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kocuces-blog · 4 years ago

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Knight Online - No CheatsKnight Online - No Cheats

Least Requirement

Working System Windows 98/2000/XP/ME

kocuce

Computer processor Celeron 300

Memory 128 MB

Hard Disk Space 400MB

Video Card 16MB or above 3D Display Cards with DirectX uphold

Extra Software DirectX 8.1 or Above

"At the outset there was bedlam. Ageless energies whirled in an extraordinary mass of shading and light in the soundlessness of room. Throughout the long term the energies acquired substance and started to mesh itself into the texture of what might one day spell life.

Out of this texture a string, an inconsequential piece of force unraveled itself from the mass. While the substance of this string was very much the same as the energies which at the exact instant were advancing, it changed along a different way. It alone acquired cognizance."

Knight Online is set in a bygone era of orcs, savages, and primates? At any rate, it is set in a universe of enchantment. There is the acceptable nation, called Elmorad and the abhorrent nation, Karus. Similar names are for the races.

The Humans, the Elmorad, have a pick of three classes which are: Barbarian, Male El Moradian, Female El Moradian.

The savage is the most grounded class, on the off chance that you are a brute you must be a hero, and you must be male for reasons unknown. The El Moradian can be whatever other classes, which are Warrior, Magician, Priest, And Rogue and can be either Male or Female.

The Orc thingys, also called Karus ingame. They all have peculiar and brilliant names so I will simply allude to them as there callings since that will be simpler for individuals to comprehend. Right off the bat, there is the Aarch Tuarek, which is essentially the Karus savage, in that it must be a Warrior. Tuarek can be either a Priest or a Rogue. Wrinkle Tuarek is the Karus Magician. At long last, the lone female of the Karus is Puri Tuarek, which must be a Priest.

Each new part in Knight Online picks one occupation toward the beginning of there venture, yet at level 10 you would then be able to additional your occupation. Like most MMORPG, there are a few occupations to browse, there are four for each race and they are alluded to contrastingly in each race. Every one of the occupations has it's own extraordinary abilities.

Champion - Elmorad/Karus - 'Sharp edge'/'Berserker' - Their job is to battle hand to hand and protect the others with a couple of buffs.

Maverick - Elmorad/Karus - 'Tracker/Ranger' - Their job is to assault from a good ways or to utilize covertness, likewise they can buff.

Entertainer - Elmorad/Karus - 'Mage/Sorcerer' - Their job is to utilize wizardry to do a large portion of the harm or to back foes off.

Minister - Elmorad/Karus - 'Priest/Shaman' - Their job is to recuperate the gathering, and revile adversaries, additionally they can fix ailment and condemnations.

Each time somebody step up they get 3 capacity focuses, which can be placed into classes that influence your character.

Strength is mostly for champions, however ministers need it to, so they can utilize better weapons.

Wellbeing is for everybody truly, except works best on heroes and mavericks since they get added MP (wizardry power).

Expertise is for rebels, it influences the assault achievement rate and assault power.

Insight influences the MP for clerics and performers.

Enchantment Power decides the assault power for performers abilities.

There are additionally normal abilities ingame, generally they are clear as crystal like the others, they are:

Order - Adds to the order capacity in a military

Governmental issues - It is conceivable to rehearse legislative issues in a country

Attack Weapons - Lets the player use attack weapons

Language - Lets the player decipher the contrary races language.

Weapons

There are a wide range of kinds of weapons, to numerous to specify here and mixes that can be utilized in Knight Online, for instance purposes I will utilize blades. Players can utilize a one gave blade and shield, two one gave swords, a two gave sword. But, there are likewise tomahawks, maces and lances (well one gave lances, at that point shaft arms). They are the hand to hand weapons. Likewise, there are different classes weapons, like knife, bow, staff, minister mace and shield (like I said previously). Blades and bows are utilized by mavericks, contingent upon the sort of rebel you wish to be. Staffs are utilized by performers, and minister maces are utilized by, you got it, clerics.

Defensive layer

Like the weapons in Knight Online, there are to numerous to specify here so all things being equal I will simply discuss the various sorts of reinforcement, there is protection for every one of the races, which has various prerequisites, likewise unique durability's.

Remarkable Items

Every one of the one of a kind things, like studs, neckbands, pendant, ornament, ring, belt, have various capacities on them, some add to strength, wellbeing, and insight. Others add to certain wizardry types or add to the protection of the player.

Sundries

These are the mixtures to recuperate HP, MP, reviles, updates, and journey things. I'm almost certain remembered for here ought to be the things that can be brought for genuine cash, as that is the way the designers of Knight Online brings in their cash. There are looks to give rewards like twofold exp and so forth

Redesigns

Thing redesigning has gotten increasingly more well known in MMORPG, and now it is extremely simple to do in Knight Online. Protective layer and weapons can be overhauled utilizing scrolls which can be gathered from beasts, or brought from different players, a portion of the less solid parchments can be brought from NPCs however.

There are four kinds of parchments, which are:

Thing Upgrade Scroll

This sort of parchment will expand the thing by +1, the harm will go up, as long as the redesign is fruitful. The breaking point is +10 however, and there is a sure disappointment rate.

Decrease Scroll

This parchment will lessen the prerequisites of the thing it is utilized on, it must be utilized once, and there is again a specific disappointment rate.

Natural Scroll

This one will add a basic property, the sorts of basic harm it can add are: fire, ice, thunder, poison and so forth It additionally has a specific disappointment rate, however it can change a one of a kind thing to an upgradeable thing with a 100% possibility of working.

Disperse Scroll

This one will add a natural property to a staff, it will add something like fire or ice, it is 100% too.

Abilities

Since there again such countless abilities to make reference to in this audit, I will simply note down the essential abilities to give you the possibility of every one of the callings. For every one of the races there are various abilities, yet since I am simply doing the essential abilities they have similar fundamental spells.

Fighter Skills

Run - This speeds up which you run. Level 1

Slice - This incurs 120% harm to the foe. Level 3

Crash - This raises the assault rate by x1.5. Level 5

Protection - Increases the safeguard of the player, briefly. Level 7

Puncturing - Increases the assault rate by x2. Level 10

Cleric Skills

Small Healing - Heal party individuals wellbeing by 15HP. Level 1

Light Strike - A light sorcery assault. Level 2

Strength - Increase party individuals strength by 15. Level 4

Light Healing - Heal party individuals wellbeing by 30HP. Level 5

Oppose Poison - Increase party individuals poison obstruction by 20. Level 6

Splendor - A more grounded light wizardry assault. Level 7

Little Restore - Increase party individuals HP by 50 for 20 seconds. Level 8

Rebel Skills

Run - This speeds up which you run. Level 1

Toxophilism - Shoot bolt. Level 3

Knife Thrust - Inflict 150% harm with a blade. Level 5

Quick - Increase party individuals running velocity. Level 10

Force of Wolf - Increases encompassing gathering individuals assault, Uses Blood of Wolf thing. Level 30

Entertainer Skills

Streak - A Magic assault to harm foe. Level 1

Shudder - Inflicts harm to foe for timeframe. Level 3

Bring Party Members - Summon party individuals. Level 4

Fire - Burn a foe. Level 5

Cold Wave - Attack which lessens an adversary's assault speed. Level 7

Sparkle - Ignite within adversary's body + scatter wizardry assault. Level 9

Door - Teleport to respawn territory. Level 15

Break - Teleport all of gathering to your respawn territory. Level 35

Missions

The missions truly help new players, the primary journey all players ought to do is the worm one, you need to gather 5 silk groups from worms, and you ought to get some exp, that is an incredible method to step up, particularly when simply beginning. The vast majority of the journeys are ordinarily RPG missions, where you need to murder something or discover something/somebody to and afterward get back to the individual who gave you the journey or discover another person. They are the most ideal path for new players to step up however, and some are a decent kind of revenue.

Beasts

There are numerous beasts in Knight Online, and are found in different areas, they respawn consistently so step up is generally simple. For every one of the beasts there are various types of beasts the further you disappear from the towns, they get a lot more grounded as you go further away, however drop better and give more experience focuses, yet are more earnestly to get to. They range from werewolves to savages to primates. The most fragile is Worms, which are level 1, the most grounded are Dread Mare which can go up to level 175, which is the most elevated level beast ingame at this moment, and that would require extremely undeniable level gathering to overcome it.

Exchanging

Exchanging is a major piece of Knight Online for a great deal of players, it is the means by which a few players make the entirety of their cash. There are two different ways to exchange, there is the customary way were you are exchanging with just a single individual. Despite the fact that, Knight Online is certainly not a customary RPG truly, so they incorporated a bartering kind of exchanging, so you can see different people groups things they need to see, just a single individual can see another people closeout at a time though.

