Sangrophageous

2 Sangrophageous / 52 Kincadohoyom

1/ Kissing Time 2/ The Bound Window 3/ Storms of Gift 4/ The Snow’s River 5/ The Someone of the Name 6/ Kiss in the Pirates





/1/ Kissing Time


As the warrior became an adult and son of man, took his family magic and handful of learned spells to drink with others. Soon the company of others and wine becomes taste of war, sieges in ceremony the bond deep in mind breaks silence and sometimes sleep in time of peace. Alone among the liberated and local magistrates, the drink remains the same, the warrior breathes with each sip of mead waiting blindly until each new deed hides in the echoes of action. Exercise becomes opportunity, plans become attacks and emotion. The warrior turned rapscallion is caught, punished for days, moved in a bodybag every night, intimidated, then finally arrested and interrogated. Asked for accomplices he gives none, asked for serve the citystate he declines, now in a cell disconnected from those people and connections.





/2/ The Bound Window


A door of steel slides shut between concrete with a locking arm put into place, a grate between cells and one above each, the day burns with rays and night rains are all that wash away the waste, and this is something the warrior despises these conditions and uses his magic to escape, blasting a wall to rubble, only to sit in the rain. Guards throw open the door and the warrior and new neighbor take their uniforms, enough subterfuge to escape. The mage’s new ally makes a fatal transgression for the breakaway of their escape, the mage pauses, considers ending his alliance with the justice from the echoes of his honorable past, but chooses to value a running-mate in lieu of twisted fate. Without knowing they run, without slowing they stun their fears into favor with time to taylor swift getaway and guise to appear anyone in disguise and hide their faces in the city’s lights. With cloaks and roads to shadows and alleys, to food as a prize the warrior saves a life where his comrade taught to harm conceals with death instead of disarm a lowly kitchen boy, whom nameless runs at first chance. The villain keeps the worker’s coin left at an empty crate, but the warrior demands it as payment for escape.





/3/ Storm of Gift


The cellmate’s homeland spreads below their feet first, a quiet place of disrepair and ages of warfare bound by curious young eyes and experienced sharpened knives. By question of clothes and brothers in homes they are stormed by warriors who capture them and know him by name, “Elias,” their leader shouts, “now you will pay your dues where they are owed!” and the two are dragged to a home where Elias is given to his wife and children, the night storms bring them close and evening they sleep together like pets do. As daybreak peels away the stars a tribe of warlords and their child soldiers storm into the weak town. Elias saves the warrior’s life, the warrior saves his in return, but Elias monstrously kills a young attacker in sport, the warrior can stop the cruelty, but decides to spare Elias’ life without name or mention, only to desert the battle completely. As he leaves he sees the invaders about to cross a bridge, and casts out his hand with rings and tattoos glowing, only to ignore them as they cross into the valley.





/4/ The Snow’s River


The wandering warrior finds green grasses and meadows, another village, another settlement, another town, another city, taking another career of crime, but at first engagement turns against a cruel member of his unit, using invaluable magic and melts his mind until blood runs black and body falls, and abandons the rest outright. He retreats from vice and disvirtue, beyond the city, to a town, to a settlement, to a village, thru meadows on horse. He stares at a mountain like a painting in a museum, and decides to build at the edge of the trees not far from the road. For twenty weeks he builds and breathes in mountain air, trading fish and game for herbs and grain at the nearest trading post with the ugliest of beards. He returns in time for the first snow, and his habits remain much the same in training and meditation, in the first blizzard avalanche tumbles down the mountain, channeled over the river and buries him during a hunt.





