atlas-on-the-pyre-blog

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Baroque - Ketsuraku no Paradigm (Ueda Shinsyu 2001)

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Starter Call

I’m not feeling the inspiration to continue my current threads but I do feel like writing. Like this if you’d like a starter, or message me if you’d like to plot something more specific.

[atlas-on-the-pyre-blog]

Starter Call

I’m not feeling the inspiration to continue my current threads but I do feel like writing. Like this if you’d like a starter, or message me if you’d like to plot something more specific.

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imagine hating your own website and everyone on it so much you do this to it

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I been out of the writing mood (’tis the season!) after some shit happened irl. I’ll see how it is in a day or two.

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Please reblog this post (likes don’t count) if you are a Soulsborne RP blog (Demon’s Souls, Dark Souls, Bloodborne) and would like to be added to a masterlist of active Soulsborne RP Blogs! Multimuses, Sideblogs, and Soulsborne OCs are welcome to join the masterlist!

Specify in the tags: do you write a Canon character or an OC, what game they’re from, and the name(s) of the muse(s).

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rcguna‌:

His physical stature is a world away from a hunter, but comparable years of work as a farmer in the fields, wielding implements with a weight of their own put the Earthmate in a similar ballpark. At the very least he doesn’t have to push himself too hard to keep pace with the other’s lanky gait. It’s not enough to impede his ability to converse fortunately enough. And the other’s questions were considered with a pensive glance to the ground.

“It’s different from witchcraft, this power… it’s.. something else. It comes from the flow of life in the ground and plants. It’s closer to druidic in nature, really. But it’s still a bit… different. An archivist I once spoke with said it’s something… very old. I wish I could explain it better. It allows me to heal not only myself and others, but the land too. Offensively, well. I can shake the earth and use the rock and soil as a weapon. Same with the water and plants. It takes a toll on my body, but I have enough stamina to get us through this at the very least. And I’m not scared to rely on my sword. It’s got magic of its own forged into it. Maybe in ways you’re more familiar. Magical stones.”

Henry wasn’t aware there was a difference between witchcraft and druidism. He didn’t particularly care to understand the difference, either, but he wouldn’t bemoan an otherwise straightforward answer. His nose hadn’t lied about Raguna-- he had roots and earthy things in spades-- but healing the land is news to Henry. What that might entail for their mission, he couldn’t say, but he’d keep it in mind.

“Shake the ground hard enough at the quarry,” he said, “no one has to die setting the dynamite. Use it for the fliers instead. They’ll swarm back after the quake. Depends on your range, though. Power too.”

No doubt there’d be opposition to the idea from his squad mates. Trusting some outlander claiming to have mystic powers with the most important part of the operation? If Henry didn’t listen to his gut, he might be more skeptical about that plan himself. If he couldn’t sell them on the earthquake plan, then he’d sell them on what he knew Raguna could do for certain.

“You’ve got doubts you can do that, stick to healing magic. Our blood saints are overdrawn-- we lose them, we lose our blood healing. Battle’s over.”

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Unfortunately 2018 didn’t let go without a taking one last bite out of my ass, and things are a bit wonky at the moment.

https://www.gofundme.com/txvfvf-need-a-car

It’s a shit show as our insurance company squares off with the insurance of a tour bus company. I’m not entirely sure what to say here, as the entire incident makes me kind of shaky remembering it. Just, if you’d be willing to assist while we get this sorted out, I’d greatly appreciate it, and if you are unable to right now I understand, I just ask that you be willing to share this as well.

Thank you and have a happy New Year.

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Which character trope are you?

The Mentor

A more experienced advisor or confidante to a young, inexperienced character, particularly to a hero. You are seen as an old soul by your peers and you have a natural quirk of wanting to take care of others. You seem to be the most mature of your friends and you love giving them advice. You seem to have a lot of experience with trouble and the woes of the world, but you know how to handle what life throws at you.

Tagged by: @fieldsofmelody

Tagging: @vitorofthescaleless @diemondsichel @hunter-baldwin @rosmcrinus @cadcnce @fishermcn @gascoiigne @occultmarked @yellowfingcr @lightoflegend (HA HA TAGGED YOU BACK FUCKER)

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Beyond the hill,      a distant song,

                                               But that hill,                                                       keeps going on and on.