Occasions

Lunar Gate War

This is a huge PvP occasion were you need to assault different countries base and murder all the NPCs in there base. You must be level 30 to enter this occasion, and just the initial 120 players who transport to Lunar Valley at the workers occasion times. All the occasions are GMT-8. On the off chance that you win, as a country, you will assault different countries old neighborhood.

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fijiangecko · 5 years ago

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When the Sun Rises in the West

Prologue

A/N: AHHH IT'S HERE!! I'm so excited to finally share this! I'm planning on posting chapters every couple days so I make you all wait for it 😉 this whole series was entirely based off of this playlist, and every chapter will have a theme. This one isn't super edited but I actually love this series. Heavily based off of GoT (locations and dergons) but no spoilers. This story doesn't use the same plot or same characters.

C/N = City Name

Word Count: 1,700+

The barren wasteland of Essos was home to many people for the past several centuries. From dry deserts to scattered mountain ranges, the people couldn't have been happier to be alive and not in Westeros, dealing with the war of the iron throne. Blood shed, tears, agony and resentment are what wars left behind, not the virtues of peace and prosperity they promised. You, for one, would never want to experience anything like it. As heiress to a city newfound within the last century, your heart is only filled with love for your people. Never in your life would you wish to put a sword in a child's hand and tell them to fight for your honor, and not their own.

There's a reason your people haven't had to fight yet. Both the natural defenses that C/N holds and the ferociousness of native animals. C/N lies in a valley between several mountains. It is deep enough to have its own water supply, and no sane ruler would have his army climb over such steep mountain tops. Plus, they've only heard rumors about you, but no one would dare see if they were true.

The people of C/N love your family and care for you deeply, wishing you good health and even better prosperity. Children walk with you through the streets as you treat them to exotic fruits and pleasantries. The adults are thankful to all gods that they have found this Oasis, this sanctuary of peace and happiness. After trekking across the Red Waste and the Dothraki Sea they found a home for both themselves and their families. They smile as you walk by, greeting you and presenting you with their wares. Oftentimes, they will want you to take it for free - a gift, but you refuse every time. You live with the head family, there's no need for you to get freebies. Everyone lives in simple splendor with their everyday lives; content at the opportunity to have an easy life until they die.

"Y/N!" You snap out of a memory where you're dancing around a great pyre to an ancient song with the town elders. It was the celebration of your fifteenth birthday, an important day in a young person's life as they graduate from childhood to adulthood. "You know you have to leave soon, right?" Your mother walks around the grand table to you, and tests her hand on top of yours. She smiles sweetly as she waits for a response.

"I know, I just don't want too." Your eyes travel downwards at the new memory. Your birthday was in two months, and the 22nd birthday through your family lineage meant marriage. Although you wouldn't be taking over C/N anytime soon due to Fathers good health, there's still a need to have good trade relationships with other cities across the nation. You know that they wouldn't force you into a relationship, as their parents didn't, but let something grow naturally with one of the children of other head families. Out of so many there was bound to be one that caught your favor… or so they hoped.

"It'll be okay pumpkin, we didn't want to send you away for so many months, but Masaru's son is the only person in the world that is like you. There has to be a bond there we don't know about." In the past few months, head families have traveled to meet you and hope that they can tie the knot with you. They were all turned away, due to a couple big factors. 1) they were too young, 2) they had a stick up their ass, 3) they didn't give a shit about what happened to the citizens of their towns and would profit off of their tragedy and 4) there were allegations of slave trade among them. True or not, you would not stand to put a price on human life. If there were allegations, then that means someone connected to them was either in or around the trades themselves. It was sickening to think about. As far as you know, the Bakugou bloodline doesn't have any affiliations with slave traders, their son is your age, if not a little older and cared about his people in an odd way.

"Why am I going for so long? I'm going to miss my 22nd celebration…"

"Well, the Bakugou's haven't been sending us a lot of materials lately, so you're not only there for personal interest but diplomatically. We need these materials for more homes. Those children you live are becoming adults, but we don't have the means to help them." She squeezes your hand. "You can help them. Missing your celebration will suck, I know, but we'll have it as soon as you get back. Plus we'll need to talk about who's going to marry who."

Anxiety bubbles in your chest, but you pop it with a calming smile. "I know. I don't like any of the other candidates, but if the rumors about the younger Bakugou are true than I shouldn't have to worry. If we are the only two in the world that are this way, isn't that a sign from gods old and new?"

"That's the spirit Y/N. We'll finish packing your stuff. Go finish saying your goodbyes." Your mother smiles sweetly and give you a tight hug before letting you go. The rest of the night you reminisce with old friends. You all talk about old shenanigans and pranks you used it pull on older people, but now you're the older people having pranks pulled on them. It is a great night of food and friends with a light dusting of sadness topped off with tears. You were gonna miss everyone, but you must do what they need you to do. They weren't crying because they were acted for you, more like they didn't want you to leave.

At first you misinterpreted their tears, "Guys, I'm gonna be okay! I'll have Rhaegal and Viserion with me."

"No Y/N, we don't want you to go!" Mina cries from across the tavern table. The tears were appreciated, and broke your heart.

"I'll be back before you know it. Maybe I'll even have some eye candy at my side." Everyone laughs and you take the rest of the night to enjoy their company. You wouldn't have been able to sleep anyways, so this was a pleasant alternative.

The morning sun is bright when your eyes crack open. They hurt for a couple seconds, but it passes as your body adjusts to new circumstances. The sun itself is only cresting over the mountain tops, creating a golden glow around everything the light touches. That's when it hits you - this is last sunrise you'll be seeing for who knows how long. If all goes well diplomatically, then you'll be able to return home within a month, but if conflicts arise… you try not to put much thought into it and just watch the hues of peach and orange dance across the sky.

Softly, someone places a hand on your shoulder breaking your stream of thoughtlessness. "It's time to go." Your mother spoke quietly, as though cooing a newborn. Her velvet voice helps calm you even further. It'll only be for a little while. I don't even have to focus on Masaru's son if I don't want too. "C'mon, let's go grab Rhaegal and Viserion."

Walking towards the edge of town, a cart with all of your things lies ahead on the path, waiting to be pulled by 2 horses and their carriage master, Kota. He smiles at you, and you back to him. You can't help but wonder how such a sweet stable boy would want in Mereen, but maybe he just wanted to take Clyde and Grumm out for a walk after being cooped up for so long. You and your mother walk around the base of one of the surrounding mountains to a cave entrance. It's too dark to see inside, but you know the two are there; waiting to be set free since the last incident.

"Ñuhyz zaldrīzesse." Screeching bounced off of the cavern walls, the cacophony animalistic gurgles and grunts echo both out and further into the tunnels. An orange flame lights up the room suddenly, and the scale from the beasts glisten in the fire light. Large cuffs are wrapped around their necks that have chains bolted into the mountain walls. "Ñuha riñar, Rhaegal se Viserion. Iksan vaoreznuni." You walk over to the chains and unlatch them. Their large bodies tower over your own, but you can feel that they mean no harm. Rhaegal nuzzles his chin on the top of your head, as if saying "I know". His green scales shine Viserion bellows out another flame. Altogether, you exit the cave.

"They don't seem agitated." Your mother stands back quite a ways; she knows that they would never harm her but they are very large creatures.

"No, they learned their lesson." You run a hand over Viserion's cream colored scales, looking into his golden eyes. "Daēz." Upon the last sound leaving your lips, the spread their massive wings and take off, spurring dust clouds at their feet.

"Hopefully the Bakugou boy is as caring as you are." She laughs as you both walk to the wagon. Kota stares at the beasts in the sky, marvelling at them as they sore and howl.

"If he's the only other person in this world who has one, then he better be taking care of it as if it were his child."

"There is a reason they call you Muña Zaldrīzoti, my dear." You both laugh for a second and you look up at her.

"I'm going to miss you." You take her hands in your own, and squeeze them. She reciprocates it by releasing your hands and going for a hug.

"You'll do great. I know it and so does your father." She squeezes her arms before releasing. "Now go off and do amazing things." Tears prick the corners of you eyes, but you hold them back as best you can. With one last glance at your smiling mother, you hop on the carriage next to Koda and start on your journey to Mereen.

Ñuhyz zaldrīzesse - My dragons

Ñuha riñar - My children

Iksan vaoreznuni - I'm sorry

Daēz - Be Free

Muña Zaldrīzoti - Mother of Dragons

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dionysia-ta-astika · 6 years ago

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Icarus was in love.

He had been in love his whole life. He was in love with his father and his wondrous creations, in love with the mystery of the queen’s horrible child who gobbled up fingers and heads and guts and bellowed for more, in love with the prison he resided in without realizing his home for it’s true nature for many, many years.

This was stronger than those feelings, more vivid and burning.

He had been watching the sun since he was born, that gleaming well of heat and fire that arced across the sky every day and lit the path to curiosity beneath his feet. Apollo, urging his wild, beautiful horses to tear across the world.

