#Enchanting Temples

[lhtravels]

Discovering the Soulful Temples and Sacred Sites of Bali

Embark on a profound journey of spiritual revelation as you immerse yourself in the captivating allure of Bali's Religious Heritage. "Discovering the Soulful Temples and Sacred Sites of Bali" is an invitation to explore the essence of this enchanting island through its treasured religious sites. Discovering the Soulful Temples and Sacred Sites of Bali" is more than a journey; it's an awakening of the senses and a celebration of Bali's religious heritage. Prepare to be captivated by the intricate beauty of the temples, the serenity of the sacred destinations, and the transformative power of spiritual exploration in Bali.

[snurtle]

I've been thinking about the templars lately. they were promised honor, virtue, told that they would be charged with protection of the innocent... And then those same people are systemically exploited and abused, abuse others because they're taught to regard everyone else as either sheep who need to be lead or potential threats. Never equals, except in their brothers/sisters-in-arms. They act as the guard-dogs and military arm of an entirely different organization that they're only a functionary member of but have no governing say in. Even the chantry aren't their equals- they function as the templar order's supervisors! And all this isolation and closing of ranks ends in disability, addiction, death, and abandonment by the system they spent their bodies in service of.

To top that off, retaliations against them just confirm the paranoia they were taught to embrace. It's probably a long hard road to get out of that hole.

Like, listen. the dichotomy of mage vs templars is a satisfying and easy one, but the system is tearing them apart too. have you ever heard of a retired templar?

at the end of it, mages and templars need to unite against the real threat. the chantry.

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Quest for Ula's Temple

Artist: Rob Alexander TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[ritish16]

Cute Magic explained

[dragonbma]

giving your AU a kiss on the head, then promptly strangling Vos (pls use this to infodump whatever you want)

First of all, bless you. Second, I figured I should finally get this out of the way so enjoy this headcanon-turned- AU-canon dump:

TLDR: Vos developed photophobia from being in the Sea Temple for so long + Jack has tinnitus.

Vos Possession AU Infodump time:

Pre- Sea Temple adventure, Vos would usually wear his hood down or back. This was mainly to keep the hood from blocking his field of view on any side, keeping him alert and aware on adventures. His goggles would either rest on the top of his head or be worn around his neck. Post- Sea Temple, that changed to him using his hood to shield the sun (and most lights) from his eyes. After being in the obsidian cage for so long, Vos’ eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and became painfully sensitive to light when he was finally released. (They look similarly to how the Fred’s Keep residents’ eyes look. I also headcanon them as having mild photophobia, only severe when the sun is out.) It takes a bit of getting used to, but Jack is there to calm him down initially.

—For anyone unfamiliar, photophobia is an extreme sensitivity to light. One of its causes is no exposure to natural sunlight; for example, being in a dark, cramped box for a decade. Vos’ photophobia starts out very severe with even the poorly lit Sea Temple appearing too bright. However, his vision slowly readjusts to where only going out in direct sunlight hurts his eyes.

—Side Note: When Romeo is possessing Vos, his irises shift to a darker shade of blue (which isn’t very noticeable when his hood is up.) He also alters Vos’ vision whenever he is in control to remedy constantly being blinded.

—Fun headcanon: I like to think Vos naps/sleeps by sliding his hood and goggles over his eyes. ^^

Bonus: Thanks to being in the obsidian cage for so long, Vos is mildly claustrophobic, being around obsidian makes him uneasy, and he gets nervous talking to people (after his only interaction in the past decade was with an angry god.)

—Wall of the Builder? No thank you. Nether portals? I’m not going anywhere near those. Despite knowing the Nether is the only place to get blaze rods (for his brewing), he opts to stay away from the portals. This only furthers his friendship with Ivor who offers him all the blaze rods he needs and even lets him use his brewing stands.

