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03-31-2014, 11:07 PM
OBERON
Nothing ever lasts forever
Nothing ever lasts forever
For those of us climbing to the top of the food chain, there can be no mercy. I am the child of scorn, molded from the clay of adversity. They have spit at me countless, untold and innumerable times and have had the audacity to call it fate. Too bad the wind is blowing in the wrong direction.
I’d left the company of the Queen of Spittle and her Igor some days ago. You might question my crude choice of companionship, but I don’t expect the likes of you to understand my choice in associations. She presented me with an opportunity of realization, and I fashion myself a rather opportunistic man. What she offers is a power only the few of us, devoid of the strains of obligations and the shackles of duty, has the means to appreciate and fully comprehend. Don’t get me wrong, she clearly has more than one screw in the wrong place.
Seeking open terrain, I trekked east, the castle walls of redwoods diminishing in size until they were displaced by scarce red oaks clustering together. The grass beneath my hooves is still glazed in frost and the ground yet compact and firm at every touch, despite the presence of the sun and warm breeze entangling my tail; like a dog chasing his. Was it bad that I had taken a liking to this place? Perhaps, but what a time to be alive.
A mischievous grin creep upon my lips and I break my monotone gait, accelerating to a dashing speed as a buck or two escapes my hindquarters. “FACE ME COWARDS! I WILL NOT BE SPITED AGAIN!” This was my hour, my time to claim what had been promised to me all those years ago by so-called comrades and like-minded. Difference between them and me? The means necessary is something only I seem to possess. Don’t worry, I’ll be dancing on their graves soon enough.
It’s my time to spit in the eyes of fate. Mischief managed.
Image credits || OOC: Edited because of wrong word count. @[Ulrik]
I’d left the company of the Queen of Spittle and her Igor some days ago. You might question my crude choice of companionship, but I don’t expect the likes of you to understand my choice in associations. She presented me with an opportunity of realization, and I fashion myself a rather opportunistic man. What she offers is a power only the few of us, devoid of the strains of obligations and the shackles of duty, has the means to appreciate and fully comprehend. Don’t get me wrong, she clearly has more than one screw in the wrong place.
Seeking open terrain, I trekked east, the castle walls of redwoods diminishing in size until they were displaced by scarce red oaks clustering together. The grass beneath my hooves is still glazed in frost and the ground yet compact and firm at every touch, despite the presence of the sun and warm breeze entangling my tail; like a dog chasing his. Was it bad that I had taken a liking to this place? Perhaps, but what a time to be alive.
A mischievous grin creep upon my lips and I break my monotone gait, accelerating to a dashing speed as a buck or two escapes my hindquarters. “FACE ME COWARDS! I WILL NOT BE SPITED AGAIN!” This was my hour, my time to claim what had been promised to me all those years ago by so-called comrades and like-minded. Difference between them and me? The means necessary is something only I seem to possess. Don’t worry, I’ll be dancing on their graves soon enough.
![[Image: 533a3112dda12]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/533a3112dda12) |
Setting: Thistle Meadow. Dawn, sparsely clouded, sun rising. Warm breeze from the south, yet no more than 10-15C. Ground still frozen and compact. Post: 0/3 WC: 332 |
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