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About satinkira

  • Birthday 11/05/2006

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  1. What am I doing here? Something to do with the Lightbringer, she reckoned. Or maybe the Living Waters. Or perhaps the Glowing Lorraine. She was certainly a long way from the Ruthern fort, so that couldn’t be it, and she was miles and miles away from the Living Waters, so that wasn’t it either. Lightbringer, then. And she recalled a painful memory, spoken with many voices. Innocents? My dear… If they were innocent, that death would be freeing… The Pontiff teaches you sin is SIN, because if you lived by your nature, you would turn on the False Kings, and rule the land as it should be. I do not doubt, I have ne- She banished it as soon as it came. It was a very difficult memory, a difficult thought, with difficult implications, implications that she had no trust in - they were too fantastical. But her mind was full of difficult thoughts. The Pontiff had sinned, she thought; he’d rejected the word of the GOD that she had ascertained from the Living Waters and dismissed divine revelation as ‘fancy words’ and ‘glitter’. She could never forgive him, and she knew she never would, but how… How could it be that the Vicar of the GOD did not know His word when it came? The Pontiff teaches you sin is SIN, because if you lived by your nature, you would turn on the False Kings.. It was a metaphor of some sort, but Serwa didn’t have the energy to unpick it - she wanted shelter, and a nearby cave in the side of the snowy mountains soon presented itself. She started a fire, rolled out her travel-mattress, and lay down, staring at the fire. It did not speak to her, so she went to bed. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She dreamt of places deep under the earth - of vast networks of underground tunnels, leading down, down, down to the Living Waters.. And there, once more, her throat was slit as offering, by the place where the Absolute Truth was revealed, and she held no reflection in the Holy water. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She woke, but did not move - she only inhaled, exhaled, and watched the foggy breath rise, and become one with the black smoke that rose from the campfire. It was late at night, and the sky outside the cave was winking at her, distant stars scattered across the inky black. She looked back across to the fire, and she frowned. Why am I awake? A series of low, keening wails across the tundra answered her. It sounded human, so Serwa got up, got packed, and made to find the source. She soon came upon a troupe of nomads, in single file, llamas in tow. They had been trudging through the snow, but they had stopped, wailing and clawing at their eyes, crying out for lack of vision; they clung onto each other, onto what few trees were around them. Some even wept, and she knew; the whole troupe has gone blind. She knew this was not possible - she had heard of no magick capable of such a thing, and at any rate, there had been no sign of a fight, and a quick glance about revealed no hidden magiciana, but all the same, it had undeniably happened. She looked closer - the llamas, too, were blind; it was difficult to see with the distance, but they were ambling about, quite unworried, but bumping into each other and their distressed human counterparts. They too had been struck with blindness. Two thumps resounded in the valley. Serwa spun about, and saw birds tumbling down a mountain - they’d evidently crashed into it - and she realised that it was not only the troupe of nomads that had gone blind, it was every living creature in the north. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— So why haven’t I? Maybe GOD was protecting her from some curse. If the entirety of the north had been stricken blind, but she had not, then it surely meant that she was watched, that she was special somehow - indeed, that fit with that missing reflection, that her path was chosen for her; the Pontiff was wrong, and she was right. That was the easy answer - but the other interpretation labelled her guilty. If the Pontiff was right, she could see because some Darkspawn was manipulating her - if the Pontiff was wrong, she could see because GOD was showing her the way, was showing her the path. But this, she reflected, by now back in the cave with the warm campfire, was rather similar to the Living Waters, where some divine event affected all save her - and since the Living Waters were sent by GOD, so too, therefore, must this be, and therefore, so too must this be from GOD. So she was right, and the Pontiff was wrong. She collapsed once more onto the mattress - it was still late at night - and was soon fast asleep. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She dreamt of empty walls, and a floor littered with sand and dust. She dreamt of the warriors of Canondom stepping over that floor, broken stained glass crunching beneath their feet, and she dreamt of the desecration of something indescribable. She dreamt of flowing blood. She dreamt of escape, of fleeing into the recesses of the altar. ———«»————————————«»————————————«»——— She woke, bleary-eyed, and packed her things. It did not do to remain in the north for too long, what with the forces of Ailmere about. She would return to Aaun, where she would speak to Celach, and decide upon her next course of action. . . .I am so tired. But she knew that there was not much left to do, and so she pressed on.
  2. As an American Citizen you must pay your taxes to the IRS, do it, do it now.

    1. satinkira


      they cant make me

  3. FACT: NINETY PERCENT of KINGS stop funding their COURT WIZARDS just DAYS before they discover the SECRET to IMMORTALITY!!! 

  4. thx llir chap, I appreciate your work @Josh3738
  5. FitMC documentary style is the only way
  6. the NecroMysticismSubsumation WILL be real
  7. THIS is for Irene, thee rotund, white-fleshed, putrid smelling bacon-did-feed wench, why thee TOOK mine beloved's eyes out and flayed them, beat them to nigh death whilst their back was turned, thy TRIFLING, FILTHY, LARGE, ‘oompa loompa’, corse-haired rampallian WENCH! I'm coming up thither and I shall beat the ALAS out of thee, wench, and don’t rally your darkspawn-filth comrades, I shall cometh up thither unexpected and wail on thee rampallian wench arse; I KNOW OF THE FETID CARRIAGE THOU DRIVE and thou raggedy arsed steeds and ratty cloth. Damned tattered shoes, thin-haired, stenched dog, arsed wench! I'm telling thee, WENCH, I'm coming to beat thou for thou foul-mouthed, trifling-arsed attitude. WENCH!!!

  8. [!] A letter is sent to the Galbraith. Dear John Augustus Galbraith, What is an 'Oompa Loompa?' We would like to use this insult ourselves - it rolls off the tongue quite neatly - but we do not know what it means. - A Wordsmith
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