—Ivor is going to have a blast trying to describe the Witherstorm fiasco to Vos-

—His old enchanting table has even started to look familiar…

I can’t be the only one who sees a crumb of resemblance if you take the book away- anyways onto Jack:

Along with the PTSD we see him struggle with in game, Jack also gets tinnitus from the Sea Temple. It starts immediately following the combined laser blasts from the elder guardians that kill Sammy (which was incredibly loud,) and worsens after hearing the cage crash down on his friend. It reaches a peak when the elder guardians turn their lasers towards him while he flees the guardian room. When he finally gets back to the island where the trio stashed their stuff, the ringing starts to die down.

—His tinnitus is neurological and pretty minor unless he’s extremely stressed or thinking about the failed adventure. Normally, his tinnitus presents itself as a low ringing noise when everything is quiet, but it can suddenly raise in pitch or volume if say… some stranger came into your shop with a gauntlet similar to one you had that unlocked a deep sea deathtrap of a Brita filter that killed two of your best friends. Hypothetically of course.

—Jack is. the. friend. ever. He helps Vos get accustomed to Beacontown, offers him a room in the emporium attic, and introduces his friend to any residents with similar interests. Jack also takes immediate notice to how Vos looks at his old enchantment table and is quick to swap out its red banners with lapis blue ones.

[Tysm for the AU ask! Fun fact: I could not read the ask without envisioning Wheatley giving Vos a kiss on the hood before grabbing him by the scruff of the neck- and it made me chortle every time.]

[alternis]

I think third eye au tim and danny temple should be Besties who kept running into each other during Adventures, first with tim as shiva's apprentice during some kind of king snake & kobra related shenanigans, then again when Tim went solo as third eye and Danny started to recruit kobra members to his "we still worship snakes but we don't Do Evil" organisation

except tim has 0 idea that Danny has been flirting with him since hour three of them knowing each other. totally oblivious.

[the-enchanted-mistakes]

What did your home looked like?

You know... like any home.

[definitelyjunehomestuck]

if you feel like you need to make every other feature in the game incredibly tedious to incentivize people to explore, the problem isn't that those features are too easy to interact with, it's that your world is just horribly unengaging and has no inherent fun to it.

[bullard90kendall]

May the Fourth be with you!

Under the amber hue of a setting sun, a regal figure carves a silhouette of otherworldly allure. Humble yet commanding, the ensemble she adorns speaks of tales woven in the looms of fantasy, a tapestry of costumes richer than the stories of old. Soft whispers of lilac play through her hair, ears pointed in defiance of human ordinance, an echo to the creatures in ancient myths whispered between the leaves of an enchanted forest. Her gaze, distant yet piercing, seems to dance along the horizon's edge, pondering worlds beyond our reach.

Around her, the air is quiet, as if the universe has paused to admire the amalgamation of elegance and fantasy before it, a mosaic of culture and imagination. She stands barefoot, rooted to the earth like a spirit anchored amidst humanity's bustle. Her robes cascade down, a rivulet of blues and golds adorned with florals and fantastical creatures, the craftsmanship narrating a symphony of patience and skill. The gossamer layers flutter against the warm, embracing wind, nature's gentle touch against the creation of man.

With ornaments that glisten like constellations caught in her grasp, she is clothed in the mystery of the night sky, adorned with gold and hints of ages lost to the ebb and flow of time. As she stands amidst the vestiges of an aged temple, one could almost believe that she has stepped out of time itself, a visitor gracing our era with the poise of lost civilizations. And there, in that fleeting moment caught in an image, lies the bridge between the ephemeral and the eternal, inviting us to believe in the unseen, to embrace the stories nestled within and to let the heart soar on wings gifted by the mirage of imagination.