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Henry had almost shot the boy when he first heard the flapping of wings. There was a sensory gap, then-- a hole between the riding beast’s wings and the sky where a saddled person might be. It was as though the world had faded from view, leaving only the course of battle with another one of those winged demons from the ruined province to the west. But then he saw a boot. Then a shin, a leg... and suddenly the beast’s rider was there, hidden by a helmet and dark scales, fading from his coach gun’s crosshairs.

Even now that the duo was confronting him proper, speaking tongues in a language they thought he couldn’t hear (and mostly he couldn’t), he was quietly flabbergasted. A boy and a tamed beast. It was like the punchline to a joke with no set up. And that beast could summon the dancing sparks of a Darkbeast, but whinnied like some kind of... horse? He didn’t know. Hell, he just didn’t understand. Not that he gave many tells.

“The sea’s far from here. South.” As he spoke, he performed his ritual of guaranteed mortality, striding to each beast one by one and crushing their skulls under the brunt of his shield.

“North, more mountains until it gets cold. Then sea. Sea and ice.” He got to the beast the boy’s own had bullseyed, then slammed down again. It elicited a scream cut short-- still alive, as he’d expected. Even a beast with no body might still have the mind to bite at you, he’d learned long ago.

“I’ve never heard of your archipelago. Nowhere where monsters like yours can be tamed. Either.” Henry gives the cadavers a look over when he’s finished, and when he’s certain none of them are going to jump him when his back is turned, he gives the full attention to the beast rider. “If you came for the healing blood, you’re not lost. This is how it is at night.”

"So you followed me here."

Hollow Knight Sentence Memes | Still Accepting!

If only he had followed by choice.

The Windwalker’s jaws fizzled and sparked with blue light, the remnants of a searing bolt of electricity that had carved a hole clean through one of the monsters. Hiccup’s drawn sword, Endeavour, was in a most horrible state, stained with dark red and twists of wet flesh that dripped down onto the cobblestone. The two of them weren’t trying very hard to hide from the tall man’s gaze, Hiccup perched on the back of the black dragon as it hovered in the sky. Above the roofs and the claustrophobic streets, where grasping claws and mangling fangs couldn’t reach.

“𝔇𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔪 ℌ𝔦𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔭.!“ 

The Windwalker’s voice was small, barely above a whisper. Normally, his voice would be silent. The boy would give the dragon a reassuring rub behind the horns, letting bony fingers ruffle through the fur poking out between its scales. 

“𝕴’𝖒 𝖘𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞,” Hiccup whispered, his hand gently stroking the side of the dragon’s head. “𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖍𝖊’𝖘 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊.”

The Windwalker gave a whinny in response. Hiccup straightened up to answer the man. 

“I did not intend to cause alarm,” Hiccup would cry out as the Windwalker descended, its talons dangling a few feet above the slick stones. “We are lost, you see, and I was wondering if you know a way out of this-”

How odd. In that moment, Hiccup so badly wanted to call this monster-infested place a ‘Nightmare’. It -the word- seemed terribly rude to say. And yet, it sounded so right.

“-this town. Back to the Archipelago.” He finished.

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Henry’s body tenses at the crack of her voice, and almost involuntarily he glared with wide eyed fury at her. He brings his finger up to his cover lips again (do not give us away) as he glances around again, listening for signs of anything new in the murky dark. He is transfixed for a moment, in his vigil, head stuck to his left as though certain that something was there. But he decides against it, turning his attention back to the blue blooded princess before him.

“The thing moves through shadow itself.” His voice is that steady low thrum again, inaudible if he were to move away. “Quick. Resilient.” He moves the dripping mass of his blade to catch her attention, the worked stone’s runic grooves marred with ichor. “After you, prob’ly. You’ve got good smelling blood.” And he would know-- with her close enough to breathe in deep, he finds that insidious, beastly whisper in the back of his mind suggesting he eat her himself. “Normal men get in the way of it, they’ll be slaughtered. Pointlessly.”

His mind whirs and clicks like a well oiled machine, piecing together plans and contingencies with the new information. “Nursing its wounds now, I’d think,” he says more to herself than her. “More commotion otherwise.” That she can’t run far puts the kibosh on the idea he could use some of her blood as bait-- it’d find her too quickly without enough distance between the source and the trap. On the other hand, the creature would never be too far away while he was protecting her. A double edged sword, that.

