Posts from Knights of Tezoth

By the foulness of mists, by dust and ash, by the swaddling of afterglory at birth in the cradle, a wondrous new world was unveiled, feeling the cruel burden of existence through the tears of innocent infancy. Comparisons with the former era of heroism will be a trial for the legends to grasp: ambition still lingers nonetheless. The young era wanders as a nameless child, not yet able to rival the city of eternal light. But are the shackles of oblivion truly important? Memory is sealed by a good chronicle, gathering dust in the corners of abandoned archives; the boundless path opens anew before the yearning. A grim revenant recounts a tale of bygone chapters.

I
With steel spokes — or perhaps forged rods — the Iron King was cast from the blue abyss onto the arena. To some a conqueror, to others a hero, to yet others a steward of fortune's daring. By a fateful binding, a fragile grand alliance was formed. By faith in truth, by hope of the heart, by stern word or cold steel, in the name of salvation — not for amusement — he turned the peaceful codex against the ages to come. Under him, the hammer of the smithy forged marvels of satin power. That weapon even in the present age continues as an extension of a good hand, fulfilling the narrative turn of the universe for a most worthy knight — of that I have not the slightest doubt. Where is that Hero of unified heartfelt valor, the minds ask? But is a savior needed in times of wonder amid the backstage of hidden games? A different order of reflection is needed for the ruler of succession; every epic has its own sovereign bearing the crown of deeds.

II
Next, by the ambition of a simple inherited dream, the abode of nobility is held by the first lady-lord. With foreign wonders, by the branch of strange magics, the snow-white hand sows the darkness of ignorance with faithful honor. Worthy is the profit of the fierce-passionate warrior; heavier is the lot of the builder meeting a fair flourishing with the young state. River canals are dug, fields groan with fertility, the era of the universe prepares to meet the enemy with bitter offense. Years replace decades, but the foundation will withstand the piercing grip of the sands. Everyone from small to great knows a wondrous fact: the gracious queen brought more than enough heavenly blessing to bestow the virtue of daring upon the god-hearted people. A full belly is a logical rival to the warrior's burden.

III
The good veil of deeds rarely opposes the mortal end of a hypostasis. With an immeasurable grip of desire for freedom, the lord of Riddles darkened his path with the bitter trail of the brave. By the first labor, with the gift of pleasure, he drained the souls of heartfelt peaks to the half. By the second labor, the trial of power, he returned stony men of harsh nature to the earth. By the third labor, he left bloodthirsty monsters groaning in shame of powerless offense. By the fourth labor, he returned to high society, unfolding forgotten valor about the realm through the bonds of the people's world. But he sees but a brief moment of concern: by the fifth labor, he clashed with the intoxicated serpent, and vanished into legend by the foulest of fates. Such is the lesson for brave-hearted knights: to strengthen oneself in mighty spirit is hope; no one can preserve the strength of a young body. The earthly duty is no ally to the overly proud heavenly bird.

IV
The ancient chalice of sand is drawn by the Evil lord's era of cruel times. In each, a center of differing opinions: a reflection of moral amorality, a tyrant of despotic oppression, a savior of the iron land, a transformer of the bile of reason into lordship. As much as desires abound, so freely do opinions; truth froze within the crimson eyes. Only a mute question lingers: will the brute of vanity fall amid the black cellar; will the blood-washed finger point against the horde of sectarian filth; will the cowardly fortress gaze trade the shelter of a back for the last watch of the deadly field of valor? By reality and stern knowledge, motives are born in the veil of indifference — surely not.

V
A brilliant bird of pink needles in a cage; cruel is the fateful doom in the halo of a ladylike gaze. The kingdom rose from its knees, but the coming outcome is shrouded in the mist of doubt. The dream of freedom's breath is desired to return for but a moment, but alas! The silver-haired stranger is forgotten, the reliquary of artifacts is lost, oaths are worn thin and vows betrayed, the faces of comrades gorge on the pie of sheepish vanity. The treacherous dagger of careless solitude tears the soul from behind, life is torn apart in a nightmare tale. Youth will end, the shining flower will wither, ideals will fall, dreams will burn out, and the sorrow of old age redeems the smoldering reality of a spent life with the abyss of powerlessness.

VI
No remedy for despondency can be found for the soul, until the hopelessness of thoughts turns existence into a crater. The thorny poison crawls, corrupting space with boiling strings, the shackles of iron bolts darken, rippling over the murky consciousness, flesh whitens, vomited by worms of bile. Nowhere can salvation be found, for the evil foe is the mirror's reflection. The emperor of forgotten torments did not neglect honor, sternly accepting the tiara of hopelessness from the accursed fate with the dignity of condemnation. The queen of contempt laughs, greetings are sent from the flying citadel, the black-winged priestess will smile, the embraces of amorous excess will spread, servants and retainers will snap to attention — only the pen grants oblivion for a moment; in vain to dispel the heart's torment. The wise lesson in that flow: often the unseen nemesis from within is more dangerous than the known external foes in abundance.

