#coelus

☁️ Cycle ☁️

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sometimes my painting skills actually have a chance to be utilised, this includes here

Landscape An example of a full sun backyard landscaping in summer.

Narcius: English. Narc loves to read, discuss, and do public speaking, so it’d be the best class for him. 

Yet the insect-like creature can only manage a spit, in his weakness, he cannot call upon his lingering strength, even in what they had faced through the very thick of it. The One-Eyed Prince before him is but of mockery alone, and this was no being of stars that turn a dark star into a very sun so that within the black aether the lantern shone. "What good are you, now that you have had me ill? To where the Gods curse me, and that you hoist much more upon your back than I, and Shadow of Dark Reaches, and even the universe as a stone. I reckon you must go from whence you came, for Prince this is no Game. I cannot see, for what I see is only manifest dream. Barely can I recognise you, or the heavens where lights gleam." They are by the sea, and the emerald beast feels himself sway, but still he forces a distance between him and Coelus, his bitterness and new ideals gradually forming to push him away. The One-Eye recoils, the fins upon his spine flare, puzzled and not quite understanding the means for this new anger. For he was but a puppet of the Gods, so easily muzzled, while The Dreamer was naught, and only peace he sought. The cold water brushes his talons, while the Prince speaks, but never is the word that the other accordingly seeks. "Were we not Comrades, you and I? Together as dragons we would fly high into the skies. To be among the stars, and I could show you the Grand Universes as they are. So, see there is much to bestow. Of gifts, sights, and to be much more than a mundane physical life and ambition. Come with me, the Gods will cure your affliction. Together we can be brothers, we know not quite how we were created, with or without mothers. Yet it is perfection, in such a way. A friendship to last ages - and let the Deceiver's sacrifice not be in vain!" The emerald Dreamer can only laugh, so soon turned to cough. This whole situation was unreal, were it possible he dreamed it now? Or surely his delusions, to himself, only seemed to scoff. His body is frail, ridden with sickness, and so close to home, he knows the tides will take him there. It was not to be, the story of Dreamer and Prince as Brother and Comrade. There was no ulterior motive, or greater stories to see. "Aye, we were once Comrades, you and I. Together as dragons we did fly. Into skies, once what we thought were stars but those were simply illusions. False stars, and galaxies, merely image intricately drawn into soot. For like your blood stained missing eye, your fins leave such an elegant design. Blues, blacks, purples, reds, and all the coloured in between. Every colour lain is still as false as the next. Your Gods cursed me, and certainly will not nurse me. The Deceiver was more correct, than your blind faith and words of Gods. Upon the shores, I will rid uncertainty, and teach my people the truth. Before these dreams fester, and devour myself or my race alive. So go now, back to your acclaimed Gods - I hope someday you will be wise enough to see through this facade." Soon enough, the insect falls back into the engulfing deeps, where the tides will lead him further to familiar keeps. While the Prince on-looks in surprise with only one eye, and in the core does he seem to find the fleeting emotions of what may be rage, the vital reason he had fought the Heart to never quite die. The Dreamer finds himself to not pray to Gods, but to the Deceiver and his daughter who was within water too - and may serve to save them all from their bitter end. While the Prince on-looks, nothing but curses does he send. To indulge in blank nothing once more was his destiny, a fate most unwelcome for those whom lived by the sea.

I dream a million dreams. I cut off the dragon's head. It falls across this bed of thorns and roses, tongue lulling silver across red. No more are banners hung, in sun metal blade gleams. Soon it is a nightmare, it is beheaded no more, blood stains the floor as the old head rolls, and none rises to two. Lost in madness, jaws threaten loss to the one and only heir. Once this was a King, and songs they do sing. The Dragon bows not to the Lion, and his sharp claws are kin to string. For it is not the needle, nor for my sword's gleam, to pierce the hide where scales and metal cling. Only fangs pierce armour, while dragon's flame will burn, turning every martyr to ruin, dust, and ashes. These clashes ending with little known life and skill, as each head cut conjures more vicious faces still. Revenge ends poorly for myself, and my claws snap, pride and arrogance crashes. My armour is blood, while the Lion's pelt is Gold no longer. Encrusted with blood of black and crimson, known well that fangs cannot sink in chaos of many-faced flood. The banners the fell rise again, followed by no loyal party, we alone fight in this endless trial. I was once the Deceiver, yet it was the dragon who betrays. Watching while his own friend is broken, strewn, and flayed. I want no longer to be King, kinslayer with golden armour, and cloak to cover all flaws. To not abide by the Gods laws, but the teeth close around me and I wake in a cold sweat. Inconclusive torment plagues my own thoughts. I cannot close my eyes for I fear this darkness will be my last, another tale lost within the countless stories of crusades. I, with others, may find myself within the graves. There are the gallows, as bells in distance sing. I look to my blade, it does not quite gleam. As it bites the dragon's hide, the knife dulls and ends its own life. Stain-glass shifts, darkness twists to light. Sometimes I see the webs of its wings, sculptures of walls twisting into teeth while lights eyes, and in my paranoia never can I confide or quite deny.