“We need some place more open, where it can’t use the walls. Ballroom. Courtyard. Something like that.”

atlas-on-the-pyre‌:

He wasn’t much more than a looming shape in the dimness, her lantern’s light caught in the reflection of something red and wet splattered across his boots. But her voice had frozen him, each syllable of those questions eliciting an inwards cringe and a wild glace around the hall. No sounds, no shifting in the darkness yet. Henry’s boots softly clicked against the floor as he approached, each step making the smell of aromatic posy stronger.

He became more defined, the closer he got to the light. His finger was held up to where a pair of lips should be, an upturned collar mask hiding everything but a thin band where his dark eyes shone out from under his hat’s brim. The greatknife was difficult to understand in the dark, only that it was a dripping, massive shape slung to rest on his left shoulder. A frightening image to witness shambling from the darkness, he knew. It was never his intention to reveal himself to anyone. But circumstances were rarely ever in the control of one man alone.

He fixed her with a hard gaze for a moment, piercing and insistent, before lowering his hand with slow deliberation. He sniffed the air, eyes shifting in search of some phantom in the dark– even among the smells in this unfamiliar place, that subtle, improbable wrongness lingered. Too closely.

Henry leaned in toward the foreign princess, enough to make the inaudible thrum of his whisper understood.

“We aren’t alone here. I can’t fight and protect you at the same time. How fast can you run?”

Various cool shades of chilling, dark dread paint itself ‘pon fair features as the unwholesomeness of the sight would inflict and give birth to a sense of eeriness that which she’s never felt in a long while. He did not seem to carry the same dark aura as Agahnim did and yet this did not stop terror from pooling in her stomach, its cold waters reaching and seeping through her ribcage, nearly rising up to her fragile chest. She intended to scream. That was her first instinct, to alert the guards that may very well be nearby. His fingers meeting with where his lips are located at and that caused for whatever scream she held in her throat to die down. Zelda falls silent, watches him in wide-eyed silence. 

“Wh––what?” the slow crack of her voice floats in the air. She shakes her head unable to comprehend whatever their situation is. Is what he said true? Has someone or something taken away her privacy? But for what reason? His supposed gallant warnings needed further explanation and the princess found that she could not fully trust his words, wisdom defines her, therefore, she believed it wise to not blindly believe in him. Not yet. “I can run fast yet not for long, however, please… tell me what is happening? Is it something that the guards cannot handle?”

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Henry brushed a few shavings of butternut wood off the table he was working at, as he listened to the woman’s bristling response. Called here for something or another by one of his superiors, no doubt neck deep in some distasteful research. Something annoying about his employ, that-- answering to the doctors, and hopping through their hoops. He could be patient though, as long as he was allowed to hunt on his time.

“No,” he replied. There was no inflection in his tone, par the course, but something on his face was troubled as he worked. “No moon scent upon me, like the Slayer. Just blood.”

He worked quietly for a moment, bringing out the shape of a man from the chunk of wood before him. The tools seem too small for his hands, yet he uses them well enough.

“But we live in different worlds. There on the street, and here in the church. Feels unreal some days. Like my soul glides behind me, watching my body do evil. Smell beast stink from a nose that doesn’t belong to me. Not drunk, yet...”

He stopped in his work for a moment, mouth a contemplative thin line.

“That’s my reality as I know it. A man dreaming, though, he doesn’t know he’s dreaming. He doesn’t know he’s watching someone else dream, either.“

"Are you living in the real world?"

COWBOY BEBOP || accepting!

☾* ░    Was the question meant to criticize, or was it a sincere pondering of dreaming hunter. She noticed pondering the answer to such a simple question longer than intended. ( Ah, had she grown pretty suspicious towards people and their criticism towards the chruch! ) Even if there was slight amusement to be read on a small pull of her lips. The scholar watched him in silence before speaking.

 ❝ — Do you think this is a dream? ❞ A curious gaze given towards the hunter, the nod was given for response to his question. It was the reality and Yurie, strongly speaking against accusations of being misled. She, and the choir, searching the path of truth only the most insightful could see. || @atlas-on-the-pyre

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He watched her blast out from the door-- so that’s what she looks like-- and followed dutifully behind, plowing aside brush and debris with his stride. He had expected the reaction. A terror comes in the night and wounds your pride stallion; its life and your livelihood are placed on the line in the span of a few minutes. Knowing the terror dead, who wouldn’t run in to salvage things? Perhaps a coward, or a man clever enough to know there might be more where that night prowler came from.