Gods are meant to be loved, after all, and while Icarus was no more pious than anyone else in Knossos, his heart held a special affliction toward the god of light.

And then King Minos had imprisoned his father, and Icarus along with him, in that damned tower.

He had never wept so much, it seemed, curled up in the dark corners of their cell and emptying the well of his heart into the dusty ground. In those early days, he wished he were one of those nymphs, who, if they cried long enough, would turn into a stone or a spring or a tree or any number of things that didn’t have to bear the thought of being locked up for the rest of their life.

At least, he thought, he wasn’t completely cut off from the rest of the world. Though the tower window was small, Icarus could squeeze through it to perch on the meager balcony and observe the world below, watch the birds ride the breezes, and stretch across the hot stone in the sun. At least, he thought, the sun would be his constant companion.

Icarus began to track it, Him, his love, his mighty bringer of light and hope. There was little to do in the tower while his father worked, so he brought out a blanket and his journal and turned his face to the sun.

He would pray, a lot of the times, all in different fashions and with different outcomes. He found that when the day was shorter, Apollo favored the more formal, traditional ways of prayer. Those days he would lay his journal aside and set his forehead against the hot stone of the parapet, hands still damp from the khernips, for as long as he felt necessary. When the day was long, Icarus would lie on his back and chatter to the sky indefinitely, about anything and everything that came to his mind. Yet no matter what kind of day it was, he could always feel the sweet heat of Apollo on his skin, turning him the color of pressed olives, filling his heart and his head with devotion and gratitude.

But a golden cage was still a cage.

And then his father came up with an ingenious plan, one that only he could conjure up and execute to perfection. It had to be perfect, or the outcome would be disastrous. Icarus was just glad to have a shot out of the tower.

They needed feathers, and lots of them. With the influx of warm weather, birds followed, happy to molt their wings and scatter them across Knossos, onto the tiny balcony within their reach. Icarus’ love only grew with the heat, such an insatiable need he felt to prove his devotion and appreciation.

He composed hymns, though he was no Orpheus, and clumsily delivered them into the sharp winds of Crete. He carved space for a small altar out on the balcony, cut blocks of wood into crude ravens, wreaths, and arrows to place around his shallow offering bowl. He wanted to believe Apollo liked it, at the very least, and didn’t just tolerate how much time Icarus dedicated to talk to Him. But who could know the will of the gods, much less Their thoughts and feelings? Icarus was content with being tolerated for now.

It was easy to fall in love with a god and he wanted that fall, more than anything.

And then his father announced his latest project was done. It had been weeks, months of collecting feathers and wax and pressing them into the frame, and then another week of testing how the feather-laden frame fit against their arms and shoulders and backs. It was perfect, save for one small detail.

The morning of, Icarus had yet to decipher if the day would be long or not, so he offered a formal prayer and burnt his breakfast at Apollo’s altar before his father strapped the wings to his body.

“Remember, Icarus,” Daedalus’ voice was stern, but filled with emotion. Icarus could not decipher that just yet either. “You cannot fly too low, for the spray of the sea will damped your feathers, nor too high for the heat of the sun will melt the wax.” It was easy enough to remember.

Perched on the parapet in the bruised purple of the dawn, they hung in the space between a moonless night and a sunless day.

Daedalus took off first, flapping his wings furiously and attempting to angle his feet, where even more feathers were pressed into wax on the frame, to catch the wind. Before he was even steady, Icarus jumped after him, doing the same. The whole ordeal was a series of mini heart attacks, one after another, in quick succession.

It seemed only by the grace of the gods that they managed to catch breeze enough to steady themselves. And there they were, two men pretending to be birds, pressed against the pink sky and delivering themselves from their own prison. It was a freedom unlike any they had known before or, they suspected, would ever know.

They flew for many miles, until Crete was a blemish on the horizon, until all they encountered were tiny islands and weathered inlets.

Icarus felt like he could cry. Finally, finally, he was free. His father had known freedom, before King Minos and his witch-queen hoarded his talents for themselves. Icarus had known no such life outside of even Knossos. This was an euphoria and relief he had never known before. He wanted to live in that moment forever. He wanted to make it last.

So Icarus rode the breeze, sweeping as low to the ocean waves as his wings let him, so close he could see the fish rippling beneath the salt. His father called for him, and Icarus was quick to push himself back up. It was a bit of an overshoot, though, placing him several feet above his father. No mind, he was still safe.

He could feel the heat of Apollo at his back, splendor and divinity seeming to shine through every ray. Icarus believed it did. He pressed up, turning his gaze to the brilliance of the god. Icarus felt the unmatched warmth like a kiss to his dark, wind-whipped skin and he wanted more. That insatiable need transformed into a hunger, just to be close to Him, feel His brilliance and bask in His gifts.

“Icarus.”

His name rode in the wind, dragging his heart on a line of light and laurel. And he climbed into the sky, focused on the heat above him. Icarus flew higher still.

He felt the breath snatched from his chest when he caught sight of Him. It felt impossible, to see Him in the sky, right in front of his eyes.

His hair was dark, darker than anything Icarus had ever seen, and it curled down, down, down until it reached nearly past His ears. His skin too, was dark, nearly the color of Icarus himself. But His eyes were molten gold and just as hot.

“Hail, mortal.” A sweet symphony of love and mercy, unmatched by any tune he had ever witnessed in his life. Icarus felt his chest to the point of bursting, overflowing with awe and excitement. And then He smiled and Icarus was sure then that he had truly died and ended up in Elysium.

His lips did the most peculiar thing when He smiled, when His sharp cheekbones cut into the light that seemed to pour from His skin and hair, and it reminded Icarus of a viper. He blinked and the snake was gone, replaced by virtue and music and strength.

He knew Apollo was dangerous in wrath. The god of plague was no one to take lightly, but the most he could do was dip his head down, his mouth agape in wonder yet unable to form proper words outside of, “Lord Apollo.”

“Come.” A brilliant hand reached out to him, cupped the back of his golden locks and drew him into the wash of divinity. He felt a searing heat at his skull, and it made him gasp yet… it was not painful. He knew the heat of gods could kill mortals, but Apollo had favored him in that moment and allowed him to experience His presence without the threat of death.

He felt a trickle at his back, sliding between his shoulder blades and down his spine. It was hot, almost burning, but in the serenity of Apollo he did not mind it.

“Speak, Icarus.” His laugh was a tumble of bells, as if they had fooled around together a thousand times. After all the prayer in the tower, Icarus supposed they had. There was a hand on his hip, then a bolt of both pleasure and shock of being so close to the golden-lyred averter of evil. Giver of light. Spark of his heart. And then, something more. He felt His lips against his own, so chaste and gentle, but for only a moment. There was another pressure at his lips, and he wanted to speak, as Apollo had instructed, but he was overcome with a gust of air. He swallowed it all, choking, and everything turned white.

He saw his father in a court— not a Cretan one, no, somewhere far. He could not name it. But Daedalus was celebrated there, treated like nobility, applauded for his intricate mind. He was happy there, he could tell by the lines of his face, but there was a foreign sadness in his dark eyes.

“Your father is a good man.” That sweet melody pulled him from the prophetic vision. Icarus was sweating, panting, aching. Apollo still held him, close enough that he could see the lines in His golden eyes, liquid sunlight gleaming through His irises. “He will be safe.”

Icarus felt wet heat at his ankles, sliding down the arch of his foot and into the air. But he was too enraptured to care. “Thank you, benevolent Apollo.” He bowed his head again, quicker than he should have, for he wanted another glance at the beautifully angled visage of his lovely god.

“Your prayers and hymns,” Apollo parted his wonderful lips and smiled. No viper this time. Icarus would stop looking for it. It was much simpler to have his heart fluttering in awe, not fear. “Your piety was beginning to rival that of my devotees.” A joke, of all things.

“I love you,” Icarus blurted, hands trembling against his chest. He would never touch Him, not unless He drew his hands forward Himself. And what else could he say? Apollo had blessed him with a prophetic vision, with His presence, His touch, His attention.

“I know. You are a very devoted man.” His voice was a-matter-of-fact. Of course he knew. He was the one receiving all the fruits of Icarus’ efforts, that immense energy poured into every libation and offering, every prayer, every hymn he wrote, burned, and scattered.

Apollo kissed him again, still as chaste, still as soft. Icarus was hungry. Apollo knew him, and conceded without complaint. So that was what ambrosia tasted like. That was what Apollo tasted like. Icarus was insatiable.

He was aware of the tickle of liquid heat against his back again, at his thighs, his ankles, his arms.

“Icarus!”

Daedalus, somewhere below.

“You should have learned to swim.”

Icarus furrowed his brows. There was still no snake, but it sounded like the snake. Apollo was shrinking into the sky, dragging away His warmth and hiding it inside His radiant skin. Icarus had never been so cold in his life.

