𝟐-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘
𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 -
—001. Ash gray-- the remains of a bonfire the hint of divination, made from wood or bone.
—002. Black-- like the open night skies or the ink marked upon her skin or used to sketch and composes spells and recipes on parchment.
—003. Silver-- many things. The kiss of first frost, the light of phantasmal candle
trees, the pale flicker of ghostflame, or the glint her silvern gaze.
—004. Sage green-- the expanse of wild foliage that dot the lands between.
—005. Wedgewood-blue (or gray-blue if you will)-- the likeness of hazy winter skies, medicinal powders and glint stones.
𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 -
—001. Wild flowers, freshly harvested or long dried.
—002. The thickness of wood smoke of a lit fire, or the churning of ash--concoctions in the night hours.
—003. The heady scent of mossy soil, earthy and wooden, an inkling of death.
—004. Dried herbs by the fire side. Warming, earthy.
𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 -
—001. The prisoners garb; aged, formally tattered and mended time and again. Now purged of filth, the age still shows. With a careful hand she carefully readjusted it to sit appropriately at her shoulders and waist.
—002. Loosely fitted tunics that hang wide at the throat or tied tight to the neck that clings limply to her frame, lightly tucked into breeches.
—003. Tarnished armor, the silvery gleam stained with age, forgotten with time-- the metal cut specific to her shape.
—004. Layered hooded cloak, with tufts of feather plumage sat about the shoulders, partially worn with time-- stark black in color and embroidered on the interior hem with pale thread. Along the interior hem, careful and meticulous design of hidden spell work; a phrase that cannot be deciphered. It is a rather weighty garment that can conceal armor if she saw fit.
—005. Ornamental silken robes that hold close to the shape and curve, off-cream in color and singed, bedecked in symbols and meanings that hold no place in the lands between.
𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 -
—001. A modest hand sickle: used to collect herbs and tinder
—002. A round: flat type of winnowing basket; weaved from various plant fibers. A multitude of uses.
—003. Bone char: constructed from personal recipe formed through the years that she makes active use of with every harvest.
—004. Ornate lantern: pale-silvery hand-lantern. A lantern of fantastical design that she snatched from a stray noble encampment. —005. Hair braid rope: a lengthy cord of woven hair rich black in color and quite durable-- the use is unclear.
𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 -
—001. A slow cant of the head; an act of inquiry or preformed out of amusement.
—002. An extended arm and open hand, palm offered to those willing to reach back or when she is beckoning.
—003. Shoulders hung lax, head raised and arms part as if in calling. Offering her embrace; a promise of rest.
—004. A narrowed gaze, the faintest crease in her brow, a stare unbroken-- if a gaze could cut it would.
—005. A smile settled upon lush lips that conveys a deep warmth, a gentleness unexpected of her by those who may not know.
𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 -
—001. The space between the sacred and the profane; of knowledge and blindness, the line between heretical and divine; and to be idolized and damned. A body as sacrificial altar, vessel of worship, and final resting place.
—002. A many headed beast in human shape; the siren-- the hunter--the serpent-- the wanderer-- the witch-- the heretic-- the healer-- the beast. To be as legend of many names, faces, and alleged forms but for very few to ever know a true face and name. To harm; to heal. The uttering of many voices converged into one.
—003. Death and resurrection as rebirth, a cycle. To not die when one should have. A vacant space between life and death.
—004. The vastness of long abandoned battle fields, over grown with lush flowers tangled through the remains. A place no longer occupied by the struggles of long-gone soldiers who come to rest within her embrace. A place that is little more than a silent graveyard. She wanders these lands, eternal and inevitable.
—005. Bejeweled dead, the weighing of the heart, sun bleached bones, tufts of feathers, flowers and singed herbs bound in cloth, cremation pyres, wrapped urns coveted close-- funerary rite and ceremonies from a bygone era. Something old, something ancient, something forgotten. A cacophony of unquiet spirits follow close.
