#reliving elegy

[guysullivan]

Some sketches of my fellas, Keane Allen (Left) and Omen (Right); courtesy of @yagamimi-aka-mimi courtesy is a strong term

[the-storm-chaser]

Tarrence - Crying Lightning

//Interesting choice!

[reliving-elegy]

Indomitable

Saren chose us to know their experience as our own- But we failed to grasp its veracity. Ancient wisdom spoken in a forked, foreign tongue. Truth; reforged to a crude understanding.

Even knowing it was misshapen, we demanded arbitration. Even so twisted, the knowledge we'd been gifted was inspiring. But no honest man is flawless. No mortal could uphold the spirit of the text without sacrificing our familial word, and becoming as the enemy. Attaining an immortal soul. Becoming less than human.

Saren, our righteous shepherd, tells that the apex of life is conflict. To fight in the name of faith, and peace, and goodness. To never cease until the world reflects these virtues, Is the purest, noblest form of existence. In this way, to make war is to embrace mortality.

I do not make war. I destroy it. I do not fight in the name of faith, or peace, or goodness. I would not tarnish these words through my voice. I would not disgrace them with my actions.

By following the word not to what is written, but to what is meant, I have become an inextant abomination. Unworthy of salvation, Yet tasked to seek it within fragmented eternity, That others may trace my errant steps and find release.

I am bound to no God, but the one found in me. I have no kin, and deserve none. I have no mission beyond what is given. My loyalty is meaningless, for I seek no victory- Merely an end to suffering.

I swear fealty only to my name: Lord of Traitors.

(Artwork by Oak Sentinel)

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

Understanding.

Word Association Game

"Wisdom."

[catastrophicalcat]

i love this season of WFA, don't get me wrong. but i do kind of wish it explored other conflicts than just Bat-fam members and Bruce. There are like 20 characters, it can't be that the only person with whom they have issues is Bruce!

[theladyofterror]

A knock at the door.

Cairn had been busy cleaning up the last of the mess that her brothers had made while they were over when she heard the knock. She wasn't... Expecting any more company for the night, but she decided to open the door anyways, just to see who it was.

[harbingers-almanac]

"WE'RE BACK, BITCHES."

"I cannot believe we're back to this."

"SO BACK, KEANE. IMAGINE HOW MUCH WE CAN ACCOMPLISH."

"I am in hell."

"Nonsense. This is far more entertaining than an eternity aflame. Open your mind!"

"I hATE. It. HATE IT. I HATE- IT."

"Quiet down and accept your fate, dimwit; we have visitors to entertain."

(Splitting Reliving Elegy's more story-centric drabbles from traditional RP. Per the norm, Keane is standard, Omen is italicized.)

[pvremichigan]

The official voice of "Caine". All credit with writing and voice acting goes to the very lovely and wonderful and talented @guysullivan / @reliving-elegy

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oh oh, and 26 (Helpless/Motionless/Paralyzed) for anyone who hasn't been plinko'd enough

golodir has most definitely been plinko'd plenty, but this idea was sitting in my head for weeks (and was uncooperative about going into words) so! golodir's no good angmar palantimeloop (more or less)

If he is asked, later, how long he spent in Angmar, he has two answers: the span of dates, and the number of days he lived. The first is easy. He doesn’t tell people the second.

Those skilled with a palantír, he learns, can show many things that might be beside those that are. Sometimes they can show the past, or the might-have-passed.

Mordirith wants his surrender, but Golodir will not let him have it. Not ever. No matter how many times he is brought before the palantír. No matter how many times he relives it. He is brought before the seeing-stone, and he sees:

They come to the Rammas Deluon. The Watchers crush the first ones through. Lorniel and Elegys die beside him.

They come to the Rammas Deluon. The Watchers begin to crush them. Corunir runs after them, and the Watchers crush him, too.

