The Voiceless Wars of New Beginnings

The Voiceless Wars of New Beginnings

This is a hard one to write, there's complications in the animatrix and now the crystals of Krypton cannot reproduce the light of the Equation. System seems normal, not a computer system - of course - not w/o the equation. It reminds me of that old Human song with-

...no, wait, lookout. We've played trapped in space already, it was... liable. That's already half a day at least. 

...yes, but yeah. 

...well what would it be to Space Pirates? 

...Metroid - Saga. 

It's already been like a few hours since we set the beacon to this holodeck ship quintessential suite three totally, it goes with the Jaguar Tribes on NV, 'Navient Ones, Citizenship Owned' and Unified Theory savioral to technical themes, it all means spaceship non succumbent, subqunuea? Oh look, the puddles are reflections of wizards in workshops with sympaths like you mentioned in your Vampires of Hearthside stories, ah, the Equation would've been here for that. Poor humans, so...

...yes, another rough in the roughe, install Alliance Ultis they said, and now I am. 

 

Doll speaks to the window, another dragon a little sill, a balcony world by picture peeking seventy, wright a poem these that instill the heathenry and by princesses seeing sights before us, we have commoners to shepherd, worse the robbers, of which no surgeon forages en amelior, pero has that not her dragonsteed Ascendancy Knightborns, greyscale of two-sided imagery and pictureland in shatters even...

...do you trust in trust them...

I am a Dragon. I do not trust. Death to the bears. 

Rainworld has washed away the peasant graves and now only violinists sing the grammercy of instilled englightened disgraces, a ditch of rainwater, curbside of tombstones the street performers would beg to raid, and follow they the Waters instillment by their own story, into the fog and the walking dead, looking for irradient plaebienn bhord allian zie, Lich King offers bounty herebefore. 

Left aligned, what's to say of the darkness in these images, where has the shine of armor gone? Can we take. Can we break. There's a supposed war against the Wraithgast, sincerely Afteworld would Errand?

It can't we the expanse of the msit, Arawn. We cannot await concern. Praise the undead find us the plains onceamor.  

Never, not maybe might alliance with Midgard make this peace concordra, salve amoricos.

 

Crawling out of the Ocean of Fire

Crawling out of the Ocean of Fire

We travelled to the sound of earthquake as if a god had falled slain, in middling fog of Midgard there rested an unsettling mist, beneath two spilling hillsides an opening into the earth with natural bridges of gigantic roots, the spiritual feeling of the magic ancience, wandering down the afternoon light the summer somewhere above, now somehow below the sap of gold and in the earth's bluffs occassional pouring of fires. 

A resting spot a traveled place thrown into a pleasant dale near the river of oil and the fires like flowers everyplace, and in the depth a scattering by curious birds, a true summoning of the gods, proof that the skies will raise life from the earth, the magic glows of fire on the rockface, the water boils away from the body rising clean from oil, still forming as we prepare, in great light the Runes of Atlantis, in great readiness the past of peril, there the cambion turned to face us. 

As wind grows it burns against the edge of the crater torn open the earth, beneath the cambion her steps calm Dark Water, from the cave at water's entrance a mantle of red glow and fireplace accomodates the shine of reflection at cave river surface, the granite slides to rest at one side the slated entry from nature differing around the Cambion Gate, her clothes attire obediently from the red smoke, silver sand, and black water, approaching dancing with discovery and formations. First in observe allure, to silence assure only hunger. 

 

A fire speaks to the cambion while there is mist from the mountain, in the pleasure of the Forgotten Sea there the footsteps are bells into the water, the madness interrupts, the displeasure of the underground river swallowed by disdain as the mountain began to burn and bury it, now deciding to find the fires of rebirth, seeing the clouds burn for brightened returns, as the Deathpool of Anathema begins to stir and thrash against the burning lava, the tide begins to command the water defend allied with the the cambion, to the audience with the fire, who gives gift of a glass seed. 

Grow against lesser days at dusk befallen, winter calls doth whisper autumn.   

You are noticed by the Lava Witch, the ground heats and moves, smoke builds in the distance, waters darken in unrest, each in direction to draw all travelers who cannot escape, but smoke can thin, lava become stone, waters rest, for the first travelers met by Anathema here in Midgard. 

