American Icarus

You’d prance around in my dirty shirt
across the floor I hadn’t swept
I just wanted to tell you
—it’s okay to be upset
but cry upon my shoulder
if at least you know it’s there
lest you forgive of me
my punctuality in forgetfulness
my insecurity in delivery
there comes a day between now and then
all bad dreams should find their own soft sleep

but to someday rise from out your open gaze
in clouds of ashes and clouds of fire
I wish I saw you become as flames were to water
to somehow burn me up, please

CHARACTER NAME:  Klaatir
LEVEL:  6
RACE:  High Elf

Among the many fears Klaatir faces in the rural edges of Falkreath Hold such as the local wolf and bear niches, there lies the impending danger of travelling bandits, normally equipped much better than him.  Aware of the danger, Klaatir increases his knowledge in the school of Alteration to perform a spell called Oakflesh.  Despite being scarcely armored, this newfound spell grants a bit of protection from the swings of warhammers and battle-axes.  In a sticky situation, a little protection goes a long way.

Still staying to the outskirts of the townships and cities, Klaatir holds himself up inside a small cottage with an unusual, but very useful cellar where he will further base his operations and education into the arcane arts.

(Brownie points to whoever can guess which place I have held up in, as shown in the picture above).

Awesome!!! I have never seen such a badass looking High Elf, somehow I can never get the elf sliders to cooperate with me XD. And refreshing to have an anti-thalmor high elf(I think my female high elf was super evil so she was prothalmor anti nord):D

oh-thateversmilingmaze:

Lip tar that matches my hair.

Totes freakin’ awesome.  It looked even better in person.  :)

CHARACTER NAME:  Klaatir
LEVEL:  1
RACE:  High Elf

Upon escaping the mysterious dragon attack and near-death experience at Helgen, he searches for the lost memories of who he once was before crossing the border into Skyrim.  Making use of his natural abilities as an Altmer, Klaatir finds himself immediately donning enchanted robes and a hood.  However, wary of his situation and as a result of his unfamiliar surroundings, he ultimately decides to garnish himself with heavy gauntlets and boots as well.  Despite the association by race, he finds himself despising the Thalmor and their reputation (and possible participation in his capture).  For now, Klaatir holds his own as a rogue mage, focusing mainly in the schools of Alteration and Destruction.

For now, he wanders the southern parts of Skyrim, practicing his skill and scavenging what items he can.

Bunny!  :D

(Source: oh-thateversmilingmaze)

Of grace and discourse, thus birthed a realm
Feigned form and favour to these four gods—
Whose eyes gazed inward unto its own thick skin
And from its own blood flows eternal life
Forever it’s name be implanted in the roots
T’which grows its soul throughout the soil
Of a billionth year towards distinction—
Forth and back through stretching time
Both birthing and destroying in harmonious rhythm
As the same corrects the same, one another as each other
In the place where the reach has stayed—
Out and over mountainheads and treetops—
Forth and back the realm will turn; over and over
Through each long phase, the planet hurts
For it is sacred in its blood, drunk from its own strife
The fruit which bears its namesake’s owner
As if to tell the tale itself, the gods rebuke
Which rots and spoils the favor’s stead until the realm is dead
And come forth as fire, air, water and earth as one—
These four gods, the forever-born eternal
Become the blood instead as it hemorrhages
So to whom may drink but not be drunk—
They, the gods, sing their birth in silent dirges
And drink to those which bear the fruit—
That eat the fruit without being fruitful of their own
They must become what is becoming of themselves
To bleed inward and see unto their soul of godly favour…

And devour itself alive, for that is the fate of all that wish—
To blossom unto its own yet spread no fruit itself
Like gods to which they command, they still hold in a womb
Same to all that sit and wait for gods, this saving grace
That grace unbecome of them, the truth which folds the realm
Therefore, of strength and loss the gods cry out
”O’ mother, forsake us now of eternal life…”
—A breath of wind now scalds the land,
“…For we no longer wish to hold it.”

In great remorse—the realm reborn—again ‘til death
And again ‘til death
And again ‘til death—
Over and over again
—And again ‘til death

Once upon a break of dawn, up upon a windowsill
I watched the colours wrap themselves
Around each and every leaf caressing the horizon

In its wake, I saw myself to rise and out of tremor
I failed there to communicate my dilemma

That I could burn and all my light was fiery sun
Which gives you life but scalds so deep
In an act of cryptophonic melodies
All which comes will pass as entropy for you
Like sunshine through the leaves which I attempt to hold
A hand not reaching for but inside forgotten memories
It was in that moment I exploded, across entire continents
In hopes that my light would reach you in your cave

And so every day the clock strikes six to remind me
That there’s a journey to be had
Bracing everything I’ve ever known to find my destination

And in it’s wake, I crawled myself outside to meet the eyes
I knew for sure yours wasn’t there, come creeping into June

For I flew upon the ashes of a billion desert-skulls
Countless oceans roaring with the winds of this discourse
Sorcery blooms with a wicked way of showing
I, for once, despondent with the path that I’d been shown
In every footprint left, I left a message for the day
That I may show that no accidents happen, only unlit possibilities
Ripped up eyes will show the blame I’ve taken on
And in this trace, I die, by star, to see, once more, your face

The tremor breathes in and outside through my anatomy
Though you will never see what matter composes me
And I through you destruct my form and give you everything left

In sunshine left fading, the blackest night would come
My feet have fallen, my legs have turned to stone

So here I’ll stay, preyed in the darkened cave wherein I seek
The breathing room I bled to believe existed in me
That forever you should hide inside a carcass left
Bereft of things to leave behind, the stars perused
And of them, none of me, come to this cave to find new light
In this I learned of seeking through, finding you
Burned out before the morning eclipse, to beatings of a drum
I find you sitting there, becoming your own sun

White-collar criminals, I like the way you hide your lines
Between the mixture and the madness
You’re a breed like no one else—unkind
Price of sadness, unreleased
Perfect outlook, supple funds
Loosen up, call me crazy
Saddle up the booster seat
For this ride here’s almost over
But you don’t care, big walking one
Over the weakling drowned in the making
Money’s marvels make for good memories
Scrape the blame from the pavement, pure
You’ve grown so old since you were thirteen

oh-thateversmilingmaze:

Avocado gelato bar dipped in white chocolate and caramel corn.