the chaotic thoughts of misappropriation in the least ire of minutiae assemblage, test of tithe patience, to the bereft mockery of trivial imputence and summary revocation behest of tribal anachronisms lost on irony and found ever quiet among the wandering-lived, to the pageantry malfeasances of bespoke and omnipotent tyrant authority deigned to design ordainment of comitatus to assemble the hundred of pieces of dark ash and shattered dreams. In salutations properly and proprietary to the accomplishment of distant memory for frustration in the net of possibilities elsewhere driven to madness refined, summit to the blind how true anguish the ignorant failures within profound answers in resplendent question continuing the counterlace mosaic, putting together the pieces of a window without stain the feeling and find too much like unbreaking glass description. Put together in many moments the image contravenes causality and peace, not of one single face the many spying eyes separated by sharp looks at the edges of darkness, the pinnacle frustration when unable to slam the jagged canvas, in a note becoming a song the magic beneath my hand draws the pieces together, but tired with thirst of rule and whispers the unruly and insatiable truth, the bell of the wineglass, for it dampens the magic shards and mutes the air, all mystery the discovery in continuation. By the sound of bells in the makeshift tabernacle to abandon temporary curiosity rejoining fears as many faces in the mirror scowl and dour stare to haunt me from my past, before I could hear their voices, they dragged me into the mirror not the least of which were last. 2: The Only Night The ground gives rise to space and storm as smokey shapes are blown, where trees of light give horrible glow and sing such poison hymns of their hate at the cosmos for this prison of the midnight temporal plane. In the fear of blindness I use my magic by starting a torch, but men of shadows come and douse the sound of the light to rest their ears. Once taken ill now inclined to use my pride to survive this otherworld it churns somehow noticed and dozens of witches come to take my blood for potions, survival by the secrets not even I know telling whispers of truths only magicians would know, upon these words without regret also can I not rest, for on the dark horizon with deep radiant silhouette stands the fear of emanations in retrospective illumination, every star in existence fills the sky as alignment of celestations become contingent supersedence of fate, in creative entropy I am raptured by the dark messenger in replete ontological confinement as if the tome of witchery had chosen entraption. 3: Ice of Captive /sleep After a day, I realize there's no way to describe the synesthesia of hell and high water. /lifting /scrivening After one failed fantasy comes another that breaks with horrible cold in my face, the hellish cold again wakes me against trauma and adrenaline walls of critical conceit unreplicated to dismays and frustrations of frozen chains, captured by the howling night, detained by frostbite desiccating shackles on the wrists where thirst is only a thought as frigid air dances and brushes against the skin, there would be a dark and blurry mistress ignoring my vanities as I scream at my captors such wrong estimations magistrates would madly simper, and yet the face is recognized, for as hell awaits the insufferable doth stand Skaði Skadi, witch of the mountain. Empress of the dark mountain, carver of fresh lies…! Skaði, I break hoping you don’t set me free… Frozen in the corner of your mind and now what you see moves and is still a prisoner of arcane manifestation. If you could break those bonds you wouldn’t be in this mess. What have you done to me? Nothing you haven’t already done to yourself, take him away. What is this about? Save a question for deceit? well since we’re such good friends I’ll say. 4: The Wizard’s Tears: We have taken your reality and put you in control of it, as every thought becomes tangible we are intangible, the tears of a wizard like yourself in your mental prison, now gloriously trapped with us free to rattle your chains. The henchmen will bring forth the shadow servant, and with them a hollow glass diamond, as Skaði carries her captive’s. They drop a single tear into Merlin’s eye, and the bleak and lowly shadow servant gains his power, to glow again with youth, against the speechless hellscape trapped in desires, each drop revitalizes, to stand freely without bracing guards, without resistance to this plan, as luck by design Merlin lunges at her, she drops the vial, Merlin hopes to switch it, or smash it. 5: The Truth of the Kiss: The Saracen Empress rises from the shadow horizon, burning a darkness into her outline with skin bright of white silver. Empress… I’m an Archon now, hill kim, place him on his back and take his head, there’s no need to make him watch his defeat when the echo of dawn is near. She switches the vials, each teardrop in Merlin’s eyes saves his heartbeat, to balance the inequality Skaði quickly cuts the arm of the shadow servant with a nightmare blade and pours shadow water, Merlin suffers a connective reaction, the pain forcing him to break his icy chains, the Saracen witch moves to strike Merlin, and strikes a demon instead, and they scarper, abscond, exfiltrate thru fires falling, over rising shadows and moving trees, all the likes of which are waking and joining all to kill, the air turns soft in spaces. An explosion mixing air and shadow, dark and light, fire and ice the hellscape almost a jungle between two worlds in the caves to the surface of Jotunheim. 6: Soul in the Slaves: The cave exits to the mountains, higher and warmer, but brighter and crowded with little passage to escape more cover among the twisted turns and mist. Merlin runs hand in hand with the fire priestess fait accompli she struggles with her powers as the shadows begin attacking, quick to chivalry Merlin pushes her aside to be hit with the Spears of Darkness cutting holes into him without tearing his clothes. Retribution turn ablaze, for fire reigns in delven darkness as her flames show his wounds psychic and superimposed upon phase of light and liminal strength of fireworks blasting in the fog the witchcraft continues, this time she pushes him instead from a falling rock, now releasing a boulder falling fast, he grabs her corset or cravat and they fall together, a corsair and corvette the serendipitous grace of fire and wind brace legs and skuttle bootheels, sliding over and down another massive round stone, at bottom a path a clearing a circle a court, now ten Jotun in wooden crowns from their differing kingdoms stare with dark shine over burning candlewick pupils intent to smile at such soon a ruling is predetermined. She must return! Tame and nothing, look at our heels, a second sunset! Pin her, break her, smash her, take her, I smell the blood of fire and wine, she will only bring lava uphill! Daethant yn ôl yn y diwedd, byddwn yn dychwelyd yma! Too right, my son, carry on your merry. What? He said grab you and go. None of you could’ve said that? A disporate shadow unleashes from the dusk of clockwork daybreak as the song of air making sight to discordant sunlight, broken light bending, bending light breaking, light become light as soil evaporates like sulfur as a broadening line the border of hell leads the hellion imperium of demons and wicked curses on display. With daybreak spying down the mountain at minions of merciless fetish Merlin and the Archon are forlorn, waiting for the sun of the world to recharge her and show which air clears between the primeval mist, to breathe between the heavy shadows insolvent to mysteries of the mind without shelter of truth. /ending The ally of Merlin who rides a phoenix, Troy the Whitetail, who brought of rescue now must bring respite to one or recourse to both in the fires of revenge and rebirth, he trusts Merlin and gives him the reigns, the phoenix doesn’t suffocate the skies in vengeful and eccentric rebirth, elusive Etain attains providence in prominence using the defensive phonecian fire to fuel a rapture of torment, indelicate serenade silents demons. /double-ending By grace of wind Merlin breathes outward protecting himself, but feeding the flames, the heat delights the phoenix with comfort too subtle for Troy to trust, but losing patience checks the distant rise for their return. They’re more and many come! We only need stay together until daybreak! Can you trust me? Yes. A wave of darkness tumbles and caves downhill, against a storm of death their powers press as light from artifact, flames of fear, and the wind of warlocks, but it is the phoenix’ fire of fear that beacons to above the dark mastery disaster, hereafter Helios experiences the day, commanding the light as he demands it wash over the land, revealing the guardians of gold and gallant countryside windswept and passing at great speed into greater distant nature, safe and from unfinished ending recedes darkness at the spears of the truth of light and the miracles of their dismay. You have come farther than I have across such a great mountain. What is your name? These are travellers humble and brave in the splendid ways noble makes piety and empathy. It’s here they say their names with such honesty even the magical bird thinking its own name rings thru their thoughts, of uncertain sound to wit of a reason. I have brought this danger into this world, which one be it that I know not, my name is Merlin. And where do you plan to rest at the end of your journey, nearest your next drink, Albion? /br