Henry didn’t see or smell anything amiss, so he supposed he could chastise her later for rushing out. He freed his hands, letting the cadaver drop with a wet slap and plunging a corner of his greatknife into the field, and went for the horse as she began to order him to help. He was mindful of the bite, his arms slipping past the meaty, bleeding disc on the animal’s ribs and hooking under its hips and chest. Didn’t think he’d ever be in a situation where he’d have a horse’s dick pinned under his forearm, but there he was, bodily hefting a horse in a practiced deadlift.

“Might not be necessary,” his voice thrummed as he made his way to the barn, the horse’s legs sticking limply outwards as though it were a table with ennui. He was fortunate, he supposed, that the venom was sedative. He didn’t care for the idea of a hoof to the teeth, let alone wrestling with a stallion. “The antidote. Blood sucking monsters don’t benefit from killing their prey. More work to drain blood when the heart stops.”

Henry didn’t wait for her to open the barn door, opting instead to plant one foot against the door handle and pry the way open with his hip strength. Getting the horse in was awkward, but he found he could roll the animal on its back a little and scooch on through. Preparing bedding was a bigger challenge-- these weren’t the stables where the straw was already laid out after all-- but he again forewent asking for help and popped a bale of hay open with a sloppy axe kick. Didn’t need to be perfect, he thought.

He laid the stallion down gently, careful to prop the animal up so nothing would get in its wound, before turning his attention back to the red haired girl. “Tell me where I can fetch something to soak the blood with. I can keep pressure on the wound while you get your medicine. Unless I don’t do that with horses.’

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Henry had taken a few steps back from the door when he heard someone coming, a trick he’d learned so people wouldn’t have to crane their head so far up to see that, yes, he was actually a human being. That was important here in these backwoods, especially in the dead of night. Superstitions ran amok in these sorts of places. What is a man to do, in these small places, but try and make answers from nothing?

He was a little surprised– pretty thing, wasn’t she? Seems like a lot of people in this land were. His eyes, long changed by the blood, could make out the rich red of her hair and deep blue of her eyes through the new moon’s darkness. The part of him used to lopsided faces and disproportional limbs was tempted to tear open the door and look for himself at the hidden treasure behind it. Just to see what the rest of the world’s “normal” really is. But people don’t act on such wild impulses without good reason, let alone Henry, and there were more important things to do at this hour of the night.

He got to business. With his right hand around the creature’s throat, he hefted its limp weight as though it were a poached chicken. It was a hideous thing; a distended stomach on thin limbs, with an fetal arch to its back that persisted even as it hanged from Henry’s massive hand. Quills of bone followed the length of its spine up to its lolling reptile head, where its massive red eyes had been pushed out of their sockets by a blow straight down the forehead. The only thing as sharp as the talons on its hands and feet were the needle teeth that lined the dripping innards of its proboscis.

Henry’s voice rumbled, low and to the point. “This was feeding off one of your horses. The horse is acting loopy– Can’t tell if it’s venom or blood loss. Figured you would know better.”

This man that stood just outside of her home had been enormous in size, much larger than any Gerudo she had ever encountered. Ever so slowly did she creak the door open an inch at a time to get a better view, unsure of what he or the twisted looking monster still held in his grip. He seemed human enough, save for his size… But she had still felt leery of her new guest.

And to take down such a creature, from what appeared to be on his own had been no normal feat. Perhaps Link would have been able to slay such a monster, but most mortal man would have perished or fled.

But neither his appearance nor any monster mattered once he would finally speak. Eyes would widen with fear and her jaw would drop, as she would abandon the only thing separating her and the stranger whom had brought such bad news to her pointed ears. 

“What?! No!!”

She no longer cared about much else as she hadn’t even bothered to shut the door behind her as she abandoned her home and made for the field, running as fast as her bare feet would take her. Rocks and broken branches would claw at her exposed skin, but she didn’t care. Those horses were her life. Should anything happen to them…

Malon had hoped the whole thing had been a prank, but his words had rung true as her prized steed lay in the pasture, convulsing erratically, eyes dilated, and his breathing labored. It had most definitely been a poison of sorts..

“I need to make an antidote…” 

Determined eyes would shoot in the mystery mans direction, had he not left yet. “Hey, you! Don’t just stand there. Give me a hand! We need to get him into the barn!”