we are the new gods with sunstone eyes and a crown of fire
we are the new gods with a supernova soul
we are the new gods, born of ash and stardust and the
remnants of the old kingdom that thought to stifle us;

we clambered atop their mountains and threw them down,
burnt their wings and
took their throne for our own

the old gods are dead
we are the new gods now

blue moon you saw me standing alone

there is a dance to the beat of a swordsong that goes like this: a flash of silver, the hard edge of steel, a banner of crimson victory fluttering in his wake. this is not a wardrum, this is not a fight - this is the freeflow katas of a swordsman drenched in the soft quiet peace of the morn. the hour is early, the golden dawn just barely peaking over the horizon; the training halls are empty of witches, they who choose to favour the comfort of a bed over the thrum of magic. and they may be the smart ones - kasimir has been awake for far too many hours to count as reasonable, and here he is, pacing through his swordforms while kirjava plays around with fire. ( he dutifully ignores the burning phoenix his familiar lets loose, only to chase after and pounce on as if it were a prey-creature to hunt ) this is not training, not really, not the type that scorches his blood and sets the world alight, but, he thinks, this may be better. it is certainly more peaceful.

parker jones

rip this starter is long owed, sorry TT^TT