VII
The apostle of the all-watching hypostasis gazes from the tombstone of the enclosure: black are the eye sockets of the misty skull, the pale curves of the harvest scythe's bones clench in impatience. With a mute question, the final prophecy is titled: do the deeds of life or death reflect the influence of the soul? Sometimes all the bile and stench is washed away by the light of a history worn by the hand of ignorance. It also happens that the valor of Greatness falls as a grievous ash, lost amid the filth, just like the brave king. The torments of unfortunate gnawed souls will be forgotten, worn thin in the irony of balls of purity and the theater of ignorance's viewing. The universe will turn into the radiance of summer around, the blood of heavy useless victories will wash away. Only one sorrow of injustice ashes the voice of the innocent: barely audible amid the idle blaring of concerts is the a cappella of lonely weeping for perished families. The captivity of hot ambitions must be met with a cold head.

🕷️
The bends of all-shadowing shades are pierced by threads of formless web. On all sides, the gloomy thought is tangled in the emptiness of futile outcome. In the toothless deity rules Nothingness, the unknown spider-woman and her sepulchral odysseys. Six bloody eyes twist the soul with nauseating revulsion, and each of the pillars commits the death-womb of sins, poisonously alien to a moral person. But belief in the fullness of the image is strained: the performance of the actor's play is too ornate. The brighter the eight-legged one appears in public, the more deadly its core; otherwise, it could not withstand the struggle amid the brave forest beasts.

🦢
A mask of abundance, a mirror of phantom skies; the perversion of dreams hidden in a wondrous share. The palette of flowers is abundant: instead of the old web, the murmur of a musical string delights the ear. The peach swan radiates contemplative inspiration; few sufferers will wonder why the snow-white image appears amid solitude. The guise of temptation of beauty's virtue hides over insignificant souls under the shadow of cruel indifference: despised shall be those who know neither the purity of the heavens nor the calm of the water's surface.

🦈
A vulture's hill, beneath it a church, beneath it a grave, beneath it a passage into backstage tunnels, where only the artful cutting of lamps reflects the duty of terrible research. By weak will, powerlessness, the futility of crimson existence, the pirouette of amoral nature — one step of exile is the sole outcome of justice for the wicked inhabitants. The ruler there is a gaming die with foreseen debts; the compass of shark-like ambitions draws development on the bones of the lucky and the not. Not a finger's match to be master of fate, and even less so in those dark depths.

🐮
A pretorially-tempted land is wrapped in slumber: an abode of merry voices of gluttonous debauchery, the freshness of compote and the aroma of pumpkin soup. The lustful rumor seeks an accountable sole: to find the flaw of sin in hay barns and wheat sacks. Yet weighty is the simplicity of the dull truth: the marital union of a farming family is strong, and the dusty paths are marked by carefree obscurity, along which the shepherd leads the cow herd.

🦉
The private horoscope vainly strives to discern heavenly support; gazing at the stars, it is easy to stumble over an underground snag with an unwanted nudge. The wisest owl, not forgotten by a miracle under its winged foot, not pushed to the edge by foes-allies of arbitrariness, returned to reclaim the remains of its toppled nest. Will the abundance of knowledge suffice to exchange for a ringing coin, to show resistance to the treacherous hawk in the predatory night?..

🦁
With the boldness of a stormy current, the river of daring deeds rushes. As long as hearts are bound by valor and souls clasped by struggle, the knightly alliance will stand. Yet the proud halo is not simple: with a lion's pounce it strikes the eager inhuman; with royal simplicity it eclipses the veil of unseen conspiracies.

🦊
The stuffed belly rings with coin, the pouch belt of purchased goods creaks, the market caravan thunders with fanfare. Despised and greedy is the bitter merchant, naive and high-born is the noble lord — bound by an involuntary union in the light of the pillars, the contract is strengthened. The sweaty fox lures with profit: the sought-after People fall for gold; content at heart, deceived in deed is the lower folk. Forget not vigilance, toss not the purse when you shouldn't, and the sought-after may become attainable.

🐉
Notable by name, vast in expanse, wondrous in people. The roar of the beast-man seeks to recognize a man by an equal call. Whether a comrade in appearance or a brother in arms; the tale of heartfelt deeds must serve as the measure of worth.

