#Death triumphant

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱, 𝔰𝔨𝔲𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔩 𝔴𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔒𝔲𝔯𝔬𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔬𝔰, 𝔬𝔦𝔩 𝔬𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡, յԴ𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔶

[ater-love]

Night triumphant and stars eternal Lady death and lord of bloodshed Death and the lovely fawn

[thyeternalhunger]

A night before the Darkest Night in 750 BC, Death had returned to the Rex as his "most trusted assistant" at long last.

Plain colour version

[jacksdreams]

Long after crowns were passed down and war songs faded into lullabies, the world began whispering tales. Not of rulers, but of wanderers—two shadows, glimpsed only now and then, roaming far beyond their once-kingdom.

A woman with eyes like gathering storms and fingers always smudged with paint, laughter tucked in her throat like sunlight. A male beside her, cloaked in night, who smiles like the stars once told him secrets he’ll never share. They never age. They never stay long. But everywhere they go, the world shifts.

Some call them spirits. Some, angels. Some, gods pretending not to be. But the oldest among the Night Court’s scholars only nod and say: they still love this world too much to leave it unguarded.

Yet even legends have soft places. They always return home—to Velaris, to Nyx, to their child who now rules with quiet grace and steel resolve. They spend a few days by the river, tease their son about how serious he’s become. Nyx pretends not to smile when they do. They spoil his children with sugar and stories, vanish before dawn, and leave footprints where flowers bloom.

When the sky breaks with an ancient threat, or something forgotten stirs beneath the mountains, they appear. Sometimes with wings. Sometimes with wine. Always with mischief. And when it’s over, they vanish again—leaving behind awe, wildflowers, and stardust.

No one knows how old they are now. Only that when they move, the stars tilt just slightly, like they’re following something ancient and beloved.

And when those stars flicker strangely, and the wind hums with something old and golden, people still look up—and wonder if it’s them.

Not because they hope for rescue. Just because they believe in love that endures.

[hadriiiart]

imperial triumphant fanart inspired by soulsborne games hell yeaaa🗣️🗣️

[spideyns]

feysand headers

like if u save or credit @pmellarkrs on tt

[auralatrocityabyss]

Imperial Triumphant 17.4.2025

The Mohawk

Video/Photo by me

[friedmagazinebouquet]

Note to self: never make a geological diagram on the Microsoft Word drawing feature ever again

[girlwho-lovedthemonsters]

⭐️⭐️⭐️

[jacksdreams]

There’s a quiet secret the people of Velaris keep, not out of duty, but out of love.

Long before the war, before the mountain and the silence, their High Lord used to sing. Not often, and never for spectacle, but in the quiet corners of the city: a slow hum in the artist’s quarter at dusk, a lullaby for a child at the Sidra’s edge, a love song only the wind was meant to hear. His voice , rich and otherworldly, was something the Rainbow’s musicians quietly worshipped. They would pause their rehearsals when they heard it, pressing palms to hearts, knowing they were hearing something sacred.

And then, for fifty years, there was nothing. No song. No laughter. Just silence and a cold absence that clung to the streets long after the mountain fell.

But then... one Starfall night, long after the lanterns had dimmed and the revelers had wandered home, music returned.

A few late-night painters sat at their windows near the Sidra, brushes frozen mid-stroke. A string player packing up his case paused, breath catching. Because across the river, under a sky still streaked with falling starlight, came a voice — soft at first, then blooming into something deep and golden, wrapping the city in warmth.

It was him. Singing again. Singing not for the city this time, but for her — for their high lady. And somehow, that made it even more beautiful. More healing.

The people didn’t gather. They didn’t cheer. They simply listened. Windows cracked open, candles relit. Some wept quietly. Some smiled through tears. Because in that moment, with starlight raining from the heavens and their High Lord’s voice weaving through the night, everything felt right again.

As if the city’s heartbeat — silenced for too long — had finally remembered how to sing.

[art-of-mtg]

Triumphant Surge (Theros Beyond Death) - Daarken

More cards with art by Daarken on Scryfall

[redlettermediathings]

#EyesOnBreen

[vikhorrorschau]

[auralatrocityabyss]

Imperial Triumphant 17.4.2025

The Mohawk

Photos by me