Duck Lake Insight II

left some space for assumptions and pp for attacks! <,3

The past fortnight he’d been an eldritch on a Damascus-type of journey. Crackling on trees, powder-snow quilted between his toes — palish martial union; the world had been wed in alabastrine veil and gown. Newly-formed in what was to his irreligious eyes, a new world. One bereft of a higher power; sensing that god is dead. The murder of carrion crows his erstwhile companions, the dun evening sky was the calmness in the torments of the hymenal night:
wastrel failing to rebuke the demons tangled in his bedsheets only fell deeper in them; as it was impractical to fight with a proverbial sword shelved between his ribs.

Therein, the cold morning was spent with lethargic wanderings and wonderings, his footfalls never once carried with the purpose of direction. Those he knew were paper faces on parade and all that was known: curdling blood, bellyful of anger, the lila milkvetch of his father’s eyes,

and the gilt pelage of Sagtannet’s perpetrator.

The impassive quietude is ruptured by the cleave of Eris’ madness. The cowbird finally makes peppered steps in one direction, the bowed figure of the man over the lake. The scene was the irony of fate, Taikon being in the same position he was months ago.

Now he was the unprecedented calamity.