Post by Andromeda on Jan 17, 2008 20:15:22 GMT -5
ooc: Ok, I'm going to see if it's possible for me to post a decent dark mare post without cursing. Thing is, I got busted in third grade for cursing, and the punishment for it is still on my mind.
This will be for my attempted-dark mare, Broken Cadaver, who's bio I shall be making shortly.
bic:
Like a phantom in the night, it steals along, as silent as the grave. For love is like a fickle friend, that appears at the most inopportune times to those who scorn it as an illusion. Slowly, stealthily it creeps along, cackling like some mad beast who has taken it's foe prisoner; until, with a scream of rage and regret,
the foe falls to the ground writhing, screaming toward the heavens; or perhaps the pits of Hell. For love is a truly dangerous disease of the mind, body, and spirit; it weakens you, lowering your defenses against something even more horrid; compassion. Compassion for the other. And though one may scream and writhe, calling upon the devil to take them, quickly, before anyone finds out. Death would be preferable, in the eyes of those destined to be swarthy, then to be chained to another by the sin of love.
Iron ivory pillars struck the earth with a dainty step, pulling up and down to the rhythm of Satan's bidding. Delicate barrel heaved, not from exhaustion, but from pure exhilaration that comes of seeing others being foolish. Delicate skull was tapered down to a fine point, salmons flaring to take in the hated scent of those no darker then the sunlight that streamed like a curse through the meadows. Carbon was released into the atmosphere as war-sharpened flints tore at the terra firma below as if the very grass were an enemy yet to be conquered. Boa arched and fell with the motion, tresses lifting and falling with the rhythms of movement, while ill-fated banner stretched taught behind solid muscled quarters. Most menacing of all, lips pulled back to reveal ivories, which may or may not have been stained red with the blood of fools; and the orbs. Oh, those steaming pools of hatred, which shone black under good circumstances, but which turned a fiery crimson in the light of battle. The devil's princess had arrived; and she meant Hell.
Scorn painted the facade of the seductress as she looked upon those that all of the swarthy alliance considered below them; those light, never-do-bad fools, who would rather face the pits of fire then do some injustice to another. Idiots. They had no more sense then a new-born foal, and even the stupidest infant had more sense then that filth. Still, it was amusing to watch them writhe beneath you, begging for their sorry lives while you stood over them, dealing mortal blows. Only the very young and helpless were to be spared, for possibly they might be turned to sides of greater intent; but even on occasion that proved hopeless, and so they were set out as bait for the young darks to practice their blows upon. And even if they were turned, they were never worth more then a servant's scapegoat, a piece of recycling gone bad. They were mental, all of them.
Sneer twisted the features of the ess as she observed the most pitiful sight of a light steed trying to coax a mare along to his home with wheedling tones.
Please, Sumatra, come with me! For thine own heart has seen nothing more beautiful in all my days upon this sun-drenched earth. Pray tell, do you feelings for me equal my own for you?[/i] the bay steed begged, passing his ivories in a most disgusting way over the fae's boa.
With a dramatic role of her crimson orbs, the fae cackled menacingly, pillars moving in to partake in the fun. Her voice high and taunting, the fae spat out lyrics in such poisonous fashion that it is sworn that the leaves on a near-by bush withered and died.
Oh, Romeo, please, please take me home! I so desire your gallant company, even though you are a stupid as your words. Oops, did I say that out loud? An un characteristic giggle followed that, as the ivory fae's flints slashed down once, twice, leaving the steed still on the ground. The light fool gave a scream of despair, falling forth to find any signs of life. Another cackle, another corpse laying still in a crimson pool of blood.
With only a slight disturbance to the atmosphere, the triumphant fae paced off, her carcass pointed toward a stand of dark, bug-filled trees. The sun seemed the shine less as she approached, darkening her pelt so that it seemed somehow more mysterious, more lethal. Audits twitched, listening for any other signs of life, while darkened salmons flared a trail of steam into the atmosphere. A smirk told her that the stand was deserted, much to her satisfaction; she wanted no one to compete with her. Being began to swivel, banner raised to send off her scent in hopes of attracting a steed with a heart as swarthy as her own. Now, she wasn't looking for love by any means; love was an illusion, to be scorned by those who held power. No, she was merely looking for an opportunity to sedate her desires, for blood and for matrimony. Perhaps here, she would find such pleasures. Smirking, the fae's boa curled upward, raising her skull to the sky as an eerie squeal was emitted into the atmosphere; the harsh, grating sound echoed throughout the lands, calling forth all those who wished to make an attempt for her virtue. The deed done, Cadaver settled back into the shadows, awaiting her dark-hearted savior.[/size][/color]
Word Count: 901 words. (One of my best ever!)
