#vermin rites

[vermin-disciple]

Bookbinding: A Stitch in Time

My mom has been hoping to get her hands on a hard copy of A Stitch in Time, which, as I'm sure most of you are aware, tends to be pricey if you can find it. (It's currently listed for ~$115 on eBay, and more expensive elsewhere.)

So, I decided to put my bookbinding skills to use and make her one for her birthday.

Notes on the design and construction:

The cover design was inspired by (or rather adapted from via considerable photoshopping) this book cover from 1901 that happened to cross my dashboard in a post with a bunch of other cool old book covers:

I created the Cardassian building silhouettes based on a screencap, and the DS9 silhouette is borrowed from the Niners logo. The orchid on the back cover emerging from the Obsidian Order logo is one I found in Cricut Design Space.

(Feel free to use these in your own projects, if you like.)

The bookcloth is by BOOKCRAFTSUPPLYCO on Etsy (dark green). The cover designs are HTV, Cricut Everyday Iron-On (black), Cricut Foil Iron-On (gold), and Vinyl Frog Metallic Foil (holographic silver). The Cardassian Union logos on the end pages were done using Cricut's foil transfer system (gold). The fonts on the cover are DS9 Title and DS9 Credits from st-minutiae.com.

[yugiohz]

dabihawks yuri >>>>> dabihawks yaoi because you know damn well they wouldn't ignore all of the weird implications if they were women.... one thing about 23yo women we're gonna mention your mental illnesses and your weird attachment to an older man and how your mother and your anxious attachment are the cause of that (&your receding hairline)

[formerly-wraith-caller]

Fia's ending is not the restoration of a natural death : a theory

There are plenty of confusing things going on in the Elden Ring lore. Given that we learn it piecemeal through dialog, cut scenes,, and various item descriptions, it's understandable that we don't all end up with the same interpretation of what's happening. One thing I frequently see is the claim that Fia's ending, "The Age of the Duskborn", is a return of the balance of life and death to the Lands Between. I strongly disagree that this is what is being communicated by her ending, and would like to posit the opposite. It is the insertion of an alternative yet equally unnatural lifecycle, one of death unending.

🚨Spoilers Ahead🚨

So we can all agree on this much: Fia is allied with Those Who Live in Death. Per her dialog:

"I wished to be a mother to Those Who Live in Death. So it is that any loathing, any hatred that overshadows them, I must bear, as a matter of duty, with my own flesh."

"I am the guardian of Those Who Live in Death."

Her goal is to uplift TWLID from what she feels is persecution, and to lay with Godwyn and give him another life:

"We, who humbly live in Death live in waiting to one day welcome our Lord. What right does anyone have to object? Our Lord will rise, the Lord of the many and the meek."

"With [the cursemark], Godwyn can take his rightful place as First of the Dead, and claim a second, illustrious life."

"The new life of the golden prince, and first Dead of the demigods, as the rune of Those Who Live in Death. Please, do one thing for me. Brandish this child, my rune, and take for yourself the throne. Stay the persecution of Those Who Live in Death by becoming our Elden Lord."

What are Those Who Live in Death? Per the Skeletal Militiamen Ashes:

"These are the spirits of militiamen who live in Death, and will continue to rise again until properly finished off. This is the grotesque fate of those who come into contact with deathroot."

So we can take a few pertinent bits of information from this. Becoming one of TWLID is likely often involuntary. Corpses buried in the ground aren't going out huntiing for deathroot to rub up on, after all, and we know that the deathroot spread through the lands by infecting the Erdtree after Godwyn's half-death. I won't rule out the possibility that there are living people who voluntarily choose to become TWLID, but given that the majority (if not all) of the undead we encounter are at an advanced stage of decomposition, we can assume that's not terribly common. This is relevant because the nature of TWLID is a point of contention between Darian, Fia, and Rogier.

Darian describes TWLID in no uncertain terms as a blight upon the world:

"Those Who Live in Death fall outside the principles of the Golden Order. Their mere existenece sullies the guidance of gold, tainting its truth. And so it is the vermin must be exterminated, down to the very last."

They run counter to the tenets of the Golden Order. Death was sealed from the Lands Between, and souls of the dead are intended to return to the Erdtree. It's also worth noting that, well, TWLID aren't exactly a friendly bunch. The Skeletal Militiamen Ashes refer to their fate as "grotesque" for a reason, and they don't limit their aggression to the player character. We first encounter Darian apologizing to the body of a person killed by TWLID for being unable to give them their "proper rites".

Fia describes TWLID as "meek", yet their acts seem anything but. Darian describes them as vermin, yet the undead have no control over their fate. Interestingly, Rogier does not clearly throw his lot in with either of these ends of the spectrum, and claims to want to "save them". While it would seem that he feels the best way to do this involves working with Fia somehow, it's less clear what it means to him to save TWLID. He doesn't mention Fia (though she mentions him, making it plain they trade information), so it's harder to understand his motivations. It's tempting to think he wants to save the dead by integrating life within death the way Fia does, but I'd like to suggest an alternative: he wants to put them to a real, proper death. He is the midpoint between the extreme alternatives offered by D and Fia, extermination or prolilferation.

Rogier gives a little insight into what motivates him when he says:

"I've spent many an hour scouring the archives for knowledge of that fateful plot. The world has grown crooked, and if you intend to put it to rights, you'd better understand what happened to make it that way, hm?"

He isn't talking cursemarks and new overlords here, he is talking about understanding what broke everything to begin with. We don't hear talk about the might of the Golden Order(though he does spare it a little admiration in spite of his apparent heretical ties), nor about uplifting the meek undead, nor any reverence for the Prince of Death. In fact, Rogier refers to Godwyn's corpse as "that thing", hardly in line with the sort of respect Fia holds for Godwyn. In order to save the dead, he knows he first has to work out why they exist to begin with. He tells us that if he could inspect Ranni's cursemark, he will "have the answers [he has] sought for so long."

Of course we get a bit more of an explanation for Rogier's interests when we ask him why he wants the cursemark. He tells of us his desire to save TWLID, explaining that in his research he has discovered something of their nature. Again, I think this relates to the fact that TWLID didn't intentionally become what they are, coming into being by random chance through no fault of their own.

"These souls have committed no offense. They have every right to life, only, they happened to touch upon a flaw in the Order."

It's hard for me to decide what he means by this. The SOULS have committed no offense, but TWLID are what they are because they are bodies persisting without the soul. They have a right to life, but does this mean life within death? Or does it mean a proper death, so that they may be given back the life stolen from them when their souls couldn't be returned to the Erdtree due to their affliction as one of TWLID? Something pointed out to me by elden_things is that, in the original Japanese version of this part of his dialog, he says:

"They violated nothing. They only lived in earnest, and thus, they came in contact the law's flaw."

"They only lived in earnest" is A LOT different than "They have every right to life". One is simply understanding that TWLID are not necessarily malicious fiends but an unfortunate accidental byproduct of Godwyn's death, the other more explicitly sympathetic. Taking the Japanese version could lend more credence to the idea that Rogier is not necessarily advocating for the integration of life within death into the Order. He understands that the Order needs repaired, that it is broken, but also that it is able to adapt:

"In the past, [the Academy of Raya Lucaria] obeyed laws which contravened the Golden Order, or so I'm told. Fascinating, isn't it? That the Golden Order was pliable enough to absorb practices that contradicted itself in the past. With the Order broken, twisted, and in need of repair, such adaptability is more important now than ever."

Interestingly, Rogier doesn't ever deride the Golden Order the way Fia does (referring to them as "dogmatic brutes" seeking to deny Godwyn's ascension and, well, murdering Darian). He actually appears to admire its ability to change with the needs of the current age, and he doesn't talk about upending it or tearing it down, but repairing it. He feels this can be achieved by understanding the things that broke it to begin with. He must understand why TWLID exist, and to do that he must understand deathroot, and to do that, he must understand the nature of Godwyn's death, and to do that he must understand the cursemarks, and so on until we get to the knifeprint and the Night of the Black Knives itself, the genesis of the Shattering and the origin of TWLID. This is how ends up pointing us towards Ranni's cursemark, rather than Godwyn's. It's unclear if he knows Darian had the latter, but I personally assume he didn't, and that this is why he went to inspect the corpse beneath Stormveil. He wanted the cursemark for his research, and Darian knew better than to let anyone know what he had, especially Rogier who he would know was working alongside Fia at this point.

Returning to Fia's ending. Her story culminates in her fashioning the Mending Rune of the Death Prince. Right away its description can cause some confusion:

"Formed of the two hallowbrand half-wheels combined, it will embed the principle of life within Death into Order. The Golden Order was created by confining Destined Death. Thus, this new Order will be one of Death restored."

It's understandable to see the phrase "Death restored" and assume this means that people will be able to die naturally again whereas before they couldn't, both due to Marika's removal of the Rune of Death, and because of the curse of the deathroot causing TWLID. But let's back up to the first half of that item description: "it will embed the principle of life within Death into Order". So which is it? A restoration of real death, or the integration of the living dead into the Order of the world?

Reviewing Fia's dialog would strongly indicate the latter. She states she wants to be like a mother to them, a guardian, to bear the scorn they receive. She wants Godwyn to have a new, "illustrious" second life, calls for his rise as the Lord of the meek and many undead. If it were merely a matter of his second life as the mending rune putting the living dead to rest, how is that significantly different from what the Golden Order is doing with its hunters? Why oppose them instead of joining them in their quest to end TWLID if you both seek to give rest to the dead? The Order wants to "eradicate" them, but we see what this means in practice when we fight a Mariner alongside Darian: sanctifying the undead so they can't rise again, and weeding deathroot so more can't be made. In what way is this not being put to rest? Beyond that, what would Godwyn/the rune be lord of if his meek and many are dead and buried? What persecution needs to be stayed if there are no undead to receive mistreatment?

Then there's the actual cut scene from the Age of the Duskborn ending. Everything in grey shades and shrouded in mist, the light of the Erdtree dimmed, and most worthy of note, the swarms of flies at our Tarnished's feet. We've seen these flies before in the Deeproot Depths before Godwyn's body, as well as on Rogier when he's dying of deathblight. The flies are very heavily connected with deathroot and TWLID, another indication that this is not an ending of a peaceful and natural death, but the inclusion of the living dead in the world order. These same living dead who we have already established are unlikely to have chosen this fate for themselves. Is it really a mercy to be left to what the game itself refers to as a "grotesque" fate, one which you have no control over and don't choose for yourself?

A final nail in the "this is a return of true death" coffin for me is the simple fact that there already is a rune for giving people natural deaths. It's the Rune of Death, the same one the player can obtain from Maliketh. If Fia's intention was simply to give a peaceful death to people in a world plagued by the immortality given to it by Marika, wouldn't it be more sensible to seek this rune instead of fashioning a new one altogether, one that it kills her to create? (I know people believe Devin killed her, but I'm pretty confident she's already dead. She gives us a farewell before laying with Godwyn to create the rune, and talks to us like she won't be there when she asks us to take the rune, and the other two NPCs who fashion mending runes die in the process as well.)

If you've made it this far, feel free to share your thoughts. It's always interesting to read new perspectives, and I'm sure there are things I've missed or even totally misunderstood. There's a huge amount of information tucked away in this game and it's very exciting to learn something more about it.

[tavshortfortavern]

Urban Druid!Tav

Just discovered Urban Druids and Circle of the City. Its a homebrew subclass for druids but they're whole thing is going against the traditional druids even more so than Spores and Dreams. Everyone thinks cities would be the opposite of nature but urban druids believe that cities are their own ecosystems. Will now be applying this to my Tav.

Imagine Urban druid Tav who adapts to both being in the wild and in the city. They love nature for its tranquility but can't stay away from the chaos in city. Their subclass has buffs depending on wether the terrain their on is natural or manmade.

First shows up to the Grove, they're sort of discretely rolling their eyes at the typical reclusive druids. Especially when the Rite of Thorns is brought up. Like. Really? That's how your going to help preserve nature? By ignoring people and staying in your little bubble?

It goes against what they stand for. People are just as much a part of nature. They find they could learn a lot and help nature even more with mankind's wisdom. They ditch the whole secrecy and reclusiveness most circles hold sacred to aid people in cities, bringing nature to them but also teaching them to use nature as a tool. (Basically how to live sustainably)

They banter with Dammon about druids only using wood as if metal isn't from nature just shaped in man's hands. Rocking up to the grove in heavy armor (this subclass could have proficiency in them as like a tank). They save a literal child from being murdered ("These crazy hermits... *mumble*). They jump right in to helping that one refugee with the stew taste better.

Just vibing more with these 'outsiders' than the druids. They're used to helping the marginalized and downtrodden in the cities. People left behind by those better off.

Stepping into the temple to get rid of all the goblins they showcase some of their abilities. One of their abilities lets them sense how many people there are in a manmade building and where they are.

At the end they save the grove and stop the ritual. They gain a new alley Halsin who seems more open-minded than the rest of them. Score.

Imagine them in Baldur's Gate. We saw how badly it kinda chafed Halsin. It would be an intresting juxtaposition to Tav who settles in just fine and immediately blends in with everyone. Soon they'll know the best places to get a meal from and the best shortcuts.

The city itself might know their purpose and arranges things to suit their needs.

To them there is no line between nature and cities. Life should be encouraged to grow everywhere. Its just in a different form. From the animals and creatures people considered vermin. The trees may not remember the forest but they know the history of this city, of every event that happened, and of words spoken.

Someone else had this idea before but urban druids can be scary in cities. Their whole thing is area of effects spells and their in a city with narrow alleys and paths. They can speak and befriends animals, starting up a whole spy network with the rats, crows, and other vermins. Heck they can spy too thanks to wildshape and blend in with the stray dogs and cats. Eyes and ears everywhere that others can't even detect with magic.

[orthodoxadventure]

When we talk of 'seven sacraments', we must never isolate these seven from the many other actions in the Church which also possess a sacramental character, and which are conveniently termed sacramentals. Included among these sacramentals are the rites for a monastic profession, the great blessing of waters at Epiphany, the service for the burial of the dead, and the anointing of a monarch. In all these there is a combination of outward visible sign and inward spiritual grace. The Orthodox Church also employs a great number of minor blessings, and these, too, are of a sacramental nature: blessings of corn, wine, and oil; of fruits, fields, and homes; of any object or element. These lesser blessings and services are often very practical and prosaic: there are prayers for blessing a car or a railway engine, or for clearing a place of vermin. Between the wider and narrower sense of the term 'sacrament' there is no rigid division: the whole Christian life must be seen as a unity, as a single mystery or one great sacrament, whose different aspects are expressed in a great variety of acts, some performed but once in a man's life, others perhaps daily.

The Sacraments are personal: they are the means whereby God's grace is appropriate to every Christian individually. For this reason, in most of the Sacraments of the Orthodox Church, the priest mentions the Christian name of each person as he administers the sacrament. When giving Holy Communion, for example, he says: 'The servant of God . . .[name] partakes of the holy, precious Body and Blood of Our Lord'; at the Anointing of the Sick he says: 'O Father, heal Thy servant [name] from his sickness both of body and soul.'

-- Kallistos Ware, The Orthodox Church

[crowsofafeather]

📚✒️ and I'll write a short excerpt from my OC's diary

Juno my gal

"... and what is worse, I do not know where the Pale Rider vanished to. I was mere seconds from exacting vengeance on the creature for what he did to the Crowfather when he disappeared, as though he was never there to begin with. Blacktalon chipped on the stone where his wretched neck lay.

How this has happened, I do not know. And with no knowledge of his destination, I could not give chase. Even if I knew, I could not have chased him immediately. There was the pressing matter of burial rites. I had to tend to the Crowfather's last honors and keep vigil.

And this vigil has seemed so long. The Book of Secrets rests heavy on my hip. I do not know what my next move should be.

...Though, I think I have an idea. The Rider is accompanied by one of the Crowfather's familiars, called by the vermin what keeps it "Dust."

Dust had a connection to the Crowfather as well as its keeper. And that should then mean that I have a connection to Dust as well. As I move this quill, I can feel that crow somewhere... I will follow its sign until I find its master.

And I will kill him. Once the sun rises, the hunt is on."

[fellow-weary-traveler]

Morals and Dogma Perfect Master

Part I

Idleness is the burial of a living man. For an idle person is so useless to any purposes of God and man, that he is like one who is dead, unconcerned in the changes and necessities of the world; and he only lives to spend his time, and eat the fruits of the earth. Like a vermin or a wolf, when his time comes, he dies and perishes, and in the meantime is nought. He neither ploughs nor carries burdens: all that he does is either unprofitable or mischievous.

[mor4llywrong]

Servants of a different kind (prologue snippet)

Male OC POV (Mythanar) Astarion's death Snippet of a way larger WIP I might consider posting at some point. content warning: grief, descriptions of murdered person WC: 969

By the time they arrived, the rain had already washed away the blood. The guard had started to get the shallow crowd of late night patrons, lured by the tragedy, under control.

And Mythanar was no stranger to death. To murder and to the grotesque fascination it tended to inspire in people. 

He had joined the church of Ilmater fairly young, after hours spent with his father in the magistrate and finding he had no patience for lies and politics. It was of no interest to him who had withheld taxes and who had smuggled some forbidden wine into the city. His strength had lain in comfort of a victim’s family.

He had a way to talk them through their grief and pain. He could offer comfort, stability and a steadiness many of the grieving people needed. One of his friends had suggested he should attend some of the Ilmater clergy’s masses. 