They come to the Rammas Deluon. They turn back. (Angmar overruns the North)

They come to the Rammas Deluon. They bring a captured siege weapon and smash the Watchers to pieces. (They don’t shatter every stone-heart)

They come to the Rammas Deluon. Nothing happens. (Golodir is still captured only weeks later)

They come to the Rammas Deluon. They drive the goblins of the swamp before them, daring whatever presence waits in the stones to turn against their own. The Watchers do not care who they crush.

“Enough of this,” Golodir says. “Surely this isn’t all you have to show me.” (It’s not. Mordirith does so enjoy it, though)

They come to the Rammas Deluon. It works not as a weight but as a prison, and many more than just Golodir are taken into Carn Dûm.

They come to the Rammas Deluon.

(Sometimes, Gath Forthnír is revealed)

(Sometimes, the things of Imlad Balchorth find them)

(Sometimes, rescue comes even to the gates of Carn Dûm- but no further)

“Look into the palantír, Golodir,” the False King commands. “Tell me what you see.”

A stranger comes to the Rammas Deluon.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

I haven’t read this section of Feeding Habits in probably 3 years & tell me how I wrote ALLLL of this before I watched Hannibal

The confessional smells rank, like rotting paper and expired cologne, its corners seedy with overuse. Scratches mar the fabric he rests his elbows on, like someone clawed into it while reliving their sins, track marks on the floor from a rainy day. He can’t imagine anyone else but him in this small box, caged in by the lattice, mumbling incoherent sins to the priest he hasn’t even committed. Stealing a set of glass eyeballs from a garage sale. Forgetting his wedding anniversary. Missing Easter Sunday mass to go whale watching. He doesn’t sign himself at the right times or speak at the right times or thank the priest at the right times. He lies when he’s asked if he’s lied since his last confession. He mentions nothing of drinking with Anya, of not saving the sheep or the bunnies even though he knew the outcome of their lives without finishing the program. Of being a wicked child, of knowing wicked children, of not knowing the difference between wickedness and innocence, and which one he learned first. He says his name is Luka. He works at a law firm. He’s married to a Harriet, a seamstress or a stock broker or an antiques trader—he doesn’t know. He likes golfing, parcheesi, drinking martinis on yachts. He’s never overindulged, he’s loyal to his woman, he wants three kids and a house with finished floors and no neighbours. He’s a good father, a gentle father, a careful father, no wickedness, just an empty shell of goodness, like a father should be. His father is retired, and visits him on weekends—they play checkers, paint birdhouses, keep a distance but toast with spirits he can’t pronounce. Everything is good—it’s all good, all good. That’s not a sin, the priest should say but they laugh—it’s good to be good. Children are good, marriage is good, fathers are good, everything an iteration of good. By the time his confession is over and he’s well on his way out of the church mumbling I am heartily sorry, he believes his lies are true—he’s absolved into someone new, Luka married to Harriet, three kids, an empty shell, dreamily stumbling through a house with finished floors that’s actually just the sidewalk until a woman passing by with two small children has to help him sit on the curb.

She asks if he needs something to drink, if he needs someone to call, and emerges with a half-empty bottle of sparkling water and a cell phone. She asks what’s wrong with his eye, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with anything—with eyes, with children, with sins, with confessions, with baptisms, with orange juice, with madeleines, with wickedness, with practicing how long he can breathe underwater because he knows it’s possible just like walking on it.

One of the children, hair pulled into two plaits secured with pearlescent butterflies, pokes at her mother and asks if he’s crazy. Her mother shushes her at the same time her older sister shows him a cool trick she learned with a toy convertible. Its wheels whir. Lonan gasps. The girl says, “Even crazy people think I’m gifted,” and wheels the car again. People stop to watch. Church bells gong an elegy he’s sure he’s heard before. The woman’s sparkling water dribbles from his mouth and dampens his dress shirt. Sun eclipses his face and eats at his throat like a parasite, like it knows all the unclean things about him, a watcher, an eyeball, a scorching little thing that bullets through his neck like the tooth of a wolf. The woman shushes her children and asks if he’s got a health problem, a drug problem, any problem, and he could say yes to all three but instead keeps repeating I am heartily sorry, I am heartily sorry. And when she does call someone, no one he knows, he leans against the cool pavement, cranes his neck to the sky, and parts his lips so the sunlight fills his mouth.