A Lycanthropy Trove

A Lycanthropy Trove

Of wolf a skill of animism, of man a hunger unlike the howls of the last winter moon, bloodied by the fallen, crawling over Graveland Necromancy to survive the legions of the undead, how like familiars they serve the Sinful Souls, the meandering typified dragging attackers are set aside, tearing over them, hunting thru them this world of Lost Curses. 

I am a shadow among shadows, learning what bleeds in the afterlife. 

The moon has insulted us, ravage its worshippers. 

Sauron has told me a forgotton truth, panic the seed of madness, hunger the seed of happiness, this is the animal I have become for the moon, shall Luna be her name. 

These temples and cities are fatted for due foraging damage and justice to the night sky. 

I have summoned them, revenge is my name, the veins of wolves sewn in the The Hatreds of Three Hexes, clothed in the skins of bears, summoning the Eyes of Darkvein, seeking my blood to command it, paining my nerves to supplant necromancy, I am the Zombie King, wolves to shepherd the skeletons into the mines to hunt fairies and caves to hunt dragons I am General of the Dark Army, unpraised at seething, unrazed at seeking, birth be the beginning of the great reset. 

This is a Dealer's Trove, you have died and been resummoned here. Take black magic items, some unknown to travellers, but one will awaken him and his werewolves, or you may now instead simply challenge the summoner for his private collection. If you have attacked the wolves battle the zombie, if you have attacked the zombie battle the Vinewraith Okshet. 

Familiar Spirits

Familiar Spirits

It by the grace of light that I touch both mountains of the old and new world, the southern spirit of the previous life, the world before this one, rising with the ages the celestial is my crown and dawn to rest on my throne, answer the cost of my summoning and the Patience of Ages will halt your enemies, with the Shadow of Time you will be faster than light and raze your foes. 

Cataclysm and landslide, my powers move earth and disrupt perception. 

  

This the wellspring of eternal life for greetings to you, this search of realms thrown like puddles find me finding other fairies to find treasures in ancient fallen mountains, using crown to keep my sight clear and hunting the crawling obstacles of the caverns, bringing my powers of light and the Manna Cinders in a nice green from blue, with weapons made of silk and silver, lured only by milk and honey, light and fire are wisdoms of quick defense, seeking the truth of Souls. 

Spying eyes are hard to close before seeing. 

This is the cost of my allegiance, take me from the Forest of Fallen Songs if I may hunt for porcelain arrowheads and Moonwater, trained in the arts of war in the north of the second world, there are no black metals to cut my skin, nor fires to burn my eyes out, from with their vanquishing comes of Ice Brackish, Aim Truesight, or Echomancy, for in my stead there are those I've felled from this place, which we will find, if you help me find the First Archon. 

A steady blade, a wavering time, these are my thoughts. 

 

Pardon none but those that fly in the storms my powers awaken, in the storms of ancients on ships of castle rock stone serpents from the sea to drown the foolish of the previous life, the anterior world, temples are built for seas of blood in this life and the next, mine is the power of Equinox, may the Eternal Empire recieve you with magic and warmth. 

Blood and war are rain and wind, divine your purpose. 

Red Weeping Willow

Red Weeping Willow

Rivers in two directions,

many on the decorations of oil,

painting in quiet a canvass of ice,

in becoming the world the earth,

in high winds the blood drips,

these trees holding upwards,

this is the growth of generated water,

this is a tree that stands alone.

This is not a canvass,

it's a fresh pallet made of paper,

picture of itself on itself, 

ink drained from marker a sponge,

thicker daubed blood sponged movement,

a butterfly leaving red magic flying,

the trunk a temple of darkness,

the shadow of dimensional graphics,

the tree thinks simply of itself. 

 

The tails of this willow blossom,

exfoliated folliage of folly,

arching as if waxy cherries or currants,

a vine in its lineage of generation,

short grasses in shorter shades,

bending to the will o the wisp,

its red leaves little fires to the sunlight,

blown swing to signal birds nest therein.

This is the art of a tree,

from the westmost islands,

inspired from immaculacy,

looks of feathers for hair,

dry as is rosehips the autumn,

yet thorned as cones and cages,

reminding of snow on mountains,

were restless volcanoes sleep,

and birds question the pillar of their flock.

Blood and Lightning

Blood and Lightning

For it has this come Summoning irreverant, for we were insolvent and hid from us did the dark monarch and lost were the Drow, but after trapping so many to feast on them, Metamorphosis creates the witch of venomous strands and most powerful fire to burn thru them like chains to bind the hellwitch reborn Lilith, daughter befallen Hellspring.

