Additional information
Weight | 1 oz |
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$29.00
Black roses, Pashmina oud, clove bud, opoponax, kyphi smoke, tobacco absolute, and orris butter.
Out of stock
Weight | 1 oz |
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Ghouls do not build. They are parasites and scavengers, eaters of carrion. The city they call Ghûlheim is something they found, long ago, but did not make. No one they call knows (if anyone human ever knew) what kind of creatures it was that made those buildings, who honeycombed the rock with tunnels and towers, but it is certain that no-one but the ghoul-folk could have wanted to stay there, or even to approach that place.
Even from the path below Ghûlheim, even from miles away, Bod could see that all of the angles were wrong — that the walls sloped crazily, that it was every nightmare he had ever endured made into a place, like a huge mouth of jutting teeth. It was a city that had been built just to be abandoned, in which all the fears and madnesses and revulsions of the creatures who built it were made into stone. The ghoul folk had found it and delighted in it and called it home.
A dark and disjointed scent: smoke and black musk, bladderwrack, opopponax, galangal, and pepper.
The Misericordia, or Tristis, are vampires that are consumed with a longing to regain their lost humanity, some to the point of being driven mad by the desire to be human once more. The shock of their transition into vampirism and the rejection they faced from friends and loved ones was devastating, and it compromises their ability to find solace and comfort. Unlike the Transeo, Misericordia cannot merge into human society, but are relegated by their own grief to the position of outsiders. Their inherent melancholy and morose temperaments make it difficult for them to cultivate relationships with either humans or vampires. Most vampires treat the Misericordia with a fair amount of derision, and they are sometimes hunted by Interfectors who see the perspective of the Misericordia as an affront to their way of thinking.
Eons of grief and unending hunger: magnolia, black currant, castoreum accord, lavender, labdanum, amber, rose otto, and opoponax.
We must have all the old demons of the first class, with tails, and the hobgoblins and imps; and then I think we ought not to leave out the death-horse, or the grave-pig, or even the church dwarf, although they do belong to the clergy, and are not reckoned among our people; but that is merely their office, they are nearly related to us, and visit us very frequently.
Siberian musk, black clove, opoponax, tonka, black pepper, and neroli.
coffinpop –
after one smell i knew i needed more. so i decided i had to put it in my mustache. it was a sound decision. i dont think i can go back to a world that doesnt smell like this. the kyphi and oud practically play doctor together, and the opoponax and orris offer a rich lotion quality, an expensive one from a 300 year old business, like one of gwyneths goops. the clove and tobacco sit in the background with the incenses, like the rafters and walls soaked through with centuries of smoke that you find at old churches or taverns that whisper their perfume at you when you sit beneath them. its such a perfect balance between after dinner showers for midnight masses, and late night tarot readings at the bordello. i cannot give y’all at the lab as much gratitude as you deserve for mixing this one up. you want a forehead kiss? a kidney? what do you need to keep this one going?