SONGS-
—001. Do You Believe In Witchcraft? - The Green Knight OST
—002. The Witch's Garden (prelude) - Abandoned toys
—003. A Fairytale About Slavery - Miranda Sex Garden
—004. Andras Sodom - Lustmord
—005. Alfadhirhaiti - Heilung
Tagged by: No one, this time. Just moving it over from the old blog
Tagging: @necrophcge @izar-tarazed @renatvvs (Cillian) @illholy @rotten-pest @creatrix-mea (athena) @luckyberet @sihilkaah @wolfbrawn and @prismaiden @casketdweller @wolfofwinchester @knife-edged-dreams @sunpraised @goldenfists @spellbladerogier @miserycorde @bcwblade @despairforme @fulgurantfirstborn @oathloathed and anyone else who would like to.
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Spotify prompt! Knuckles and tails, an 19 :)
Oh hoho! You managed to land FightSong by EVE (<- YouTube link), a song that by all rights shoulda been #2 (<- I refuse to pay Spotify money).
Hmm…. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything with Super Sonic Speed, but I always did intend to write follow-ups…
.•.•.•.
The city is unbelievably loud. They’re in what Sonic had called a shopping district, and it’s apparently very popular. Knuckles would kind of like to go home, a lot, actually, but Tails is flirting from one shop to another and he doesn’t have it in him to shut the kid down. Sonic is somewhere on the periphery of their little group— he and Tails had bonded, thick as thieves, and Knuckles— well, he tolerated the guy.
Tails gasps like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time, excited enough that he’s lifting off the ground. Knuckles ambles over, grabs him by the ankle, and pulls him back down. He’s looking at some sort of… thing. Knuckles can’t make heads or tails of it, but it’s definitely saying something to Tails.
Hmm. He is, at least, familiar with the idea of shops. Chao liked to set them up, sometimes, selling fruit or handmade crafts for rings, but Knuckles has no idea if their idea of currency and everyone else’s aligns. Would the shopkeep accept a fruit? Most chao did. It isn’t like rings are a problem, so…
Knuckles turns, seeking out Sonic in the crowd. There he is— stiff as anything, glancing frantically back and forth between Knuckles and some other hedgehog, a pink one. One of his friends, maybe? They look irritated, maybe not. Knuckles steps away from Tails, invites himself into their conversation.
“and you just RAN OFF—“ the hedgehog is shouting. Sonic cracks his mouth open, a faint wheeze escaping.
“Hey,” Knuckles says.
“—do you have ANY IDEA how WORRIED I was—“
This looks like a battle Sonic is better off fighting on his own. Still, Knuckles needs his question answered. “Hey,” he repeats, slightly louder.
“—I mean, I knew you were alright because my cards said so, but—“
“Hey Knuckles,” Sonic manages to crack out, “this is Amy.”
Amy tilts her head at him, and then gives him a sharp, discerning once-over. “Are you one of his other friends?” She asks.
“Yeah, sure,” Knuckles says, and then “do rings work as currency down here?”
She blinks at him, as if this is a weird thing to ask. “Yes?” She says.
“Okay,” Knuckles says, nodding, “try not to scare him too bad.”
Any lingering confusion evaporates, and she whirls around to find Sonic trying to sneak away. “AGAIN!” she shouts, full of conviction, and Knuckles makes his way back to where he left Tails. He isn’t pressed up against the glass anymore, so Knuckles steps into the store. Yeah, there he is. Hovering— literally— over the same display.
Knuckles takes a moment to properly observe, rooting around for the terms Tails would use, in an attempt to ensure he gets the right thing. There’s a looping track, and a few other gadgets on the sides. A switch, one of them looks like, and some barricade, and a few blinking lights. On the track itself is a… sideways cylinder, set on wheels, connected to a few boxes, puffing out smoke— or steam, maybe. Tails is absorbed enough in watching it chug along that he doesn’t even realize Knuckles is standing right next to him. Knuckles’ll just have to make sure he comes up for air, occasionally.
He casts about the rest of the store, vaguely lost. There are a lot of displays, and a lot of colourful boxes. Knuckles picks up one, flips it over, and realizes swiftly he is out of his depth. He brings the box over to Tails, handing it to him. Tails holds onto it for a full few seconds, watching with bated breath as the cylinder switches tracks, before he looks down. His fur all along his spine puffs up, and he turns to look at Knuckles so fast he has to wonder if Sonic hasn’t started to rub off on him in more ways than one. That’s the right box, for sure.
“Really?” Tails asks, voice breathy with excitement, and Knuckles ruffles his fur instinctually.
“‘Course.”
Maybe the shopping district isn’t that bad.
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