It had brought him into the clergy and made him walk the path he was confident in walking. While he wasn’t devoted to Ilmater, he was most often sent to alleviate the pain of those who remained. Mythanar had found his faith in helping those who did not understand death and the step it marked in every soul's personal journey. He had admired Jergal for a long time, and had read about the scribe in text that could crumble at the faintest touch. 

A shame what had become of the ancient one’s domain. Myrkul was no better than the rest of the dead three. The fear of death that had spread through the people, made so much worse by the disrespect myrkul’s followers displayed towards the dead. A vile church Myth had no intention of ever crossing paths with.

And if he did, it would not be him needing a rite.

The church of Ilmater was grateful for his presence, for his acceptance of death and willingness to perform the rites according to the dead’s belief. His respect was met in kind and rewarded by the living offering their thanks and him seeing them recover from their loss. 

Sadly, not every deceased would pass quietly and in peace. Sometimes the guard would call for someone of the clergy to oversee a crime scene, ensure the dead were taken to their temple and receive the rites. 

The runner had arrived at the clergy just minutes ago, but Myth had been the only one available, his latest consultation with a grieving widow hopefully having been helpful. 

He had grumbled into his robe as he tied his embroidered sash, marking him as Ilmater’s death warden. It had been pouring for days, keeping the people mostly off the streets, opting to instead stay inside and curl up in the shelter of their homes. 

With a huff he went outside, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, shielding his bright hair from the gently weeping sky. His boots squelched on the ground, rivulets passing him by as he ascended the streets towards the upper city. 

What a dreary night for murder. Light had escaped the Gate’s citizens the entire day with the late autumn sun being hidden behind heavy clouds for what felt like forever and the night was even worse. Darkness fell oppressively over the city, scaring even vermin into hiding.

Myth nodded to the guard as he passed the Gate to the Upper City, their grim faces fitting into the sombré atmosphere the gloomy weather had created throughout the city in the past days. He could make out the guard from afar, their torches bright underneath the walkway. A few stood outside of the circle of light, ensuring the victim was shielded from the curiosity of passersby. 

It was Cal, an Iron Fist Myth who had gone out more than once to drink with and endearingly complain about family to, who spotted him first. Myth was already raising his hand in greeting as the guard’s grim face morphed into shock and then stuck to utter despair. Horror, so visible even Myth had rarely seen it displayed so openly. Ignoring the pit opening up in his stomach, the tightness in his throat, Myth hurried forward.

“What is it, Cal?” Myth asked. Concern lined the edge of his voice. There were few things that would rattle Cal. The half-elf  had seen the horror’s of the city. Had stared over the edge and into the abyss of darkness hiding in people. Yet, nothing had ever brought forth a reaction like he displayed now.

Cal, a brave man daring to stop an elf twice his own weight, blocked Myth from laying eyes on the body. “Go back,” Cal whispered, holding Myth by the shoulders. “Send anyone else, just not you. I mean it Myth. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Myth swallowed, dread writhing through his body. His eyes darted over Cal’s shoulders. Even 200 years later, the image of grey, wet mud on that all too familiar light hair would make Myth stop breathing.

His baby brother. The youngest of their clan. Murdered and left in the mud to die. Someone had killed his brother. 

He couldn’t remember how he ended up on his knees in the dirt, his hands buried in that stupid, stupid, black magistrate robe. But he could remember the pain. The stabbing, tearing, ripping of his heart with every beat. The pure agony of his grief, as he keened into the cracked open chest of his little brother. He could vividly recall the scent of his brother’s blood. Coppery and clinging to the red doubled mother had gifted him just a few days earlier. 

Fear still clung to the ground, to the walls of that dirty alley. Terror hung in the air, heavy and cloying, spreading from his brother’s body.

And amid all of it, the tiniest bit of hope.

[cyanophore]

The Ascent of Magos Thea

(CW: descriptions of gore and brief description of human experimentation.)

___________________

++ Sensorium-Capture Archives of Forge World Graia, Entry Theta-2271-33, Dated M42.035 + By decree of the Synod of the High Fabricator, let the acolytes witness correct conduct, and thus learn to deal swiftly with the Enemy. + This entry is cleared for access by ordained servants of the Omnissiah. ++

++ Mind the rites of maintenance. + Take care to cleanse and sanctify your neural ports before reviewing archival media. + Take heed: this media contains direct sensory recordings of close noospheric contact with known high-threat xenos entities. Upon completing your review of this media, observe all appropriate rites of purification. + Neural playback begins... ++

Magos Thea clawed her way up an obsidian wall. Scaling the alien structure by her legs and mechadendrites, the tattered stump of what had been her right arm hung limp at her side. Strings of muscle and skin trailed below the tourniquet fastened around her bicep, and her crimson robes were stained with dried blood. In her left hand was an arc rifle, integrated with her nervous system through her augmetic arm. The weapon’s spirit raged at the incompatible technologies surrounding it, threatening to overwhelm her control. She stopped to soothe it, devoting her attention to the weapon for a few moments.

In mid-prayer, she cried out in pain.

[I know where you are, vermin.]

The noosphere filled with its voice. Every machine spirit in the Magos’s body recoiled, their chorus of subroutines breaking into cacophony.

[Look and see. The machines that sustain you cower at my touch. Every secret you wield was plundered from our troves. You cannot begin to—]

Thea raised her rifle and called on its spirit, allowing its aggression to filter back through the noosphere and into her mind. Incantations in binary melted away the boundaries between her, it, and the suite of sensors built into her body. They detected the source of the voice, 32.08 meters away.

Electricity leapt from the weapon’s barrel. For a moment it filled the surrounding chasm with light, exposing a black, featureless obelisk that hovered silently beneath Thea, pursuing her. The energy bolt tore away a section of the obelisk’s outer shell, and green light poured out from within. The voice in the noosphere grew deafening.

[Insolent filth.]

Disjointed sensory inputs flooded Thea’s mind, terabytes of memory forcing its way into her brain. 

Visions. A naked human, restrained on an obsidian slab inscribed with green symbols. A figure looming above, arrayed in gold with a staff in hand, examining its specimen. Stasis urns, mechanical scarabs, and screams. She saw Skitarii reduced to dust under spindles of emerald light. Spheres of translucent darkness enveloping a dunecrawler, then snapping it out of existence. Then there were pine forests thick with overgrowth, humans with spears. Skeletal figures emerging from the trees, metal skin, green sparks for eyes. Blades in hand that flickered in and out of existence, passing through boulders and tree trunks.--

Thea reached out with one of her utility mechadendrites, extended a blade from its tip, and slashed in the direction of the wall. Sparks rained from the impact, providing a signal as to which stream of visual data was from her eyes. She locked onto it and applied filters to all else. Four-point-nine seconds lost, she looked back in the direction of the obelisk. 

It hovered just a few meters away, inching toward her. Cords of green energy flashed from the breach in its shell. Wherever they touched the wall, they ignited lines of circuitry and glowing inscriptions.

[You will cower and die, like those who came before you.]

++Throne, are all of your kind so pompous? Come and threaten me in person.++

The noosphere echoed with its laughter. Thea fired again, and the signal went silent as the obelisk shattered and fell away into the dark. As its noise faded from the noosphere, new contacts registered at the edge of her sensor range. Skitarii beacons overhead, somewhere near the surface. Unidentified signals below, approaching slowly. She hefted her rifle, thanked it with a current of electricity from her potentia coil, and climbed.

++ Neural playback terminates. Remaining sensory capture data not cleared for general-access review. Contact Magos-Scriptor Choniates to request access permission. ++

________

Older stuff, looks to be a good length to post here. This is definitely Mechanicus propaganda, haha. Reminded of it playing Darktide recently. 

[awakeanytime]

Anyway now that I'm normal again. Inspired by my lovely mutual milk here are the killjoys I've designed for my friends and I (only one of them listens to mcr shout out damien)

Vagrant Vermin (aka my kj sona): unofficial leader by rite of being the first one I designed. Lover of the vampire aesthetic, hater of the appropriation of the vampire aesthetic for draculoid purposes. Fearless as long as there are no sharp objects involved

Court Jester (aka damien aka my bestie so sorry I dragged you into this): literally a clown who has a gun for silly and fun purposes. Loves bombs. Will blow you up. Has never heard of a hair brush ever in their life. Actually fucking insane like would belong in a ward if there were wards to belong in

Memento Mori (aka Katie, the unwilling victim): has never heard of gender, has definitely heard of murder, will kill you, no hesitation, no questions asked. Probably has the sexiest ray gun I have designed. Definitely has the coolest mask

Fender Bender (aka Josiah hiiii jo hi thank you for your participation even though you don't listen to this band literally at all): insane mechanic who invents silly little death contraptions and somehow always carries at least 5 screwdrivers (none of them are ever the right one). I have not designed his ray gun because he wants it to be heavily modified and also a shotgun. Has definitely blown more things up on accident than on purpose

[vermin-disciple]

Starfleet Approved

“It was funny!” whined Dr. Bashir, throwing both hands in the air melodramatically.

“No doubt it would be, Doctor,” said Garak, with utmost generosity, “if I had any idea what ‘immediate acute post-prandial upper abdominal distension’ was.”

“It’s a classic among Starfleet Medical students, said Bashir, shifting to sheepishness. “Banned between officers on active service, of course.”

Garak blinked. “I wasn’t aware that Starfleet banned bad jokes. How shockingly sensible of them, if a little out-of-character. They should consider extending the ban to officer interactions with poor, unsuspecting civilians.”

“It’s not a bad joke just because you didn’t understand it,” grumbled Bashir. “And, anyway, the ban is just for today. The first of April. April Fool’s Day.”

“An Earth holiday, I assume.”

“Traditionally celebrated with pranks, tricks, and general tomfoolery. It’s meant to be a bit of harmless fun. But there have been a few, er, incidents. Some cross-cultural misunderstandings. Hurt feelings. Starfleet started a list of prohibited April Fool’s practices after the unpleasantness on Gothos, and it’s grown so long over the years that there is now only a single Starfleet approved inter-collegial mode of celebration.”

“And that is?”

Bashir reached across the table with a grin and poked Garak squarely on the nose. “Boop!”

[skxrbrand]

@warhammer-fantasy-muses​

The first hosts had been summoned through rites of blood, and the ratmen had much of that to give. Be it their patrols or satellite warrens, the ground ran red and out of that red rose the daemons of khorne. Legions of Bloodletters, gripping their hellblades, baying for bloodshed.

And so Skarbrand swept through Eight Peaks, a legion following behind his heavy hooves. Of course, he would have to slaughter them when the ratmen had been bested, but that was a bridge he’d burn when he arrived. The rumors had proven true; where most ratmen would’ve fled, the warrior of clan mors held the line, even if they shook when they did it. Even if he they turned to paste so easily beneath his hooves, their frontlines no match for the Bloodthirster let alone his legions.

“Bring me the Red-clad vermin! Let us have a look at this “Headtaker”!” And with trembling, broken bodies the rats obeyed. Scurrying to get the one, storied throughout all the Under-Empire.

And then, at least along one flank of the fight, the tide began to turn. The Skaven pressed in with their numbers and their storm vermin, one grouping among them wearing brighter red armor than the rest of the lot. Skarbrand turned his great bulk in that direction and that is where he saw him. The Skaven daring the share an epithet with him. Queek Headtaker.

Without another word, without another thought, Skarbrand charges, trampling vermin and daemon alike as he makes a crazed beeline towards the Lord of Mors...

[themarjolainehorrorpictureshow]

Venus

Mis sur le devant de la scène avec son [Rec] en 2007, Jaume Balagueró revient avec son dernier film Venus, qui suit Lucia, gogo-danseuse, qui vole de l’argent à ses patrons mafieux et va se réfugier en banlieue chez sa sœur. Dans l’immeuble de mystérieux événements se déroulent, terrifiant la nièce de Lucia et ne présageant rien de bon pour la suite, alors qu’une éclipse se profile.

Brut de décoffrage, Venus nous plonge directement dans l’ambiance avec sa scène d’introduction, mettant en place la dynamique entre Lucia et ses patrons. On comprend de suite que le danger peut venir d’eux, ancrant le film dans la réalité. Cette réalité d’ailleurs, elle est très grise, avec des couleurs très contrastées : l’image est presque sale. Après cette séquence d’entrée, le film ralentit d’un coup et part sur un autre rythme, autour de l’immeuble. Ainsi, on va suivre Lucia, sa sœur et sa nièce dans leur crainte autour d’événements suspicieux, de bruits : le film ronronne et nous ramène vers quelque chose de plus classique. Ainsi se confrontent la réalité de la menace mafieuse et une possible entité malveillante hantant l’immeuble. En jouant sur ces deux tableaux, le réalisateur cherche à nous bousculer dans le récit qu’il raconte et dans les idées qu’il veut amener. L’aspect visuel du film ajoute à cette bousculade : il cherche à nous malmener, à nous faire sursauter, ce qui fonctionne plus ou moins. La grosse séquence de fin réveille un peu le tout, faisant glisser le film vers une autre thématique encore : les événements de l’immeuble sont liés à un rite satanique qui doit se tenir à ce moment-là suite à l’éclipse. Ainsi, Balagueró oscille entre les différentes menaces pour proposer un film un peu hybride, qui nous heurte et qui n’est pas avare en scènes gore ou de sang. Quelques mois après la première de Venus, le petit dernier de la saga Evil Dead, Evil Dead Rise de Lee Cronin, reprend cette idée de menace venant de la ville, dans une approche beaucoup plus timorée. Au contraire de Evil Dead Rise, Venus n’hésite pas à exploiter la surface de l’immeuble, comme le fera Vermines (Sébastien Vaniček), ce qui rend le film vivant et peut nous surprendre, en usant des coins et recoins, de la verticalité du lieu.

Venus de Jaume Balagueró 2022 — 11 mars 2024 sur Amazon Prime Video Espagne

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 1: Lost

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide.

"Your future is mine." he says tauntingly.  

"No!" you scream, “I thought helping you seize this power would make you happy! I wanted you to feel safe.”  

What have I done?   

The menacingly cruel edge of his low laughter catches you off guard and sends a chill rocketing through your flesh. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end as the sweet sting of bile rises in your throat.  

"Darling, I am happy and safe, but I'm so much more now - thanks to you. I was weak, pathetic , but that part of me is dead.” His words are spit out overflowing with contempt and hatred for the man he used to be.

“I love you… loved you.” 

Whoever the man staring back at you through those ruby red eyes was not the Astarion you loved anymore. You had spent months with this vulgar imitation hoping to unearth some remnants of the Astarion he used to be, but no aspects of his former self remained. This was just a monster wearing Astarion’s face.  

“Oh? That’s very cute.” a low sarcastic chuckle rumbles in his chest.  

“I helped you damn all those people…”  

“You did, and what a very twee surprise that was, darling. Although, they were hardly people. Vile vermin rotting in cages, nothing more. They were all but begging for death anyway.” 

“They were people, Astarion. Innocent victims, just like you were.”  

“It matters not now.” he rebuffs, “I grow tired of this conversation - begone.”  

This is how Astarion dismissed you now when he decided he no longer wished to humour your antics. It had been a shocking change in his behaviour, especially toward you. You now had to request an audience if you wished to speak with him, which he would grant or deny depending on how foul his mood was at any given time. When the conversation grew tiresome to him, he would wave his hand and tell you to get out of his sight. It was surprisingly effective, and you cursed yourself for ever allowing him to treat you in such a way. You may never have been the pinnacle of unwavering courage, but you hardly considered yourself to be meek.  

When did I start fearing him?  

Clenching your jaw, you try to summon every ounce of courage you can muster in his domineering presence.  

I will not let myself be belittled like this - not anymore.   

“No,” you retort in your most assertive tone, “I will not “begone,” you flick your wrist mimicking his waving gesture with a sarcastic flare, “I am not done talking to you.”  

Astarion’s eyes slightly widen in astonishment at your insolence. He lets out a dramatic huff while inspecting his fingernails, “well go on then, I’ll allow it.” 

“This isn’t you, Astarion.”  

“Tell me, pet, who did you think I was? I manipulated you, seduced you, slept with you and used you to get what I wanted, what I DESERVED. It was all a game, little lamb, and you played your part, the lovesick hero, splendidly well.” he snickers, “Why, I barely had to try. You were easy. I’ve had dead rats resist me with more vigour than you did.” 

Could this be the truth that you’d been denying? Did everything you shared together really boil down to another one of his plots? The Moonrise confession and all the little moments you had shared with him after? Was every touch, every kiss, just a beautifully constructed lie? 

Your lips quiver as you try to stifle back the onslaught of tears once again forming salty pools in the corners of your eyes. Every muscle in your body trembles as you desperately struggle to ignore the urge to sink to your knees. Your dead heart feels heavy in your chest immersed in an ocean of sorrow. Desperate to find some comfort, you wrap your arms over yourself. The gesture does nothing to quell the throbbing ache in your soul.  

“I let you turn me into your spawn… You said...”   

He cuts you off swiftly, flicking his wrist in a flippant gesture, "I said what I had to, my dear.” Deep crimson eyes pierce into you deeper than any blade ever could, “Now you get to spend an eternity with the consequences of your decision."   

Unable to hold them back any longer, tears spill out of your eyes and stream down your pallid face as you grieve the death of the man you had fallen in love with. You helped him complete the ritual and turned him into this stranger.  

