#━ ❛ WHAT ROTS BENEATH YOUR KINGLY PRIDE

[st-just]

veraphiums replied to your post “Imperial Religion”

What kind of impact would a terrestrial god be able to have, in regards to resisting occupation, if it did choose outright resistance?

Well, that does depend a bit on the exact stature of the god in question, really. Broadly speaking their very Fisher King in powers, metaphysically holding dominion over the natural cycles of their domains and (depending on their status and power) things increasingly abstractly connected to that. 

And, since I’ve unconscionably had this in my drafts for like a week now, some examples 

-The Dryad Siflaed, who harbored outlaws against the Emperor’s Justice and claimed the right to grant sanctuary to any who bled beneath her sacred ash, was too powerful to trouble lightly but not so powerful as to easily attract the notice of Church or Court. When she accepted the local Duke’s patricide of a daughter without understanding the situation and, having done so, refused to reverse herself things quickly escalated.

The King-Emperor, Lord Binder and Chamberlain together decreed her Damned, and hunting parties were sent into her forest to retrieve her. They were set upon, as might be expected, both by the bandits and runaways who made up her court, and all the wild beasts to who she was the soul. As they neared her grove, more than a dozen men-at-arms were seized by suddenly animate trees, crushed or hanged before their comrades could free them with hatchets of silver and iron. And facing her in person, at the heart of her sanctuary, many more found themselves petrified and rooted to the ground, or dragged down into the suffocating loam and muck, or simply torn apart with divine strength.

But in the end, it was a matter of dozens dead, and a fortnight passed, before she and hers were simply overwhelmed. As the infernal yoke was forced around her neck, her curse echoed through the forest, and none within it were again able to nurture or grow any fruit or flower. Banished to the sixth hell and named the Baroness of Red Orchards, she has rarely been called upon since. But as her forest quickly withered and died, it is by now only diabolists who remember her.

-The Serpent Zesar is surely a god, and yet his existence is a blasphemy. When the priests of what is now the Southern Marches became corrupt and embraced death, the greater number of the Terrestrial Gods they had until then worshiped as lesser aspects of the Celestial were set upon and broken apart for the secrets of their divine souls, or else forced into hiding to avoid such a fate. Some though, and Zesar is among their number, were not victims of this corruption but instead its cause. Calling himself Psychopomp and Judge, when the Heaven's true judgment was made known, he and his entire temple-city was drowned beneath the swamp and forced into quiescence.

Until, of course, some generations later particularly foolish grave-robbers had the bad luck to violate his temple, their deaths providing all the sacrifice required to awaken him. A scaled, rotting, fungus-encrusted monstrosity, he for some years acted quietly. Overawing the small companies of heretics and outlaws who call the deep swamp home, demanding that they drown their criminals and captives so he might bind their soul to corpse and claim them as courtiers, destroying the Icons and consuming the Saints which had provided the land a soul in his stead. The land turned sickly, only those in his favour able to hunt or forage surrounded by poison and rot.

When he regained the fullness of his power and spite, he struck at the Ducal seat itself, desiring to slaughter her court and drown her cathedral, so his own sunken temple might once again become Abhari’s rotting heart. He brought with him flood, and plague, and a legion of the dead. Wherever he passed rivers flooded their banks and crops were struck with blight. The blessed who stood against him were consumed with rot, and only those who accepted his mark could grow anything but poison. A shameful number did.

But he had more pride than strength, and Abhari’s fortresses were built to stand against grander foes than he. His flood broke against the walls of Lusselo, his flesh further burnt and scarred by the scorn of its holy men, his rotting slaves liberated by the silver blades of its paladins. The Grand Duke defeated his followers twice more in open battle, but the ruin left in his wake was such that he was able to retreat back to his sanctuary and once again regain his strength. It has been three years since any have admitted seeing signs of  his passing, but he surely still hides like a festering abscess.

Caille Desoi called himself the King of Rivers, and claimed it was by his benevolence that that the oceans filled and the rain fell. Whole peoples paid tribute to him, and grew rich farming on his banks or trading along his currents, paying heed to no higher power. Through a simple glamour he took on a comely and kingly bearing, but in truth he was a leviathan fit for the darkest depths, and on being raised to see the sun had the hubris to believe that there none who might rightly claim to be yet above him.

When the Queen-Empress sent emissaries to make known her claim, he caused the foremost among the to drown with a gesture and demanded the rest pay homage and apologize, should they wish to live. As he blasphemed, so to did all those who paid him homage, for their kings and priests were his sons and daughters. The Desoi Crusade would see a full third of the Imperial Navy dragged beneath the placid sea as they neared his domain, and whole regiments drown a mile from the Desoi’s banks as they prepared to give battle. He was declared Damned, and laughed in the face of the knights who attempted to make good the sanction.

The Crusade-named such in the third year of the war-too a full seven. At last, the Queen-Empress grew impatient and sent the most fearsome of his household to reduce the land. Duke Paimon of Chains, Imperial Chamberlain and Regent of Hell, was granted leave to depart from the palace, and took a full nine legions as his retinue. The Desoi ran red and black as Caille was chained with silver and iron amongst his burning city and slaughtered children, his arms cut away and his eyes put out until, resisting justice to the end, he sank beneath the waves.

The Desoi has grown slow in the years since, every shipment it carries seeming to bear pestilence and disaster. The town that was his sanctum, still known as Caille, is now called the City of Dead Gods, and the sects of divers who call it home surface strange and with stranger stories. It is yet unknown if the creatures living in the river’s bed are nascent demons, his surviving children, or something else entirely.

-A Incomplete Bestiary of the Enemies of Heaven.

#veraphiums #reply #writing #worldbuilding #abhari #this is theoretically a writing blog

[kylo-v]

All V Poems

William Blake, A Dream

Once a dream did weave a shade

O'er my angel-guarded bed,

That an emmet lost its way

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,

Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

Over many a tangle spray,

All heart-broke, I heard her say:

'Oh my children! do they cry,

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see,

Now return and weep for me.'

Pitying, I dropped a tear:

But I saw a glow-worm near,

Who replied, 'What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night?

'I am set to light the ground,

While the beetle goes his round:

Follow now the beetle's hum;

Little wanderer, hie thee home!'

William Blake, Proverbs of Hell 

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. 

Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead. 

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. 

Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. 

He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. The cut worm forgives the plow. 

Dip him in the river who loves water. A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees. 

He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star. 

Eternity is in love with the productions of time. 

The busy bee has no time for sorrow. 

The hours of folly are measur’d by the clock, but of wisdom: no clock can measure. 

All wholsom food is caught without a net or a trap. 

Bring out number weight & measure in a year of dearth. 

No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings. 

A dead body, revenges not injuries. 

The most sublime act is to set another before you. 

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise. 

Folly is the cloke of knavery. Shame is Prides cloke. 

Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion. 

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. 

The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. 

The nakedness of woman is the work of God. 

Excess of sorrow laughs. 

Excess of joy weeps. 

The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man. 

The fox condemns the trap, not himself. 

Joys impregnate. 

Sorrows bring forth. 

Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep. 

The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. 

The selfish smiling fool, & the sullen frowning fool, shall be both thought wise, that they may be a rod. 

What is now proved was once, only imagin’d. 

The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit: watch the roots; the lion, the tyger, the horse, the elephant, watch the fruits. 

The cistern contains; the fountain overflows. 

One thought, fills immensity. 

Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you. 

Every thing possible to be believ’d is an image of truth. 

The eagle never lost so much time, as when he submitted to learn of the crow. 

The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion. 

Think in the morning. 

Act in the noon. 

Eat in the evening. 

Sleep in the night. 

He who has suffer’d you to impose on him knows you. 

As the plow follows words, so God rewards prayers. 

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. 

Expect poison from the standing water. 

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. 

Listen to the fools reproach! it is a kingly title! 

The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth. 

The weak in courage is strong in cunning. 

The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey. 

The thankful reciever bears a plentiful harvest. 

If others had not been foolish, we should be so. 

The soul of sweet delight, can never be defil’d. 

When thou seest an Eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius, lift up thy head! 

As the catterpiller chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys. 

To create a little flower is the labour of ages. 

Damn, braces: Bless relaxes. 

The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest. 

Prayers plow not! Praises reap not! 

Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not! 

The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands & feet Proportion. 

As the air to a bird of the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible. 

The crow wish’d every thing was black, the owl, that every thing was white. 

Exuberance is Beauty. 

If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning. 

Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius. 

Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires. 

Where man is not nature is barren. 

Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ’d. 

Enough! or Too much!

William Black, Earth’s Answer

Earth rais'd up her head,

From the darkness dread & drear.

Her light fled:

Stony dread!

And her locks cover'd with grey despair.

Prison'd on watry shore

Starry Jealousy does keep my den

Cold and hoar

Weeping o'er

I hear the Father of the ancient men

Selfish father of men

Cruel, jealous, selfish fear

Can delight

Chain'd in night

The virgins of youth and morning bear.

Does spring hide its joy

When buds and blossoms grow?

Does the sower?

Sow by night?

Or the plowman in darkness plow?

Break this heavy chain,

That does freeze my bones around

Selfish! vain!

Eternal bane!

That free Love with bondage bound.

William Blake, Love and Harmony Combine

LOVE and harmony combine

And around our souls entwine,

While thy branches mix with mine

And our roots together join.

Joys upon our branches sit,

       Chirping loud and singing sweet;

Like gentle streams beneath our feet,

Innocence and virtue meet.

Thou the golden fruit dost bear,

I am clad in flowers fair;

       Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,

And the turtle buildeth there.

There she sits and feeds her young;

Sweet I hear her mournful song;

And thy lovely leaves among,

       There is Love: I hear his tongue.

There his charmed nest he doth lay,

There he sleeps the night away,

There he sports along the day,

And doth among our branches play.

William Blake, Songs of Innocence, “Infant Joy”

I have no name

I am but two days old.—

What shall I call thee?

I happy am

Joy is my name,—

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy but two days old,

Sweet joy I call thee;

Thou dost smile.

I sing the while

Sweet joy befall thee.

William Blake, Poetical Sketches

Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees,

Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,

I walk the village round; if at her side

A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,

I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,

That made my love so high and me so low.

O should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear

And throw all pity on the burning air;

I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot,

And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot.

TO THE MUSES.

WHETHER on Ida's shady brow

Or in the chambers of the East,

The chambers of the Sun, that now

From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair

Or the green corners of the earth,

Or the blue regions of the air,

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,

Beneath the bosom of the sea

Wandering in many a coral grove,

Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour

A Robin Red breast in a Cage

Puts all Heaven in a Rage

A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons

Shudders Hell thr' all its regions

A dog starvd at his Masters Gate

Predicts the ruin of the State

A Horse misusd upon the Road

Calls to Heaven for Human blood

Each outcry of the hunted Hare

A fibre from the Brain does tear

A Skylark wounded in the wing

A Cherubim does cease to sing

The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight

Does the Rising Sun affright

Every Wolfs & Lions howl

Raises from Hell a Human Soul

The wild deer, wandring here & there

Keeps the Human Soul from Care

The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife

And yet forgives the Butchers knife

The Bat that flits at close of Eve

Has left the Brain that wont Believe

The Owl that calls upon the Night

Speaks the Unbelievers fright

He who shall hurt the little Wren

Shall never be belovd by Men

He who the Ox to wrath has movd

Shall never be by Woman lovd

The wanton Boy that kills the Fly

Shall feel the Spiders enmity

He who torments the Chafers Sprite

Weaves a Bower in endless Night

The Catterpiller on the Leaf

Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief

Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh

He who shall train the Horse to War

Shall never pass the Polar Bar

The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat

Feed them & thou wilt grow fat

The Gnat that sings his Summers Song

Poison gets from Slanders tongue

The poison of the Snake & Newt

Is the sweat of Envys Foot

The poison of the Honey Bee

Is the Artists Jealousy

The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags

Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags

A Truth thats told with bad intent

Beats all the Lies you can invent

It is right it should be so

Man was made for Joy & Woe

And when this we rightly know

Thro the World we safely go

Joy & Woe are woven fine

A Clothing for the soul divine

Under every grief & pine

Runs a joy with silken twine

The Babe is more than swadling Bands

Throughout all these Human Lands

Tools were made & Born were hands

Every Farmer Understands

Every Tear from Every Eye

Becomes a Babe in Eternity

This is caught by Females bright

And returnd to its own delight

The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar

Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore

The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath

Writes Revenge in realms of Death

The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air

Does to Rags the Heavens tear

The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun

Palsied strikes the Summers Sun

The poor Mans Farthing is worth more

Than all the Gold on Africs Shore

One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands

Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands

Or if protected from on high

Does that whole Nation sell & buy

He who mocks the Infants Faith

Shall be mockd in Age & Death

He who shall teach the Child to Doubt

The rotting Grave shall neer get out

He who respects the Infants faith

Triumphs over Hell & Death

The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons

Are the Fruits of the Two seasons

The Questioner who sits so sly

Shall never know how to Reply

He who replies to words of Doubt

Doth put the Light of Knowledge out

The Strongest Poison ever known

Came from Caesars Laurel Crown

Nought can Deform the Human Race

Like to the Armours iron brace

When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow

To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow

A Riddle or the Crickets Cry

Is to Doubt a fit Reply

The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile

Make Lame Philosophy to smile

He who Doubts from what he sees

Will neer Believe do what you Please

If the Sun & Moon should Doubt

Theyd immediately Go out

To be in a Passion you Good may Do

But no Good if a Passion is in you

The Whore & Gambler by the State

Licencd build that Nations Fate

The Harlots cry from Street to Street

Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet

The Winners Shout the Losers Curse

Dance before dead Englands Hearse

Every Night & every Morn

Some to Misery are Born

Every Morn and every Night

Some are Born to sweet delight

Some are Born to sweet delight

Some are Born to Endless Night

We are led to Believe a Lie

When we see not Thro the Eye

Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night

When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light

God Appears & God is Light

To those poor Souls who dwell in Night

But does a Human Form Display

To those who Dwell in Realms of day

#v #dmc5 v #devil may cry 5 v #v devil may cry 5 #devil may cry 5 #devil may cry #v devil may cry #poems #poetry #william blake #william blake poems #dmc fandom