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Tales of Poseidonia: Part VIII, Hell’s Dilemma
Port of Poseidonia: Hell’s Dilemma
Let’s not all believe that Atlantis and its demonic forces don’t have their own secrets and dark powers, because they sure do. And this sketch will take some of them – to the depths of hell and its borders. (Part VIll)
[Summery] The Phrygian king was assigned to the environment, to the surroundings of Mount Hades, in the hilly region of Hell, in the deep, lower part of the earth’s crust. Aon now had Queen Ais as his mistress and mistress in the waters of the Great Gulf of the Underworld; Anases, a gifted scribe, was still in the underwater inner core of the mountain, the place where Atlantis was buried. Agaliarept – Follower of Hell, he took back his command, having been High Priest of Atlantis for a long time. Belphegor, king of demons, was here and there, between hell and earth; Ephialtes, hero of Hell, at least for now, merchant of the Greeks and king of Atlantis, was a special guard, like Buer and Gywan. Tyr – a goblin, he moved between the earth and the closing and closing of Hell, on Phrygian, for some strange reason he took a personal interest in him.
Hell of a dilemma
It was a grandiose and evil reign that had put King Phrygianus in the position he now found himself in, a slave to the whims of Hell and all his superior officers; he might have been, if he had betrayed his wife, given over to the Officer of Hell, or if he had simply left the bet with Belphegor alone, there would have been no hostility; but he didn’t.
If he could disguise himself under a new name in Hell, he should, because everyone knew the King of Atlantis in Hell, his reputation paved the way for him. Some other kings were in the vault, one frozen with worms, others were elsewhere. But he was cast into the wastes by Mount Hades; for the pleasure of men and beasts, yet he was not in the vaults of cold worms that were good as he thought. Over time, Tyr could watch over him in this way, and who knows, maybe Hell had other plans for him, he would soon find out.
After a while his face was beginning to look as hideous as everyone else’s he thought as he looked around, he looked around as he sat on a favorite rock high up on the mountain and looked at the reflections in the mirror and looked at the old polished stones; he was also looking down from a dwelling, an adobe type dwelling on the side of the mountain where he could sleep, on the side of the cliffs about 7000 feet high, so now he could see far into the skyless hell. It was a dwelling of the open terrace type; Mount Hades was a monument to hellish scenery.
That the king was thrown into this dramatically indecent lifestyle was sour, that is, others thought: here was a king who did what the underworld told him to do, and this is what he got as a reward. Then there was the opposite of those others who said: he shouldn’t have defied hell by trying to save his wife. And so it gave a lot of food for thought in the ranks of Hell.
Agaliarept thought: there might be a reprieve in this matter in a hundred years or so, and let those who contemplate rebellion, the potential mutineers, that is, the resisters, have finality in this situation, and therefore let us lay the matter to rest [?] forever. Yes, he concluded, he would let the officers of Hell, the high-ranking ones anyway, know what he meant; nothing written in stone but in his mind.
the Phrygian prince
When the king was young, I mean when he was a prince in Atlantis, his Archkingdom was a great oasis for him; everything at your fingertips. He was once even married to a young princess who bore him a child named Ampara; who was his second wife, but his first love was Lailis (and we all know his third love, Ais), and when he ran away, he ran away to marry Lailis at a very young age, Lailis, who was only a girl from Noom- -v the heart of Atlantis – where her friend Xilvaa also lived, a shepherdess with bright blue eyes like hers, they both looked up at the sky on a warm summer day: and during one of those days she met the prince of Atlantis, a Phrygian, and they both fell madly in love.
His father, the king of Atlantis at the time, chased them to the fountain of Ddath, where they both drank from the fountain of its poisonous waters, so that they would not be separated during their lives, choosing death (the king wanted to stop the ongoing relationship).
The result was that the young prince drank it as well as she did, and when the king arrived the two bodies lay side by side. Only one was alive and barley alive with only a few breaths left in the physical placement of his souls. Xilva’s father reported this courtship to the king and was handsomely rewarded for it. Yes, but the king saw his son’s chest move a little, then he prayed to the demonic forces of hell, he prayed directly to Satan himself, and Belphegor was sent, who sucked the poison out of his son’s body in no time. time and drained the peasant’s blood to strengthen his body, and there the king and Belphegor left the woman’s body to rot, and here was the beginning of a long and close relationship with Atlantis and Hell’s Henchmen.
Ais thought she saw the king in her mind – Aon was holding her in the waters around Atlantis, “There he is,” she said as Aon stopped playing and restraining himself.
“There he was! Then he wasn’t! Then he was! Then he wasn’t! He was!” Her thoughts were like a log bouncing up and down in a river.
“Mind test,” Aon said in disgust and irritation; Try hard not to imagine your dead husband, because hell has no heart to give back what it gets.”
The king had many thoughts of Ais in the following years, along the paths he walked in hell; during his sleep on the edge of the mountain, on the hills; he sleeps like a dog or a pig, wherever he could; sometimes he stuffed himself with worms just to taste something—he thought of her.
Sometimes the king seemed foolish to himself; a fool might say the same. There were times when men and men, women and women, men and women got so close in Hell. People scattered everywhere, here and there. The king was certainly thinking a lot, but it didn’t get him anywhere in particular, it filled the boredom he should have had.
In his thoughts, unfaithful thoughts about his Ais, his queen, he had unfaithful thoughts about her, shouting a curse at her because she was in her, cursing his breath because she smelled it, cursing his eyes because she had it. he touched them, then walked in the mud and swamps that surrounded the area, trying to clean his dirt with dirt. His loss of all things was a murmur on his lips, his feverish lips constantly.
The king had sores all over his body, a body that seemed to be physical and could materialize somewhat, and if he went to earth as a spirit form, he would be able to materialize for a moment, it was just easier to form. flesh in this underworld, but not organs like humanity. Therefore, these sores on his body left a faint smell in his nostrils like rotten eggs, eggs in heat.
Hell gave everyone a dream time (as well as the king) who was their companion, as well as thieves and prostitutes all around the king of Atlantis. He was with his mate, what could he say – as he pleased; the king was what he himself would call cynical, but that was cured. Yes, he was, he used to be, the Rooster of the Bands, the roster that stretched, but not anymore. Would heaven be boring, as many jokingly said, he doubted it now, for this was the end of all ends of the line for humanity: better to be a demon on earth, he muttered aloud, than a king on a dunghill in hell, something like that, though I don’t think so , that he had “a pile of dung” in his vocabulary. Then the king, in a humming and humming mood, hummed to himself in the spring-time mist the lyrics of the song he had invented for his beloved Atlantis:
April in Atlantis
[From the King of Atlantis, while in Hell]
It’s April in Atlantis – the bridges are chilled, the wines are distilled. And down the canal in Poseidon’s gardens doves reap the corn; bronze horses stare; still distant (above the waters of danger) the resting temple precincts and the uncouth, uncrowned lyrist sounds. Yes! Atlantis in April is toxic with time, with its stone islands and signs of grandeur.
Farewell, my dear friend, Atlantido, this morning in April, With narrow, crowded streets that led me, And arches imprinted with gold-carved stories. Farewell, my spoiled Atlantida, I am trapped in hell.
— from King Phrygia
In hell the days passed, they were too alike, he thought; he put them in his mind and said again, ‘…they are too similar,’- days, the imagined experience is not the same as the one actually lived (as in the days when I was king of Atlantis) , but it was something .
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#Tales #Poseidonia #Part #VIII #Hells #Dilemma