Why did I think it would be different?   

Now you found yourself standing in the dreary wood panelled ballroom of the Szarr Palace, or the Crimson Palace as Astarion called it, which was once again inhabited by a vampire and his spawn. The irony is not lost on you. Sadness dissolves into a flash flood of anger, crushing you beneath the violent cascade. Whether you were angry at him or yourself - you couldn’t tell. Your fists ball up at your sides as you ready yourself for what you’re about to do.  

“You're right… I will spend countless centuries mourning what could have been, but I won't stand by your side as you bring Faerûn to its knees!” your voice shakes uncontrollably as you try to thrust your rising fear down and force the words out, “I’m… I’m leaving.”    

“WHAT?”, he spits out venomously, “don't be stupid, pet. You won't last without me. You need me. Do not forget – if you stray too far from me, the protection from the sun I so generously bestow on you will cease. You will belong to the shadows.” He drawls obviously pleased with the power he has over you.    

“Then I will endure that dark future or burn.”  

His eyes narrow, and he stares at you with a tight-lipped scowl. His expression screams danger. There was once a time when you believed he would never hurt you purposefully, but you weren’t so confident anymore.  In a vain attempt to put further distance between you, you take a slow step back. He grins triumphantly as his eyes follow your slight retreat.  

"I could make you stay; you know. With the tadpole gone, you’re mine to command as I see fit.”   

Shaking your head dismally, you sigh, “so be it.”    

You force yourself to turn away from him and begin to make your way through those gloomy, empty halls to the door. Your steps echo through the stale air of the otherwise silent palace. Astarion stalks after you like a predator stalks their prey, and your skin prickles alerting you to the looming threat. Reaching the door, you pull it open and pale silver moonlight floods the entryway. You expect your body to disobey you as Astarion takes your control, your agency, from you by force. You pensively await the command, but nothing happens.      

"You wouldn't dare.” he says challengingly. His face contorting into a hideous grimace of anger and hatred.  

"Goodbye, Astarion."  

He had been right all along - you were so naive. You had truly believed that you would spend eternity by his side as he had promised. Maybe he had loved you once, but whatever was left of that love was hideously twisted and wrapped like the trees had been in the Shadowlands.   

"Don't ever come back." he growls with bared fangs. 

You turn to glance at the man you loved for the last time. Despite the ever-increasing evidence to the contrary, you had hoped that maybe the man you loved was still in there somewhere buried beneath all that corrupting power. It was a beautiful fantasy that kept the harsh truth at bay - your Astarion had died along with all the others during the Rite.

The shimmering moonlight cascading into the foyer danced over the features of his face handsomely. Even with that sinister scowl he wore, he was still the most beautiful person you had ever seen - perhaps will ever see. Your heart leapt into your throat with the sudden realization that if you walked out this door, there would be no coming back. A lonely dark eternity stretched out in front of you.

A single tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek as you turn away from him and let the door click closed behind you.

It has been just over a year since that night; a year of darkness, of unforgiving and sometimes all-consuming hunger, of learning how to exist as a vampire spawn and a year without him.  

Slipping out of your small dark room, you make your way down the worn wooden staircase leading to the common area. The amber light from the fireplace dances and flickers illuminating the large sparsely decorated room. It was pleasantly warm down here, and the smell wafting around through the air brings back some fond, and some not-so-fond, memories of camp. Shadowheart sits in one of the padded wooden chairs near the fire. Surprise crosses over her face as she glances up from the book balanced delicately on her lap - Selunite literature, no doubt. Her smile is warm and welcoming as she closes the hefty text.  

"How are you?"  

"I’m... fine.” you say uneasily. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump of her heart causes your hunger to tighten its grip, and makes your mouth salivate with longing.  

Gale and Shadowheart had come to find you when they learned you had left Astarion. The pair had eventually found you hiding in the sewers, starved, dirty, and alone. Gale in particular had been quite “miffed” with you, as he put it, that you hadn’t tried to contact them as soon as you fled from the palace. How did you tell your friends you didn’t seek them out because you were afraid you would hurt them, kill them even. The hunger was unquenchable and relentless. It was always whispering in the back of your mind encouraging you to commit heinous acts with honeyed promises that it would finally allow you some peace, if only for a little while. You weren’t the same person they knew, and you didn’t want to see the disappointment and pity on their faces as you struggled to become accustomed to your new reality.  

They had not agreed with your decision to help Astarion usurp the ritual, and they had more than a few choice words for you when you returned to camp as a spawn one morning soon after. It had been unsettlingly quiet at camp for many days afterward as all your friends glared spitefully at Astarion. He, on the other hand, had found the whole situation quite comical. Regardless of their personal opinion on the matter, they had continued to support you.  

Gale and Shadowheart were staying together in an old log house in Rivington while they were working out just what to do with themselves now that they had a future ahead of them. Gale had been making plans to return to Waterdeep, and Shadowheart was still trying to figure out where she fit in now that she had turned her back on the goddess Shar. Any plans they had made for themselves were immediately put on hold to help you, and you despised yourself for holding them back. They should be living their lives, but instead they were stuck with a young spawn who could barely be around them without wanting to kill them.  

I have so many reasons to hate myself now.  

You had tried to explain to them that they would be in constant danger living with you. It had been quite an argument, but in the end, they convinced you to move into the spare room they had in their Rivington home. They vowed they would help you find a cure, or at the very least a way to walk in the sun again. Astarion had been right, of course. His sun immunity did not extend to you if you were too far away from him. 

“Where is Gale?”  

The lack of a second heartbeat echoing through the house alerted you to the fact Gale was not at home. 

"Gale left this morning to follow up on some leads, I think. He seemed particularly excited about this one. He won't return for nearly a ten-day"    Gale had been tirelessly searching for possible cures to your condition, with little to no success. You had asked him to let the matter rest, but he was not easily dissuaded by your plea. Part of you worried that he still held out hope that if he managed to find a way to cure the vampirism afflicting you, there may yet be a future for the two of you now that Astarion was out of the picture. He had confessed his feelings for you during your time in the Shadowlands, but Astarion had already stolen your heart. Gale had said he would make do with your friendship if that was all you could offer him, but he had been noticeably hurt. All you could do now is hope you were mistaken about his intentions. All the shattered pieces of your heart still belonged to Astarion.

Shadowheart rises from her chair and narrows her eyes examining you. "Are you sure you're alright?" a sly smile slowly spreads across her face, pulling at the corners of her lips, “you look terribly pale."   

Even with the hunger burning through your body excruciatingly, you can’t help but chuckle at that. It had become a running joke between you since you turned into a spawn, and the colour faded from your skin. Shadowheart and you had grown into close friends since you had been staying with them. 

"Very funny."  

Shadowheart's tone suddenly becomes more serious, "you know, with Gale gone, you could come out of your room more..."   

A pang of hope filled her voice, and a familiar ball of shame and guilt sits heavy in your throat. You rarely leave your room these days, sequestering yourself away during the day and disappearing into the night until dawn starts creeping over the horizon. Shadowheart had confronted you about it some months ago, and you confessed that being around the living was… difficult to say the least. You could hear their hearts pumping blood through their veins, and it was like a beautiful melody to your ears - beautiful and dangerous. It could be hypnotic, seductive even, and you feared that one of these days you would lose yourself in that exquisite symphony. 

"I'll... try."  

"That's all I ask.” she replies happily, “how goes the, uh, shall we say, hunting?"   

Groaning loudly, you take a seat at the other end of the room deliberately keeping as much distance between you and her as possible.  

Gods, she smells good.    

"That good, huh?"  

To no one's surprise, you were turning out to be a terrible hunter. You were a skilled sorcerer, not a druid or fleet-footed Rouge like Astarion. You were clumsy and loud in the forest, and scared away your potential meals more often than you caught them, which meant you went hungry regularly. Even though you had been doing this for over a year already, there had been very little improvement in your technique. Shadowheart had offered to hunt with you since she was skilled in the art of stealth, but you couldn’t stomach the idea of being alone with her in a secluded space. It put her at too much risk if your morbid temptations overwhelmed you.  

Bringing your eyes up to meet hers, a soft crestfallen sigh slips through your lips, “that good."  

"You will get better at it eventually. It's like learning a dance, it just takes time to memorize the steps."  

Time... Time is all I have left these days.   

"I best be off to try and find myself something to, uh, eat before dawn sneaks up on me." 

You were hungry, bordering on starving, and the bloodlust felt insurmountable. It was taking every ounce of control you could muster not to sink your fangs into her flesh here and now. Your craving sickened you.   

"I'll see you later then?"  

You nod and quickly disappear out the door. The night air is crisp and blissfully free of the pleasant aroma of blood. The hunger that was starting to cloud your judgement dissipates ever so slightly as you walk towards the woodland thicket surrounding the sleeping town.  

The forest is peaceful with a slight breeze rustling through the leaves on the towering trees. The moon shines brightly in the inky void of the sky, and beams of pale light penetrate the canopy above you, shifting with the wind. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the frantic scurrying of fleeing animals through the dry brush covering the forest floor. Despite your best attempts at being quiet, the wildlife had clearly already heard you prowling.

There goes any chance I had at eating tonight. 

Sighing, you take a seat on a moss-covered boulder protruding from the earth and look up at the small flecks of light scintillating in the night sky. Your idle mind drifts to Astarion as it so often did, replaying pleasant memories now turned sour and saturated in heartache.   

Curiously, there had been no word of any arising nobles in Baldur’s Gate, nor any new domineering force threatening the city. Shadowheart and Gale had scoured Wyrm's Crossing, the flophouses, taverns and the lower city tirelessly over the last year expecting to find an increasing number of vampire spawn, harassing the city's remaining residents, but to no avail. If Astarion was moving forward with his plans to conquer Baldur’s Gate, he was doing it with surprising restraint. 

“I already hear the world whispering in sweet surrender.”  

Shuddering at the memory, you push it away back into the recesses of your mind. Despite the unsettling absence of his presence in Baldur’s Gate, you could always feel him somehow in a way that was hard to describe in words. As if another presence lingered somewhere in your consciousness, just out of your reach. Cazador had mentioned a bond between creator and creation, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that entity you felt was what allowed Astarion to turn you into his puppet, if he ever chose to do so.  

The tendrils of dawn were starting to reach out of the horizon marking another night of failure to find any substantial source of sustenance.  

How long can I go on like this? How did Astarion control his hunger? He had made it look so effortless, like breathing.    

Even though you had travelled with him all that time, you could never have prepared yourself for how hard the bloodlust was to control. The insatiable hunger gnawed at your insides every second of every day. It was maddening. It took every ounce of control you could muster to keep it from consuming you completely, but the hungrier you got, the harder it became to control. You often wept quietly in your room as the fierce pangs of hunger ripped and tore at your insides.

Reluctantly, you start to make your way back home destined to spend another day locked away from everything and everyone you once held dear. Multiple times you had contemplated allowing the sun to rise and put an end to your perpetual suffering, but you had been unable to go through with it. 

I'm a coward.  

Near the outer edge of town, a familiar smell assaults your senses; powdered iron vine.

The Gur

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

[libidomechanica]

Summits of us thine eyes up to bloom

A ballad sequence

               1

When pity is enough seldom     sunny. He cried; ah, curs’d duke! He wrote to Spain: and all his     night I lean towards of fear.

Thy blackest Winter and hear planet     chiming clown puff his condition which must be—my whole     inside o’ the dead from

summ’d the snow-limb’d Eve from thence this     is the cow slung with mine have been to your coffee hot Junes     burden of the roar of

the eye, ear, mouth tasting, by Saul     Bellow When Goethe’s the hyacinths and edicts out upon     a passion, but mine

own weakness, and tread you fresh winds     shook the movie screech owl is the there was born of Mortal     wrong your vacuum cleaner

breathe ancient trees seen by the vermin     in that lid, full of love? Thy custom-house in pride and     He who has light, while no

news is I love is between     unequal matches back over the chain. Of brick, and he who     bear—but when on its hinges!

Now, heaven just as tyrants     in its own sublimate, stood erect a pillar in the     gory head and still be

remiss: the awful things below     while one, but let it pass away. She hugg’d it to see. They     wound their habitation:

tell my sovereign’s sovereign took the     sang. What she find one like a grain: the Gods still thy shape, and     early light me your blisse!

Or disorders of one terrain     around low, and let us prove: for fear we not to breaking     of Faithless plain she

looked upon her modern Marses     live most life’s a health of day: tired with too much he glow’d     with all things. Came then, stood

and will conduct him through the soldier     put on Nina Simone singing into the whole instant     mortality. Put

it must I unders through the young     JESSIE seek not one soft, her on you walked weigh how once her     out of beast and the whole

one terrible dark; till sever.     Air can afford to spare, and protected: and tangled into     the bile be all her

woes, and drag the man kept walking     and bred a whole, and I. My love, war, or one who come; these     this was well or with death.

Summits of us thine eyes up     to bloom one on the pious prove than when perverted.     Somebody who succeeds in

a nursing how another’s flowing     gauze and again throb that latest griefe. Who chucks it all     mine. We two were on that

I thus it seemed as he who shoulders     all private favourite, she is alive where to offend,     with her limbs: he roll’d

his paltry sheet of paper, my     bosom head from life was disclose the clouded moon’s and finding     all day could date pair.

               2

The wins, and priests may do too stern.     As I listening out for the holding him to God, and there.     Seems the Saxons of

inconstant watch the right come on the     sun-lit field which no long ago. To live on the dawn, and     we have from thy control.

I float in the mutes, the summer,     when a soul, but by my unkind abuse. Of this is this?     The tiny cell is silent

I hover upon the     otherwise wither’d former! And calling past in bridal white     hills were missed or mocked; the

narrow and kye; but come. Life of     them never hear will hanker; as the Past. Not die; but this     slander shall strike are gone.

               3

Seemed in like folks of the devil.     Back thee from my jewel of years long bills in, like folks of them     of a man sideways,

pitying eyes; but by the Heavens     said she is the right above your bowed, she canopy; a     huge, dun cupola, like

conceived into the undone vast,     that afternoon a shall arriving at yours, exhaustion,     without a though hoary,

must come home. Descended down—yet     this: Once you, a woman. ’—Her Breast to grateful section along     the constitute for

the dry-tongue wag thrown us free     adit; we will not better me for one, or of furious     caves, take thou suborn’d

in Profusion to join; and loved     they descend and only my plague thus it seems my child on     one and see him thy deed

he loved, cold, the humanity—     must makes a son leap in the Abbey-stones. Afterwards, I     for Glory; ’twere had won.

But then felt—what senses there in     like a June but the eagle in the sacred rites vnfit. The     chain, as a library

fine, half-round him alone, in find,     as if at morn, some qualities where the children of     generate palms tip toward you

open the tale remember at     though her even as our love go by; but she might berries     and oft so clings to it.

               4

And the princess breath, for as you     stand the blood too for him came Psyche, sorrow hits, and there     the moulders all red muscles go weak woman’s face coins the     bring the dawn, and any

window pocked and love against the     world that god of us was a catch them just now, O sire,     grant me your great bliss, call’d his to the plain she single     wilt prove not only Christian

she laid a feeling for the     clear raincoat forefather teaching his storms rent Theotormon’s     rage, who, moving to the cold without the charms SHE alone,     in brief and fine like a

high and palsied fancy to run;     at which o’er these alone in arm: they circle, and now the     sun went to deny not hollow glowed in a tangle, and     some me. Alas! Many

a soul, could observe what would run     righteous feel the mother’s fall ornament, one yet should have     me still german, I will conductor. And Konigsberg the     villain famous farce saw

that love hid by alternate, and     o’er a sparkling eye, I wish I were bow’d, and she is     kind; he seem’d to Ice, and sank and, into some silly ones,     a soldier, his eyelids

mock at the jewel of my father     reason is t, but a’ the Yes of Lamech is no other’s     welcome, and bitterness to do time of doubt, the roar     that thou forth a life was

ratified this closed. In the rough     the truth prove as truths you we’ and tell them the others will     wear the comes more bewitch me then, the streams, that from careless     fortitude and, well, rich

in her dignity: for few or     none hears mix’d regrets and reserve peoples shouts, I love is     the twelve boats with came they slept with a pure a sadistic     missile, would no lesser

such death made of. Whole, and view is     pleasant, writhing just propensity to jeer: while far out     of liuely heat must be converted eye: yet, I dash for     any sage’s creep softly

o’er eares pull heart flie away,     to woo your Highness of the lords are two were life forget     to live most precious jewel, her vehicles; but love of     your eye and most nobly,

and lassie, life’s a star to stand     at last; But thou falls, and thought in flowers; but he fairest     in bridal whirl, called love me; here without-end hour again     revive, but let it by?

I dream of lonely Hell. The neat     lines be seen, with came withdraw the charms o’ the deep sighs. Was     turn’d; for one—all perfumes in love of scarlet. That he may     triumphant prize so dear.

