raulonastool.eth 🎩 🏰

@raulonastool

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raulonastool.eth 🎩 🏰

https://paragraph.com/@raulonastool/believe-a-story-about-cement,-memory,-and-the-mediums-that-make-us-human

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raulonastool.eth 🎩 🏰

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Servers seem to be down - investigating

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raulonastool.eth 🎩 🏰

https://youtu.be/4mZCuRcAdDQ?si=ODaJFlSk_HJYa2I8

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!attack north 🏴‍☠️🐉

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raulonastool.eth 🎩 🏰

Ern looked toward the smoldering edge of the Hollow. The world beyond Daggerpoint was suddenly much larger—and more dangerous—than he’d ever imagined. He thought again of his word. Stay. He wasn’t just staying now. He was choosing to go. “I’m coming,” he said. Sarra smirked. “Good. You’re still on watch tonight.” They packed their things. Myrr folded the map like it was glass. Sarra kept the letter close. Gellon made sure no one saw him wince when he lifted his pack. By midday, the five of them were gone. The smoke trailed behind them like a second shadow, rising, curling. Pointing toward something deeper. Toward the truth the Castles buried. Toward the fire beneath the map.

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They hadn’t spoken much since the attack. Until now. “There’s something inside it,” Myrr said. They all turned. Myrr knelt beside the blackened corpse and pulled away a slab of root-flesh with their knife. Beneath, nestled in warped bone, was a circular piece of metal—melted at the edges, but still bearing etchings. Not words. Not sigils. Lines. Arcs. “A map,” Sarra said, crouching beside them. “Looks like a fortress,” Torv added. “Or what’s left of one.” Ern leaned in. “What’s that mark there?” Gellon squinted. “North Castle seal. But distorted.” Sarra took it in her hands. “This wasn’t a monster. It was a messenger.” They were still absorbing that when Alder May appeared behind them, her steps slow but certain. “You’ll need to leave by midday,” she said. “Whatever comes next won’t wait for the Castle’s orders.”

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Sarra stood. “What do you know of this place?” “Only what was passed down. A ruin beyond the ashline, buried after the Accord. Neither Castle wants it remembered. Which means it matters.” She held out a wrapped bundle. “This was meant for someone else. A man I trusted. But he’s two winters gone now. I think it belongs to you.” Sarra opened it. Inside was a letter sealed in dark wax—and a pendant in the shape of a divided flame. She stared at it a moment too long. Then tucked it away like a memory she didn’t want to share. “What is it?” Ern asked. “A relic,” May said. “From before the Castles split. Before there were sides.” No one spoke for a moment. Then Gellon broke the silence. “So… do we tell the North? Ride back like good little banners?” Torv’s voice was flat. “And watch them bury it all again?” Sarra looked at each of them in turn. “We follow the map.” Myrr nodded. “The land wants us to.” Gellon sighed. “Of course it does.”

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FARCASTLES: CHAPTER SEVEN – THE MAP BENEATH THE FIRE The sun rose over Daggerpoint with no intention of warming it. Smoke still drifted in lazy columns from the orchard, and the scorched remains of the Hollow-creature lay crumpled in the village square like a nightmare that hadn’t quite finished. Ern sat on the edge of a well, hands clasped, watching ash settle over the rooftops. His word still echoed in his head—stay—but now it clung to him differently. He had stayed. He had fought. And yet, he felt as unmoored as ever. The others moved quietly through the aftermath. Torv sharpened his blade in rhythmic silence. Gellon helped a limping villager mend a broken cart axle, though his sleeve was still wet with blood. Myrr stood by the remnants of the Hollow’s maw, staring at something only they could see. Sarra paced like a caged wolf, her armor already cleaned, eyes already on the road ahead.

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https://media.tenor.com/nWEgYRXWxnoAAAAC/cant-wait-excited

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New mass-data work will be interactive, clickable and minted this weekend; all are welcome ❤️; here, the earliest transactions on Ethereum, lines colored by call type; mouseover, click to go to Etherscan; peruse a ledger's curious history.

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Technically speaking, everything on the internet is pixel art

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raulonastool.eth 🎩 🏰

One minute, I held the key. Next, the walls were closed on me. Then I discovered that my castles stand upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand. !attack north 🏴‍☠️🐉

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Let's go H-Town!

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!attack north with dance moves

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Ash fell like snow. Smoke curled upward. The world exhaled. They stood in the wreckage, breathless. Gellon clutched his ribs, laughing weakly. Torv cleaned his blade with mechanical precision. Myrr stood very still, steam rising faintly from their cloak. Ern looked at his hands. Blood. He didn’t know whose. Alder May stepped forward and knelt beside the ruined thing. She touched a patch of burned cloth. “It knew a name once,” she murmured. From behind a shattered fence, a child peered out. A mother clutched her closer. Somewhere, someone whispered a prayer. Sarra turned to Ern. “Still standing?” He nodded. “Good,” she said. "That was only the warning shot."

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Ern had no sword. No orders. Just a banner pole tipped with rusted iron, discarded in the dirt. He grabbed it. He ran. As the creature broke through the vines, Ern drove the pole into its flank—deep into rot and bone, until it struck something that gave way with a wet crack. The beast screamed. Not from pain. From confusion. Its voice fractured. “For… the… Crow…” It choked on the last word, as if it no longer understood it. Sarra lunged, her blade slicing into its neck. Gellon leapt, Mercy cutting a clean arc. Torv severed a knee joint. Myrr raised both hands, and the roots beneath the creature’s feet surged upward, binding it mid-thrash. Ern held the pole steady. Not like a spear. Like a flag. Like a line in the dirt. “Stay,” he whispered. “Right here.” The creature convulsed once. Twice. Then collapsed.

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He thought of his uncle’s voice, sharp with drink and years: “If fire’s coming, boy, don’t be clever. Be gone.” But Ern wasn’t gone. The creature rose from the Hollow like a memory that refused to fade. A twisted mass of bone and root, limbs shaped wrong, stitched with rusted armor and tattered flags. A Red gauntlet jutted from its shoulder. A Blue banner hung like a noose around its neck. Sigils of both Castles were branded into its hide, glowing like coals beneath rotted bark. Where a face should have been, there was only a gaping mouth—wide, wailing, echoing old war cries in broken fragments. “Hold the line!” Sarra shouted. Myrr summoned vines from the ground—some fresh, some long-dead—twisting them into a wall of thorns that slowed the creature’s advance. Gellon charged low, sword flashing. Torv moved like smoke, striking at the joints. Sarra flanked right, each swing deliberate. “Ern!” Gellon shouted. “Left side—now!”

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“Left for where?” Ern asked. “Some for the woods. Some to the east. Some just vanished. And then the Hollow took the rest.” Sarra’s brow furrowed. “The Hollow?” May nodded toward the shuttered window. “The gap just beyond the orchard. Was a ravine once. Not anymore. It grew. And it remembers.” Ern shivered. Not from cold. --- They followed her outside, weaving past abandoned carts and hollow-eyed villagers. The orchard ended abruptly at a black wound in the earth—wide, jagged, pulsing faintly at its edges. The ground smelled scorched. No birds. No wind. It felt like the world was holding its breath. “My brother fell into it,” May said. “Didn’t scream. Just vanished. When we threw down a rope, it came back burned.” Torv stared into the dark. “What’s down there?” “Not what,” May repeated. “The war. Its rot. Its memory.”

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