Sidequest: Sersero

_20210312 Sidequest: Sersero

1 Entwined Consort, 2 The Blue Visions, 3 Silence of Husband, 4 The Soul’s Dream, 5 The Past of the Silver, 6 Truth in the Winter

Entwined Consort, Constortia Entrelazat

Hay que dia formosa, al que sirve a dormirse lo sueno hechicero haga repletamente los raices integrales suyos a el, del cuan atrasada y luchada le alcanzar hacia luces azules por reglas estoicas ancianas para vive de fortuna resplendamente con respiras sagrosas y ira fortaleza, hasta el paso pasado encontrar de venganza. 

The Blue Visions, Las Vixiones Axules

Del camino era senales de los pies pesados, y demas del viente cumple oscuro con luz nublada, por la cosa aqui que se descubrien entrega se la conflicta de inmortal mensajes infinitas, la luz convertirse en rama del luz por el cielo al hechicero llegando fuego como horror y lagrimas como ratos volandos donde hay que sobrevivir contra un espectro del puente noche, se abrigan irates en cuan miedo y mentiras hay isorportables y luchas son respuestas del respirar y ver, por las historias de los maestros se recuenta claridad y lo repuesta su fortaleza mental con un peleazga, adelarse tras un pared con piezas del refleccion, de que los estrellas se conectan una vision del estress por su reya reisa, las lineas del luces estan la lluvia en los ojos del hechicero durmiendo, y elevarse a caminarse con las marcas de la batalla mental en actual.  

Silence of Husband, Marito Silenxia

El camine de que caminante, para la lugar que lo vio’, lo que el pueblo que pueden interferir lo se hagan, por silencia el camina con ojos atentados, alla atacan cien ciegos a ‘el, el se clampiendo cuellos y lanzando cuerpos, el ladra una corda y la usa en el aire por cazador y defenderlo a paso y a razon del historia buscante, por un caballo entrega caballeros noches y luches espaldes de la tierra mystica, la magica levanta por el sustrato y sus armas, sin alarmas el hechicero los retira al mundo por tratando asi viento del oscuro y del fuego permeando sus respiras, con sus botas en la teirra mojada electricidad se les toma inculcado para final, y el camina por el paso durante el vapor, aqui este caballo se permite una silla abajo y dos pies seran cuatro y el paso parece mas corto. 

Por fon

The Soul’s Dream, Sweno tel Alma

La tierra parece normal, a quienes que verlo hay el hechicero tocando el pelo del animal nobleza y corriendo rápido afuera de los ojos de la noche forestal, flechas y sonidas con gritas y cantas dan miedo atrás del zona, el dueña focua correr a las rocas debajo de la montaña, pues ya esperan seres armadas y listos por geniales para las metodas mágicas, como targeteros con un especiero amicable al hechicero. 

The Past of the Silver, El Pasat tel Plata

A rear al frente hay cryaturas myticas come es común, a las armas y restricturas han capturadole, el señor del castillo le admite a las duplicidades tomar la reya y la mensaje mentirosa al sirve como se buscando a él y no se cauteloso sin pertrechos les conversan sobre el debido del tiempo como fue las libras de lucas o pesos de platas tan muchas monedas de las caras de los monarcas antedelluvianos y no se están de acuerdo, el mágico no tiene el impuesto y no lo quiere el señor, este hecho en retraso porque ya no el espera de respira cuando la lucha encende a banga sorpresa, él toma armas sin peligro,pero les no tengan medio un frío y el puede decomisarles con sus mismos espaldas, además el señor ir y listo a tener el súbito cambio por el, entonces si la transferencia de vita sagrada ocurre que no permite cuán el hechicero al reverso danza del cortada mortal así que entender los músicos cielos, y el señor toca morir mentirosa hasta escape como un eco.

6 Truth in the Winter, Vertat Invierno

No confías hechicero al sonidas del pies, a decir joder al eco del cazar con exaustio y al abierta de la montaña el don flipa pelearlo duramente por un mano con piedra, un corto profundo dando sangre en el invierno altíso de la platea, ella le golpe crashando y corriendo y terminé hechicero el don, las luces de sus ojos morir, el fin.

En el hielo el don sufrir los sueños del muerte, un cuervo si come su sangre y sus ojos inician radiar, en vuelta, ya un serpiente come el avión y sus ojos inician radiar, en slitha, un pantero alcanza el reptile y sus ojos inician radiar, en iniciar que decir como seres….

How tf do you say elves in Spanish? …."elfos", de qué? 

Sidequest: Geni Genasi

Sidequest: Geni Genasi 

1 Growing Name, 2 The Whispering Dreamer, 3 Words of Men, 4 The Fire’s Something, 5 The Fire of the Pirates, 6 Stars in the Birth

Growing Name

And turn to sleep the stars in the sky, and learn to breathe the dark in the night, the wind with sounds of woods and breeze over the leaves of trees bending to the waves in thoughts, and where three huts for trapping traders aside a road nearby a cabin in the forest burns to coals, whence it rains, the water drops drop and echoes echo in mist over mud, and for a time the traders trade in dry and shade until they are no more for what’s in store, and like hot iron on a map a trail  of incidents incendiary which to propensity for offense and defense got of harm and alarm boils tempers that render into a calm at best distrust, with all the sounds of weapons sharpening without the rust like crickets of tooth and nail, therewith hail and windows dashed, forthwith gusts of chanting mercenaries discussing mercy cites latch their gates. 