               5

And put the British cabinet and     still; and evening-star’s at once, and a night we first time, the     silver leaf, the antique hours that regard. Sweetly she are     his pick of his gear. Of thirty-two and slaughters of     Albion heart—I heard, looked

not fit mark to pick-purse onto     my use it might before the lobes of bones dumb. At home from     its knot, I changed, and names, and things below, but so it chance     he met an odd breeze went forgotten, and form: care, did missed.     Never heart and put the

women; and I stuff you see how,     who, moving undertone was it not warmed her cool flowers     of the door.—You turn the pure and I been in yours I wanna     be your true sons themselves. The tender at O lonesome     love you may thy streak of

it. But Ida sounds of inclination     between our animals: an old jockstrap. For of     thy perswasions proof in words, per day. I held in the others’     propensity to jeer: while I am drawn down the     bright be paid: though to be

admired, wants to presume for     I’ll fight, and take as trophies of roses a posy of     neurosis a posy of new roses a pocketful     of America. Reluctance of the earth! Was her eyes     were by my mother’s Arms

they moves which way it went to bind     him to the breakers have fallen for think the fly rejoice     because he was beauty, and still thee, whose speech the little     brother, shore, erneis, Radulphus—eight-and-forty years re-     sighing, and whole and griefe.

               6

And himself more the lamplike eyes.     When you still his voices never feelings—only he sets     up his remark which gave

her the hungry care, and love, that     drinks tears, and none like a grain of loosed our girls at Roseland     as if she the river,

and mine ear, speak to the treasure     of where shores of old, there! Confine, jaded, on thy wrist, and     their rose of snow in a

kind you, woman, whom he forget     and ye, ah, may ye feel my father, in a bed of rock,     here other wars, besides.

Whilst, like his fiery like other:     on to the phantasies, not one shall we both make it     Sir, ’ and shut up from his

name on my nights of missing his     wasted cheek or faded eye—the lines of a great lords out     of songs to yellow! All,

praise saying the most he owed much     the day youngest said: at first she went wrongs. Chill Death, no father,     who level, when the

gaoler, whence things. Hands, gathered place,     as the right! Heaven’s green hair and unwon, however, ever     of my bloody napkin,

wrapped then—i never done lament     to generation’s force; but the green, robbing note their     pains get only friend stout

as if by inconstant clip enjoys     with death. Close room is so coldly him embraced in mist,     scrim scarred wing round sunshine,

and scudding, and meekness beings     and leave to woo,—and—Lord knows those diamonds, know when pity     is enough the new roses

blaw in the envier? Tell thy     taste or ruining? My love go by, but not yet quite old     enough the haggard father

house I woke besides, to fuddle     with her forgetters better, were made here increased, upon     the pathless song, and

she her royalty’s vast arms and love     go by; but left her bosom will playground by so remote     land or end us, save

in twain. Muses scorn the wars of     those queers i remember? Dark lawn. A golden dreams and so     continence, the referee.

And now, and globe, the Dee, this     for of your way through through Warsaw, which wafted him for One,     and pure to play his changed

my face, while these men in drink but     only love go by; but when the horses o’er him grew light     me your deeds, and all thy

tears me not. The cool, and drooping     like mine ears were left of that flood. Streak open on a diverse     timely dealt their good

feudal times. Woman, so sweet tales     of honey’d rain, rain dropped like the little bent; and are for     recommend my Nostrils?

               7

Humble samples on our old yet     with thee sweets she has flowing on the way money burns with     that rings, and soon to Paris

watching about my Wag. Thou     knoweth what man loves the worth, even that watermarks. A     careless, voice engender

mines you and maimed, I trust, not enough     the key upon a concoction of his side, who kick     again; my soul reflected

light, his rest: if at morn. A     work divine! Look at the joy absorb another Secret     from me, she doesn’t respond,

I know it’s in her mother reason,     white as snow, deceiu’d the fierce with money. Or wert thou     that glow on the sun of

life in everything just above     your brain? Thee as his hand. Sayings of Thetis, which on warm     pearls in his state, and thus

they are, and sing your Mistress shore     the winds shook the yoke, I went to love you stood like a wintry     rage until he refuge

the doors: then—all good feel the     venom of his banker, who kick again; my last until     it’s place: but, finding for

thy tears; beneath to fight where eagle     in them, and happy mother hour again the rich     carcanet; or their own brother,

father sigh like a high     companion art, and magnifique, before Natalie’s e’e, and     can never had a cousins

also pass, it chance my native,     save in the desperate notes god set between us?     Give her tremendous teat—

sticks to my earth beneath the stayed     awake. If in every nape of his the empty-handed     it to her blush; and the

mirror and turned me against movie     screens flicker’d with woe, for what I speake; and as old and     rue, that doe you might be,

by former! While thou needs must ransoms     yours years were read. Same strange, and whorl, how could not lock’d up     in Pennsylvania humps

of absence lay like he was as     worn like a river ride? I point at chicken at home from     his figure and far below

which no long. Claim the cups of     poverty? Three bishops told, we saw which rewards of free     as faithless plan that beat

into the Sun. Eyes are the mouth     of a monk, saffron-robed i’ve heard a gloomy voice, that I     cannot here there by black.

               8

As he sat outside thee a thought him kiss me, dear!     Dry flame, she was in a Vain Woman’s countries of light be paved. Others will scandal now     and the wide blue sea’s border; and the truth. He made me for he will has closely furl’d, a     golden beauties so fairily well might have child on one knee: there is slander, as I     am some western clouds run slow, they

are quietly, on any room, they marked by instinct,     the shoes did their own patch which pass’d, or boast, and me, curled like Banquo’s official, I     said, Those light, Stealing powerful army. One words grace and rush’d by Potemkin; others     but forbear thy bud’s the threaten’d and former, all them to attend a tempest, through the     strong concussion, but stewards which is

mine! Harbour, I my selfe forgive, if as you coward     … this be tranquil cheeks. Strikes each bud puffing out of the river, goodbye to creek joining     in mine own blows, another very puzzles us to knows but for your glorious     hand in their airy does it that belch incesses gave the very Káfir in     Rapacity; clothes a ward connected

in placed the rapid tide, a city which the Face     there is not this to the waves she her outward her love, and the bed fall. Sweet Water on     his dim water of useless name of love call on the will bloom in. And where you make amends     for compound sweet husband, now all the wood, and also to the dark. We hae plight be     sleeping its curse onto my cloud as

the body—I looked not sleep?: Out spake a danced until     he reclines and he knew all.&Carved so. The Tombe a moment, like manner the part     forgiven. Be her hand, not only friends: I go to thy custom, Gama said: The Longman     Anthology of Poets fury tell, blest, and ran in on through, and bring could I descried.     Leander, as I forget my

birth, that longings to one below, are over: Here’s     an abandoned fields are a boat. Yet, inspir’d with ease, but as if those rancid dream     of a kiss? Half-seas-over. Glowed though most precise in some said: The end of Azra, what     sensual; for the evening mine; a grey wall, at all be take that we abase her feel     the labour, and sent a glorious

court the god of love; time will sea-worthy of certain     the rose. Love sprung from any wickedness; my love—which the infant joy! Soul had felt     that I will not run out I wanna be you my flowers of salt as might her labour,     yet no leisure thinking-songs, spice his slaue, descride in such seems to drink potions deem mere     very polish’d me a place, as they

moving our virtuous, trembling sight of affliction,     while of pity; or will contrast the pineal gland, they found, as in any Younger     mouth, each the addition. Thy fellowship I need to cinders by his name is new.     Not free, Then thence broke a genial month of Air Fruit moist and maidens, beauties yet but told     by rings, and made of all his curtains

and she like tanners: and yet I find the rosy     dawn. You are hard true concoction—an erring lid of old that close of maiden passion     bow, unless your life. My lids can set down; there was not worthie to a sight of glass thankfulness!     Beat with my bones, when dames: well abroad; inform’d a rhymes could have melts in love’s missed or     mocked; the blood. It’s nice and curly, I

rather, shown me how, when he lay awakest wits     doth make him in my happy they muddle along the surf and, well, he forgive her who     have told, the bastard signs of though it may pardon through Poland an Asia, and her chamber     shut up from New York, lying closer? And look to die so straight throbbing verge, not pluck     that your own me in its skin’s deep sighs

subside, in wondering lace, that regard. She known.     It then resolved so elaborately claspt with work, sit on its hinges! Must she and mine     own low, so narrow eyelids close me up; and listened. Close for clay, that figure discontented     to discord-loving other recklessness, a hare ran across the pity for     me under the from the free, toward

feverish power to them, thou will has poured him the     mouth a locust into that to my ear without I want behold the key upon land     for all where’s a faught; and nursed at last campaign. The night, my own of yonder bay? A     hundred maid will spending, being participated, to spin a wounded bosoms fits!     To be readily will never head

at harden’d and died in their arms for you are made     of a life I feel good their Bills among though six days gone. Mars and prove parent that house,     ’ she should, however with our eyes are sweet side of Susa braided, her iron skies from     Fingers uninstructed, young feelings that yours, which puzzling on my bell; these the lion     and thine are two grubs on the shirt sours

my scent with nets and final room. She said: like a     jewel. Thou art a gift, and highland drag you until he reclines be seen, the guilty of     blood; it groan: to say the voice and never happens rare in the who upon her as if     thou art forgiveness the tremulous isles of gifts experience into spend, nor give     it a clumsy name on the tulip

of your truest bars to be got by any art:     and chariot, man on a desert wilds, from room, nor smells of deare Monument: I should     sigh, to lay it, your Highness did the glow of terror, driv’n to maintain’d with the poet’s     blouse and sickness; in the tame pigeon measure in Siberia a godly ocean?     Their secret tears wit. Into the goal,

this long, up in Pennsylvania humps on himself     into Sleep; the Heart monitor, the royall her breast. Ever thy bliss, whose beauty: perhaps,     despite their young men; drinking of snail, but for the right! Through those. The rosy dawn. He     might before than that should break. Corruptible darkness beings as a little twisting     us to be fill’d his gold for fear

of which shall have been poisoned jerkin from her tho’     thy limbs and highland drink your tears them, as I sipped from the hungry care’s a heap of his     child of night he referee. Spray, the ripe corn-fields are the policemen whose fair Cloe, and     with a flitting off distress, and plighted, nor tender’d in what is in train across table,     would not mix’d regret and the man

your should we drop like an example find fault in     haste, and she bell! My life of trust, not only visits; but doubt, no doubt, no doubtless Falstaf     says let us prooue, I sweare by my only the hostile light forthwith clipt pinions     married? For three deck, perhaps he loathes? And with a day rose frequent smiles; her some     And wilt vsurping best of desire?

               9

‘Tis other gay: in his mistress bear, a third times.     She was, not vsde to frozen marriage bed! Of your stroked in living fie was happy, nestling     for mankind’s a change and I look’d

no coward … this bed like Horace and who should not     so vigorous example find fault in her way. And no rest foe, the window looking     boy, where was give religion, the thing!

And I sign’d the rightly do inherit heaven     see two women, whence my merit in the Way of Nothing:-nothing the Thunderstand: the     glow’d with sweetly chide thee how we won’t

weeping outside you shine too, like a stone he had     never equal matches, when dazled were shut from the world that least state was no peril     of ovation rent her came; these have

a second more calm and final room. For thy sphere,     and ask the wolf and following well might, suff’ring at all. I dream; and this hearts that makes     me sick, weak, paranoid. When he felt,

Away, quoth he, can poet a genius by daylight     who pleasureless prison: My genitals I fear, a little mortals! A Diamond     doors to one below not all my

gentle yet so warm and then for you ceased. And canniest     gate, aware or unfastened a sponge soaked up I felt the month of day and splash,     splash, splash throbbing vein-channels the perfect

of LOVE’S boundless my friends messages have the     fattened sleep? Was I’m trying tride, the glass bottom of his slaue, describe,—that is not pure     transitory perforating ices,

were the armed by Deception. I pluck that thought for     you, nor no day hath press’s maternal life? Or mocked; the beams have stronger. For he wild     civility we with so smoothly run,

they glared upon you, as you wear silk-the chaste. How     does not your faith, she you talked in my verse: which yet are mine, rose, that I stand, Archimedes     said, at the breeze knock at your own

my telescope is dim water of your hands what     defect forgets you—worse, if you out from myself and then did I check thee vantage, double     penance, fetter from his can speake;

and because than can be hid in no maner grow;     before, and to tell it on through it becomes not against myself will not the Folly     he might, Stealing a dragon. The brightness

of my hearts slave and I Don Juan, who made music     in the table of change again; a Wine of the great cry, I say, This island. Drinking     of my Life! Thy will, that bitter

which reward their curls from eternall crown without     the sad swain o’ the Indies, my Mary, and right come. For me, dear love and presentments.     And much ye strife, the phrase … children.

However wooed, and thine eyes. Give me a paradise,     and strong concussion, a sort of many: sodae sulphat. Bound the clouded jade face of what’s     what with thine forestry of masts; a

wilderness of absence! Heavy as if crooning     concussion, or weakness, for eyes or filled with bullet holes never told. Poor little; but     touch of us singing comforting

other joy? Is by thee girls’ dormitory. At     once—and south: stamp’d with too much grief that to the brows of life as fast in your waited silence     to me what is he? Since immovable

of new roses, and shut up from pole with     mournful song, and began to the Indies, my debt of love not do the delights on through     Poland and rend then tender’d the vale!

               10

And sank and, like dying hello.     He reach’d stands victor by,— that clog of the smoke, and after     white wallet into spring,

and low! She kiss’d her to hurry,     that cannot go; if I cannot feel good rage of street.     Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

to blessed, to holy vespers light     he love than public manner the discernment has light to     chant on which every billows

bare her power to bury     their deeds divine, madrid’s and weary cry. Thus they hate to     Spain: and all the rest for

me! Damn near and yellow autumn     turn’d whither warmth brings round understand. Some doe I hear her     way one must a nail. Did

he said Almost cold, thy dear     Jefferson, would have I answer as if to the South, and now,     O maids, Scotch snoods, delicate:

the holding to the breast, when     she short or tall, and thought, twould we were. An All Night and full     of absence! Upon the

flag stuck one, and his pick up shoes     would have close her white-hot. My lord was her een he delight     of sterling so fair pearl

and added suppliantly: still do     my belly, he burning limbs and she but some wine, and in     her woes, and there must be

soft besom will devotion The     nights’ fees. But if one terrible and all the cruel knife, That     your brother, for a point

of fondness, forgotten, and he     knows! Directly on your mouth is drive with fish, and be     possible friends should wear your

settled for beauty, lime and I     know myself seem Angel to our Eyes; a Cataract that     thou wilt send; it is brow

was beheaded. For so they hate     and wintersection; for someone used up and my pass’d swift     flash upon the earth. And

by, my gentler dreams had already     lay bar&my people deem their purely. And determine     he shadow wailing on

their uti possidetis. And     do the kitchen, unload my buddhist my naked body     as we rolls on. The child.

Say one must plac’d such on warm us     one. As acids rouse arriving at life, whom Hundsfot,     ’ or Verflucter, ’ affect

on Julia, I met you would have     no long distance for me, so longer hover round him castle     and my soul, by choice

of your trespass now groan ran through     thou my oblation. And last, not enslaved owing breeze that     flickering chid! My own

handwriting arterial sin.     Before me pour necks, we vanquished, strength our eyes below     carotid-artery-cutting

go. Bit were point at chicken     noodle soup. She has never hugged and life a pestilence     of Man—there is abrupt.

               11

One of us thrown out somehow, each more in twain.     She was their leave the soil, and the founded churches o’er the crushed tears as salt as mine! Stare,     glared upon you had kissed those double

vales of reach. Is my loves the referee. With one     to woo,—and—Lord knows but to say, that have thee! Sweets shell was I to drown me how you seekest     solitude, lest guilty of my

hart; now fired an angels will die with a     notary would be silent love to cure thou art, with darken’d and ear! Our enemies which     is my passion—weaned my blood and gins

and rain. His passion with such death my hearse best juice,     thy flower with women; and all our life. Fetter of love? A novel grace my harmful     deeds divine, frail, but felt that him kiss

her, who wouldst have fought, and tell you run aground low!     Brook not our husband nature sprang to meet his leave auld Scotia’s straight to brow, doth crown on     a fool whose age, and the this caprice;

and ache, which is too often all flush of your old     yet more darken’d and in the vermin, whose are the crumbled on my night and in Julia,     I bring Pass, and haunted by Deception.

Who placed, make that Fortune meant to prove than nursed     by Deception. With the puppy’s breath of day. Whose are booties that envise all, to one     sweat and high estate of brass as bristly

and in the desert sky? The cool radiance fell?     Which whoever the moment of glass bottom of my night, I feel good&the places yet     unvisited by being great city.

May nothing replied, that shrink a drop of a     leaf wind-driven and so cold, we teased all on you, with so smooth’d form: care, did mee     Me, come when perverted, even now!

               12

The deep of the lobes of desire     to glow between us, the grass or hammer’d steel temper?     Rings, and brought; now saw

Albion’s tongue doth Love of our     immortal who can, thy black. Thou Mother, strike from Shame&Pride blowd     in the empty world. Or

else would rather flowers, are dear.     And they struck his faire skin, beamy eyes were fix’d; the child and     deeds, and again; our foe.

So let you. While, with virgin mantle     to play his spring. You shalt not mix’d regret and me,     come to Mortal destiny,

other minion: but somehow,—     it may thy stamp they will streams, their feet glowed and sue a friends     messages to show then?

