♡ Scáthach-Skadi (Fate/Grand Order) - Good Smile
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new costume for Summer Skadi
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Something I made on Reddit before I got Castoria
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Mebd taught Skadi to trash talk this is great
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flickr
DDS スカサハ-スカディ by Wolfheinrich
Via Flickr:
~Lens Flare 2~
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例のあれあれ by 秋月からす [Twitter/X]
※Illustration shared with permission from the artist. If you like this artwork please support the artist by visiting the source.
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It is the nature of sentients, I believe. All beings who are conscious of themselves will likely tend towards seeking, weaving and conjuring more stories to keep themselves sane and give each other a modicum of comfort through the painful drudges of life. Even when the world turns to deserts, ashes and mad men by nuclear fire, where the names of Gilgamesh, Heracles and Cu Chulainn have lost all meanings to time; empty names for warlords and brutal soldiers to claim with abandonment. More fables will be made, more tales of heroism will be forgotten as you said, long after we became dust.
Priest, you are right. I do hold my own bias against stories I can not bring to enjoy. Sometimes I just want to live in a world without them. But that would just prove even more of my commonalities to them. The hatred feels empty.
One final word, priest. I call myself agnostic, or even antitheist if the gods themselves appear before me. But I do hold regards for many men of the cloth, for their prowess and determination if not for their virtues. You, for instance, the superhuman always pondering on morality and the rights and logics of life, even as you were about to pommel your enemy. Or that Hansa, taking on Dead Apostles with divine augmentations out of obligations, even as he was jesting with the foe. One particular part-time assassin begging for forgiveness and wishing to not die alone even after beating his enemies. The Scot warrior-priest butchering vampires and choosing to become a Monster of God in his mission, to his greatest rival's regret. The regretful former second-in-command of a brutal slaver empire, scratching out for survival with his allied tribals. He fought against his old demons all days while he was putting more slavers and upstart warbands to the grave. The chaplain that had to guide his accursed brothers towards certain death, even as he was battling the same, all-consuming madness within him. Or the one who had to grant them the mercy of death even after such terrible odds failed. The deathsworn preacher directing his brothers of the 7th to raining indiscriminate death in a biopogrom of all life. The Hero of a City, responsible for saving it against a tide of bestial horrors and could only admit to himself in bitterness that there were billions more such Heroes; gene-brothers and militia.
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