All are whispers, when the wind lies.  

Demon let loose on humanity, wreaking havoc and dispensing dismay, a curse for their accursedries, now forgetting their time and waking fatal and morbidly, for on them was the Diary of Jane. 

Lilith droge across the lands, feeding on fires of warlocks and burning hearts of other demons, purging on the wisdoms of crowns, games stop in the loss of innocence, nonplus et hominae, irreparable sapping of the hellish oil returning to the first demon's feet, pulling the blood fresh and quickly dranken done. 

Look with me at what truths I see. 

Looking, in stillness irreplete vanishing unquietly vanquishing, consuming which way Lilith looks, either at the heart stolen or who sees before never to be seen again. 

When in Kymeria the devout are devoured. 

Healers are forbidden by Curso Maquina Magica. Hellborn storm rises and battle of Primacy, a drow Bloodwitch summons the skies to Singing Fire and bloodied rains, bats and crows bleed into the air from threshing unholy smoke and she consumes the Sangromancy, the baleful trees Enochian begin reverences of kneeling as green saplings wilt of ashen wraths. The landscape slows its shifting, a pause of restoration dark immacculately. 

Wisdom of the lore Firestorm, boil the spawn reborn!

For the thin air breath is low and strength is short, or perhaps reversedly, in the depths of time is the cold of the moon, which in winter would best destroy the burning demon staked afore interloper. Transgress wisely as the stars are aligned perfect, the oils of hell replenish the bloodwitch's embers, each wound becomes double her defensive magics, fog and mist will distill a distance giving chance for miss, and to a Windmaster flames flash and expire while clearing the air for full power, for one deathblow, but one gust per cardinal direction. 

Blowing burning winds forges dark armor. 

Metal is but ashes in the fields now burning, scorched earth, each magic Lilith loses her armor is forged in howling fires by the steel ashes adrift, from this she is unburdened with Nightmare Blade forged from chaos, the great leveler of deathly magics.

Or perhaps that never happened, sitting in the open with our red hoods, using the magic of the chaos, in the puddles of a rainworld hoods and arrows, using the gateways in the ancient mountains to defend the shores of Avalon. 

We hunt summoners to silence and let the world sing.  

Trade with them the information, exchange with them the local coin in opposite directions, or buy what brings about your journey more quickly. 

Crowns of Hibernians

Crown of Hibernians

The levels of the sky for the asking, conjuring of the elder language and shades of light, blind and bright these the first order and their glories, braced be true the summoning on this day of englightenment, truth, voice, nomadic, all is risen darkness in the wake of the holy wars against your dark dominion, take on you this crown of crowns and slay against the villain emperor. 

Don Crown Hibernius withing, from glory to grave. 

A picture painted gold the color of this crown Hibernia Regex, ultima in evisceratus Elden Ring darkness, impropriety notwithstanding this looks as if layers of the entropic state, for flakes of black magic replaced by digital malaise, perhaps it then is Black Metal for them a consequence of runes misplaced, for it is Bathory worn of crown, throned of hells the names is said. 

It's the artwork that produces the throne of at least three hells against the escapism, this a very real picture has illusion, the omen of itself, the threat of purpose, the signalling autocracy eye of theives and thought, master, perhaps even thoughtmasters in th epres ence o fthe...

The wanted crown is free by will of Nothingfold. 

Summarium

Crown is an altar of Hell,  

n then prominence an altar, 

loffing at their deeds the morose,

attendre et passer, 

bek heh fna, 

bands of glory on skulls for stones here,

there waiting the deathly hallows of winter,

the fires of summer nights fault of felony,

or the vampires of hell, 

sitting on the crowns of hibernian,

each hell hath crown room,

and each room hast not one,

in the misfortune of warrior adventurous raids,

in the torrential malign of most terrible storms,

in question of the king who would wear it,

those angels have trained you well,

words of the many,

sweat running over battlefield puddles,

dropping into our presence,

Amnesty Anesthesia

y

Dissolute Desires,

non blonque farida

recharge and replenish your charges and plenishments,

when you see the Crowns of Hibernians.

This room is of few you can buy of many you can, 

careful choice of interwoven hexes the Norns have alloted on thee, 

they as many allow you to return,

the previous and the last,

never the first of the last grain of sand,

neverfallen,

each three boughten bear light,

each four your choice where spawned,

for this is the gravel and grave,

of the Three Hells of Castithan,

another world to reconquer.