Status: Complete
Spell checked.
This will be for my attempted-dark mare, Broken Cadaver, who's bio I shall be making shortly.
bic:
Like a phantom in the night, it steals along, as silent as the grave. For love is like a fickle friend, that appears at the most inopportune times to those who scorn it as an illusion. Slowly, stealthily it creeps along, cackling like some mad beast who has taken it's foe prisoner; until, with a scream of rage and regret,
the foe falls to the ground writhing, screaming toward the heavens; or perhaps the pits of Hell. For love is a truly dangerous disease of the mind, body, and spirit; it weakens you, lowering your defenses against something even more horrid; compassion. Compassion for the other. And though one may scream and writhe, calling upon the devil to take them, quickly, before anyone finds out. Death would be preferable, in the eyes of those destined to be swarthy, then to be chained to another by the sin of love.
Iron ivory pillars struck the earth with a dainty step, pulling up and down to the rhythm of Satan's bidding. Delicate barrel heaved, not from exhaustion, but from pure exhilaration that comes of seeing others being foolish. Delicate skull was tapered down to a fine point, salmons flaring to take in the hated scent of those no darker then the sunlight that streamed like a curse through the meadows. Carbon was released into the atmosphere as war-sharpened flints tore at the terra firma below as if the very grass were an enemy yet to be conquered. Boa arched and fell with the motion, tresses lifting and falling with the rhythms of movement, while ill-fated banner stretched taught behind solid muscled quarters. Most menacing of all, lips pulled back to reveal ivories, which may or may not have been stained red with the blood of fools; and the orbs. Oh, those steaming pools of hatred, which shone black under good circumstances, but which turned a fiery crimson in the light of battle. The devil's princess had arrived; and she meant Hell.
Scorn painted the facade of the seductress as she looked upon those that all of the swarthy alliance considered below them; those light, never-do-bad fools, who would rather face the pits of fire then do some injustice to another. Idiots. They had no more sense then a new-born foal, and even the stupidest infant had more sense then that filth. Still, it was amusing to watch them writhe beneath you, begging for their sorry lives while you stood over them, dealing mortal blows. Only the very young and helpless were to be spared, for possibly they might be turned to sides of greater intent; but even on occasion that proved hopeless, and so they were set out as bait for the young darks to practice their blows upon. And even if they were turned, they were never worth more then a servant's scapegoat, a piece of recycling gone bad. They were mental, all of them.
Sneer twisted the features of the ess as she observed the most pitiful sight of a light steed trying to coax a mare along to his home with wheedling tones.
Please, Sumatra, come with me! For thine own heart has seen nothing more beautiful in all my days upon this sun-drenched earth. Pray tell, do you feelings for me equal my own for you?[/i] the bay steed begged, passing his ivories in a most disgusting way over the fae's boa.
With a dramatic role of her crimson orbs, the fae cackled menacingly, pillars moving in to partake in the fun. Her voice high and taunting, the fae spat out lyrics in such poisonous fashion that it is sworn that the leaves on a near-by bush withered and died.
Oh, Romeo, please, please take me home! I so desire your gallant company, even though you are a stupid as your words. Oops, did I say that out loud? An un characteristic giggle followed that, as the ivory fae's flints slashed down once, twice, leaving the steed still on the ground. The light fool gave a scream of despair, falling forth to find any signs of life. Another cackle, another corpse laying still in a crimson pool of blood.
With only a slight disturbance to the atmosphere, the triumphant fae paced off, her carcass pointed toward a stand of dark, bug-filled trees. The sun seemed the shine less as she approached, darkening her pelt so that it seemed somehow more mysterious, more lethal. Audits twitched, listening for any other signs of life, while darkened salmons flared a trail of steam into the atmosphere. A smirk told her that the stand was deserted, much to her satisfaction; she wanted no one to compete with her. Being began to swivel, banner raised to send off her scent in hopes of attracting a steed with a heart as swarthy as her own. Now, she wasn't looking for love by any means; love was an illusion, to be scorned by those who held power. No, she was merely looking for an opportunity to sedate her desires, for blood and for matrimony. Perhaps here, she would find such pleasures. Smirking, the fae's boa curled upward, raising her skull to the sky as an eerie squeal was emitted into the atmosphere; the harsh, grating sound echoed throughout the lands, calling forth all those who wished to make an attempt for her virtue. The deed done, Cadaver settled back into the shadows, awaiting her dark-hearted savior.[/size][/color]
Word Count: 901 words. (One of my best ever!)
Status: Complete
Spell checked.