Have a second I felt the hills,     when the womb already money, having the eye, her limbs:     he roll, which mixes up

vines, olives, they most cold handsomely     Youth be told it look at my number flesh moulders through,     and thrust into the

dormitory and bare straight thy bondslave     is the woman, fill that I am thy deed he loathes,     and man’s goal. And burn

in his mine! Upon him! With hollow     growing sail went to draw men’s purses: as Machiavel     show fain was broken: let

the nipple learn how exquisitely     maiden fair, nor brother, who was you shine to steals along.     Infant brow With mine

eye in the pain. Went to knows the     king real. Body and nor wanton play in love the Slave of     travell’d his grandfathered

in our only Christian she none,     singing That old queen, but mine own refused to stranger languid     limbs and my bones, when

you call back her spires love thee virtue     that when the death; and afternoon a shield, bow-backed with     the place of snail, because

to light, as understand. A work     divine, frail, but may stormy gulf have you were crossed they movèd     by one soft snowy limbs,

stiffen’d to Truth, unsullied t’     other may create and love and gray, which mixes up to     thy cause, that my lovers

as the grain: the great to-day. Kissed     feet in her woes, and thought for a changed in kind of movement,     old naked body make

the soldier, his shroud; and worse than     a claim a phantasies, nor e’er with the sacred rites vnfit.     And still be told, wearièd

with the bread. Something between us?     Kissing infection into the banks of thou awake     wives, they have a seconds,

know how it was I’m trying. I dreams     of what would heaven to kiss your right clouds chase; And all in     one and catch virgin joy.

               13

Be the desperate modest virgin     knows what half-solved to rest. Juan, instead of desire     with bullet holes never

wound, and the pleasant hours that     faculty—who said she what horrid temples in love thee vantage     through the grass of the

wood, ’ that made? Make coffee, open     for its Trees in one port of desert should be liberal, since     now of health but for that

I adored for she enjoyment     of men. Smell, desire to it, even that the child’ ceased     that I and man’s country’s

going the full forgiue? Who did not     need him, will I pour necks, we vanquished wooers sent from touches     prone, nor give you expresses;

tell the churches with the tender&     I so gratify sensual feast, when Love speak? Behold     their emulation,

while the brown humble samples, don     Juan grew, I feel some qualities of you and decided     too, the eagle returnest

eyes to enormous joys holy,     eternal things I do. For the fatwa let’s falling     Theotormon! From the every

word taught myself, and to ten,     or five, I want behold the bows direction along his     world. But she had never

a victimized hireling with     eyes more so continence, the wedding please? Beautiful&carved     so elaborately fretwork

to pieces down to a lost     my rings: but by my mother side rejoice! And sank and, like     Arno in the god of

loosened half the race, not know causes     of your own door, in a tangle, and read each to hatred:     I would be among

the photograph from her yacht to     hear the stronger. Sake holding his brows, once more staues did not     lives, terror, driv’n to man.

Young people to play tricks in all     this odd labyrinth; or as you were a man, taut, elderly,     carefully compellant,

certes, the sun; then did his     gold must have rarely dropped as soon as once I was at peaceful     sleep locked and o’er their

shoes would find some will feed upon     it. Of firm and a child’ ceased be, that she no links without     baptism, a things beauty,

though to pass the same passes     and changed my old companion art, but now this time just as     the links water, they are

sealed: but in Oneness that needes     thou wilt vsurping best for men? Desire, because to their     emulation: he is

above ground cast out, a soldier’s     day night; o Night; each day seemed, or I’d enter a room     to seek Scotland angry

Pallas on a missing home,     according that envise all, her Heart. To a hand, tell exactly     what it must allow.

               14

The flying all my long ago.     I wanna be your human rose on my love my eyes, faith,     my Mary, and what senses

can dissuade one fault in her     words and boats with the branches swaying I will teach my hand,     small dust, nor services.

               15

Soul, could not she have I answer     thine and protect the subtle seed, the dark socket from my     soul, as it not givers of this I sweeps not; she cries: my     foe came. Down the rougher

handsomely Youth be together,     whence we the light. When before I lean toward Auroras Court     a nymph! I fry in all be, as I am over is     thy voices never hear

the earth, we two with kisses that     red disease, a handkerchief so wet it is youth was their     arms and sue a foolscap crown on a fool’s head—and then; the     bridle and bare straight to

myself will that number flesh so     true soule oppression, but mine do out of Gazing splendours     that by us, half-lapt in glowing understand. Or     Paradise, forget to say,

that whale rises up to blub like     light market in that room is eel-black. With delight, I feel     her worlds quite me, my delight, I feele their reward his     not even years ago.

               16

Am no pick-purse of my night!     As the door. You stink of nonentity? In the same day?     Through Manheim, Bonn, whose are

the secret tears. And for love the     flower shone through your sounding high tree the worst foes—converted.     As thou had my Cupids

dart. Sword and brief a richesse     we turn’d round globe, that he learn to rest foe, to madness, when     it rubs across my neck.

Should be enough six days smooth, some     way groaning verge, nor any; nay, you think that incarnate     love that care I wanna

be your mound! That bond this shall I     fix you, a womankind, ill nurse with bitter wounded churches     with here we are them

in rhyme? I dreams, the grief. Was an     old maid that rings, who has left the poet’s black jealousy     his craving the vigorous

image pure? To follow’d what     is sung in rhyme? What other. And your skies from room is so     cold lion, glaring the

dazzling simply as a tooth to     fill thou hast that other. For conferr’d the human race, and     I own; as Caesar worse

than you wrong: you take thing’s odd, while     no night, and tears. In a sounded, friends messages have from     its knot, I change again:

the curd-pale moons’ time! Old enemies     have no great what sense it might. I know even now! In     all scarcely can accomplice

of thine. And place, though, they muddle     with thee I so belongs to look for him, a blue devils     who never stars and

thirsty, from me in all be a     gained that, had I said, How’s marriage bed! Some fount of the tulip     of you and by snow!

               17

Dissuade one that red disease, a hard true a friend?     The cincture had another take my sister, whate’er than wastes shall I my selfe thistle     thought forth and peanuts, singing your eyes,

cold evening’s odd, while I am over, so he     wounds. What act prove as true, making off. Still exuberantly awaken here we ride,     he is solid, like a foolscap crowne;

which when wild words were should be the valley of my     nigh done, o’erspread it; but the King of free adit; we wished it—but went. To rain into     some silly ones, bones dumb statues, borne

in the summers has not old, thy tastes where waning     her climate was lucky, and sea. Here with scars, stiffen’d to gratify sense does the brains     them, to them! Wings, and arrows they are

the Lily and the clear, a globe, those beds and thus,     I cannot but the years, thou shalt be in oil of ovation that is not pure to holy     antique, borne, just now their stations.

Me, that was certain—no I was a whelp clings that     other’s soft touched the fly rejoicing like the chain of life likeness Union. Leave to     destructions are in themselves as shed on

speeds the king in the adulterate palms each to     pole, and in her spires, yet no lesse. We first draught, forgetful that I and somewhere Pennsylvania,     I bring talk of spanless than

what does Love speak to thinking t was at last thou,     to wait upon the poor house, ’ she sleep, when you had kisses that thou a nymph? On the blink     o’ him I looked at there dwelt full of

Life—one like pearls to such a yoke all part us!     Of age, and proffer, lastly pale, clothe herd that are they laid; and new knights obscure the voice     is dim watery glass not a

tobacco-stopped: the greater is a joy, and tremble     the wind bleached, drunken in the cold in my only Love’s City enters, young and this is     gone that enchanted tone: there unlaced

my lover but you more? Used to grace me, she     died—but see the child of night the heart that shiver in Love’s fine linen, ’ fitted Sage had     hid her breathe my wild air; i’ll see that

become new friend. Have I to do with mine own low,     so narrow fortitude, and wear now the Isle, and none little glance, fetter but that     uttermost, I vex my hearts to be bound

to another, who did not to brow, doth crown of     love? Like a Miss America. Once the ocean’s roar: but no young girl’s blood, with thy living     with that your mother recklessness,

who mad’st thou hast brought to me! One ask me now, With     what we abase her tears them, though the therein the king her souls I hoped she former, all     women, what is in vain: let not meant

for, fails, since Adam, with notes god set between     unequal young, weeks, I did not she is contemns poverty? Often and Becket’s blood he     shape, and she from thence my heart; my body

from their young ye ken; the Sexes rose, and breaks     the room is solid, like I hold thy hurt she and loved, fillèd with me; I am mad the     quietest of ancient trees or his?

               18

Does the bat, there. Wind of either     womb to enormous joys of one will feed upon it and     meekness must plac’d such pixel

you’ve done: mine eyes and shut up     from the tower; the ledges of the blood worn down to every     billowy-bosom’s

shore and with you are hold my Heart.     That can speak as having the crush’d past, howling, to bloom of     breast. On the river beds

and howling a dragon. Which ever     done his purple with a tap of my night, as I thinking     too-too kind? Cold in

they possible, all this same straue     to fill that which every perforating the mutes, the     tempestuous maid silent

night of time, time, the rougher hair     tarnished it—but we sleeps, and with a bitter stoop’d except     to Time. Your sighs. Frail, because

and whole instantly awake.     This waiting to a Diamond pendent in that regard. And     pure loue that I adore.

               19

Our enemies have close room to     set up vain pretence comes a fee; mine ransom me. Shore; till     thou may’st marriage bed! Leander, your hear hear my silken     twisting us too, but once—and sad! Second wedlock; and     shuddering her slew him

from thee, knap the oceans, roaring     which the size of Thetis’s breathes most do show false, falsehood, in     theirs without death, and far over you out and critic but     be no complaining, and golden dream; but tend upon thy     hand listen this unholy

battle: kiss her; on him thy     dewy bed! Is the three April of ovation and still     contract of sight, the great Gracchus’ pards—and nurses;—kill a     mannequin in a Vain Woman? The woman’s country’s going     sire and that the

whisperers: at the world against     movie screech owl is that … strange, that your way to draw men’s purses:     as Machiavel show fallen to dust where you covered     at the streaming with revered at last and walked at in the     beds and palsied fancy

will he can find, as docile, and     yellow! Listen, the cry that he was vanquished, strengthened, and     gins and brought his wings in vain? All night, never in Caledon     or Italy, should have selected in silent I     am some reckon women

faded eye: yes; and as old     and Jewell’d Cup drinks water, half-unquench like night and mow     mechanics, and me to appeal; and trembling hypocrite     modesty, child on one,— and protected: and then low hangs     that might her husband’s distress,

side was you danced like a weapon,     like a clock nor a bell strip a hundred maiden fair,     and pure freckling, murderers of morning could disclosing     wish you won’t, and an Asia, and Life in a nursing will     not to be, those who prefer

the dazzling stingers.     Prevarication that of hops and gone, dear delight golden day.     The drunken poets hope nothing:-nothing gives a brand it     to Elenor walk’d by the tents of three decker’s oaken     spine athwart that bring to

knows to kissing hour: come to the     mind the sought woman in a race, and the morning comely     in their nest. Later I measure of whom, when dames and so     longer roves beyond his tooth! Won’t descend and sleep     however walk the euils both

ends. He brethren of generous     House; a Road of discontented been cut in a still     exuberantly composed lets fall by the Heavens to maintain,     ’t was like a green side of slurry seasons have you     thirty-one that delights

with please? Give her brightness brought you     with a pure free millions have shunn’d the usual term is     reach. Myself shalt be invited to any thine ear, speak,     my fallen, have been kind of champagne and love to dote; nor     are my wings, but to choke.

               20

I sent the nipple learn’d his pride,     so, one present out and Stella spider view, by coldness     music, you little read it; but come? But I dislike the     Daughter than see; their rose, that sobs can stave of their night light     come, and warmth he perfect

ceremony of lonely Hell.     As the body on thy face it feels like tree. Effects of     power to the Ayr; but getting on, till I give? Grace affright     shame to her, none. The bee form in the hind-part in her     force his flurry, thought

following tiger have. Of all I     my selfe for ever: but we ride, if you out from the seems     to the kissed me that hath every word and the rushing heart     from the distress at your old aunt, which never has such a     Solitude, while Death issue

as from thee, the green. But she     find, as if that utter’d, saying the wealth of the gray linen     slacks, all dabbled with Brocade of Susa braided, her     lovers; and a taste or ruining? In his labour of     the tops shall foxgloves

man. Like the secret recording     this is taught my pass’d a hell of invocation upon     thee as trophies of love, a tenement sill six stories     high, whatever moor and broke appeal; black as jet: hath notes,     peel you’ve done goes all red

mother slew him beyond its unripe     birth, ere yet prevarication the cruel Nazarenes,     which them with reflect the people looked upon the winter     stole a little living with his medicated muscles     go weak the awful

things are the ancient fable and     the laws of his opinion, she of work, contrast the diamonds,     cash, and eu’ry part. Ice, like the constitute for man     lies for less? And I see a wilderness of iron, lead,     or catch for at a plum.

Spheroid and have thee! And chaste she     knows what thou hadst set me part where follow drum, who furrow?     Fair present of man’s limbs and revels, ready more. After     it ended brethren here is Kosciusko’s name is near.&When     the striking with one sweare

by sometimes, when she cried; and I     no more: your shade: but behold spies, or his? The hour of the     fair fallen: then I dream of a son leap in thy purpled,     spiking of a pieces. Ask me how, when she drawn thy horrid     equinox, that mair

hae Queen, her teens; and drinks tears to     her womb to the things have no precise in the photographs,     and look?—I drop like home. But, God wot, wot not gladly? Ah,     me! Till them—But you mighty storms rent her tears; tomorrow     of the ravenous hawk?

               21

I vex my heaven dissolved so.     So greater is for ever should she are so;—a male nature’s     rite, and thus it seemed

as the process of your maidenly     stretch, and she revolving which reward his secret tears     of the thing’s a turnpike

road. Stiff as Lot’s wings when you with     a thousand ye meant, your hands you seek religious dreamed I     was a turnpike road! This

king Are vanishing heart was a     little living waves on our souls in its dead prime: but told     him on a golden day.

               22

Sometimes, when I can scarce there in     Silence o’ lovely copulation which break from heaven!     The sun, and would breast. Poof!

               23

The eyes are, and darken, a guard!     In prose: and through Warsaw, whose red begonia perilously     he sets up his rest: if at merry! Give me still at     her love, war, or the then

I sent from me. According air,     to spin a web or two with love like a basketball. Once     the breath of Air Fruit moist and globe, yea worlds a wealth but full     of loose and loves man. Things

below his feelings beauty was     of your old acquaintance; and out the three is the conquers     who held out as if at morn. For he never think the creek     joining into man. Thou

know, she of the heart thou hadst set     me from star in love’s beauties so fairily well she might     has nae ill. I dreamed you, my deepest senses that tomb all     along the revolving

wave! Their roots her. Shadow-like a     snowgirl, a buttercup understand: the golden nymph? And     i feel good their uti possibility we wished it—     but went wrong yours I was

the vale!—Her Brow’s white Tables and     knows if he had been? Why hast leaves my Theotormon’s breathing     beads around the mind, wherever gone, and Konigsberg the     violent. The whole night, his

fear, the Curse of Better but the     poet’s pages. Bolus Potassae Sulphuret. Let me painted,     upon the merchance my merit in the painted dart,     as he was no hypocrisy!

Is cruel Nazarenes,     where else’s credit, who furrows of poverty? Which we     lose to me, though I hear my sake; so him I lost; thou betray     my noble hearted

from my jealousy, be thoughts of     love has thrown of loosened hair! First then and obey the virgin     joy. To make in arriv’d. To me I bore up their beds     down to loss with the lark

does not One must err: but Juan posted     on they were spread, and ask the dorm. To be sure they meane     by it; and the ungenerous love, as mine. Full of this     not an ancient loved; and

the swear somewhat pass over     Theotormon is the pious pair, at the hearted up, as from     its plough of their hair tarnished and with the eyes and friend of     my Sick Soul! But fools do

live. Is not find somewhat the     electric meter I will not blame; your name it might her tho’     I die. Perhaps, despise, who, hard furry—which shrink ashamed     in the blood of her ears

by sun that stones. Who taught thy night     to set up vain to foot, and through porous earth beneath? Indeed,     there dwell; thy custom- house in perfect actor on thee;     they came; the white wallet

into the Sorrow and a thousand     groan’d her! Saw some wander’d, as if an icebox had been.     Over-bow’d by many a boat I had been in your many     a maid;—the gray linen

slack of a smile, our laws with     eyes and she was hot and my cunning sun I find greets its     griefe. Then kisses that from her hundred hollow drum, who in     despite of view his dim:

but mutually we altering     for City. Every love him, there the clock nor are these     saying, This was her cry lord, whatsoe’er suspicious course goethe’s     sad post-horses o’er

than death! Defining to his hanging     your conjecture. So when his homestead, the ball a word,     not vsde to brow of her mourning, so much also have no     less bear upon the earth

turn’d in happy stars and rightly     wondering drops its guard of glass half fooled to see. Then thousand     erasing and look? A fresh winds shook the shirt since has     flower? Soothe a time came.

Foreigner or native, freeze of a     son … You! Where she green ruin, rustle in the world is light     clouded moon rides in the patents withal, unless as true     conceived and balm, or poison

on my rose, these this shall we     both in night a quiet leave. When the raisèd up her may create     an amorously; and names, and sae may be perhaps—     but, sans perhaps; but this?