[pg--animation]

In The Language of Flowers for @reliving-elegy

Arrog - Columbine

Vgen link

[guysullivan]

Compiled a number of artworks I've commissioned over the past couple of years. Still quite a few missing, but recovering the remainder will take time.

[the-storm-chaser]

Tarrance recounts his many near-death experiences (sketchies!)

//The UNREASONABLY LARGE MAN EATING BADGER was the most notible one

[reliving-elegy]

Recursion

Easy not to take responsibility for suffering, when you distract others from its origin.

Easy enough to fall on the blade, when old wounds leave open passages.

Easy to speak as though tomorrow never comes, when you refuse to see the moon pass overhead.

Easy for you to say you're sorry, when you don't remember the feeling.

But I will make you remember.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

🎶 (Dealer's choice of muse, friend)

Music For Your Muse!

Omen--The Black Omen, The Disillusioned. This man is so INTERESTING to me?! I absolutely adore morally gray, teetering into darker, characters, and I'd love to do a case study on his head. His disquisitive way of digging into other muses marks him as incredibly intelligent in my books, and I'm really curious about why blonde bastard man hates virtues so much--does he find they weaken those around him? HOW did he become immortal? Was he just..made that way? On a scale of 1 to 10 how powerful is he? He SEEMS like he's hiding something intense--but at the same time he's just...?! Intimidating?! I NEED ANSWERS.

Hellfire--Barns Courtney

Hunt You Down-- The Hit House feat. Ruby Friedman

The Postman Always Rings Twice--Jazz at the Movies Band (I can see him walking down an alleyway at night smoking a cigarette to this? The vibes) ______________________________________________________

Saldian-- INVULNA, Grand Seer, Beyonder (Bonus song because his design reminds me immensely of cosmic horror and I immediately thought of this:

Annihilation-- Ben Salisbury & Geoff Barrow 

[smokes-and-bullets]

✧ ── 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍.

STOLEN FROM: @reliving-elegy and @pvremichigan

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have?

He came to me long ago with out a name and just sort of just developed and went from there? A lot changed from how he started out to now as well, still changing but with more structure than before. A lot of influence and inspiration did come from older and some recent mafia films.

is there anything you don’t like to write?

Smut isn't something I'm overtly fond of or even good at, it feels awkward. Would rather fade to black if anything.

is there anything you really enjoy writing?

Angst that leads to something or developmental, not for the sake of angst usually followed up with fluff or something calm. Fluff as well overall, could be something casual too, anything really.

how do you come up with headcanons?

It has to correlate to my OC so If something comes up I think is this fitting to him or just something random. I don't want to do random, a headcanon has to make sense to the character. Sometimes it would be something I see in film or hear in song and think does this fit him. I don't want to derive off from who he is.

do you write in silence or do you play music?

Sometimes silence, sometimes music. Depends on my mood in the moment if I want music or not.

do you plan your replies or wing them?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no, depends on what it is. If its something simple its easier to wing, if not then I have to plan them. It really depends.

do you enjoy shipping?

I enjoy it! Doesn't happen often but I do like shipping! The build up that leads to it happening and what comes after. Slow burn, slow to realize, just the process and development of it and the fluff after.

what’s your alias/name?

Nemi or Neyra. Most know me by Nemi though.

age?

278, American Revolution was a trip

birthday?

11/11/1745

favorite color?

Red, cobalt blue and purple!

favorite song?

Uhhhhhh can anyone really pick one favorite song?

last movie you watched?

X-Men 2

last show you watched?

Supernatural with @reliving-elegy and @pvremichigan

last song you listened to?

Running With the Wolves by Aurora

favorite food? Sushi! Anything seafood really.

favorite season? Winter and spring, the change in weather from cold to not so cold. Where I'm at it's not much change but you can smell it in the air.

do you have a Tumblr best friend? @pvremichigan is bestie! Ride or die! Love you!

Tagging: Take it!