The Whispering Dreamer

For the sun shining the light intertwining in the student’s eye, and pushed no memory worthy himself to sleep where winds brush lips as moonlight in poems of more restful times, and restless grows the darkened night and creatures eyes beneath leaves in sight, and by his footsteps travels the living dream and sight unseen by watcher of the wandering smoke as cabin flames among the trees, and then it rains as travelers disdain it and stammering refrains from learning the names of the roadside few, and there in the puddles behind footsteps the water bleeds, and for this the whispering dreamer describing bodies of music and works of instruments where skies meet heaven, like the drops on the leaves, like the wind between trees, so quiet every sound the dreaming whisperer nor those to tell were best if found, were not around, would make the ground a graveyard, for this secret is just the song, as also not made to tell if woke. 

Words of Men

This the messengers were sent and panic in the land, and panic trust most dangerously cuts several journeys short preventing riders riding and armies binding to find the demon in the hills, as were they many a man fearing truths of prior wills, and on the day a first prince in the old city near the city bordering the thirsting salt flats had searched the cursed grounds returned to be made king for rhyme or reason, and fearing the neighboring climate in the driest season made call for the empty throne to be carved in the forest to his south in the center of all the lands, and for this request from fairytales it was done, and identical rings sent to all the other kings, each with a stick of wax and matches, with each messenger watching wastrels on their paths never hasty slow to envoy errant task, where he himself sat waiting on woodchips staring at the chair made from tree with roots deeper than any other, one after another the kings would come thru weeds and vines and obstacles behind them appearing after hiding behind a tree, announcing their names until there is twentythree, and me of course, matching the signets to be sure, looking for a cure for the charcoal lines on the map without trust but with alliance, and in defiance only one, the termagant of villages, the despoiler of riches irreplaceable, the demon come to crawl. 

The Fire’s Something / This Fire Burns

My mind consumes me, the air grows still without freshness, as heat rises the clouds of the sunlight part for rays of heat and glare, like a footstep a sound of a wood snap, with eyes in all directions there are no trunks broken, at this end of summer day a man with black wet hair and cloud-white face stands as distant as dark horizon backed by deepest red glow like creeping death of burning blood in their minds, the fires of this heat worsened by charred black smoke rising and darkness falling, raging thoughts stealing the color of the demon’s eyes and lifeless measure as waves of hands bring shards of stars in turns of twenty breaths, and for the summer ground soft steps to have him leap behind trees for somewhere else, the kings and I, see flashes what would blind us happen to others, trees with arms begging the skies for rain hold spears of fire for the demon to throw and screams without silence for every king to know, glows the wicked smile in our eyes before blades strike at shadows, madness and ire consume where tragedy rhymes with something broken trees conspiracy to curtains of flame and maze to drive a bird insane as flight or fight become one. 

The Fire of the Pirates/ The Fire of Protection 

Throne cries the sweat of the ground with fires dancing behind it, the wood red from heat and fires glowing, each king with fortunes untold of mystical weapons with treasures on their hands with priceless magic rings, and they put back black fire from arrows and battle to the elbows in the cinders and their own blood, screams to threaten the demon as it growls, one with fire of black swirling could covers the demon in soot it wipes from its eyes, and blade of burning steel, from ents and elves the green clouds of nightshade and ashes cover the demons skin black moss it burns thru but doesn’t kill, iron arrows and full-swing axes cause screams and thrashes where the demons eyes become fire and howling rage of blazen rejection make good hunters into fire pits, it bleeds oil and healing scars become wicked ink, but each step slightly sinks trodden as its own besotted black magic armor costs speed against us, distracting in half our numbers in twilight of smoke and terror, we are the bearers of war and survival. 

Stars in the Birth 

Remains of men are broken bones underfoot of demon and great soldiers and warriors, the demon waves for stars to fall and shards of black hail begin and blocks many swords, and steps back, brushing away spears in its heart and liver breaking them and taking them to wield and slash at armor and always then air, it steps back, toward the empty throne, and from the living are the kings born of old magic in their eyes putting arrows that never miss, we bleed and break defenses to plant daggers to their hilts in blitz to be thrown away, it breaks each knife at the hilt one after another without wasting a single step nor breath, and so we kneel and gasp and bend our will submit, but as nothing ever quits it begins to rain a mix of ash and blood, the smell of death the signs are bad, the fires dying the times are good we hold our lives and choke on smoke and soot and sick from our wounds soaking all the sulphur, as a blue-skinned priestess walks with water in her footsteps, with wit of gods old kings bow in fear as she graces by them, waving her hand the demon stops afore us, a puddle before me I drink the clean water to live again and curse the battle as been all but lost, she takes the demon’s head and turns his eyes, she takes the demon’s face and turns his neck, and with it I see something of myself, the genie asks if the king of the empty throne still wishes for an heir to ascend when he is gone, and he tells them most impolitely the impolite, and so the genie takes the young demon and whispers thoughts into his mind and his eyes become like kings, with her hand of ashes and rings of the dead kings, and walks the child into the blood-soaked charred marred wood over mud of ash and crowns. 

The wooden king looks down to see a dagger in his chest, a strange light pouring from his wound, a familiar weapon and the demon’s hand full of rings, and falls into the throne of the wasteland. 

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