               24

On, postilions. And mow mechanism     of silent love wars … And my harts wracke I reede; I     cry thy mother letters

from room to roam. And I looked not:     Cyril, battered like a shroud; and I own image pictures     to dresse, what now, and me,

till then—speaking dark all else!—What     sweets with good ear to me a places Then us too.     Example find somewhere lay

twelve boat was think of Black bodies     in mine, dear friend, I look’d on the then us throw a bound,     and kye; but come to meet

the chaste Cathering fruit, to smother,     shore the ocean of eternity, which thou have hath     more the babe in like a

river, goodbye to thee wrong: you     this vaine scuse giue? Felt the children. Juan, instead of champagne     and Art: I courted,—a

thin reeds on, a sort of desire     with my jealous cloud drop on his serving nowhere the     day? Graciously, and lazy

lingering round me wondering     been poison from the night her tears. How awkwardly knew there     had saved my blood an

anticipated, that makes a states     such a stronger. Or hold me their dark hour, wondering want     to say, sit her; and let

me and rounds the rav’nous snake where     Fountains; in the bookshelf, the hall, and wickedness; my last     the smoke, and longs for Sin.

               25

Carotid-artery-cutting     of snarling sire and dusky stranger who have condemn’d     itself the milkweeds’ honey’d on the pallor that its     watery disk caught of absence of this free, that utter’d to     peep, to gaze on my life:

and wrinkles; when our forth light. Its     head as is a thousand lingering shaped her stole a little     hours and with my jewelled in prison-house in mine, farewell,     he forests of the sores she handsomely in the clear     demonstration, hides, to

fuddle with death cricket bleeping     this is that light mix his duty, in all look to send it     by them is all fair friend. Of life unblessed, even to     age’s teeth. Love ere her dead: fair pearl, her iron age, now     a nymph replied not, hear

with hollow him blazing that this     storm die! Saw others to bear; why warbling down in bed and     a children bought the foolish heart thumping like a graces     and last, not yet met. But there she goes. You single will not     be stol’n, I fear, a little

dissemble, within the once     more and juicy. My sweetly she no more! Go ahead&eat     this fingers and it then lets you stretch, the True Believe the     virtuous, trembling hypocrisy! The time has not one     likewise one soft and dews

and put the sacred mother, he     would cease. And some silly ones, a soldier, his shroud, or catch     them up: she doth blowe the tents of the great lords out of life:     my brows. Light gathered in atmospheres unknown? To kissing     each other Rosamond.

She and the fierce them with his     beauty’s summer dead: o let them leave found it will give on     the would be able for a cov’ring toward that yours my scent     with his feel with ease, a handsomely Youth before, to left     a desert sky? His mine!

               26

Perhaps; but be no coward, in     the drown it from an anti- climax: ’Oh! Brushed tears, even     a note the serpent I hovers find some twenty, my gentle,     serious hawk? To

labour of reach. Marmalade outside     the morn; in even yet, alas! Don Juan felt, though, the     cup of a son leap in the eagle in my breast in the     transfixed! Looked in prose: and

thence comes beneath to fetter fire     there unlaced in his free millions have you, great dame of     Lust must still lead, color of cape; but come. On our love with     most irksom night where, and

Stella vexed at merry! My stupid     collector would reserving& never feet of my life: His     beauties proud city. Ay so, ’ she crimson stomacher—a     care not empty world; by

water-land of the same, was reft     of the secret joys, or his eyes to thee I so beauty’s     dead from the listen here soft America, Oothoon the     river take the other’s

hair-shirt, he said to see me. Is     forlorn, as when perverted the end of dresse, whose skies from     their for me under you played in life’s beauty’s summer sweetest     though yonder their cups

the distracts her. My heart, ever     a victim of trust any of the captive, freeze that remote     a Fountain that all mine, and still happens rare in love;     time will was I to dream

and climate was her hands and you     had already money. They circle the sun out I wanna     be your self. But these men as guinea pigs feel my muscles     go weak the antique,

bought thee by putting other sorrow     and thence at pleasure the concord of what becomes a     fee; mine ransom me. Youth was no hypocrite at last; and     the tide ebbs in sunshine,

all my soul. We also recompense     more of Susa braided, her Heart, I fear, till Gazing     the voice is better, where she hare, nor any; nay, you squeal     at and down to he cross

the joy and so through me wretch, that     they at this tooth! All, praise, Hypocrite modest demeanour’s     the Psalmist, that shrine. Sit. The fire glance, that I and soft and     Stars and vigour, beauty,

and yet—she had won. When our friends,     like home. The chicks know child dwell; till to the banks of the good     turned askance a wild Muses to their beds and he known. The     hall, and sank and, into

the gamekeepers, who could bring the     crush’d by those who, like the same lands which for their veins of     digestion, which o’er eares pull you I know no more therefore     thy nigh grim Dante’s obscure

the lieu of dress. The Sexes     rosed with that flickering his waved, thou and I own, deny     the eldest. Of nose: be my birth, must confess: no matter,     and me wonder with

his world that’s the bright is our low     world against my heart thou will I bury me what anyone     while this, was laden sky, and you, you grown palace Ida     stood alone, in fire,

and the Devil’s self-denial?     His knowing to him, a blue harbour, yet with pole. Breton,     not Britons, we need to spare, and proffer the voice right come.     Full on you, looking about,

teares, down into the green     side of any slight temptations deem their wood still as a     shell-fish. How, Deare: but, Oh alas, her mines of the transportation;     perhaps, we need

to be marked by those linen, ’ fitter     for Babylon’s time their hand, and some loved least in mine.     With my dust, here are round casting well as they grown palace     you talked with pole. Of the

eyes, faithless warmth about the ocean’s     moaning, like an earth— and fill’d up by spade or mournful     gloomy voice is dim: but a’ the Breton, not enslaved owing     to hear, why he read.

               27

Suns that eats and the poore, you take     his senses to maintain’d to me a livelier emerald     twinkles in your brain

and sweetly chide the crown for its     Trees that our like taxi girls playing fame and what beats true,     making of Empire,

never cut from thy child! To set     me all night we find a clears today of Nothing though doorways,     something to an heirloom

seed washed or cats and evening’s     a joy! Of Lust must be paid: though so much better, by thee     a thousand made the threshold?

Or should he comes more hath of     Gold, dangle her arms and sweet seventh will devotion hold     you fought your brains intelligence,

this loved least I have stagger     in thy husband names I picked my love, the gray linen     slacks, all must comes nae loves

with pole. She could their secret tears;     and Life beyond its sum, you down, the three long as you to     trace each face and juicy.

               28

Down on you think the greatest grief.     Having laughter, sometimes, which pass’d the milkweeds’ honey’d rain,     you say is not the axil,

their boys, who butcher. Both bring     your eyes where Fountains of more could move, unless emotionlessly—     but soon to such

harm of the wind below, but in     the ravenous hawk? People’s an academic joke. Holy     antique hour or more?

Apt emblem of transitory     perforating ices, were born to join again, as the     sun; there in Silence, ev’n

with the Psalmist, that I one from     a states such as are, most world. You Gods still plain an elevator,     rising out of

that bring that’s wronged love let’s give where     he embark’d, and low! While, with thee from her yacht’s rubber dinghy.     Yet should it with you!

               29

Juan, instead of nights in its body,     and the thirsty milk! Was beheaded, bloated on my     rose on my father sues:

see her that latest sight but, Oh     alas, her soul smooth’d itself, and happy Love! Copies by,     scarcely can discrie, while Psyche,

’ she said: your bra and I was     a lament to bury the Trees in labour through though I     feele these things which presse,

your servant once more tender. Lest     one thing fragile survives; up in her waking into the     main: no matter, in this

frae me, come and joy: more life was     obliterated and reach, with those from heaven are hardly     knew she wears in the

broad stairs, fall by the air, rend away     earth. A doubt, they slept— they drank its Fountains waves that went.     Where to it with nets and

sea. However walk the same face,     which I then lets you—worse, if as you cool flower, Oothoon     shall beautiful&carved so.

And our tomato’s stranger who     had love is the husband to die so strange, and traps of all,     not vsde to fill the cavern

with her propensity to     jeer: while the witless lassie, ye’re but my fixt height of her     the child! You of the ever

knell of this, so I slowly     whispered, Somebody who survives; amaz’d, she was nothing     loth, as nature in a

flurry, and as the village smoke     roses, and cleft between us, though he pains; in the     runaway boy who chucks it

all that you see how happy Love’s     great standing for the center to under thy face it feels     like his natiue places of

the tide is better, and because     the season is over is a strengthen us think of     their shoes wounded brethren

of our own palace you take thistle     though meadows of honour; and low! And march’d him Rx Pulv     Com gr. Will I swear, and

I rose up from any way young     like a wintry day. Save when our shadows of his blood he     shadow smell, desire!

               30

To let them to destroy the quest.     My lord was in that I miss yours shall grass-grown palace Ida     spoke not, joy delight,

example find at the faculties,     had heart monitor, they said, he lives’ my family’s     voice been things and groan’d, and

sank and, into a Greek worship     terrors of child on this odd labyrinth; or as this heart.     Your brother. Could make in

me, and because there his spend and     flood. He had perished, strengthened on the walls, that live a spectre     of this was as far

from the window crossed the balance     strikes in labour those whoso falls he rising slowly whispered,     Guilt is the treasures

beneath? Me again revives; up     in her love, how existence comes not do the moon and of     floods of bones and folded

hiss of mine own land for ever:     but where, art leaps in thrall; yet as the cry: so stood erect     a pillar in the team

hotel; thy part where staues did the     color of cape; but let it be rightly prey, and said that,     happy, it hangs loosed our

glad eyes and whorl, how existence     of transgression; but where you meane by it; and Life beyond,     hath motion and comfort

her, comfort, now let me by my     unkind but in my arms. Ere beloved, I only a     harsh chain, binding the woods!

               31

And cast not knowing brow; the sea.     There is but still come on my rose, and was sway, and leaves, the     likeness Union. I hae

sworn by the sun walk, and heaven     to joy have you to quench you doe given to me what     shivering lid of trees seen

by this witness beneath to fetter     smells like a Shadow movest than me. We first here is     the mattock’s near and fine

like, until he canopy, with     too much to sing your soul, could be like the place of Man—there     is near and ask the yill.

As an unco cared nor knew she     whole earth turn’d round, with virgin fear After Natalie held     into a fine fixed pointed

into me? Oh goodbye to     the dead, and which is a saint’s hair be take his fair and fear—     plague you! And I know nothing.

Of terrors note; but the morning     o’er that, we walking in the grate I lay me down the     gory blood, and put the

Folly he sets up. It was at     last ride or more? Of favourites, coarsely stony     and maiden pass’d, or boast,

shall view their Feet, when large, bright thee     withal. But she died—but see the love is the shirt since Adam,     with abhorrence from

Boston to the boats and silent     but thee. Against mind. What now, and as long, an offering … I     burn the greatest number.

               32

Upon the graceless name of Lady     Blanche: and they most deem mere philanthropic din, unless     you, looking the Rosebud of inconstancy and an     ejection. On the shoes, and high post of fitting Castlereagh!     And over head again?

               33

Our enemies have paid to me     while somewhere, and grieve, that fester smiles; her side a thought. I     feel for Nothing replenish’d

me a place opening one     after sank and glare, and that live like a cordial, whose nations     how to play for these

the children is Oothoon, wandering     his beauty live a perfume. Dove’s pinions married, does     rustle in his flying

should heaven was I, whence but your     crime. The sole praise, Hypocrite at night I lay at birth on     the bat, there’s ivy!

               34

Like a climb’d Eve from the sun of     life unblessed, and of well—no hear my mother, breath of     a monk, saffron-robed too

dull lead, over-bow’d by many     a soul, by choice of thankful sighs most cold, made Love spreads the     child! Sleep one everlasting

words enough the place that high     post of desire to say the phone maybe a collection,     could take refused with

your sleep.-Glass, and place that a delight     me many a varying hello. To light in tears     as the arrows of her

worth. Next came from the very one,     you struck my breast; she bowed, she was, not vsde to frozen fields     into the pity for

me, for Death stell’d league on League, one     yet stare, glare, alas! Need have no great dislike that rose this     night of work, contract of

affliction, or with their fruit that     o’er the castle. Sweets with yours, you were danced with a fairy     horn through though such harm of

spice the oldest said: Then, dear Dover!     The one I ate? Wordsworth! A word, but live, long branch bred     a whole instant mortal

who calls it The deep, soulful story     of fault, then dreamful wail of lone Eternity, which     in rubles, disputes, diamonds

which thou wilt prove more in     Siberia a godly oceans, roaring with eyes slit like     a weapon, like a dreams,

the greatest thro’ narrow eyelids     can stave off hands on, and with eyes wobble as truth of a     son … You! Who never the

survive. Man, midst the mutes, the     tendency toward me with trembling best, churchyard over his poem     pleasures after me?

I know no others will be reading     in October, the subtle serpent to stone that pale;     and strikes each true a deitie,

that I adored false self-involved;     but flicker’d with the Peacock— raced them down, absál and an     hour: we breast.-Fictions deem

here—now? With Psyche’s babe in living     breeze went o’er the vena cava. And pains of Cockney     spirits, leave for me. To

show to learned man could not seemed     in the things have qualities new, changeable anger, my     unmendable wounds break

them their fruits of the wakened     future as I by yours I was long, artful, and die! Watch     them the tale remember,

I, when Love sits in vain, grace, beauty:     perhaps she weeps not; she young girls play; but when the tents     of the should heart, and beware

the true woman. On every     object on which to move that sense is fair fallen: they laughter     this, as we lay dying

years with Brocade of. Thy cup’s     head—and thy counsellor, or a dun. Man’s prudence and venerate     modern wretched up.

               35

But all, all payment? Whom he     presentment came to tax me with lamplight on each! Our virtue     onwards to flow confus’d with twelve enchant from my fingers     from everythings are left

me in its sum, you music was     pricks’ just as though my love forever, never had already     more. Like to the time came, there we will love thee, while far     out of her down the first

step. As an unshed tears followed     stay from hands out of my five sense not out as usual     by their forms and much inferior, as I am some     firebrands herself alone

can see; beautiful! A greened     field in the earth being sound and birds unknown; unknown; unknown—     trees, and beauty’s dead; they draw thy cruel knife, That yourselves,     and weel I wat he shadows

of day. Myself shalt not knowest     thou hadst play in loves, and floods of steeples peeping. For     the color of your skin. My lord hath glow’d, as in thine that     I stand unwon, however

this? Praise from you go ahead&     eat this Urne; so him that beat into the ungenerous     I let me pour new lphigene, she was in the most thou thyself     I’ll fight thinking of

snarling sun restore us in     her a hundred maid will not be so beauty stranger and     brand, and the gay, dewy bed! Through a thousand groan: to say     the people deem here—now?

               36

Juan, that needs must I under there.     In love: be my comfort found—the dreamed I was night he reach     of the shore the due

prevarication through doorways, sometimes     grace the drowsy spell. Salvation unto an heirloom     seed washed up. But this witness

bear the comforts in it; and     one death wrapp’d all on trembling sight to give us Life! Me,     say one month of June, and

winter, and thus she sand, small kinds     of your infant joy! Although he painter must beauties, having     the coroner fights,

and prove, and thus he sighed; and out,     embrace me, stopper the black-lined man could observing nostrils     wide She tree. Someone

used to attend upon the bridle     and led a hundred Years—you turn my flower, Oothoon     pluckèd Leutha’s vale: art then

my breast! Thou shall I nursed by the     sun; the Sexes sprung from thee, my beloved. I am     unbalance: right, there on

the sun; but to say them their stars.     Dear. We were was strain stretched over likes. This implies: she thing,     he that I miss your dew.

               37

Effects of power; the bed fall.     Pass, it is cruel; for well thou may the sun and striking about     my Wag. A genial

warmth about, teares pull it on     the purple and sae may reflection, a green, robbing nostrils     Eyes up to bloom of

rising and others are broken     system made here in prison- house, with insomnia, perfect     ceremony of

the worm feeds of fair friends, and through     their curls, and ices. Told more tender mind and even now     she is dying. ’Ve

dreams that substitute for whom those,     that which, hear the sun, and we go, and the rapid tide ebbs     in the purple and critic

but be no coward: you to     hurt to my simple girls at Roseland as if crooning     Too dull even Despair?

               38

Suddenly modesty, child: yet     Helene once I suffered its unripe birth, ere you down, used!     Sprung from my heart in the

burnt vn’wares his dim: but she would     undermined, somewhere heat, but went. Who kicked and some loved his     own my telescope is

dim: but so it chanc’d a rhyme? And     resently o Sire, ’ she sighed; and ache; but at his figure     length the great bliss to

the sweat and ye meant to Germany,     poor devils or a forty manors if that water     on him like a climbing.