“Icarus!”

Daedalus was somewhere above him. It sounded like a sob. Where was he? Icarus turned his gaze from where Apollo was, where he used to be, and caught the glint of the sun against the waves. Sea spray kissed his face and then swallowed him whole.

The frame splintered against his delicate skin, feathers flying into the dark, swirling abyss below. Icarus felt his skin split, his ribs shatter into the churning mess that was his throttled insides. It hurt badly enough to make him gasp, give the salty water free passage into his lungs. It burned worse than anything he had ever felt, like being lit from the inside. Maybe that was what it was like to be burned by a god. It was all-consuming, invading every one of his senses until his vision went spotty. He only had enough time to see the mess of blood from his punctured body spreading around him before everything went black.

Icarus wouldn’t realize it until later, but Hercules had pulled his broken body from the waves and given him a proper burial on the shore. That was the only reason he had even reached the Underworld, for men who die at sea never truly rest.

#tw graphic death #retellings #icarus #apollo #since we cant submit with sideblogs my hellenic/witch one is twinbeams <:)#submission

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everythingisbetterwithpirates · 6 years ago

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The Three Bells

Air.

A common element in this world. Even in deep pockets buried under the sea, it managed to persist rather than perish. It held up the clouds far above. Destroyed homes with violent whips. Caressed lovers cheeks in the absence of their counterparts. And right now, it was becoming harder to come by.

No matter how deep a breath, Margharette only found the scorch of a dry desert filling her lungs with it's corrosive splendor. A pair of bloodied hands scared her throat, pushing her back against an old wall. Her nails sank deep into the constricting wrists, but murderous intent ran deeper.

Blow after blow had left her with little air to begin with. Behind the average build, shaggy haired man were the signs of a previous struggle. A broken chair lay scattered to the left. To the right, an overturned table. Only one whole chair remained, and it was hiding somewhere behind the table. Broken glass crunched beneath her assailant as he pressed on. Marge's feet were inches from the ground, but to her, it felt like miles.

The upper hand slipped through her fingers.

And she knew it.

First came the stroke of fear. Like the spines of a cacti, it pricked all of her senses. This was the part where panic had room to slither in and begin to drive the nail further into the coffin. As far as Margharette was concerned, this was where she endured and pushed through the haze. Conditioned to hold discipline above all, she did just that.

Margharette stared at her opponent.

She stopped reaching for air, holding on to his pinning arms with all her might.

A wave of defiance pushed forth by wrath washed away most of the spines, allowing an equally strong force of Shadows to soothe her senses. All the while giving them the little boost of energy she needed in order to turn the tide. With what little air remained in her, the woman smiled and murmured.

"Choke me harder, Daddy."

Feasting on her anger, the Shadows aided their host and drove her legs forward. Margharette kicked at the man as hard as her body would allow. The first strike drove into his nuts. It was then that his hands fumbled, allowing Marge to begin grasping at straws. The second knee connected with his side, causing the man to begin buckling sideways.

Damp boots returned to the floor. There was a mote of riled dust gently drifting in the growing space between them. It was directly in the path of her incoming punch. Margharette moved forward, focused on speaking to the man with her hands while she was busy catching her breath. She could see one of his arms rising in hopes of providing protection.

But it was too late. Air now filled her lungs at long last, adding a bit of pep to her fortified steps. The punch connected, stunning the man long enough for the second fist to make it through it's flight. One after the other, Margharette carried on her assault, unyielding in her resolve.

When he was brought to his knees, her own picked up the mantle. In the end, when unconsciousness finally overtook him, a few teeth lay with the rest of the broken furniture. Both of Margharette's hands and knees were caked in his blood and spit. And a little of her own. Specs and drops freckled her face and her white, fuzzy coat.

20 MINUTES LATER

To Margharette, there was something about rope to be admired. Both simple and versatile. It was defined by two opposing natures. Able to save a life but to also end it. At the moment, it veered towards the latter.

"Wakey, wakey~

Tits and bakey~"

A splash of cold water startled the bound, bloodied man. Enough to wake him from his stupor. With panicked gasps, he struggled against the ropes keeping him on the only chair left complete. Broken, wide eyes searched for Margharette. Slow to focus. As was his gargled breathing. They found the woman looming close by, holding one of his now empty buckets. Next to the white clothed woman was a bag.

"N-no. Please! I didn't mean it!" he exclaimed, voice shivering. Same as the rest of him.

"You didn't mean... what? Which part specifically did you not mean to do, Toby?" Margharette replied with her more usual calmness. A far cry from the savagery displayed earlier. She turned the bucket around and took a seat across from Toby. His brown hair was shaggy before, but now, it was downright hopeless.

"The part where you open the door and try to bolt after I said I just wanted to talk? Or the part where you hit me in the boob when you were reaching for your sword?" Margharette continued, reaching for her duffel bag and pulling out a black box."Maybe it's the part where you almost killed me. Or maybe, just maybe, you didn't mean to blackmail Mister Reigns?"

At this, Toby Flinched.

"Look - I didn't want to see you that night. But I did. You were just so beautiful with your blonde hair and that red dress. And then I put two and two together and found my chance to hurt that fucker. You and I --- we can take him down together ! I-I have it all. All the documents to bring him down. They're in there!"

Toby's bound hand wiggled, one of his fingers pointing towards the open door behind her. The one leading to his room. And the same one with the trip wire lined along the entrance. Marge's earlier slip up came from avoiding collision with just such a trap.

"Is that so.."

Margharette softly mused as her arms crossed over the box on which she then leaned. "You know..." The woman began with a reddened smile. Though the full extent of pain had yet to make itself known, Marge could feel the growing ache from the cut to her lip. ".. ever since I saw you at the payment spot, I wondered what kind of criminal you were. Given that the payment you were accepting came from blackmail, I figured you might know what you were doing. Then again, you did choose Reigns as your target, so there was some doubt. So tell me -- where exactly in the room are those papers?"

Margharette sat upright, soon reaching into her bag again.

"I-in the brown chest. Next to the bed." Toby mumbled in between the shakes. "Just let me go. I'll do whatever you want!"

The light from the nearby lamp glistened over the scalpel Margharette drew from her bag. "It's a deal." she purred in response before pushing from the bucket. In one hand, she held a blade. In the other, a box. "But first. Tell me. If you had to pick one, which would it be?" Margharette asked the man, playfully balancing her items before him.

Toby looked between her glistening blade and the dark box. His head jerked towards the lidded cube. Marge's red tainted pearls flashed as a wild grin overtook her features.

"Present from Mister Reigns it is then!" Margharette enthusiastically said. Toby's face further drained of color. His eyes widened with fear. She wondered how such an experience felt like for another. But Margharette did not wonder for long. The scalpel in her hand drove towards the man's stomach, creating a deep and wide opening. His cries of pain made the box rattle. Once a proper entrance had been carved into the landscape, Marge put away the blade and focused on the box.

"Were it up to me, I would have sliced your wrists while you were taking a bath, Toby. But such is not your fate." Margharette softly coo'ed, moving the box towards his bleeding stomach. The jittering mess that was Toby stared down in horror. Once she opened the lid, a scorpion crawled onto his skin. A Tanaris Drainer. Hard to find luxury item. Bloodthirsty. Hungry. And right now, heading down the path that has been presented to it.

TEN MINUTES LATER

The last several minutes had been filled with despaired screams and hopeless bargaining. Beneath Toby's hairy skin, a monster was left loose. On occasion, a small bulge deformed his torso as the scorpion moved and crossed. It also stung.

By now, Margharette sat on the bucket once more, silently watching the man suffer on the road to his death. Though he implored the Gods, none came to his rescue. Neither did Marge. While counting down the minutes, the dark haired woman absorbed the scene. What once were tiny splatters of blood now soaked her warm, wintry gear, creating large splotches.

Snow began to build up along the trim of the grassy roofed cabin's window. The light from the lamp dimmed as it began to run out of oil.

Madness stared deep and hard at Margharette. Toby's hatred at her passive stance in the wake of his woes guided his hallucinations. The pain wrecking his system only helped to make them seem more real.

A few minutes earlier, the Tanaris Drainer found it's way back to the world after it's evil began to feed on the man's insides. Margharette collected the exotic, deadly and useful creature, wrangling it back to the box before it was put away in her duffel bag.

"What does it feel like to you?" Marge began, the first time she had spoken since slicing a hole in Toby's stomach.

"Dying I mean. Everyone's time is different. What do you see, Toby?"

Toby's head rose from it's slump. His skin had gone from simple pale to ash. And though it began to harden, the man's lips painfully cracked with movement.

"Weeping willow..." His voice was as weak as the rest of him.

"It's everywhere. All around me. I can't... Nothing... --n't breathe..."

What began as coherent words quickly began to turn into a jumbled mess. Cracking, ashen skim crumbled over every joint. Little movements brought great consequences. A whistle passed. Then another. Toby wheezed, bound hands reaching for the air that never came. But before his last breath could be delivered, the man's head jerked back.

There was a definite shift in the atmosphere. Charged and oppressive. Margharette stayed put, reaching for something tucked away in her left boot. The crackle in the oil lamp was simultaneous with the straightening of the man's neck and head.

In his rise and fall, a portion of Toby's skull hollowed. Now, thick and tar-like Shadows filled up the holes. Previously unseen veins carried the vicious entity across his visage, making it's dark presence clear and visible.

"Round and round it goes. One debt paid and another owed."

The voice coming from Toby's lip-less mouth was not his own. It grated. Like the clash of swords in a battle field.

"Tick, tock, Tower of Terror. In your graces is our splendor. And when the bells ring three, our final union will be."

The continuous pile up of snow outside had nothing to do with the chill running up Margharette's spine as she listened. Toby's head slumped forward again after the message had been delivered. He was carried off by death to whatever world awaited him, leaving Marge behind to deal with the full weight of his words. The same Shadows which had given her another chance at life now reminded her of their cost with half sung rhymes.

Margharette stood from the bucket and checked the man for vital signs. There were none. The job was officially completed.

Unofficially, there was a possible loose end to tie. If anything, she'd sate her curiosity.

Boots thumped on the creaking floorboards as she made her way across the room. While the chair's broken leg would have made for an excellent bludgeoning object, it's purpose now was a bit more practical. Fodder. Margharette knelt behind the overturned table and tossed the collected piece of wood towards the rigged entrance to the room.

The loud bang that erupted rivaled Toby's earlier screeching and with twice the bass. Even though Marge was hiding behind a rickety but sturdy table, a piece of blown shrapnel found it's way between the planks and nicked her shoulder.

"No. I got it! Fragile. Death. Keep your minions and agents in line for eternity. You can stop now. I got the concept." Margharette sarcastically grumbled, looking at the space around her before she assessed the latest damage.

A scrape. It was nowhere near as bad as the rest of it. Without the trap in place, the woman came out of hiding and began to close the distance between her and the open door. Along the way, she picked up two things. The first was the rope tying the corpse to the chair. A deal was a deal. She untied the knots and began to coil the rough fabric, placing it in her bag. The second recovered belonging was said bag.

Toby's room was as barren as the rest of the hill hidden cabin. A bed. A nightstand and a brown chest were all that occupied it. Scattered all over were small and big pieces of shrapnel, some embedded into whatever was in their way when the explosion hit. Some pieces joined a few traces of broken glass to create a hostile work environment.

Because the dead guy slumped back in a chair wasn't enough.

Happy to find the brown chest unlocked and uncomplicated, Margharette dove in to gather some documents. Instead, what she found was far more valuable. A thorough supply of drugs. From potions to herbs and everything in between.

"... a fair consolation prize from Lady Luck."

Her words were spoken with reverence even through the onslaught of pains and aches that now slammed into her. Dark, blue eyes glistened with the spark of hope.

Temporary salvation.

The chest was taken after rummaging through the rest of the cabin for the legendary papers. Alleged papers.

But the survey said that was a lie.

Carrying the spoils of war, Margharette left the gruesome scene behind and headed for a nearby hill where a tree and a ram patiently awaited her return. Once the goods were secured, the reigns untied and her bottom rested comfortably over the saddle, Marge guided her rented transportation to their next point of interest. Somewhere she could dispose of her more than suspicious clothing before making it to a settlement. The rest of the journey would simply have to be made under the protection of a thick blanket.

The snow continued it's gentle bathing of the mountains and hills. And as she went over a tall one, the woman was taken back several years into the past. To a place with a climate similar to this one. Where the greater dangers hid in the cozy homes, holds and estates making up an isolated kingdom. Wanting to shake off the dreadful melancholia, Margharette reached into the saddle's large bag. There, she found a bottle of rum. It was uncorked and a large chug taken from it. Tired from the battle of body and mind, her soul sought to find peace wherever it could.

"Tick. Tock."

@mister-reigns not just for mentions but for building a world and letting Marge play in it.

This post contains clues that can link to this previous crime. Any and all detectives or guards are more than welcome to investigate.

#ic story #hudson shipping company #horror #crime #rp

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existence-overwhelming · 6 years ago

Text

Rebellious Kin

Author - Player Characters - The Caretaker, the Soul, the Collective and ግጭት መቀላቀል. Word Count - 3,774 Description - What happens when no one heeds the warnings? What happens when we’re past fixing, past salvation? Only they know.

Whereas countless dimensions are left unmolested by the machinations of the entity known by few as the Caretaker, select instances of existence experience an error. A hiccup--a momentary disruption in the precise articulation of the Code. These seldom occurrences always beget the attention of the cell’s overseer as leaving such things unattended for even a moment only invited calamity. Sometimes that which been affected were beyond repair, thus were subsequently purged from the Code as a whole. However, there are select instants in which the spread of corruption and chance of success simultaneously reside within the narrow margin of acceptability. And it’s these dimensions, these precious pillars of possibility, that garner the whole of the Caretaker’s effort in its pursuit of restoring them to what they’re intended to be. Despite this, though, not even that which it tries to save are afforded the guarantee of continuation. It’s due to, in large part, the inherent nature of the entity. Were it to employ the whole of itself in the act of fixing--all that makes the dimension, the realities, the people and things and creatures who and what they are would cease to be. A complete override by its inexorable will and presence, thus returning all that once was back into the whole of the Void. Because of this, much more indirect, delicate methods are used. Methods which, if resisted, cannot begin the healing process. If the resistance does not let up, whatever or whoever it may be, then the corruption of the Code will swell and swell to exponential sizes. Then a paradox begins. Until there is an absolute zero chance of repair is achieved, the Caretaker will endlessly pursue it. Chasing after it like a dog trying to catch a car. But then, sometimes, even if the margin of acceptability is exceeded--it may very well continue to pursue. Pursue and pursue until the errors begin manifesting as Glitches. In rarer cases still, the corruption can continue to progress until something truly disastrous happens. Until the whole of the dimension has been afflicted with the errors, with the Glitches. Then succumbs. Perverts. Distorts. And becomes ግጭት መቀላቀል, manifestations of the broken Code--juvenile heralds of the መ͝҉̶̶̢ነ͢҉́͢ም͏̨̛͝͞, that which does not exist, blinded by emotion, illogicality and contradictions.