[alexiroflife]

"in every life"

curse reincarnation, fluff

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: you, a former sorcerer and sukuna's wife, are killed in the heian era. sukuna does not believe in a life without you, so he takes it upon himself to bring you back a thousand years later

to sum it up: you are sukuna's life, and no matter how long he has to wait, he will bring you back to him by any means necessary

WC: 3,621

Warning(s): angst in the beginning, reader death (but you're revived), brief icky descriptions of a vessel's possession

-> ask | sukuna fic list

Sukuna remembers the exact moment you left him, soul fluttering almost gracefully from your eyes as your body fell limply into his four arms.

The moment replays in his mind as though it had only happened yesterday, or perhaps as recently as a few hours prior. Time has never been something the king of curses worried himself over, for his strength and existence exceeded such mortal constructs, but when his thoughts wander to you as frequently as air fills and deflates from his lungs, the very concept grows skewed and suddenly, time is a matter of great importance to him.

A king is nothing without his queen beside him, his rock, his partner, and that is what you are. That is what you were, but Sukuna refuses to address you in any form of past tense because your temporary withdrawal from the planet and from his side would never alter the fact that you are his, that you have been his, and that you will be his until the end of time. 

Sukuna has never been one for romantics, for connections that tie his free spirit down from the unfettered, terrifying rule that he leads, but when you entered his life, his opinions shifted and his ambitions changed, making room for you at his side upon his throne. 

The two of you had been married for years before you left him. Sukuna had never bothered to count, but now he finds himself mulling over the years’ contents in search of a piece of your memory that can stay with him until the time comes for you to return to his hand. 

When you were alive, Sukuna never fathomed you leaving his side. He almost feels he should punish you for so abruptly taking an absence from him without permission, castigating your spirit until he feels that the space you once occupied close to him emanates remnants of an apology, of guilt, of a promise to never do such a foolish thing ever again. 

When you were alive, you were a sight to behold, a perfect fit for the title of his wife. You were deserving of each and every privilege he bestowed upon you; of holding his face in your small, dainty hands, of pressing your lips to the textured plate of his face, of throwing your legs over his thighs as you settle onto his lap with a large, burly arm coming around you and securing you there for all of his servants and former concubines to see how high you sit amongst him and how low they remain beneath the two of you. 

You always said what you were thinking. While he ensured that everyone within and outside of his temple feared him, you were always unaffected by his intimidating presence. He remembers one instance in which you were lying beneath him, a mess of silk fabrics swarming your bare figure over your reserved place in his bed with your hair splayed out messily over the pillows and your eyes weighted with a foolish look of what he could only describe as enchantment and tender allegiance.

He feels the ghost of your fingers trace his jaw as he looks down at you quietly, dwarfing you in his mass. A smile touches your soft lips with a rosy hue swirling over your (s/c) skin. 

“Your eyes are quite beautiful.”

Your voice is a whisper of past enamorations through Sukuna’s ear as his brows arch in reminiscence. He remembers how he glared at you in confusion, face hard though he always allowed you to continue admiring him, to continue touching him without consequence. His eyes, which mirror the color of fresh, crimson blood as he has watched it gurgle from the mouths and limbs of his victims, staining the streets, his hands, and his monstrous legacy, are windows you believe to be… beautiful.

Your sentiments never failed to befuddle him. He never did understand why you associated such a ferocious beast with beliefs so light and pure. He is not beautiful, he had thought. He never desired to be beautiful. He is simply Ryoman Sukuna, enough of himself to be categorized in unique isolation, separate from your labels of aesthetic charm and peace. 

You’re silly. Silly with love and submission, he thinks, but he has never denied you of these admirations though he fails to agree. 

Besides, you are his wife. He would have allowed you to worship him in any way you pleased if you asked, and in truth, you hardly did ask. You knew what you were to Sukuna, how you and only you remained the only soft spot that the salmon haired demon withheld in his breast. You were beyond requesting approval to love him in the ways you saw fit, and Sukuna was pleased because you knew, in all spaces, that you were his and he was yours. 

Among all the trophies of battles won, of cities conquered, of titles obtained, you are Sukuna’s greatest prize. 