/5/ The Villain of the Story


Elias and other men ride horses in the foothills of the same mountain in the spring, they find the warrior mage’s cabin and claim it their own. They eat his jerky and boil his hominy, while sharpening weapons and counting stolen gold, and in a day’s time, while on patrol one finds the warrior mage in early spring frozen at the point of death. He hurries and excites the others with the story of the frosty man posed and poised to tunnel thru the snow of since and whence avalanche, a sleeping standing and look of defeat. Elias ready to relieve on the body waits to remember, surprised to recognize him, now snaps and brags at him, “you, Devereux, are a traitor, and this is what you gets, I am alive!” -- “Who was this Devereux?” asks one, Elias answers, “I was in Tagos and served sentence so he could eat, but he was too thick-headed for the city, and ended up in the same prison, so I broke him out, because I could not bare the sight. Only to have him take me hostage! He demanded take him I to my family, where he taunted my children with terrible laff….it shook my heart and changed my path to this life...but he wasn’t done,” Elias circles Devereux, “he was a spy for mercenaries he lead to murder my entire people.” Elias kicks frozen-Devereux in the shin, the fabric chips and skin breaks revealing blood ice. One of the bandits offers Elias an axe, “this is for my family...” and he smashes Devereux to vermillion crystals, shards of bloody ice get in their faces, his most. In their clothes, on their fingerprints wiped and spread. Elias is out of breath and terrible at heart, the others laff and watch the red snow melt in the midday sun. Elias readies to relieve himself here and now. They grow pale at the sight of a skull rising from the puddle of blood.





/6/ Kissing the Pirates


Now skull’s face rises showing teeth, now a hand of bones pulls skeleton to bloodpool surface, crawling from the precipice of a red mirror, now skin begins forming, painted red and covered in rolling drops regathering beneath it. They turn to run and the outstretched fingers wrapped in tendons and tissue make fist. The blood on their clothes burns, hence the blood cells on their skin soaked to the bone and blood curls their nerves and turns their senses against them. Naked blood-covered emotioned unstable Devereux fights them, one by one they are weak and take unhealable wounds, disarmed of their own weapons, taunted he repeats their own prayers and please, one by one their arrows cause wounds that heal and swords cleave cuts that seal with smoke and sulphur. Devereux stands over Elias, the blood on him is thick and turns black in contact with skin, it seeps into his body like oil to wood, thin veins like black root threads into his eyes, the crippling pain of shock second only to convulsions of acrid metallic fumes, a faint and pitiful attempt to cough some admixture of this. Devereux says, “You say my name - Nicodemus d'Évreux.”

















/ch

6ch Yut na'Haran

Yut na'Haran / y'Haran
2019 March 1

1 Cold Stars 2 The Cracked Slave 3 Servants of Voyage 4 The Force's Valley 5 The Hunter of the Tower 6 Return in the Rose

Seeing as i'm on the mend, let me tell you about the time....

1 Cold Stars
i walked thru the road in the grass to the forest edge, and wooden chunk i pitch and sort until i find the block that makes a bowl, oaken and red, dappled by chisel and time, taken edge shaved against granite, smooth lips and level base, and in the water a million stars of night, and the light so wickedly reflected against the top of the water begins to glow, without reflection roots of light escape the water, the bowl is dry and the light shares ancient anger, my veins glow and many minds of time's dawn fill my eyes

2 The Cracked Slave
i picture the ghost come from the forest, the bowing tunnel of darkness, the trees looking away from the passer of night, the terror of fright, has come to battle in ancient ways, leaves of vines glow white and reach and pull him, his eyes with with the origin light, the radiant vines bleed against his skin and wail at the heavens, beneath his feet broken coal, behind is his shadow filled with beautiful melody and cries of souls, his skin breaks for fires of lord vulcan and mend near the eyes with shattered glass and oil

3 Servants of Voyage
he is messenger or mouth of the mountain demon, it is too soon for what comes, able to run i bolt, calling winds against my back, and feeding from the light i summon nymphs or rains to stop the fire's face, this steams him without smile or menace, in his shadow rise men of fire and they launch arrows of smoke, with air the arrows shatter to ashes, but hard and sharp edges pass my eyes and skewer the ground, so i must fight them three and twenty, but any cut makes them spill like urns of smoken soot with hourglass sound, each cremated grain falls thru the air like wretched strings and i must fight two and twenty, for this i am thunder that shakes them from their feet, one and ten, for this i am the slow pounding of rain, their ashes gather against his aura and a circling heat has me hardly breathing

4 The Force's Valley
the demon reaches his hand and I stab his heart, and i can run only because he laffed like a fireplace, my escape takes me so close to sleep, but the demon follows with fire and storm no longer summoned by me, one hundred arrows fly at the demon and i hide in magic wind, the demon flinches, looking to see who interrupted his hunt, another one hundred arrows attack, and i again ran this time with the last of my mortal energies, and the demon summoned his fiery soldiers

5 The Hunter of the Tower
As flaming skeletons with smoke shields stomp into the surround, i race into the tower, slowed by concerns, slowed by precautions, at the mercy of mortality, my mind races at the sight of empty walls and echoing frantic voices, i crawl thru heroes poisoned by millions of newborn fears, lost without the battle to escape, and denied entrance to the holy altar thru sacred vaunted special ornate feathers and claws and quills and keys in the room of the holy spear

6 Return in the Rose

into the open i face the demon with the spear, forged by healers it folds my hand with new strength, a red aura of darkness, gives pause to the demon, he waves his pyrophages at my allies and so i leaning rush the demon, swinging stave and his arms are guarded and from sleeves of unfinished steel fiery claws reach into my chest, the healing magic works only without the ember agony, so i accept my surface grave and explode my very heart, sending enemy back three paces, the pyrophages come for me, and those close slashed and bashed and crashed by my survival swings into the rising dark, but the others are slow, with the ghosts of the dead holding their feet, i push the spear at the demon who grabs it, his blood burns a hole in the ground straight to hell with smoke, and from his hand the vines of light coated with blood, and into the heart of the demon the praised lucky magenta javelin pierced, i thought the light from the demon's chest was a sound of war at first, to've unleashed the army of fire, but from the blue flames vines of thorns began to tear him to the ground and grew many roses, and i did not let the spear go until i believe it was dead many hours later.....

....and returned to the forest in search of shadows and wait for the next summoner of dawn magic.

/6ch

6CH - Shehsu-per

2018-12-1415 > 6CH - Shehsu-per





Random titles from, http://www.ruggenberg.nl/titels.html, story from mjbanks.






1) Burning Servant, 2) Broken Lord, 3) Woman of End, 4) Secret's Snow, 5) Stream of the Flames, 6) Thief in the Boyfriend






6CH / The Sixer's Role





1) Burning Servant: the grass grows into hay across a flat land toward a mountain, dark and looming with the savanna flat and the rocky horizon far, trailing itself toward the edge of the world where the light dimly reaches dusk and narrow field, to the other side the mountain climbs into the angry rains, he carries a torch and lights himself afire, only to begin fighting the demons of rocks and the rivers.





2) Broken Lord: he walks into the valley midday darkened cloud cover, to the fort of a warlock covered in sacks and leaves, a torch begins to burn as his master puts cold air and quells it, his eyes make dark, he falls burdened in cascade of memory and prays against the warlock, he is shackled by his witches who paint numbers on him in blood, in darkness as the warlock dances in blood and drinks the witches.





3) Woman of End: he hunts his method of escape during a hunt of the next bounty, and finds a man blocking his path, with fire he attacks, but the man in his path is immune to most of it, some dancing of evasion, planning to outsmart the walker in this way, he breaks a branch to beat him, but he is mostly impolite and seems to have a purpose for stopping the warlock's fiery servant, if not but indirectly, and with fire is fury and reaches into stone pulling a molten rock, but he is dodgy, the hexed servant is ire and fire, and with the stick the man bats his feet, in wrath he throws mud at his eyes, but the water in the muck evaporates and dust drifts, the fire-servant is stunted by thought-itself, and makes a grip of his blade, and jumps at the man's heart, but is blown from balance, on the ground in the earth's dust and fire's ashes and obsidian's gravel and time's wind he hold the blade again, but asks the man to save him and cuts at himself, only to have his fire melt and burn the metal blade, he can't save him, but might know someone who also might, a fairy of the trees.





4) The Secret's Snow: she knows they’ve come and has her trees bind the wizard, who escapes as fast as can be entangled, as she touches the warrior’s temple with a cold of time, his fire stops, his last breath fogs into the air as he collapses, as the wizard watches she holds her hand toward him, a cold fills the air, he begins to move back as he feels his bones grow cold, she invites the wizard to save him, she makes him cold, and thaws his chest, as the fire begins to grow brightl from his chest plate the wizard must remove the black flame from the warrior’s eyes, she must thaw him quickly with the wizard’s help and new black fire magic, the warrior wakes with amnesia, where the wizard learns he can unnaturally prevent the warrior from warring, and puts him to sleep with new magic and confusion,





5) Stream of the Flames: they explain what happened, and the warrior sees he has fire powers, as before being cursed, and the wizard shows the black flame, and the fairy shows the cold crystals, but the warrior disinterested runs returning home, the wizard follows him, easily by the trail of fires, and when distant by the smoke, bodies of demons in every other camp, until he finds a river of fire leading to the warlock’s fort, the rain falling, and from the distance in the fairy’s forest the rain is snow.





6) Thief in the Bow: The fire-warrior is hate filled but outnumbered so creates chaos in all things, distant distraction, close confusion, timed-attack, and has to fight the black-ice witches, one falls, one wounds him, one confines him, the warlock begins a rant of condescension, when the wizard approaches the warlock announces the wizard is a sixer, nearly immune to the five elements, and that he must be shot with poison arrows and torn apart, the warlock begins opening the warrior and blowing the black smoke of the blackfire torch into the warrior sans haste, snow falls on the roof, the fairy kills the witches, the sixer kills the henchmen, the warrior pleads with the warlock, the warlock insults the warrior, the warrior kills the warlock by driving the torch into the warlock’s heart, his eyes melt, the wizard takes the torch, the warrior is alive.





The ice-fairy meets the wizard and they discuss the warlock’s demise, the warrior is surprised that they knew each other the whole time, the warrior burns the warlock’s body in his hands, until only ash, troubling and falling thru fingers, finished, intangible, he feels incomplete.





Evil twist 1) the ice-fairy knew the warlock, that he had been corrupted by the fire, but the wizard keeps the torch, the wizard and the fairy fight, the warrior is compelled to fight the fairy, but finds strength in his thoughts, the warrior finds a poison arrow and shoots the bad wizard, he escapes, but not far, and dies in a field of burning black fire





Evil twist 2) the ice-fairy takes the torch, and makes the warrior attack the good wizard, but the wizard still controls the warrior’s burning thoughts, and makes the warrior fall asleep, crashing into a table of glass cups and copper pots, the wizard and the bad-fairy fight, the warrior wakes from the raging-cold as the fairy fights-off the dark-fire, the poison arrow in her heart, but she freezes her heart, so they fight her with swords pushing her into the burning river





Evil twist 3) the warrior tries to destroy the black-fire torch, but the power consumes him, he becomes pure dark-fire, it is with complete magic that the wizard and the fairy fight the bad-warrior, the sixer puts the torch handle into the bad-warrior’s chest, the ice-fairy freezes it in place, the wizard holds him over the smoke of the torch, the soot of burning obsidian is too much for the bad-warrior and he, suffocates on black diamonds, blinded by ash and turns to coal and black sand, consumed by the dark fires of death.





Merry Christmas






















mjbanks

Earthrise

A dream during sleep is only a moment, but decompresses until you wake up and installs until you sleep again.

The fantasy created by the endless potential of the mind, in a moment shorter than any other moment, a reflection of the infinite, a remnant of the collapse of existence into a single moment exploding when colliding with another dimension.

The capacity for eternal salvation reduced to its own ash dispersed infinitesimally across the endless void, rare and profound only incomplete and destroyed, taken in large breath of the human imagination unable to consume the iota of the big bang, and taken into the primal psyche.

Unfathomable power confined in unexplored dimensions unconceivable by the awakened and unattainable by the living, is trapped by those that dream as a confusing source of immortality.

The gateway of the mind, holding onto the knowledge of this entity and where the dreamer exists, must take that from the ethereal plain into the fledgeling nightmarish landscape of our memory while in the dream state.

For that is a task best perceived with time going backwards and reality abandoned, confronting ourselves at the gates of the many worlds of life across the omniverse, without distraction of known things nor loss of inimicable knowledge.

A dreamlike seed, which holds comparative knowledge of complex code to simply germinate, whose form changes countless times, when single task takes its true form, what reincarnation simply aspires found in total reincarnation.

From the realm of the unknown, into the domain of the undiscovered, until the new reality consumes all controls of sanity in recreating invariable power while consuming all opposing forces, as we feed the roots of our imagination.

Becoming an element of the dream equation, as astral projections of our own shadows across the brightest lights of stars and synaptic energy, naming the objects of the dream world with hallucinogenic skills as the young of the event horizon.