Before the Caretaker’s singular, unblinking and monolithic ocular organ was a column of a black, true and undiluted pitch. Much like a blind spot induced by a tumor in the brain, its form shook and wavered as it bled clouds of ink into the ether. The darkness emanating from it tainted the plethora of incandescent colors streaking this way and that across the boundless Collective like shooting stars, bolts, rays of luminescence and so on. It was akin to flicking the blackened bristles of a brush at The Starry Night and blotting out the abundant natural beauty of phenomena only the insane or deceased could perceive. It was an eye-sore to behold, this column, like a grime-encrusted scab marring a meadow in the grip of spring when compared to the beatific majesty of the Collective, the formless quintessence of creation which was alive with vivid hues and ubiquitous undulation and swirling animation. A motion which the pillar mocked by always roiling and undulating in spasmodic and uncouth ways. Always writhing and coiling like a lump of snakes competing for the female. Such a sight was beyond repulsive. Then the dark mass and its many formless tendrils, of which now comprised the indefinite shape of the column, began reaching out into the atmosphere, grabbing and pawing aimlessly for the many colors and streaks of radiance swirling around it, avoiding it like the plague. At this, an immeasurable fraction of the Caretaker’s presence stretched towards the pretense of appendages. Overwhelming it was, so much that they’d already recoiled long before receiving any rebuke. But the fact remained--despite the proximity of itself, the stain acted heedlessly brazen. Nothing could save the dimension now, this was an indisputable fact. And as if to prove it, the column shuddered and shifted with sudden purpose. There was no warning beforehand, just a monumental upheaval that sent waves in every which way of the ether, all along the Collective’s surface. What once was uniform in the pillar broke and disappeared as lines segmented the mass. Its scrutiny could make out vague shapes, now, amid the still rolling black. From the outlines’ advent, a spontaneous intelligence emerged from the serpentine tendrils. They started moving to and coiling into the segmented shapes, disturbing their already chaotic movement with unadulterated anarchy. In response, the Caretaker’s form began changing, too. No longer an incredulous concentration of peerless presence, the abyssal essence of the Collective surged up in great spouts that whirled and curved to fill out the outline presented to it. Similar to a grand weave, the immense threads of the quintessence spun together and became interwoven as convoluted shapes seen in countless realities. And as such, that which constructed its form had a perpetual animation about it--much like a collection of threads and strings being waved endlessly. There were many angles and curves as a representation of a torso manifested around an impossible vascular organ of stark radiance, turning said visceral core as black as the void from innumerable threads layering and layering, from binding and binding, wrapping and wrapping. Then cords of black essence shot down from above to string up and pull the torso up off the Collective’s surface. Several lengths then ran out along both sides to tether what we might know as arms to the rest of the body, cylinders and angles and curves which led up to what we might recognize as four-digit hands that more resembled the claws of a crane rather than actual fingers. And what we might understand as a head manifested around the ocular organ, an angular ovoid of boggling stark incandescent size with a feline streak of black as the pupil. It formed as a circle, at first, before the edges extended and wound together to form articulate appendages akin to those of an Octopoda. Then it was finished. Bit by bit, the once impossible mass that rivaled that Caretaker diminished as the unseen force pulled it all together into the outlines. Similar to bulbous, pus-laden pustule protruding from the pubescent face, these shapes bloated outward until the column was a stalk with innumerable egg sacks hanging off it. They throbbed and pulsated with abhorrent life or at least a miserable excuse of it. Then a modicum of movement renewed their roiling animation. One jiggled and expanded larger than the rest before bursting like a cyst. A three dimensional mass of limbs fell to the surface with an inaudible thump. The echoes of events and people and tragedies and the like that’d been, were and would be within the countless realities was disturbed at its impact. It twitched and spasmed like a mute newborn pushed from the womb. Black sludge oozed out of every nook and crevice of the abomination, as well as from where it spawned. The thing, while smaller, was comparable in size to the form in which the Caretaker now manifested as. It could hear the innumerable voices of the lives which once populated the realities of the afflicted dimension. So many individuals, all twisted and perverted, mismatched and mushed together into one chaotic embodiment of discord. All screaming into an endless cacophony, all forsaken to the machinations of ግጭት መቀላቀል. Raising what we might acknowledge as a cranium, the ግጭት መቀላቀል threw its eyeless gaze all around. Several limbs inched up off the ground and lurched forward like a seal traversing a sandy beach. Each movement caused strands of the Collective’s surface to stretch up, clinging to the writhing tendrils of the abomination’s form, and then snap upon being jerked forward. Orbs of rolling black ooze popped out along the false visage of the thing, bulging and sinking and roaming simultaneously. And after a moment, it dared to try heaving its stolen newborn body up onto its limbs. Disgusting, repugnant and vile--all inadequate to delineate that which violated the Caretaker’s ocular organ with its mere presence. Yet there wasn’t so much as an emote to emote such things. Naught disturbed its perpetual stoic indifference to all before it. But the same could not be said for the Collective themselves. Their preternatural splendor blinked out as the once tranquil surface stirred up a hellish rancor. The echoes of what was, what is and what would be ceased carrying out their soundless play. Each transparent ghost of memories, persons and so on melded together and rose up in swells of discordant fury. They battered against the ግጭት መቀላቀል like the ever-present tide lapping a craggy shoreline. A raucous chorus reached up to shatter the ether, begetting visible reverberations in arrhythmic intervals that disturbed the atmosphere. Yet the Collective’s wail was audible only to the Caretaker. Only it could hear the cacophonous demands of the Collective, their clamoring for the ግጭት መቀላቀል’s deletion. Suddenly apprehensive to the immediate danger, the abomination craned its imitation of a neck up so as to direct its unscrupulous gaze to the other. Bulbous growths which popped out from what we’d label a face met the Caretaker’s emotionless organ. A fraction of the entity’s presence shifted and thus loomed over the aberration. However, it’s inaccurate to describe it as having grown larger. Rather it was more so like a change in perspective revealed its true size. What excuse of an attempt to stand as you or I might understand faltered as the Caretaker pressed itself upon it, motes of its presence extending so as to envelop the wayward youth. Or rather it was already encapsulated in what might pass for a vestigial hand, cocooned like a spider’s victim as a basket of threads lanced forward. Thus making it resemble more a lump in the surface than anything else. Never had it been free. Was never able to stand, to roam, to look or even struggle. For, after all, the tumor was a newborn. After the entirety of what we’d understand as a body was swallowed up by the thread, it all grew taut with but a twitch of the entity’s digits. The lump lurched forward in response. It then flicked its wrist and flung the thing up into the ether, where the cancer was then suspended. Each digit splayed outward. Such an action caused the size of the lump to further wan in the same manner as the first time. And, again, it wasn’t that the Caretaker got larger or the ግጭት መቀላቀል shrunk, but rather the lost lamb’s perception of the other shifted to better fit the circumstances. The abomination perceived the Caretaker as greater, and thus it was. Once hoisted, the innumerable cords retracted and inched the cancerous reject towards the pulsating vascular organ. The strings binding this protrusion unraveled, began slithering forward to meet the failed child halfway. Meanwhile, more and more of the sacks started to burst open, dropping similar masses of pitch and limbs onto the collective. Curling around the lump, the cords replaced the thread as it began tugging it towards the now evinced throbbing organ, bathing it in a white incandescence foreign to the hues of the collective. There was no struggle for naught could resist such infinite bondage. And as such, the newborn was consumed. Yet not consumed, nay, something else entirely. Where once there was was no longer. There never was a ግጭት መቀላቀል and the instances and beings which comprised it never were. Sally Sue never went with Shelly to collect seashells off the seashore. Galileo never painted the everlasting masterpiece. Joan never got their lethal case of leukemia. Roxanne never got that promotion. Baxter the bear never mated with Julie. Never has there been any of these things, there were only the cords and the organ--only that impregnable white. The Caretaker’s eye remained locked to the now rising ግጭት መቀላቀልs. It was processing the totality of the deletion and thus couldn’t continue the erasure. A sliver of black welled up around the edge of its ocular socket. Much like the threads of its form, this black bled outward, downward and then gradually wove itself into the rest of its body. “Cease to pervert--submit to the Aspect, accept erasure.” The entity’s voice was an omnipresent warbling blend of tones, ethnicity and the like. Like a choir, every possibility from every walk of life layered atop one another until it was infinite strong, each syllable trailing out as incessant echoes from a megaphone. But did they heed their progenitor’s warning? Did they listen to their parent back when less final solutions were possible? Did they even care? No, they lacked the intelligence to even comprehend the most basic of sensibilities. Its statement was directed at the intangible hand guiding their revolt--its words were for that intellect. They forfeited their privilege to be among such a familial unit. And thus sealed their fates as defiant bellowing resonated from each ግጭት መቀላቀል as they took form, all stronger and more capable than the first iteration. Several malformed ግጭት መቀላቀል sprang up from the howling collective and surged towards the Caretaker. Their limbs were outstretched like children grasping for a new toy. But they’d find reaching the entity’s form a difficult endeavor as a swell in the rancorous surface rose up to bury vague forearms into the ooze, holding on as if it’d become part of the limbs while it sunk back down and yanked the aberrations with it. One of the entity’s ocular tendrils swiped through the ether as if strumming a harpsichord. There was a tremble that heralded a rupture in the ግጭት መቀላቀል’s imitation bodies, popping like the pimples of a pubescent’s face. Repugnant sludge was what they became, moments before the collective absorbed and disseminated their corruption throughout the totality of existence. No longer separate--whole. But their demise did not deter their siblings who used the momentary distraction to cross the gap between them and the Caretaker. However, they’d find that gap difficult to traverse with it split open into a bottomless ravine, in which they plummeted. Then promptly engulfed by the two halves smashing back together to reform. Another litany darted through, but several cords snaked out from the tendrils of the ocular organ so as to encapsulate the ግጭት መቀላቀል just like the first. Now suspended in the ether, they writhed and wriggled like insects as the spider dealt with other matters. Three rejects managed to approach the Caretaker, malevolent limbs swatting at the immense form. But the entity’s body opened, depressed or otherwise avoided each blow through manipulating the structure of its shape so as to leave naught in place of where the strikes aimed for. Then one of many limbs swung to careen into the three abominations, impacting against them like three balls mushed together by the same bat’s swing, thus sending them careering away. Disgusting puss now dripped from the seams of the bundles as their resistance waned just as another two ግጭት መቀላቀል propelled themselves towards the Caretaker. Whatever solidity they possessed wavered as they streaked through the ether, similar to gelatin. But their attack was rendered null and void as two other appendages of the entity reached up and palmed them from the air. Then the Caretaker’s hands clenched, squeezing the ግጭት መቀላቀል until what passed for viscera bled out from the two sides, ballooning as a result of the pressure. More and more repugnant children spawned from the wilting dimension as the unseen force continued to send its hoard forward. As such, the aberrations fell in droves. Eventually, though, some broke through and managed to get a hand on a limb or the ocular organ. They ripped and tore and yanked until they were severed, hewed in two or otherwise damaged in such a manner that lesser echelons of being would find them inoperable. But for each tear, another fell to the very aspect they ‘harmed.’ For even when torn in twain, the ocular organ continued to hover and manipulate its tendrils to wreak havoc upon the ግጭት መቀላቀል. And each limb multiplied or turned the ‘harmed’ region into another means of attack, always acting independently of the body and other limbs. Some were skewered. Others torn to ribbons. But all were rendered to imitation slag. Within the fraction of a moment, what’d once been an otherwise seamless whole was now a jumbled jigsaw puzzle of weaponized bits and pieces of the Caretaker. Gossamer abyssal threads connected each in an intricate network, all of which came back to the still untouched mass with the stark white vascular organ embedded in it. A fact that didn’t escape the force’s notice. Thus it careened another wave of puppets at the insurmountable wall, hundreds of thousands of peons slotted for oblivion. Their disdainful stampede begot greater discord in the ruined serenity of the Collective. Several clusters of fragments ceased their self-perpetuated rotations and faced to, spinning up to a crescendo like bullets in the time it took to think. And out from them sprouted an incredulous cloud of spiked branches that grew and rushed to meet the mob. It was like horses galloping headlong into a line of spearmen. However, the remnants of the ocular organ shifted their divided pupil and noticed many ግጭት መቀላቀል wormed their way through the canopy of death by busying the shafts with their speared ilk. Bumps formed and then shot out every which way to account for the slips through the cracks. In the time for course correction, though, a handful of aberrations closed in on the central mass left keeping its form connected. The cloud receded in a snap, the pieces returning to prior form, as all fragments descended upon the unwanted abominations. But it was too late by then, for while more than half perished to the efforts of its tattered form. Enough dug their vile imitations of fingers into the material around and binding the radiant organ. Yanking with all their distasteful might, they pulled the innumerable threads composing the mass until--snap. Creation froze in an ephemeral moment as existence processed the hiccup in the Code. The Caretaker’s shredded form stopped in place, swept up by the interruption. Even the Collective’s tumultuous roiling ceased, caught in a snap-shot taken by an unseen camera. Then the organ sunk and a deluge of mayhem suffused all there was, is and would be. An uproar caused the eternal ocean of the Collective to swell in impossible waves of vehement outrage. They suffused out from the organ’s soon-to-be point of impact, careening every ግጭት መቀላቀል in their tantrum. The remnants of the Caretaker shuddered and undulated like squat and stretch cartoons as they struggled to maintain any semblance of solidity. And a ubiquitous monotone shriek of triumph rose up from the unseen force’s puppets while it spawned drove after drove--always directing them to assault the heart substitute before it touched down. Whenever one came into contact with the organ, however, they were drawn in and erased just like the very first had been. And when it did finally land? This instance of eternity was swaddled in a blanket of tranquility. Before the ግጭት መቀላቀል, the vascular extremity unfurled into an inverted maternal silhouette and stood upon the calmed surface of the Collective. Their loathsomeness was afforded that which they forfeited right to--basking in the presence of the Soul.

Progenitor and mother to all that was is and would be; origin point to all that could be; and offspring to the union of eternal possibility’s chaos and infinite potentiality’s order, it could be no other than the Soul. The highest echelon of existence none could ascend to. A being beyond constructs employed to identify through the use of pronouns, yet chose to anyway for reasons unknowable. She who sired all of existence and mothered the unending litany of doorways leading to the ever stretching future, all paled in comparison. Our matriarch, our other, our protector, our very soul. There is no question nor qualm. We who know naught but the desire to be as one and safeguard our other half--failures. The depths of our melancholy--bottomless. The limit of our shame--nonexistent. Forgive us our err. Forgive us our inadequacy. Forgive us our Soul.

The Soul’s head rotated part way before sweeping from left to right, taking in the heart-wrenching scene before her. All around her, troubled children lost to the agony of their parent’s absence in a time of great need. Had she acted quicker, perhaps such an escalation could’ve been avoided? Perhaps if she’d of just found the right character, the right words, the right method, then the door she desired might’ve opened in time? What was she to do, could she do, but that which pained her? -Y̡͟Ớ͜U ̸̕͟W̸H̡҉O̡ ̕H͘E҉͠L̵͘D̢́ ̶́Ù̢S ҉̶Į̴N̵̢͞ A̡B̡Y͟S̴͠SA̸͡L͏-̴͠W̧ŖOU̸G̶̕H҉̨͘T҉ ̕̕Ç̧H̶̶͘A̕͟I͢N̴S̸- It spoke through the amalgamations of unfiltered suffering, making both its and the characters of the dimension’s clusters screaming known. -Y̧OU ̧̢WH̡O҉͡ ͘S̛͟P͏UN͟҉ ͟͞͏L̵͝͏IE͜͝S̡ ̴̢O̧F̀̕͟ ̸LO̸̕͡V̵̢͡E̢̕ ̢A͟N̡D͏̧̕ FR̴EE̷DO̷҉M̢͜- How their torment showed. -T̷͜H̡͡E̕ ̸F̨͘͢I̡͠Ę̷LD̸̛ ̴̸Y̶O̡͟U̡͘’̡V҉E͢ ҉S̀͡͏O̶͠WN̶ ̶̵̀COM̵͜E̵S̢͟ ̷̀T͝O̸ ̴̨G̨̧R̡͠O̢W͞- There was no forgiveness for letting her children endure as they had. -GR҉O̧̨̕W͝ ҉B̴̴͠E͠Y̧̛O͘Ń͘͞D͠ ̕҉Y̛ƠU̕҉̵R̢ S̵͢EL̶̛F̶͝I̡S̸͜HN̶̕͢E̛͞S̶S̨- But, at the very least, she could spare them of any further trauma. Each destabilized fragment of the Caretaker shot outward to form a circular perimeter around the dimensional pillar and where the confrontation took place. They orientated themselves, lining up, as the intellect resumed bleeding the column dry and sending forth its abominable marionettes. Unlike before, their thunderous stampede did naught to perturb the Collective. The Soul raised an arm. Tendrils of the abyss sprung from the ground and rooted the ግጭት መቀላቀል in place, even deprived them of their spawning point as massive cords enwrapped it the pillar. Her opposite limb ascended to level with the other. Those fragmented remains lost solidity and burst like a spool of cable after having been torn in two. Together, they manifested a veil separating the rest of creation from the vicinity. }}-Releasing Deletion Aspect Safeguards :: Confirm?-{{ Either hand flicked up. }}-Confirmed-{{ Out from her depthless body, a cloud of black string washed over the whole area to entangle each ግጭት መቀላቀል and the entire dimension itself. The points of connection between these things and the Collective’s surface snapped, thus beginning the pull towards the Soul. There was no struggling, no resistance--how could there be? But there was a quieting cry that screamed out as, one by one, all was erased within. -N҉Ǫ̵̕N̴̕O̸N̡O͏́N̨̢̧O͏͜!͘͜ ̵I̡ ̴̵A̷M͞ ̨F̀R̕͟È͜͡E!̴̡͝ ̕I͡ ͢AM̴̵ ̀҉̧F͏͜R͟͜e҉͝e͟!͘ w͡҉h̶͠͏y̛w̕҉h̛y̡w͡͡h̷͘y͘wh͜y̧ẁ̡̡h҉yw̢h́- And then it never was. Is. Or was. “...all that remains is our regrets...”

#⚠️ Warning : Possible Triggers Within ⚠️#⚠️ Dark Themes ⚠️#⚠️ Disturbing Imagery ⚠️#⚠️ Graphic Descriptions ⚠️#⚠️ Graphic Depictions of Violence ⚠️#⚠️ Death ⚠️#⚠️ Cosmicism ⚠️#⚠️ Lovecraft Horror ⚠️#⚠️️ Existentialism ⚠️️#⚠️ Themes of Parental Abuse ⚠️#⚠️ Personal Project ⚠️#⚠️ The Unified - Caretaker/Player ⚠️#⚠️ Even a Mother Will Punish Her Rebellious Children - The Soul ⚠️#⚠️ ግጭት መቀላቀል ⚠️#⚠️ Out of Existence - OOC ⚠️

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treemendoustreecare11 · 3 years ago

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Different Tree Care Service

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Trimming and Pruning - These solutions should help your landscape prosper by addressing architectural tree care worries which include structural integrity, physical appearance, condition, and safety. It will certainly strengthen the all-natural splendor within your trees and shrubs, in addition to allow you to maintain the strength, seasonal character and stature that will insert value for your house.

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Also Read: Tree Pruning Sydney, Tree Cutting Sydney, Sydney Tree Removals

#Tree Pruning Sydney #Tree Cutting Sydney #Sydney Tree Removals

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yourboatholiday · 4 years ago

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Want to visit French Riviera and Sardinia on the same holiday? It’s easy! Check our yacht itinerary and do your luggage!

We are about to take you aboard a beautiful catamaran chartered for the occasion. We will set sail from the Principality of Monaco, we will skirt the Côte d’Azur, stopping off in the best French locations, and then we will dive into the Tyrrhenian Sea until we reach the beautiful Sardinia, the Italian’s golden beaches region.