His love for you was always silent, long glances and grips of the waist, orders to slaughter on your behalf and the pat of his hand over his beefy thigh to beckon you over. His love was an unrestrained space for you to express your desires, to demand his attention, and his compliance with a veil of frustration poorly masking his easy willingness to give you anything you pleased. His love was long, sleepless nights, the marking of his territory by means of stinging bites and purple bruises over your smooth skin that no living being in his wake could mistake for anything but a reminder of your connection to him. 

His love was you incarnate, just a woman before hell’s greatest crown, but his love no less. His wife. His queen. His eternity.

Sukuna does not know why he mourned you when you died. He found himself reacting impulsively, in a short-lived panic when your blood spilled over his skin and your eyes lost the light that he’d been following through the tunnel of his rein for years. 

He knows death is a taboo concern only for mortals to fret over, but when you die, he feels as though he has died himself. Your life flashes before his eyes, your time with him, and this strange ache swarms his body and manifests as a ball in his throat as his ruby hues melt over you in alarm. 

He struggles to accept your parting. He’s viciously angry, a horrible wreck that his servants fear stepping too close into proximity as the time passes and your vacancy weighs itself over his temple and his body like a mountain. He had believed your death to be painful, but the period that follows, the period of waiting stings him like no pain he has endured before. 

A king needs his queen, and without you, no matter for how long, he feels empty. He rampages his heartache away, but it no longer holds the satisfaction it did when you were with him, watching from the sidelines and cheering him on. His estate feels colder somehow, the dent you’ve left in his bed losing its shape and the memory of you fading from others’ minds, but not from his. Never from his. 

Sukuna knows that he will see you again. In any era, no matter how much farther into the future, he will find you once more, bring you back to his embrace, and dust off the crown that he has reserved for your pretty head alone. 

He holds onto a piece of you, storing it safely, awaiting the time to revive you even within his own cursed slumber after having sealed himself for a millenia, severing parts of him and scattering it over the country.

You, however, remain stowed safely in one place. A place he will remember to return to when he reawakens in rebirthed flesh.

Now, a millenia following your untimely death, Sukuna stares emptily at the woman before him, curling and tossing around with bound wrists and ankles at his feet.

She’s crying, screams of horror rising into the starry sky as Sukuna’s eyes glint menacingly beneath the moonlight. He watches her carefully, curling his lips. He looks at this pest, this fragile, forgettable mortal woman and sees everything that you are not. For a moment, he hesitates, his fingers clutching over the ancient parchment wrapped object he holds protectively within his grasp at his side. 

His brows draw together in frustration induced by your vessel. He knows he picked wisely, however, he can not deny the hesitation that captures his mind when he contemplates whether this vessel will do your worth justice. Whether it will truly bring you back the way he plans for you to be. 

He holds up the object in his hand, your energy emitting from behind the paper and through his veins, easing into his blackened soul. You are practically calling to him, holding his hand, murmuring into his ear that it will be okay. 

Sukuna is reminded then and there solely by the spirit of you that nothing in this world could even begin to dwindle the brilliance in which you shine, that even within the body of a bird or a squirrel, your essence would burst through. You will reincarnate wholly as how you left him, and as nothing less. 

With a heavy exhale through his nose, Sukuna unravels the object, tossing the parchment to the ground, and takes a step forward to approach the young woman squirming in the grass before him. He walks over her, feet planted on either side of her figure, and bends down. Her eyes go white with terror as snot and tears dribbles over her nose and down her cheek. Sukuna looks into her coldly, grasping a hand over her face and digging his black nails into her jaw. 

She shudders an agonizing, shrill screech that is soon muffled by the manner in which Sukuna squeezes her cheeks inward and forcefully pries her mouth open. 