Then we must wake, and carry with us this memory, of a vanishing landscape from an indecipherable program unbound by reality itself, as if breathing the restless universe to heal eternity.





.....

ab interi per gravitas in libro

a surface broken, and i close my iyes to open them, had to sort htis like a mind from exhaustion, needing something new and something old to even write this far, there is a book on the floor, surrounding it is the world and the light, and they should be cowering in fear, this place where this bonded familiar faces slight of shadowz, in that my acceptance cannot be to that, take the king to the land of kings and they will tell the truth, the ears empty and that is such a waste of instult, lamented post of tasted bloodlust, where the underworld rises, and the caverns give an orchestra for the night hail and terrible thunder, a company of theives, separated by my war to them, is that a sky for to light it afire, is that a river, for to send it as a world sized serpant, is that a mountain, for to that be it an army of statues and shadow magic, the longer the wind blew the more the pages turned, and i wrote song to the sea and the dawns across the universe couldn't stop me from that which i seek, the heart a nexus, shattered for the darkness that the nights they seek, the learned men, the cursed witches, the dragon generals and the theives of new dreams, all along the endless shore surrounding the infinite labyrinth, and the means to the riddle confounding threnody and assimilation of me into a breathing failed hypocrisy as if i soughtthe gargoyles and the scarecrows to bathe in the lava, i drink the marrow of death and sing to the gallows again, the sunset tide, the arch to the shore, little tithes of genocidal monstrosity for the master, of importance, a feather falls and none think of the strands bound together to the quill, the world spins to the whims of the last feather that i see, as the ages rage across time to alacrity and tones of sunlight, the book cannot be closed as easily finished, the words have become monsters and escaped, and you are one of them, so many riddles to choose as many books have and yet there are none, dragon flying with book in jaw, enjawwed, that this life is better screamed the demon cheif and the back pages burn the book flames, i stare at the words like the endless story or the endless lawbooks found littering time for no good apparent reason, like this riddle of words spilling across the page, as if i would know why a book in a battlefield or meadow would speak to the eternal existence of nature, and us along within in, fleeting memories like passive existence no more than hopeful projections of adequacy and treatments of tremors and headaches filling the new memories of witnesses, memoriez, witnessez, as here to there, i have been defeated by the best, or one of them, and you are not the best, semblance of words, to write this final curse, spiraling aether fantasy attributed nowhere insolvent and it starts there, he had damaged the astral plane that this point, that wall of many and some colors, that lake of light of all sounds and colors, a surface of time between itself and, i canot focus, i watche the words continue, i shall exit the echosphere, into the sunset rift, as if angry itself and from the dissonant endless beginnings of liquid time and breathable magic, that cannot destroy the book, not across the span of stories, nor across the different charactrs on the attle, thereof, the heavy one tried to claim the book, but the war took it from the heavy one, the light one tried to claim it and the dark ness hit it until the light of a new age, i tried taking myself toward the pages and my mind spinning in the wind, , how am i here, in this battlefiledld, concerning not my attackers nor i to them, the storm of all moments i cannot tell the day and night, i am the light untouched by sleep, uncaught by hands, a reflective mission traveling, i am here over the book and i am sickened seeing the characters unleashed by the darkest of magic and the sinisterest of scribes at the least of the history, i am a far cry as the crow flies from the book, this place is deth, and the dragon takes it from me, i watch it drop a blank page among all of its blank pages, every life in existence taking a piece o fthe page, i and others when some began creating the words of the evil magics , we made a canvasse and map to find the book, what binds this story and the tome, i forget what reality tempers the heart and soul, the desires and memories, all gone, i seek the one who damaged the force of nature itself, without waling heavily not a blade of grass bends beneath its feet, the demon king has writen words and the ink fades and dissapears, and the book feeds the demon, and the acursed magic is now known by the demon arkan, we will have the book, you all cannot take the book together and never by your pitiful souls, i find pleasure in this world of nine, i find an empty book crafted wonderful in due time, i make gold from air and earth and fire and water, this began as something else and i wrote that i would not control what i wrote and with a poisonous soul be taking itno and destoy the holy seal, the book became the vortex, a web of energies began twisting like knots in a fishing net until every threat broke, the monsters of unwritten hooror escaping, i'm no closer than when i started, why do you want the book, your eulogy and the names of the damned