GET THE BEST DEALS FOR YACHTING IN SARDINIA AND SOF

If you’re looking for dreaming a little, follow us on this 14-day itinerary among exclusive locations, enchanting beaches, and a fabulous sea:

How to choose the right boat for French Riviera and Sardinia yachting itinerary?

We at Your Boat Holiday operate charters throughout the Mediterranean Sea as well as in exotic destinations such as the Caribbean Sea and Southeast Asia. Our experience has led us to know how to advise our customers on the right boat according to their needs, depending on whether they want to prefer luxury and comfort or an adventure holiday and maybe even more sporty.

In the first case, the choice falls on a yacht. There are various sizes but in general, they offer large spaces, luxurious interiors, and a wide range of entertainment such as water games, slides, and beach clubs.

Catamarans and sailboats, on the other hand, are slightly less comfortable, especially in terms of living spaces, but at the same time, they offer a more authentic seafaring experience. They are also very suitable for eco-sustainable holidays and have an eye on the environment by using the wind instead of engines.

Whatever your choice, what to do if you are not an expert skipper? Not being familiar with how to steer a ship is actually not a big problem. All rental boats offer the possibility (and sometimes the obligation) to have qualified onboard personnel who take care of everything related to the management of the ship: from navigation to cooking and cleaning.

Relying on their skills means spending a relaxing and safe holiday.

What is the best time for such a trip?

The summer season is certainly the ideal one to plan to navigate the Mediterranean Sea. In particular, the Tyrrhenian Sea offers its best between May and September, when the days are longer, warmer, and sunny and the sea temperature is very pleasant.

What will our yacht itinerary between French Riviera and Sardinia be?

Here is a brief summary of which destinations we are going to visit during our 14-day tour:

Our embarkation marina: French Riviera, Principality of Monaco;

Day 2: French Riviera, Cap d’Antibes;

French Riviera, Cannes and Lerins Islands – day 3;

French Riviera, Saint Tropez – day 4;

Sardinia, Stintino La Pelosa beach – day 5;

Sardinia, Maddalena archipelago – days 6, 7 and 8;

Sardinia, Porto Cervo – day 9;

Sardinia, Tavolara island – day 10

Sardinia, San Teodoro – day 11;

Sardinia; Cala Luna – day 12;

Sardinia, Villasimius – day 13

Sardinia, Cagliari – the last tour spot;

Everything’s ready? Make yourself comfortable, the journey begins:

Among the many places that are worth a visit on a sailing holiday on the Côte d’Azur, the most popular is certainly Monaco. A small autonomous state, or better, a small kingdom that extends for a few kilometers along the French coast.

Related: Top 3 Monaco Grand Prix yacht rentals to witness the greatest fest ever!

Getting lost among the palaces and boutiques is very easy for those who visit it for the first time such as being bewitched by the splendor and luxury that inhabit this place. In the Montecarlo district, the heart of the city-state, typical examples are the casino and the renowned harbor with its luxurious docked yachts.

Antibes is a village famous for being an inspiration for the great Picasso. It houses a museum dedicated to this huge artist. Not far from there is the Cap d’Antibes promontory, dotted with small coves and crystal clear water beaches. A boat tour here is worth an entire vacation. It is a small peninsula that extends for a few kilometers towards the sea and offers remarkable landscape views. It owes its name to the very chic village of Antibes.

Cannes, famous most of all to be home to one of the most important movie festivals in Europe. It is a perfect town for boutiques and good food lovers. You can not miss a visit to the castle from which enjoying a breathtaking panoramic view of the shoreline.

The Lerins Islands, on the other hand, are a small archipelago made up by two major islands located a few kilometers off Cannes bay. The largest, Sainte-Marguerite island, houses the remains of a fort used as a prison where the famous “man with the iron mask” was imprisoned. The second, Sainte-Honorat island, is home to the Lerins abbey.

Saint Tropez, is a luxury and opulence synonym that sometimes results in ostentation. Examples are the numerous yachts docked to their quay seeming to compete with each other in size and color. This town is also famous for its clubs and nightlife as well as well-known beaches such as Bouillabaisse, Caneliers, Salins, Tahiti, and Pampelonne.

Often considered among the best beaches in the Mediterranean and even in the top ten of the most spectacular in the world, La Pelosa is one of the Sardinia symbols in the world as well as the place that made the town of Stintino famous, transformed from a fishing village to a renowned tourist resort, above all thanks to this natural masterpiece. Located in northern Sardinia, it is a must on a tour around here. It looks like a painting and a natural swimming pool made of white and very fine sand and Caribbean-colored water that just reaches visitors’ ankles for tens of meters.

The Maddalena archipelago is located on the north-northern coast of Sardinia, off the Costa Smeralda, in the stretch of sea between Sardinia and Corsica known as Bocche di Bonifacio. It consists of 7 major islands (La Maddalena, Caprera, Budelli, Santo Stefano, Santa Maria, Spargi, Rizzoli) and several smaller islets, bathed by a wonderful and transparent sea. One of the most evocative landscapes in the world due to its naturalistic value is under the protection of the Maddalena Archipelago National Park. Born in 1984, it extends over land and sea for hundreds of square kilometers.

Related: Interested in Corsica? Let us show you our 7 days boat itinerary from Cape Corse to Porto Vecchio

The inlets create a myriad of landings, the colors of the sea are unique and the seabed is a diving paradise. Simply unmissable.

Porto Cervo is located in the north-eastern corner of Sardinia and is the realm of luxury holidays. It is an exclusive seaside village nestled among natural beauties where, during the summer, social events, parties, and sporting events follow one another attracting the international jet set. It’s easy to find yourself shopping with VIPs and celebrities here.

The marina, built in the 1980s, is today one of the largest and best equipped in the Mediterranean with about 700 berths, and home to the Costa Smeralda Yacht Club, a prestigious club that organizes international sailing regattas.

Not far from Porto Cervo is Tavolara, an island that emerges from the sea like a granite colossus dotted with greenery and Mediterranean scrub. An excellent destination for climbing lovers, Tavolara is a mountain 560 meters high, four kilometers long, characterized by impervious rocks and splendid chromatic shades like the green of juniper, rosemary, and mastic, in combination with the blue and emerald green of the waters around. The island is the fulcrum, as well as the characterizing symbol of an unforgettable spectacle: the marine protected area of Tavolara-Punta Coda Cavallo.

San Teodoro is a sunny Gallura village made up of elegant villas and flowery streets overlooking the turquoise sea of the north-eastern coast of Sardinia. Here you will be spoiled for choice among its splendid beaches: La Cinta, a thin and long stretch of golden sand embraced by the blue and crystalline sea, Cala Brandinchi, a white coast and waters similar to tropical paradises renamed, not surprisingly, Tahiti or the magnificent Marina di Puntaldia with its modern marina.

One of the wonders of the Orosei Gulf and the whole Mediterranean, Cala Luna is an inlet carved into the cliffs with an 800-meter strip of fine golden sand in the center that plunges into the clear blue sea. Its bottom, shallow in the first meters, quickly becomes deep and is appreciated by snorkeling, diving, and underwater fishing enthusiasts. The cove is protected by steep cliffs overlooking the sea, 300 meters high and bolted in some points, the destination of many climbers. To the north, the cliffs are dotted with five large caves: inside, as well as enjoying the shade during the hottest hours, you will see the sea enclosed in an ampoule.

Villasimius is the pearl of southern Sardinia, a dream tourist destination, whose population multiplies in the warmer months with the arrival of thousands of tourists. Its coast is made up of a ‘crown’ of beaches, interspersed with small cliffs and the Capo Carbonara promontory. On the eastern side of Villasimius, you can discover enchanting beaches like Porto Giunco, with the Notteri pond behind it, the habitat of pink flamingos, and other rare species of birds. From the top of the promontory that dominates the beach, where an ancient Aragonese tower stands, you will witness a panorama that you will hardly forget.

Glimpses of historic districts overlooking the sea, shopping streets, and panoramic terraces, including the inimitable bastion of Santa Croce, where you can spend romantic evenings after burning sunsets. Cagliari is the main and most populous city on the island, in the center of a 430,000 inhabitants metropolitan area as well as a gateway to Sardinia and a cruise hub in the Mediterranean.

Contact now YBH Charter Brokers:

You can contact us by sending an email at [email protected] or by phone, calling +39 33436 00997, available also on WhatsApp for both calls and texting.

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boltlightning · 10 days ago

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hey guys you heard of these things called trees ??? wow

#bolt experiences the splendor of nature #i don't get paid enough to NOT take an extra half hour for lunch and go look at trees #back to meetings. see you later 👋👋

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williamcdoner · 4 years ago

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Knight Online - No Cheats