With a steely, disconnected glare, Sukuna takes the object imbued with your cursed energy, your ring finger. He pulls your wedding band from the decrepit digit and pushes it to the woman’s lips. Her eyes go wide as she chokes over her jaw’s lack of mobility, and the taste of something foreign and timeworn on her tongue. Her stuttered, whimpering gasps release and she gargles once Sukuna pushes the object down her throat. He slaps his hand back over her mouth as it slides down her throat and she twitches uncontrollably, eyes cracking with red veins. 

The king of curses holds her still as her body flops wildly, her chest lurching forward and limbs flying about. Her body can not handle the intrusion of a thousand year old sorcerer’s influence, so it fails. Her eyes roll into her skull and her fingers twitch once her limbs have stilled in the grass. A symphony of crickets chirping lifts into Sukuna’s ears as the woman beneath him goes completely silent, dead, still.

He waits. After a millennia of existence confined to cursed flesh, after years of the cold left in your wake nipped at his skin, after battling bodies for dominance over a vessel, he waits just a few seconds more for you.

After it seems as though he has lost you for a second time, the body’s eyes flicker. Sukuna stills above you, pupils shrunken in anticipation.

Movement shifts beneath him. A chest rises, and breathing begins steadily through it. The color of this vessel’s skin shifts, transitioning slowly, milking into the hue of gentle (s/c) that Sukuna once caressed with his rough fingers. Color flushes through pale cheeks, and irises of (e/c) roll back from the skull and stare widely ahead, directly into Sukuna’s gaze. Finally, your voice comes, a gentle hum of confusion and discomfort as you regain your lost senses.

Sukuna’s heart skips as the familiar warmth of your body emanates from beneath him again, and his hand is slowly sliding from your parted lips. He feels as though he’s just run a marathon despite his inability to wind himself. He breathes out heavily, gradually, and silence envelopes the two of you in the darkness of the late night. 

While Sukuna had planned this from the very moment you went dead in his hands, he feels somehow starstruck by you. You look as beautiful as you were centuries in the past, skin smooth, brows curled, lips soft as though you had not been gone from his life for more than a brief second. You have returned to him as he had thoughtfully calculated, and yet, he can not fathom the fact that you are here at long last, mere centimeters away, manifested into truth by his graze of your chin. 

The muscles in your brows pull together in disbelief, glimmering eyes shining over as you take in the sight before you. The last thing you felt was a blade slicing into your heart and ripping down through your body, the last vision of Sukuna racing to throw you into him as your opponent met his end with the selective mutilation of his internal organs at your husband’s hard, feral, red glance.

You blink hurriedly, shooting a hand out to your husband’s bicep. “...Ryo?” you whisper in a trembling voice, knowing him by gaze and presence and touch alone. 

The said demon’s brows angle and his body lurches forward with a sharp exhale upon hearing your voice utter his name outside of the confines of his mind’s nostalgia and imagination. He is overcome by the return of you to him, eyes fiery with longing for his once lost love and shoulders aching as the weight that had been crushing down finally releases. The sensation of your fingers curling over his arm sends chills down his spine, for time has never altered Sukuna’s course of existence, but time tells in the way he physically shivers when your loving contact revives on his skin after having been stripped of him for what feels like eternity.

Tears pool in your eyes and your shaky hands raise to smooth over his face, exploring his marked skin and familiarizing yourself with the structure of the being you fell in love with many lifetimes ago. Sukuna’s brow flinches as you feel over his face, and his own palm cradles over your cheek, dwarfing your head in the fashion it always used to as the back of his fingers skim over your heated flesh. 

“Ryomen,” you say his name again, voice crumbling and your shoulders jerking in awe.

He trips down into you, hands clutching over your head as you guide his face down with his hasty movements. Your name tumbles hoarsely from his rumbling voice, against your lips, and slotting into your mind in a haze as his lips meet yours urgently. 

You cry gently into him, lips parting and pushing back in as he kisses you fervently, savoring you, burrowing you into his body’s memory to recover the time he has spent deprived of you. Your hands fly over his neck, down his back, detailing the ridges and the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt that you know so well. He presses himself down into you, pulling you in closer by your head, flushing your chests together to intertwine your souls once more. Heady grunts and growls heave into your mouth between frenzied, stunned, satisfied kisses, and each time a tear of yours catches into the liplock, Sukuna is pulling it into his lips, saltiness swirling through the sweet release of his misery. 