🐦
By a barely visible thread, the cloudy expanses shimmer: the farther the gaze, the more in love is the winged vulture itself. Turning into a retinue of beaks and feathers, it pierces the dawn with a morning call. Listening closely, do not mistake the owner! A dozen of a deck of gaming dice measures the chilly horizon: whether a sleepy little beast yawned somewhere. That visibility is the measure of pride: the more fear stoked in neighbors, the wider the span of Atlantean shoulders. From the scourge of the chicken coop to the death of a state, fantasy's flutter is but a meek impulse.

🦡
The starry vault will fall, the moon will wane, in a moment of serenity striving away from the mother of life. The mistress of all that is good, giving love and burning vice, watches over slaves entirely. The badger is mad, yet in his words there is a mouth: praise the Sun, fools! To those whom the curse of lightlessness has gifted, I can only express understanding and sympathy from my side. Worlds shine with a rainbow, thriving when in the eyes of firm faith there is immortality.

🐻
The unseen kingdom is woven from dangerous beliefs. In the shaggy share, hearts tangle, convictions warp, truths blaze with lies, and notes of lustful deceit linger. There is no faith in faithlessness; no truth in personal motives. People lie, gods lie all the more. The town is run by neither man nor beast: a lion in mane, a bear in health, an emperor in wisdom, a darkling in inquisitiveness.

🐢
Does pride hide in obscurity? A lonely castle waged an unequal struggle with the imperfection of nature. There is good in avoiding conflict; the inconspicuousness of possible allies leads to doom. The flourishing of peaceful times will not help the turtle avoid the heavy hour of choice.

🐰
Like a swan sister, the bloodthirsty doe-hare hid in the shadowy dawn. The fluffy mercy of velvet fangs concealed a biting maw: there is no place for ugliness in the abode of good. The mistress knows the weakness of twilight nature, guarding the hearth of mercy with an iron order. Charm is not in choice; order is no friend to freedom. The adorned stone is cut by granite labor: in the heartfelt union of order and law is born the gemstone of Love by the true spirit.

🕊️
The azure abyss of shimmer broke the sandy surf in waves against the rocks. Of an abundant world, a bound alliance, a rich catch of piracy and friendship. Wonders beyond belief, strange natures, the watch calls for a fair wind. O wondrous bird of peacock beauty; it is a seagull soaring into the boundless expanse.

🐺
Gray shackles, or rather chains, of a many-headed giant of pale steel forged armor will rise through the hilly plain. Dried skulls with withered roots drink into the earth's juices; the soil is maimed by age-old battles and evil-tongued curses. The wolf sanctuary of sorrow and valor breeds unlike pups from its depths. Worth and cunning, loyalty and betrayal, friendly duels and daggers of the eyes — any person of any soulful palette will find peace and a hearth of bliss.

🦅
A snow-covered temple of stagnant fortifications gazes upon the crater of gloom with the sorrow of valor. The domain's cruel riot of winds shelters, and the gray-haired griffin commands them with its wing. Different in nature are the nest's heiresses; only one thing is desired — to claim the throne's burden. Does the brave beast know: the northern sky is visible in the palm, while the southern dagger of self-interest is covered in darkness.

🐍
The three-headed hydra bristles with worth; the jagged scales are hewn from stone, tools gather dust only by the edge of distinction. The first head melts with the forge's thirst; with the willful painting of eternal heat, it adorns icons of death-dealing. The second breathes the ruin of horror; in the field, a warrior is not a single tool. The third maw hurls a sphere of black flame; the infernal will devour those who do not believe the law.

🦌
Simple is the irony of the native land: the verse is permeated with love of the fatherland, even as speeches are wrapped in the paganism of contempt; no other option exists. The flowery dawns of tender sorrow extract the aroma of coming feasts with a haze. Ancient chains of oblivion are forever interwoven with the silken binding of the virtue of peacefulness. The graceful doe flutters steadily across rainbow meadows and rich gardens: quiet and calm is the land of selfhood. Will the trial of virtue manage to drive away the predatory paw of the future?..

🐈👑
With a gifted grimace, the good dealers of the utmost peaks shine, the halls are upholstered in wealth and gold, a tear of crystal abundance glimmers. The worldly waves of calm of the heart's arteries carry refined essence to all the iron lands. A fate-hungry meeting in a four-sided name of the crossroads was to be; the legend of the first-last dynasty is bound by the prophecy's curse of the dawn-lord to the two-twentieth obelisk. By the secret hand of a entrusted stranger, a brave silhouette is to rightfully govern the hope of the human race. A black cat in the throne's sack: can it warm the wonder-bird of dark conspiracies' braziers, or will it fall from the cliff of treachery with a final song, losing the frame of young wings? Only time — the eternal vessel and shard of worlds' constancy; the faceless and grim judge will tell us — to behold the outcome is given, and the desire is yours.