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. overtures .

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
#6
11-11-2012, 10:40 AM
The decadence of monsters came with the breathless haze, the wanton gaze, the fervent swing of irreverent opulence – so callous, so cruel, so wicked. Entangled in an infernal bliss, searing, scorching, and simmering in the scintillating shade of calamity and acrimony, pulsing and beating the devil’s cadence. Lacquering the world with treacherous persecution, tearing, ripping and scarring the existence of the futile, of the virtuous, of the forlorn, tossed amongst their vicious shell, their hollow embrace. There was nothing more he had to offer but that odious, nefarious clamor of silence, the distant, unattainable design of his ruthless brushstrokes, the impassive, stoic villainy cast upon his darkened canvas. Cold malevolence, chilled indignation, avaricious gleam of venomous, toxic rapture, the reverie depraved and dissolute in the heinous, predacious insurrection and immorality of his harsh, meticulous soul. He could look upon the world and feel nothing, taste nothing. Sealed in the chords of shadowed supremacy, ravenously poised to plunder and pillage, yet never distinguish the rush of emotion, the pull of sanctity, the tangible sensations of serenity. Distorted into the primitive, raptorial damnation of a cursed being, doomed to the waking curse of unholy mantles, of heathen carnage, of hushed annihilation, pausing only to savor the potent melancholy of lost, whimsical souls, seraphim slipping from their sovereignty. He was lethal grace and ardent elegance, laying waste to useless flesh, pieces of shattered, broken armaments, sieges left to fester in the withering gloom of a battlefield, warrior poet’s prose turned bitter and rancorous. So when she asked her query, delicate, fragile, frail in the portal of his anarchy, his answer was immediately known. He caught the pique in her voice, the tilt of her irritation, the juncture where their differences grew more apparent, but lost in the crashing tides, he did naught to aid her writhing, coiling sentiments. The beast’s gaze glanced towards the horizon, and the harsh, grating sibilance of his voice handed the raw candor of his opus towards her quiet presence. “Often.” She glanced elsewhere thereafter, incapable of bearing his iniquitous chassis any longer, and he did nothing, expression unchanging, indiscernible slate of blue and terror, ice and horror, of unrelenting corruption and insurrection. It was not the first, nor the last that an entity could not bear to look upon him, that a presence would be undermined by his deadly stature, an unyielding pattern of desolation, forced or predetermined, cherished or unwanted. When the rain fell, he felt the anguish of her heart, of her pursuit for morality, but knew very well she would not find it standing in front of him. He took her enchantments as punishment, and stood amongst her silent scorn as it drizzled along his fierce form, wondered if she would try to drown him in the weight of her melancholy. And what is this ambience: sorrow or disappointment? Granting the slightest observation to the morose twist of the blue femme, his glacial words slipped from a parted mouth, an inscrutable tongue. “You are rain.”



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Messages In This Thread
. overtures . - by Huyana - 08-02-2012, 01:44 PM
RE: . overtures . - by Deimos - 08-05-2012, 02:14 PM
RE: . overtures . - by Huyana - 08-30-2012, 09:03 AM
RE: . overtures . - by Deimos - 09-16-2012, 10:54 AM
RE: . overtures . - by Huyana - 10-20-2012, 07:33 AM
RE: . overtures . - by Deimos - 11-11-2012, 10:40 AM

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