He’s missed you. So very much, he’s missed you. He doesn’t know how he has managed to go so long without you now that you are here again, now that he is holding you again, kissing you again. 

“My king,” you whimper when you get a chance to break away, foreheads bumping as Sukuna shushes you gently.

“Do not fret, peach,” he soothes you, lips brushing yours as his now loving gaze spills into your own. “You are alright.”

Despite Sukuna’s ruthlessness and his wild murderous expeditions, as well as his blood-curdling tone that further accentuates the weight of his threats when thrown into the direction of others, Sukuna melts into calmness for you, his low voice mellow and meditative, enraptured in the peace that you bring him. You know all sides of your dear husband, and yet this is the rawest side of him that you know, that he treats you with. 

“What happened?” you whisper as his hands run over you, catching your tears and tracing the curves of your flesh. “Where are we?”

“In the garden,” he answers you easily, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. 

“At… at home?” 

He hums in affirmation, leaning back just a bit to stare into you. The pairs of your eyes shine as they absorb the image of one another, still and sincere. Grass tickles your ears and your arms, and you look down, realizing that you are lying in a patch of greenery. You slowly tilt your head to the side, and Sukuna keeps his gaze glued to you like you will disappear before him. Your eyes capture the stems of daffodils and lavender that sprout around your head, pointing into the night sky and swaying gently in the warm breeze. You recognize the plants as the ones you had always taken to tending by the creek behind Sukuna’s temple, which he had the servants fashion as a suitable garden for you to indulge in. 

You do not recall being here last. You recall dying. You recall your world going dark.

You turn back to meet his heavy eyes. “What did you do?”

He is silent for a moment, taking his time to study you before answering as though the question is the simplest one he has ever been asked. “I have brought my queen back to me. As I have always sworn to do if we were ever separated.”

“...How long have we been separated?”

“It does not matter.”

“How long was I away from you, Ryo? How long did I leave you for?”

“It does not matter,” he reiterates gently yet ever so firmly. “Do not think of it.”

“Please-” you frown, eyes shining over again. “I hadn’t- I didn’t mean to leave you. I don’t know how I even let it happen… I can’t imagine what that must have gone through…”

Ryomen catches the guilt in your gorgeous eyes and he is quick to gather you up in his arms. He pulls you up slowly, keeping your eyes locked as you allow him to lift you from the ground with his arms wound tightly over your waist. Your hands go to Sukuna’s shoulders as he kneels over you, keeping you steady and upright, face to face, nose to nose, eye to eye. 

“I refuse to allow the first thing you do in reincarnated life to be reminding me of what life was like without you,,” he says. “I do not wish to revisit it. It does not matter,” he repeats for a third time. 

You tilt your head with the tug of your lips downward sadly, threading your hands through his pink locks and holding onto the nape of his neck. The moonlight milks over you regally, as though the stars have aligned for this very moment, to illuminate you both in the universe’s joyous eye. You swallow hard. “Am I a curse?”

“You are my wife. I will not tolerate you labeling yourself as anything different..”

You inhale deeply, bringing your forehead back to him and closing your eyes. His arms pull you in tight, rhythmic breaths easing you into this reality complacent, affectionately, lovingly. 

“I’m sorry I left you, my love,” you murmur.

Now that he’s heard you apologize, seen your remorse sparked by something out of your control, he doesn’t fare well with it. 

You are not a plague to him, a burden, and telling him that you are sorry in his mind now insinuates such. Even after leaving him, after stealing away his warmth, after haunting his slumber and his consciousness for eons, he does not fault you. He would never fault the woman he chose to keep by his side in wellness and in death. 

He does not accept your apology. You have done nothing but love him, yet Sukuna is the one who should have protected you. 

He runs a hand over the back of your head, down your hair, and exudes his message of impenetrable love to you through his embrace and sweltering red eyes. “All I ask of you is that you stay. In this era and the next. Stay by my side as you are meant to be.”

You nod eagerly against him. “I will,” you whisper. “I will, I promise.”

Sukuna reaches down at his side for the ring he had set down. With one hand to your back, he pulls your wedding band forward and presents it to your twinkling eye. You gasp. 

“You still have it,” you sigh.

“In what world would I not?” 

You bring your hand down, spreading your fingers, and you watch as the kind of curses slips the rusted treasure over your finger, fitting it perfectly into place with the renewal of your marriage and the reunion of your hearts.

You admire the way it looks upon your hand happily, and Sukuna drags you back into his lips, pecking you tenderly before moving back in with his hands firm to you. You shift further up so that his arms can completely take you in, heads bumping as your lips swim together in commemoration of a rebirth into a new life.

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Quest for Ula's Temple

Artist: Rob Alexander TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[kaustubh-wankhede]

Embark on a soul-soothing journey through Thailand's hidden havens. Discover 16 enchanting places that promise unparalleled rejuvenation. From pristine beaches to serene temples, each locale invites you to unwind and embrace tranquillity. Dive into crystal-clear waters, explore lush jungles, and indulge in cultural gems. This guide unveils the perfect blend of nature and culture, ensuring a revitalizing escape. Let the vibrant landscapes and rich heritage of Thailand transform your senses. Immerse yourself in serenity and create unforgettable moments in these idyllic retreats.

[avemakuta]

Thinking about minecraft languages again I fear.

We know of at least two diagetic writing systems used in the world of minecraft— enchanting table language and some form of the Roman alphabet. We know that some form of the Roman alphabet is diagetic, because it exists in the world already before the Player arrives. Whoever built the desert temples assigned significance to the letters "TNT" enough to put it on their explosives. Pictographic writing also seems to exist, based on naturally-generating chiseled blocks, but that's harder to definitively state isn't purely decorative.

Villagers also presumably use some form of writing, given that they have librarians, but whatever that writing is, it doesn't seem to be legible to the Player, since we can't read books until we write in them ourselves.

The villager/illager species definitely creates symbolic art, given the use of banners by the illagers and of creeper face symbols on clerical robes. Piglins also use symbolic art, given the snouts carved into bastions, and it seems reasonable to conclude that they have some form of language.

This gives at least three languages in the world of minecraft— Piglin, Villager, and Desert Temple. Possibly a fourth, with Enchanting, but that could just be the writing system used by villagers, given that the Player doesn't seem to be able to read it.

What would those languages be like? What kinds of poetry are written in the Hnnngs and Hrrs of the villagers, or the grunts and snorts of the piglins? Could a piglin and a villager learn each other's languages, or are they too different not just in terms of vocabulary but in terms of the physical features required to communicate? Do piglins carry information in the flapping of their ears? Do villagers produce complex tones by resonance in their large noses?

And what about etymologies? For villagers, wool comes from sheep, but to a piglin, if wool exists at all, it's woven from strider hair. If the inhabitants of the desert temples had a word for gunpowder, was it related to their word for creeper? If piglins do, is it related to their word for ghast?

[infinity-books]

The Amulet of Eternity

"Greetings, young adventurer," the stag spoke, its voice deep and melodious, like water flowing over smooth pebbles. "I sense a yearning for excitement within your heart." #readingcommunity #writerslift #fantasy #mystery

In the year 3467 B.C., nestled in a lush, verdant valley with mountains towering above like protective sentinels, there lived a young man named Jareth. He was a spirited soul, curious as a cat and as agile as a gazelle, always seeking the thrill of adventure. One day, as the sun ascended the sky like a blazing chariot, Jareth wandered through the dense forest, where trees stood tall and proud…