#forsaken lands

[flame-shadow]

Forsaken Lands Bug Fables NPC Collab [16/23]

Background - samy00000008 Editor - @flame-shadow

Character Credits Patton - @schematikart False Monarch - lordbob False Citizen 1 - @deadofreddo False Citizen 2 - @schematikart False Citizen 3 - @flame-shadow False Citizen 4 - @milatheartsy

[click here to see the entire collection]

[sincerely-sofie]

What if the lamb and narinder swapped places?

BEHOLD: Narilamb but make it vaguely Wind Waker / Ponyo and even more tragic.

[part-time-deranged]

i have an. unquenchable. need. to look like Michael Sheen in Wilde (1997).

Look at him. Bitch. Bastard. I hate him. I am obsessed with him. I am in a prison of my own creation

[rmelster]

WIP: 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑺𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑵.

He died more years ago that those he can care to recount; no longer does he remembers who he was, when did he lived, and who he loved. The only trace of his forgotten existence is a name carved in the surface of a gravestone: Ichabod. He should have died in the shore, and yet, he lived, despoiled of any memory or human warmth, empty, dull, silent. A wanderer in his own life, Heathcliff Peveren returns to the village where he was born to find who he was.

When Ichabod realised that the young man is the only one who still sees him, they embark themselves in a quest for memory that will tangle them in the web of the supernatural, mystery and love.

I summon here @lordbettany and @theboarsbride

[redemn]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ so , you still ain't replaced boadicea ? ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ nah . i miss her , she was quite a horse .

╰ ゜YOU'RE A GOOD MAN .  /  𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜 .

[glow-and-vamp]

I'm curious and nostalgic, so if you would all please, reblog this and say in the tags what game rewired your brain when you were a child and how old you were when you experienced it

Like actively put you on this path in life you're on now

[thunderjawsandlightning]

Niloy November - Day 3: Fire

"Not my first firestorm", he'd told her, amidst the flaming buildings of Meridian Village and the Royal Maizelands. Behind him, the fire was raging – thatched-roof buildings going up in a crackle, upright timbers shivering beneath the roar of the flames, spitting embers that were crushed underfoot by both devil-machines and men.  Aloy gave pause for a moment, letting loose an arrow into the breast of the Longleg, before Nil stabbed into its wing-vents, downing the machine.  Shouting at her to go on ahead, to the path that called her further forward– and then she was gone, her hair whipping behind her, a wave of red disappearing into the fire.  The inferno was almost a beast unto itself, the heat whipping up gusts of air that prickled Nil’s skin and searing his eyelids as his eyes whipped around the battlefield, ever alert for a new enemy.  

The last time he'd been in a blaze this fierce, the sky had been choked black with smoke; the air filled with screams and war-cries of Nora Braves, and the clattering crash of a Carja gong and the sonorous call of a war-horn to signal maneuvers to the soldiers rushing down into the fray.  As the tall grasses and the triangle-shaped huts burnt in such a fury that made even the rocks ripple in waves, Nil could vaguely recall standing at the base of the ridge, the heat wafting up and licking across his face and snaking over his armour.  It was his first time in foreign lands, and the excitement and fervor of the skirmish began to take hold in his body.  The blood pounding in his ears, so loud it seemed to drown out the roar of the fires; a keening cry in his veins to stab-slash-parry-cut as Nora warriors emerged from the smoke with clubs and spears upraised.  

And after, in the calm and the quiet, Nil wiped his sword clean, seeing his own blood-spattered reflection in the blade.  As he stared at his own steely-eyed reflection, he became aware of a sound, reaching past the slowing, thundering tempo of his racing heart.  A ringing in his ears that would not stop, nor could the shivers that now washed over him quell the fire in his veins.  More, his body seemed to whisper to him.  More.

