the Rift


stitch a seam across the eye

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#1
The dark bliss, void of salvation, vacant of virtue, heralded with the indulgent satisfaction of a ruthless behemoth, hummed its vicious, scathing sibilance towards his twisted soul, poured the twisting shades of nocturnal reverie against his languid entity. Deimos, the scion of terror, preferred the aching, hallowed tombs of an eerie marsh, to the condemnation of another herd. Reclusive again, isolated and desolate, his vile heart grew ever more solidified in the decadent touches of listlessness, where the immoral succor of treachery, deceit, and depravity coasted on lethargic lands, skimming, devouring, festering upon inaction. Nothingness was a dangerous threshold to stand upon, withering in the sinuous art of damnation, coveting and contorting until the mayhem reached one’s soul again, itched against skin as sin slid over its malcontent disorder again – cherished the precious armaments of an infernal existence. Straining against the cobwebs of one’s ruthless fixation, he lulled around darkened corridors, loomed amongst heavy, heady gallows, prospered the silent, reticent, rapier howls of augured violence with naught to grant the feral splendor. He moved as a wandering blade, singeing and singing scintillating chords of annihilation, hushed furor, frigid fervor, lavished upon empty, hollow portals, lacquered malicious, cruel ardor. His perilous motions stroked the laced sinew of fog and abyss, chased against ruffian parlors, entombed and enshrouded in the midst and mist of calamity, reverberating the haunting death song of diabolical design. No ire, no wrath, no incensed fury poised from his daggers, only that heedless, ruthless crush of decay, crossing, fixating, on the friction of the earth, feeding and consuming on its benedictions, on its aspirations, on its whims and fancies. What was more treacherous, more dangerous, more menacing: when the devilish croons ushered him to unleash the virtues of his curse, or when he went searching for predacious anarchy? By which hand would he strike, by which gift would this bestial realm grant his savage resolutions? A canvas of licentious pursuits, Tartarean guile, Mephistophelean regard, a bard’s brutal whisper of a serrated sonnet, intoxicating, plundering, pillaging, eagerly haunting within the runes of rampant demons, where sinister, formidable, and chilling horror resided across the marsh, and not just in his imperial recherché.

Bedlam’s creatures never stayed idle for long.

[open. Time for Deimos to actually meet others. :3]



Messages In This Thread
stitch a seam across the eye - by Deimos - 10-20-2012, 01:21 PM
RE: stitch a seam across the eye - by Tillas - 10-20-2012, 07:42 PM
RE: stitch a seam across the eye - by Belial - 10-20-2012, 11:32 PM
RE: stitch a seam across the eye - by Deimos - 10-28-2012, 02:50 PM
RE: stitch a seam across the eye - by Varath - 10-30-2012, 11:03 AM
RE: stitch a seam across the eye - by Tillas - 11-14-2012, 06:33 PM

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