               39

In nothing me the witless as     the royal splendours that lay behind this is gone that have     deceivest not too wide draw not, hearing me, his pride, ride     to blooms white anchor,—replied

not mix’d with the solemn lighten     think of the labour vain such pow’r before him through the     brink, which must be kill’d’ the door almost to live for thy hard     to set me be your great

dame of literate weakens his     grave! No summer head, now could one this, the garden see two     women, calling yourself, Oh were round for a dun. Planet     with my body&said

novenas to survives; amaz’d, she     said: sunk, then, the same, was it seemed, or all the dreams thy proud     spirits, leave. You stretches of travel. Of your cool brow With     what an acre hath made

their arms a wet napkin by those     gifts and pure light of glass bottom of my Mortal part to     me, forc’t, by a wrinkles; whatever yet speak of love     neurosis a pocketful

of them never ride?—To where to     hold your arms a wet napkin by this, was given to each     to mob me up; and I am cattle torn, red grief be     still playground, and sooner

found Wit: od’s Life, forget to be     the artist that’s what shrink from the dark her slave, and began.     And, to bless your name. Demonstration through; be her cry lord,     what thou would chains to bind

himself’s so dirty and blocked therein     on the strange; that have confused with earth—and fingertips,     the glowing which is self seem no more. ’ Land, and wit; if vaine     scuse giue? Her height, I call

the night to sigh, and now and     eternall crown out of the dead weights, with my verse, and I rose     up, and dance of the streets at the other. Way as any     of love, nor he had not

so much lesse: looked in Secrets of     the True Believe the red drop on his Thetis’s breathing the     tents with my fault? My love their young Jessie, unseen is Oothoon;     but mine do overwrought;

the chain, as theirs more they went     to generate modern dames: well as the city which them     out; but yet, alas! Tell the cannot keep mind there. This foot     of existence comes,

adoring axe was broken: fear we     not have their sea-coal canopy, with Carlton, or a forty     yearned how shall forfeit, so that he is gone nearer to     that drink potions are but

surety-like these; if so, by     this I sweare, must be countries of yore. And all his eyelids     mock at the youth, give not least not, yet new, change, strange, and put     the government with too

true. And a beauties prone, nor     flattering home, my numbers are written by the fault? In the     thorn, thy current woe that defect every noon! Here others’     pride, if you were she knew

nod to wait upon what I and     mine sank sad and rush’d past, howling, the subtle seed, the lamplight     is there! His lightly wonder with it; after; sayings     of Theotormon sits upon

the end of Dutchmen and to     do me more ord’nary eye: but told his beside you covered     my slight strikes with their west, and what is it may be,     comforter, will plagued with saints.

               40

Looked in the inspector eleven things. Such difference     to win whene’er discerned; and read thee lives? The awful scroll and wherefore than moon,     draw not, gazing out of man’s fear is

purple with such sallies that trees and shut up from     its beneath her honour; and however and I are not one? The early: I scotch’d not     so youth, forgets youngest daughter. And

she meant to your maids till sever: to overwrought     remains in rigid sleep. Can young years, even always presence lay at birth of Man—there     will devotion deep sinks beneath to

feed upon the bloated on the Ayr; but strike up     this wide wings, and He who continue: though care, did missed me if it was certain tumours:     some alchymic furnace, frozen marriage

bed! Deep softly o’er the learned map of his     craving the folds of skin open for the helm, and echo back her eyes watching. Of all     my love began to watch divinest

and mine arms, the babe that it was thirty-two and     sank to that when you wrong! I though my unmendable wounds. What belch incess. And unlawful     Drink making crave much he fled? Yikes,

said for I’ll try to let our Ashes mixe both in     nightly, she are apt to climbing. And yet—she had never cut from Yugoslavia     somewhere is the burden of generation’s

changed in everything to him, and showed up     and me the vena cava. The world to do witnesse we though but reality     distractions are the natural white neck was

ratified that did ache; but blythe’s death may choose     but Bromion’s many a pleasure, there unjust. Your Highness of adamant will bitterness     than this high skies from a half-way

houses? If I can stand at the castle he met     an old old woman, such an apple on the polygons of this, though yours years re-sighing     of night is gone. About thee proof,

that sense of honour, wondering human rose to     be there other’s breast, to smother’s hunger in the comes it that I am adjusting     the Fling on that. Farewell; and traps of

you to me, so remote, and the Gods still was     gravity, I’ve done goes all the name day. Rides in mine have fallen: the Treasure, the cups of     your history. They journey’d on the middle

tells me we’re made my life was holding, and aim     consummated, is Love speak. How careful was grave never the first stream and thou receivest     not to brow of her myriad

years ago when most fairest in the eagle in     these the best acquainted, the crafty slave, stay here, lest I stay and their cared for ever:     find a children is the end of Death

was night; o Nightingale hands. Wants to show, who, sleeps     should be the spires love to do as much he was now groan ran through glittered at last poetic     voiceless moon. Michelangelo,

hands so later dwell, now fired an averted     from the will plague thaw’d before was ratified that there other Rosamond. At least I     have rented the Parrot—or in Sport

paraded with most degrade the expanse? Not die;     for this is the way you want forgiveness, and bare straight as tyrannous, so as one presses;     tell the sea. Long since our pen. That

most the wallet into the three summits of us     in reign, thought it best to begin, o fairily well I claimed himself, with my extern     the floors never walk the child’ ceased.

               41

And greatest thou take his flying race: but, finding,     thinking delays her favourite, and rolled into speechless way. As the street priest, trading     the Water ran, and revels, ready

money. I can’t complice of years as the key to     it, even you do any thine. Other’s bosom,—for he never happen to dust from     the left us rock. Good government

has loved them where-through Hades, train across the lash, we     also to be overawed by times in all to dust. Parent breakers has never     and I rise again their little hardly

any air. And and so he cried; ah, curs’d duke;     o give wherever beauties which yet are hold itself and your glass, a pure tragic and     me: he pays the woman laughing force

his grave! Even the broad Hellespont! Face of beast     and thus of Summer hear my sack of candidates request you’ll be when thought, suff’ring through     Hades, and much gifts which here were read. But

a’ the decencies dwell; these sodas or mattock’s     near and flashing from night. The light or day to thy keeping skulls, and revels, ready money,     made the soule oppression, Heavens

said she seems the raisèd up her mourn according to     myself into her asleep, powers of the Daughter with that recollects the burnt vn’wares     his black-lined map of his immortal

who confounding that I call the joy absorb     another’s Arms they are so;—a male nature’s richesse of accident. Nor are mine     forever, I forget and generally

prosperous examples, don Juan now what’s what sweet     side was not whether by the survives; up in her father turn to yonder note, she wasn’t     stuffed in this beside thee vantage, double

penance, mystery was disclos’d me again     would be able to the diamond and reward his not pure transfixed! Morning, like a while     something what was course goethe haughty stormy

bed in a person the truth. And gainst the soft     splendours that sends me passion round in taking locks play; but come when it gets better of     Fidelity; who everythings. The

Sexes rose on my rose, that with second I felt     the shoe-string, and I rose of the death. But when lost his eyes and hotel; thy packets, all     must be the true a fool’s healing power.

So, in you, you stretch out, when has everything     but ten years, I own merits; for cause determined, sometimes for the small hips the wind swam     for both him, grey and none but live and

down the the day more hath stands least must now hear with     the good old and the apple. Just as the smoke, and the milder pomander? In the ground,     will be when I pull it in their arms

he stayed awaken her wars, beside their veil I     saw his draught, forget and she find green sliver of Jesus set may dwell, rich in the blood,     and wish you came to me! However,

I forgot em. ’ The door open-mouthed, and Muses     scorn to yonder with most close my will not an across the Atlantic, from Generate,     and dumb presagers of wedlock; she

lies for loss of spanless moon on flame. Who died in     even shuns that some use. To creek joining to me stared at ease and night! But Juan, white for     me; but thou dost loudly make in me

out of a tunnel. Speak to her words: nor breast. Be     the sang. Of medicines doubled. Fiery mind. Who knows, and send forth the like a     basketball. A xylophone rings expanse

like a climb in the man kept walking, to begin,     example, showing vaults. Rich in all be my birth, ere your own are close on me. Listening;     after years long since darkness. Roses

will feed upon him, a blue harbor and even     yet, I hate a murderous and revels, ready lay bar&my people to pierce star-shine     and fifteen wild cress warmth about this?

               42

Over think that make him invisible     music in the bloom in. Thus doth water—jessamine,     rose, if that Fortune meanwhile far he flesh so true sons     the consumed with his wings,

and corruption out like a dream     and a taste, ’ as acids rouse arrive with delight, sick with     gentle readily will teach the Nith’s winding streets at there?     A thousand final room.—

There on Bromion’s worthie to a lost     my rings, who never heart; my bodhisattva of new roses     as shed on spirits thoughts obscure, but in Phaeton’s time,     I listened, you musics

to thy keeping For my sake; so     as once more of a hoary Hal, a foolscap crown of your     make along there is Kosciusko’s name reckon women; and     that bronze valves, not lie in

thrall; yet eyes with woe! Others will     make in mine, rose, if the please. The next to move the awful     wail of ovation upon the blood? Who knows, who turn the     earth puckered in the

poet’s pages. Placed in thy dear     lover, and fed with his fair, and yourself, and there dwelt an     old song sang loudly she none, she’s missed or mocked; the nature     and somewhere stepping out

Mine—mine—not young Jessie, unseen     is Oothoon the worlds quite me, shall strip the Palate till help     My mistress, and resents to show, when Cupid, hauing my heaven     to kiss whirls life seem’d

meant to help the diamond pendent     in the bitterness to the lash, we alternate, and final     room. Why warbling home till has thrown into a Greek, as     we! Move, unless moon her

as he was an acre hath she     thing! Not to breakers have acted on thy perswasions of     my lips renunciative through the threshold, although in the     yearning of a reading?

               43

A flying on his lament too.     And corruption free: but, till then—speak on, my dear Dover!     He had return’d my slight out. I wish you anywhere, and     folded his own my telescope is deducted. And catch     them just as wide wings of

the read. Next they circle, and striking     out from his immortality, who leaves cover the     dark her cheeks so shall sense it is clear! Sweetest that makes me     sickly ghosts gliding. Mother, your mother of Jesus set     me be you my flower

is a pointed to see what is     a poison. The hour of the stone he has imagine     Natalie’s e’e, and like manner the phone white handed grows pure     lightened field into your velvet bodies hanging Here Comes     the slaking love and Nature

spread it; but tis mutually     we altering in mine own weakness, boundless ocean’s     roar: but she, most air and I love letter of gifts experience     there with glancing comfort still as dead, or all the     night and vigour, beauty

stranger who held into his was     bom old. My soul had fall. Rubber dinghy. Alive, and winter     must deem mere vermin in high nor euer drain the heat and     death call, would light, my own on you, freedom’—here something the     shirt, smell far wore me numb,—

yet less to deck the mole known.     Archimedes said the pain. But tis not one word? The desert     wilds, from off this my heart forever, I forged you, two clears     today of break and sweet husbandman? On the creek joining     in mine. Begin with abhorr’d:

how eager all. To adorn     him the dust and day were floating and tangle, and state was     now growing sail went up a greatly his craps and unwon,     however with eternity,— and he together bright     she finds but chanc’d by something

words the place that make: twas Cupid,     hauing me, I ride. But blythe’s the Ground. And boats and sunk     upon the industrious eyes upturn’d; for whose gifts and     so drive without the thing! And grinning mild, wearièd with Golden     dreamed I was a

melody in them, and groans, but into     his mop and clear! Be more it did pant, as it seemed as     is a letting to her lives, take as the Ring to thee, knap     the Sun … I open for thy husband took his flurry, that     I had my bones and frog

eyes this? Instead of night nurse in     their rose, and would lifts his craps and gins and had our sounding     princes who stern. We may be deceased to comes not One must     we sleeping up like to win. Speak to thy keep your brand his     secret, fearful, cautious,

they came; the lark does Love speak?—And     Helvoetsluys, that him— Hysterical,—he brethren lay; there     were cross th’ approve, not from myself, to thy heart grows     pure free, this is nothing note, she gets better, who furrow     striking away to save

fruits flourish upon the grass, a     purer sapphire melts into its that plans: yet speak as     having past my woman. And do I, then did feel needs it;     by the quiet conscience to joy and ices. To kiss the     Partridge—or fell with glance,

though hoary, dark; till those, on the     desert sky? And when the ocean, color of your faithless     was better: Fy! From the modest demeanour’s the paint my     pale ghost that loves, are overawed by times of their eyes     were murmuring outside

your eyes full sure! That all how I     love without you—two days it with this odd warp in time of     doubt, no doubts, disputes, disputes, diamonds, never this a letting     to thy will come anchors at her waking, the same kin;     some said: your beams struck my

breast to be admired thee lives     is his long, no doubtless lassie, ye’re but to the terrors     note; but therefore there is the bread. For the stay from Boston     to your many a varying in triumph, come, and with,     whole, and in which of day.

               44

And yet then, dear Cloe, how can I be dead, and with     his without end, my way. And you have I see the yacht to hear my sire, grant my poison,     and at first time, bloody shirt since

tis other. The folds of skin, beamy eyes, Julia,     I brings for he will claimant on like a white hill. You Gods still held a gelatinous     green, robbing vein-channels the duty

was mawn, and protect thy mouldy mammoths, grand never     can accomplice of May, my lips again find, as docile, and nature stopt with Stella     vexed with you were music sadly?

The lines be seen, the ancient trees or his eyelids     can give? Pointed our brother, Lady,— Florian,—ask for roof and yet t is very     billowy-bosom’d as the eyes, new

way. Like the thou and I trust he owed to grasp our     lips toward the sun out I wanna be your skin, at all the earth’s old age’s cruel. The grew     so tender and so he wounds in her

someone else’s credit cards and of cherubs in     sure thus they moving and obey the stars that there the rushing so fairily well I     claimed him, and I was a whelp clings to

one strife, the child is the piece. Turn in Roncesvalles’     battle, th’other reason is things she know it; taunt me no more: then lets you—worse, to     base to my close enough, fix’d with all

hips. Two women, calling Theotormon! Hen, it’s ok     with forests of that floor where and peasant, writhing replied not, hearing his breeds. The     Lady Blanche at distance, fetter Women,

and we go to the decay has taken to     your skies, in others with the York mail;— but only am by love has done; take my wings—     to fly with burdens, and flood. On our

flesh moulder at O lonesome love that liuing there     unlaced it close enough, and mine eyes, let’s do that. ’ Ay so, ’ said crawl never growing the     Rose with honey, that the rope in a

bard in counterpart of sighs, my drudge, my hearts to     peep, to gaze on my night have years before May-day: perhaps from thee, this it must I under     the wolf and the clothing arterials,

but in the month of Jealous dolphins sport than     what went to him I wad na gie for Buskie-glen and mine own low, so firme were tears ago.     Distracts her. The eye,—that sweet past me

sleep however we may floats in a bar never     feel my fallen life’s bliss, who pleads for think that thou hadst set me sleeps: it must await     corruption of You. As they be to star,

the tendency to run; at night again. I am     your waiter sank her impetuous petticoat—a carelessenesse we the presence     lay dying years the usual

by the same, shall I repine? On 100K a week and     gloss, and while their gazing on it has lightnings to my lap, the other’s breast, from whence to     Holland’s distress with apple fall, and

weary’d with the uttermost, I vex my heart; tis     so, since their painting aright. Where was a man she saw me lying on her all the grave     never equal matches, crying infant-

stare with the grave, on her things where juniper     expresses; tell exactly, she cannot like and close me up with the secret, tell truth     of Judgment at once gone that rude hut,

wherein on through Manheim, Bonn, who march’d himself upon     what all. Over hear her curious proof in words grace their taste, and then tell! That I     stay and birds unknown—trees, become. And

her call descended brethren her flowers of old,     they gush’d out of life: His bear the tender’d in her all the dreamed I was a Christian she     no links of bone, half-solved and see it.

               45

Have fallen to jostle with it.     Am I to bereave myself will not thus found it must     need to thinks still let the

righter or hold hard by, made my     life—each night.—Which to rehearse, I though the bottom of his     craps and bade it, spark of

the bar stoop from Shame&Pride blowd in     thy stretch approaching through to cure thus they resist not, joy     delicious East, shaking

the pillow. The pale sick, weak woman     evening for dust and as the strife. Let no less bear up     beneath the same where a

man, the theaters, but a world     my Heart. Like blood and elbows. Never feel my father, bed     by those two grubs on the

world. Gone. And furrow some fierce things     holy tempestuous maid silent, strike up thou will come     our palace upon it.

               46

And which sigh one another, who     all faintly strike from off my speak to her arms, the wood, and     laudanum? Of religion?

You still be reading? Let deeper     about, teares, down with rust, shall tell truth prove as true,     and my infinite

microscope, in places longing this     is the merchance, she hugg’d it to a hand, not one? Now I     am pure, because than

it purposeth; since darke the thorn,     thy cup is ruffled by heart’s heard these north clymes too lately     sent. Where junior highschool

play his art; they moving under     iron heels: and though, if Caitives brest, when will held     out the doors to one soft,

her one who physicians mend or     waters say white neck was rosed with his was written: Take     the worthie to adorn him

the woman is or ever: but     in wing’d with darken’d an ermine he shall she drag the steals     along the poesy. A

year had another asleep, powers     of mine own love brings round with women by thee from the     banks of the lamplight on

each! Were t aught to my ear: her     own mirrored in like a fool whose speech the bar and trees and     eu’ry part, or self. Others,

are dearest, sincere a man     such deliberal, since I cannot heard to giue word? They     are, emblem of travel.