[sagechan]

my "I'm with the boomers on this one" gripe is that, when I go to the movie theater, famously a place that is supposed to be. dark. I should not be blinded by a 9-year-old playing Kim Kardashian Nail Salon on maximum fucking brightness right next to me. it's so awkward cuz that's not your chuld and you don't want to speak to/parent someone else's kid, but god the way i wanted to scream (at the parent, not the child) to at least turn down the brightness if the kid absolutely cannot get through a 2 hour movie without NEEDING to be on a phone. if you know your child can't go 5 minutes without whipping out the equivalent of looking into the fucking Sun, then don't bring them to the movie theater! which is a public place! where other people are trying to exist and enjoy a movie! and if you know your kid will be bored or disinterested by the fucking. Planet of the Apes movie. and will be on their phone the whole time. THEN WHY ARE YOU BRINGING THEM TO THAT MOVIE ANYWAY. WHERE I AM TRYING. TO SEE.

[lurxof--thxmaw]

*twirls hair* hiiiiiiiiii there lady

Another one.

The Lady does not bother to speak. She simply bows her head in acknowledgement ever so slightly in a proper, if annoyed, silent greeting.

[cashewally-sarcastic]

Brings you a joke from the Forsakened lands (Twitter)

Sndudbdhds incredible

[grennseyelashes]

Ohhh is GRRM doing a Cain and Abel thing with Euron and Aeron? Interesting. INTERESTING...

[flame-shadow]

Forsaken Lands [Abandoned Town] Bug Fables OC Collab [18/26]

Background - bee_on_a_screen (insta)

Character Credits:

Moffard - @czalserafino

Leo - AlphaMelody

Tree - @flame-shadow

Doss & Tuu - Hambreezy (drawn by Flame)

Bayonetta and Kite - Qiibo

Cryfly - @mouse-drawings

Dos - @trapitorag

[fatesown]

MARTEL TAG DROP

[mynameiseosson]

The Forsaken Land -  සුළඟ එනු පිණිස (2006), dir. Vimukthi Jayasundara

[rmelster]

𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑺𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑵.

Hear ye, @lordbettany !

𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑳𝑼𝑫𝑬:

1st January, 1887.

𝑯is first memory was the sea.

Violent tides were the ones that led him to the shore, where he rested for long moments, too deep in his agony to be aware of his surrounding, but they could well have dragged him to the seabed, an icy and dark crib where he would have lay until his last breath was lost among the waves, or against the black stumbling blocks, and the storm would have claimed yet another victim among so many of that accursed night. And Death was far from his agonising form, in that shore.

"God be blessed, there is a man!”

But it didn’t.

Hasty steps and the hazy light that emanated from an oil lamp got closer to that stretch of sand where he laid, half dead and too weak and wounded to hope of salvation. He could distinguish the water that soaked his float he’s to the slow, treacherous flow blood that snaked down his nape. He was almost sure that he was to be dead before those men could reach him.

Death tasted like salt and sand.

A group of men reached him and quickly took him away from the dying waves, placing him in a dry stretch of land under the watchful eye of an oil lamp. They held his head as he spat salty water and gasped for air, and then, slowly made him lay on his back.

"Who are you? What’s your name, man?” they asked him, but he remained silent, as if they sea had taken away his voice, his strength, his will.

They had to shake him to stop his silence, and when they did it, he finally opened his mouth to let out the most agonising of laments that a man could exhale.

He was terrified.

He could not remember nothing but the storm, the fire that devoured his ship, and the waves dragging him down, then up, capriciously, as he fought to not loose himself in the darkness…

“We have to bring this man to the town” one of the man uttered, standing up, before turning to him, “You have been lucky, whoever you are: You have been born again. Not a soul has survived the wreckage, but you.”

As the men raised him to bring him back to safety, he briefly turned to look at the wreckage of whom he had been the sole, unlucky survivor; the flames had died long ago and only a burnt skeleton cradled by the waves was left of the grave of many. He shuddered and, struck by a sudden sense of dread, he lost consciousness.

That day, the touch of death and the embrace of oblivion marred in Heathcliff Peveren what the tempest failed too.

[redemn]

ㅤㅤ[   …   ]    now ...   you are not going to rob me again ,   are you ? ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝    no !       i  …  i'm sorry ,   uh  …    ❞

╰ ゜YOU'RE A GOOD MAN .  /  𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜 .