29 posts
Azaraelaxelus - Azaraelaxelus - Tumblr Blog
hell yeah
dark ceramics by Jessica Harrison 🫀
i still have no soul
this is why i ever only idolize omnipotent eldritch beings who art beyond death
the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.
drawing i did like a month ago while in storm :>
i love them so much
And when we finally kill the gods neither hell nor heaven will be waiting for them because they created those to imprison us
i still need to get to the involuntary crying part but we're 2/3 of the way there less go
If listening to the amazing devil doesn’t give you goosebumps, shake you to your bones, and make tears involuntarily fall from your eyes you’re listening to them wrong
REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE
"Kill them with kindness" Wrong
i too must be fed or i will turn into the horror and the wild soon fr
i know madeleine and joey are COOKING with their album production right now so i'm TRYING to be patient but also. tad tad tad GIVE ME FOOD i need new music to gnaw on
just two beautiful boys who Hector has done nothing to
I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls I am in your walls i am in your walls i am in your walls
“All relationships have one law: never make the one you love feel alone, especially when you’re there.”
— Unknown
He has:
✔ Stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings
✔ Burned down the town of Trebon
✔ Spent the night with Felurian and left with both his sanity and his life
✔ Gotten expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in
✔ Trod paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day
✔ Talked to gods
✔ Loved women
✔ Made songs that made the minstrels weep
Bonus: you may have heard of him
What more could you need?
...okAy maybe he's a bit evil but he DIN'T BOINK THAT TREE. this is SLANDER and DEFAMATION!!
me: alright. i'm going to read more books this year. it's a resolution.
also me: *re-reads the Kingkiller Chronicle for the hundredth time while completely ignoring my TBF pile*
oops, reblogged
I might've added the BG3 Art Book to my dnd assets stash
It' 100% does not have things like the 5e players' handbook + 5e’s character sheet, several gm guides, critical role's explorer's guide to wildmount, baldur's gate and waterdeep city encounters, 101 potions and their effects, volo's guide to monsters, both of xanathar's guides, a bunch of other encounters, one shots, and class builds
In no way are there any pdf’s relating to any wizard who may or may not be residing on any coast
(Edit that I’ve moved the folder to the new link above! So if you catch a different version of this post that link won’t work anymore!)
IT WAS MAGICAL. HE DIDN'T F*CK THAT TREE. JASEROS VAR VONTOIS DID NOTHING WRONG.
Illien Etharinae, an Eladrin bard
DOS Fanfic: The Silent Swaying of Sorrowed Men
!! // TW: Suicide, Hanging
I saw a theory a while ago that the reason we don't have book 3 is because Kvothe is dead and never went downstairs to tell the third part. I combined this with the theory that the "one single, perfect step" was him walking off of something to end it all. You can still decide if this happens before or after he's told his final tale.
------
DAWN HAD ARRIVED. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
The most obvious part was a vast, echoing quiet made by things that were lacking. If its innkeeper had been awake, the smell of early noontime stew would have drawn the men of Newarre to the Waystone, their feet clattering upon the cold stone of the doorstep as they filled the inn with the clamor of amiable, hungry men. If there had been the barest hint of impatience, the innkeeper’s student would have ran up the stairs and knocked on his door and called on him with the cold banter of a man who could no longer wait. If there had been music . . . but no, of course there was no music. In fact, there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.
Inside the Waystone, a dark-haired man made his slow way up the stairs to his master’s room, moving with the confident caution of fearless men. His steps were steady and sure, hidden from the rest of the world and careful not to give too much away, slow and even more slowly set. In doing this, he added a small, fretted silence to the larger, more prominent one. They made a melody of sorts, making way for the song’s refrain.
The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it from the slow swaying of a knotted cord and the soundless waiting of a letter, safely tucked away. If you listened for longer, you would find it in the weight of a man’s mortality, hidden within his darkest chords, kept deep beyond the great stone doors of forgetting and finally laid to rest. And it was once in the heart and mind of that very same man who hanged there, rocking, swaying for the sweet embrace of memories never lost.
The man had true red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he remained there with the indifference of someone who had known and learned far too many things.
The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, holding the others inside itself, as firm as a single, perfect step. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was as heavy as a thrice-swallowed secret of the heart. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who could not wait to die.
Prince Etheldred Sol Rivallach of Alderthrain, the Heir to the Sunlit Throne and a wonderfully edgy minstrel who likes cake.