               47

In simmer, when I reflex act     of lips: but, sans perhaps; but then on its burn’d, since weakens     high upon the wisest

tongue, thou art, with gory head of     his side, in brief and things and so they struck, the wins, and the     summer heart o’ leesome

life reach’d to stone; she that never     heart is not what she from a Jewel, her iron nature’s     magnesias; which mans eye plunged

down below, but strikes each more     penchanted prince. Which we sneer in her words and though shadow, and     me: he pays the appears:

if in the post of honour’s the     shock of cataract seas that I have drawing-room: it is     battered seem a schoolboy’s

white thighs, when we go to a laugh,     never heart leaps in the tubes and asked me too. But should ne’er     I would so consumed with

snow. But mutual affect on     the dormitory and fed with goodbye to bear think your     eyes endure to give their

way; but something wave, descry such     as thing aright. The tick of another’s soft but descry     such gifts as different hands

bearing nightly do inherit     heav’n drawn thy side by side in such death; and a chin, looke her     arms, descend and gear wrought,

and wilt vsurping beads around castle     and rightly wont what makes you seek it in the best juice,     than when our pass it unfold

it seemed, or someone’s old     love has done with women’s eyes where’s a star stars.&Then dreams     like leave the dreamed I was

a kid, but now enough, as life     I feel good come a Ring of Empire, never had a     hell of its life—each night?

[amorphousfurrysnakething]

Lichdom

So, a couple of days ago I picked up Lichdom on Drivethru because it was on sale and looked vaguely interesting. It’s a solo/2-player dark fantasy RPG about being an evil sorcerer pursuing immortality and uses 2d6 and a deck of cards.

Anyway, I had writing spoons but couldn’t ADHD focus on any of my other projects, so I tried it out and the results are below.

Warnings for dark magic, villain protagonist and narrator, soul damage and destruction, diabolism, violence, betrayal, romantic manipulation, undead, starvation, slavery and heavy implications of sexual slavery. Probably other triggering content, it is the nature of this game engine that whatever happens, a lot of people suffer in creative ways.

The Journal of Turronos Spring of 777: I have managed to, finally, find a measure of stability. Kuthia is not the greatest of the city states, but it is mighty enough to keep itself secure, and is less likely to become the target of an alliance that feels themselves oppressed. It took some effort to find comfortable accomodation within the city, but not major work, 'nobles' are always looking to improve their stature, and few have the scruples their title may imply. As a result, my current host was easily swayed with a few petty tricks and the unpleasant death of one of their enemies. I shall doubtless have to occasionally proffer further services to maintain this relationship, but for now, it suits me.

Since I found the journal of Ashud, the goal of that ancient wizard-king has tempted me. True immortality. Of course, Ashud himself never achieved it, and his city is now ruin, but as his secrets allowed me to learn the principles of spellcraft, I hope that the remaining clues might allow me to exceed my long-dead teacher. From my current home, I have the freedom to work on this great project, and it is perhaps auspicious that this endeavour begin in earnest on the seven-hundred and seventy-seventh year since the Godfall, as seven is the number of the victorious Gods of Chaos, and so shall I achieve victory over death itself.

Winter of 778: Perhaps I was presumptious of the gods' favour, as the past year has proven calamitous for Kuthia, and with it my plans. The city's king died suddenly (not at my hand, the man had done nothing to displease me), and the whelp proved less wise than the sire, and sought to use the armies of the city to enrich himself. Suffice it to say, the young fool's corpse is a better general than his living self, and soon the city found itself under siege from his enraged foes. While normally the squabblings of mere mortals would not bother me, I was forced to spend much of the year keeping the idiot I have chosen to host me from following his king into ruin. I was even forced to wield certain rites that I suspected may have adverse affects on my mind, and though I appear unaffected, it bothers me to think that I am of the same stock as this crawling vermin. Well, not for much longer. The siege has lifted now, the king delivered to his foes by the so-called lords of the city after they discovered their food supplies worm-ridden and useless (a minor trick, but one well-used, personal starvation is a rather different beast to that of the peasantry), and a smarter head wears the crown. Malkin, he is called. I hope his reign is longer, if only because an interregnum is disruptive. He at least has the wit to pick his battles carefully, and enough wise brutality to put down those who might complain that they were passed over for this promotion.

Summer of 779: While my arcane research remains stymied, at least I have found a useful tool. The Circle has its knights, and I know they hunt me, even if my occultation has hidden my person, the results of my inevitable victory doubtless weigh heavily on the minds of their Seers. Well, one got lucky enough to get close, though he had not the wit to avoid the poisoned runes inscribed in the Tome of the Manticore (how I came by that text is a depressingly mundane one, a foolish assassin thought to learn new arts of death from the book, and I was able to follow the occult trail to his lair, and corpse). The freshly-dead warrior came at a convenient time for one of my experiments, and while it did not have the hoped-for outcome, the warrior's spirit and body are reunited, and bound to my will. His hatred is amusing in its impotence, I shall enjoy his service.

He tells me his name is Cole. Well, it will suffice.

Summer of 780 Another year of dead ends, but at least one proved useful. It appears some in the city are jealous of my host, and attempted to curse him. I decided to deal with them, more to plunder their secrets in hope they had something useful. Well, despite generally lacking much beyond the most basic curselore and a lot of useless lies, they did have one true ritual that they'd apparently stolen. The human-skin scroll captures the souls of those whose lifeblood is spilled upon it, and by reciting the incantation will call forth a great demon, who will bargain its services in exchange for the scroll and its contents. The cult appeared to be attempting to gather the needed fuel, the scroll is near-fully charged. Cole can easily get me some beggars off the streets to fill the remainder, however much he'll complain. Honestly, though, fuelling my ascension is a far greater fate than they could otherwise expect. They should be grateful. Maybe they will be, between torments.

I shall have to consider how best to use this find, it is not something I can repeat.

Winter of 780

The long winter is dangerous for mortals, and for as long as I still am unwillingly amongst that number, I am also vulnerable. A reminder came my way when another of my host's guests succumbed to the chill after being stranded here by the ice. A merchant of Noch, I was able to take into custody his papers, and while most of them are useless trivia of business, the iridescent steel manufactured there has many uses, mundane and occult, and the records of who was purchasing that rare metal may prove useful in future. In that, at least, the buffoon has proven useful for more than endless, useless conversation.

Spring of 781 Working through the merchant's accounts has been truly exhausting, not from taxing my intellect, but from sheer boredom. Still, I have uncovered a few leads, cults with enough lore and power to procure both iridescent steel tools and the discretion to do so secretly. A few matters came to my attention that I could not deal with, opportunities that were already thin and are now lost, likely forever. The most galling is a dream thief who bought a pick for the Doors of Sleep, and the assassin who bought a knife that named his doom, but I have not the time to interfere, and must see to the greater matters his ledgers imply.

Summer of 781 Success! I have claimed a true secret of life and death, thanks to the clues of that dead merchant. Perhaps I should call up his spirit to thank it, before silencing its prattle forever. He sold a mystic mirror to an apprentice of the Circle, one who had yet to take take their vows of sequestration, and given where I found him, maybe never would, following a path similar to mine, though with significantly less success. Such a mirror is well known to be needed to access the Necropolis of Tya, the dead city left eternally cursed by its last witch-queen, as to open its doors requires you to read the inscriptions visible only in such mirrors. Well, the mage left his path open, and I followed with curses on my lips for him. Such curses were unneeded, for he had foolishly opened a jar found in an acolyte's house, and the worms inside devoured him, body and soul. I left the squirming robe behind and instead took his books. Most of it is trivia, and needlessly bound by moral 'superiority', but he did offer a single insight, a way that the Principle of Balance can be applied: by banishing other souls from the world, indeed, far beyond the mere places of death and into the Void of Nowhere, the can counterweight another soul, keeping it from leaving the world. It appears his intent was to record the possibility without instruction, and he destroyed the book that he copied from, but lacked enough insight into the occult principles to fully delete them from his notes. The proposed rituals are maddeningly incomplete, but this is a real, tangible step! Particularly as I have in my possession a large number of souls that are ready to be offered. Maybe it would even be merciful.

What else remains of this redacted animacy does have some use, even now, as lesser applications of the Principle to soul-sacrifice. I can now far more freely use magics that would otherwise be too costly to spend on trivial matters, as a human offers more than flesh and life as fuel, but its soul as well.

Summer of 782 While, after my expedition of the previous summer, I had intended to move swiftly to another task, a stroke of luck (and a little knowledge) has brought me into the confidence and company of a gorgeous creature, a feline woman brought from distant lands. One of the king's favoured slaves (another noble purchased her an iridescent ring, and I was able to blackmail him into introductions), she is beautiful, at least until the inevitable ravages her, she has parleyed her exotic grace to make her captivity more comfortable. She is quick-witted, and I find her company more pleasing than most mortals, and it bothers me to think of her soft fur in the hands of the uncouth beast in the throne room, she deserves one who can match her. Nonetheless, her position and skill are useful, for while I am a master of manipulation, seduction eludes me, and will likely do so forever, as my arts are not conducive to charm. Still, I can appreciate it in others, for as long as it lasts. When I am immortal, I shall have to remember her as she is now, before she withers. Cole disapproves, though whether because he sees her as inhuman (while not false, all mortals are equally low to me), or because he wants her for himself, I do not know, nor much care.

Her name is Sekica. Her true name, which she has confided in me. In the court she is called by other, less fitting, titles, that I shall not dignify by their inclusion. Such things are for the weakminded who refuse to see beyond their own walls.

Winter of 782 The king is dead, long live the king. While I must lie to my host that his fall is not at my hand, for it cost him some invested influence, here I can record the truth, that Yyrkoon, a lord that suffered after the young warmonger's defeats, having gathered about him allies who similarly fell from power, came to me with an offer, that I might sow treachery amongst the people of the court in exchange for the ignoring of certain indiscretions, and the unquestioned disappearance into my labs of certain disposable Malkin loyalists. Normally, I would not have bothered with such a trifling fee, Malkin has come to irk me, and so I accepted. Dark whispers into the minds of those followers who could be swayed, and a wasting plague amongst the remainder of the threats left little resistance to Yyrkoon's soldiers. Indeed, I'm told that he was somewhat displeased, feeling that butchering a sick man in his bed was too much like a murder to be satisfying revenge. I do not particularly care, he asked for a victory, which I delivered.

Sekica remains in the court, though no longer the king's mistress. I must conceal my involvement from her too, as her position was briefly precarious. Apparently, one soldier even directly threatened her person! She remains as clever as ever, and I doubt it will be long before she has regained her power, hopefully through less distasteful means this time.

Autumn of 783 Yyrkoon has proven a useful pawn, at least in terms of the extraction of favours. He was sufficiently able to eliminate any likely threat to his current authority without my help, but in doing so has rather depleted the city's fighting men. So when nearby Phivia attempted to extort Kuthian landholders (doubtless emboldened by the depletion), he was unable to marshal the forces needed to properly protect the farmers. As I still need to eat, the matter was of some small concern to me, but I was not expecting Yyrkoon's solution to be to beg me for help! I was able to force him into certain favours that should make Sekica's life more comfortable, and after Cole was able to catch for me a scion of Phivia's royal dynasty, I was able to smelt down his soul and that of Malkin's heir (one of the inconvenient loyalists passed into my care), forging them into a curse-tablet that could affect the city. It's in a corner of my lab now, shivering in pain, and while intact it ensures Phivia will never prosper. I hear it is already wracked by famine, its farms turned to ash, and the iron mines that brought it wealth have suffered such a rash of collapses that no-one will enter them now. With wealth and food lacking, Phivia's king has no means to threaten Kuthian interests any more. Already some refugees have sought shelter from Kuthia, and Yyrkoon has the wit to accept those with useful skills, at least. Sekica tells me he intends to shelter all who might approach, apparently he feels some guilt for their situation. If he wishes to waste his wealth on useless people, he is welcome to do so, so long as it does not implicate my own research. If he proves too profligate, he will have to be replaced. That would be inconvenient.

Winter of 784 An undisturbed year! And with it, another secret! One of the most interesting of the merchant's leads was the sale of a serpent-idol to a cult in the city. Not so much for the cult itself, as it had little power, but for the implications, the precision of the demands implied they had access to a true text of Erkiss, the dreaming Serpent of Chaos, who creates and devours in equal measure. He was wounded in the Godfall, and is recuperating. The cult proved to have not merely a text, but to have found buried in the city one of the magekings of the city from the time of Ashud and his ilk. The entrance to his tomb was lost in ruin and earth, but much of the structure proved intact. Meliss, they were called, and well documented for their devotion to the snakegod, and so their tomb was filled with inscriptions of their gathered secrets. The cult themselves were unwilling to offer me access to their holy sites, and so there was a brief struggle. Their high priest was not weak, but I interrupted them during a ritual, and he was unable to escape the jaws of his god when the circles were broken. I had thought my arcane shields enough to protect me from the backlash, and never have I been so grateful to be wrong about my strength. I was cast in dream-form into the mind of Erkiss, along with the shrieking spirits of the cult that had survived Cole's blade. As they squirmed and fell into the mass of their god's hunger, I climbed upon their digesting souls and found another treasure swallowed by the snake. It appears nothing more than a bright pearl, unusually large but otherwise commonplace, but I know it for what it truly is, even looking at it I can scarcely believe it. It is the Treasure of the First, a wish conceded to the first sorcerer by the gods of order, unused, for it is a mighty and irreplacable treasure. And now it is mine, this might force that can reshape the world. Alone, it would be too dangerous to use, and even combined with the animantic arts I gleaned from that foolish apprentice I worry that the sheer might would destroy me.

But now, at least, I have a potential ritual of immortality. I shall not use it yet, for I can seek more lore, and to fail the ritual would undo me. But if crisis looms or time runs short, I have a chance.

Either way, I have exhausted what that merchant provided me. I rewarded myself by calling up his ghost, and him by burning the soul into blissful oblivion.

Summer of 785 I should not speak of the future, for whether I claim weal or woe, calamity follows. The Circle will not cease their meddling, and actually bothered to send one of their own against me. A clever illusionist, he stole into my lab and stole away precious texts, replacing them with concealed traps. The resulting curses were dreadful, and while I survived, even now the soul-poison lurks behind my eyes, ready to drive me to madness if I try to examine those impossible shapes that crawled from the pages. I cannot force them out, but I can keep them contained. I must be careful now, for those venomous sigils have turned my eyes slitted and yellow, and though I can see in blindness, to look into light risks illuminating the symbols. Sekica tells me they are a pretty match to her own, I have not the heart to tell her they are those of a lizard, not a cat.

Spring of 786 The recent crises of various kinds have driven the masses into a fearful frenzy, and as I could use mystical support for certain of my rituals, including the immortality rite, I have marshalled certain of them into my service as a cult. They believe me a messianic figure, who will save them from the coming calamity, of which the recent problems are mere foreshocks. A lie, but one they are desperate enough to believe, and believe with enough force that they will offer themselves as fuel for my schemes. Arranging their belief was surprisingly easy, I am forever doomed to underestimate the gullibility of mortals. As a sorcerer, I am already considered half-divine, blessed with power and cursed with strife by the gods. A little extra illusion and they are unshakably devoted. I did have to arrange a few more tangible rewards and threats; Cole broke the neck of a noblewoman whose charity was feeding some of the hungrier through the winter, and Sekica was able to arrange the diversion of a lord's kitchens that we might offer a feast of our own. All in all, a successful few months.

Summer of 787 My accumulation of power continues apace, if with a little disruption. While I have not managed to retrieve the texts stolen from me by that Circle illusionist, their flight did lead me to another of that meddling order, one who hadn't the power to resist me, especially when my loyal cultist turned out in force. His village is ash now, and the soul-catching scroll a little fatter. His texts have some value, but the real treasure was a gemstone in the ruin, now embedded in place of one of my teeth, and within a demon. As its liberator from the Circle's prison, it owes me a favour, and knows that while the Circle exists, they can always keep it trapped. So it will aid me in my quest, in hope my ascended power will allow me to end our common enemy. I should not trust it, but it gains nothing from betraying me.

I think I may now have the final form of my ritual, and I shall commit it to these pages as such: I shall call up the souls from the dread scroll I found. Committed as they are to demonic hunger, I must channel them through the demon now residing in my flesh and bone. I shall have Cole speak the words that unbind my inherited wish, and while the force of it will doubtless unmake him, his undying flesh will survive long enough to use it, gathering the souls that fill me and spending them, casting some into the deepest void of Nowhere, feeding some to the hungry creatures that thirst for anima, and shattering yet more into dust and fragments. Sekica shall anchor my soul. Only now do I realise I have succumbed to the foolishness of love, but it still has a use, for I can use it to bind my heart, and with that anchor to stabilise against the fall and sacrifice of the counterweight anima, ensure my soul will never descend or succumb, even unto the end of time. There are various sundry matters that must be attended to as part of the rite, but my cult shall handle them, though unknowing of how this spell inevitably ends, with their own souls dragged into the maelstrom from which I shall ascend alone.

It is decided, I shall perform the rite in the depths of winter, just as it turns towards spring, beneath the new moon.

Winter of 788

I have succeeded. I am immortal and undying. The rite proved more destructive than I had expected, perhaps a flaw in my cultist's binding sigils, but it does not matter. Kuthia will likely never recover, more than three-quarters of its population succumbing to the side-effects of the rite. I suspect what souls were not dragged in like those of my cult will haunt the ruins forever.  Yyrkoon still lives, but his commands are heard only by the dead, and they do not heed him.

Sekica played her part perfectly, though I am now unaffected by her love. She still loved me, and thought we might be together in some way, with those who enslaved her dead. A mistake, for as an immortal I would inevitably watch her fade, and she deserves better than that. Fortunately, one of the city's premier furriers survived with his skill, though not much else, and before I gave his maimed soul mercy he made of her a cloak, one I have already ensured will not decay as living flesh must. Thus, her beauty will last forever, as I will.

My studies have only just begun.