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| Tweet Topic Started: May 1 2014, 10:56 AM (364 Views) | |
| madie | May 1 2014, 10:56 AM Post #1 |
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![]() _______________________ Autumn comes slowly, much the way their life-star, Prime, drifts lazily behind the horizon. Already the nights are becoming uncomfortably cold, and Opium finds herself desirous to find the protection of a herd. She is so unlike her sisters, Scry and Ixchel, who seem content to live along the fringe of society. She wouldn’t know it, but perhaps the blood of their grand-sire ran thicker through her veins than those of her siblings. Oh, the whispers of Chronic and his brood had since waned until there was nothing left but nothingness. The Province lay worthless in ruins with only a few buzzards left to pick at dry bones. The legacy was dead. Still, there were murmurs when she passed by, words spoken in undertone that perhaps Viral had returned from death. But then the question comes from her own lips, with a tilt of her pretty white head, and a glint of confusion in her eyes. Who the hell is Viral? Then, like the setting sun, her mind would drift away into childhood memories, seeing her sire’s form slither through the viney trees, ignorant to all that he was. The beginning of an end. Tonight, Opium’s mind is elsewhere, chasing the shafts of moonlight that come trickling through the tree cover as if they were made of magic. Perhaps, they were (the moonbeams), for they play tricks against her painted hide and made her beautiful despite the darkness. The night was alive, and oh how she loved it. ______________opium;___ |
![]() antimony . balor . chaul . desdemona . eidothea . malady . opium . rowtag . ryse . scorn . sköll | |
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| `d e p p | May 1 2014, 12:11 PM Post #2 |
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I think everybody's nuts.
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[ DISCLAIMER :: You must listen to his voice before you read!<3 ]![]() Lines © SomeLines. TYRANT'S VOICE _____________________________________________________________________________ T Y R A N T Your worst dream, that's my idea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . As the light fades, the shadows crawl. They come like slithering serpents, snaking along the ground, haunting the last few rays as they slip around the slim trees that seem to bow as the starry blanket is cast over their boughs. The coiling umbrage creeps, hungry and dangerous as the night creatures come out to play their unpleasant games, tricking and laughing as sharp fangs drip. Scuttling along the dry ground, lulling the darkness ever closer when their kingdom of fauna shrivels beneath silent pattering shadows as they ascend. They come their master, their daimonion. He rests amidst their curling dark fingers, his lean body embraced by the murky twilight, black eyes growing wild as he watches the shadows choke away the life of Prime’s flickering light. At last, the monster is able to descend from his cadaverous throne. Night is when he thrives, breathed rejuvenation as he is joined with the throbbing shadows, embraced by the darkness until he is hardly a single beast, but a force that hovers to overwhelm his massive bleak kingdom. It is all his, they belong to him, held at the whims of his savage imagination. With coiled steps, the monster draws closer, swathed in the shadowy garment and concealed from probing eyes as he stalks his prey. He does not stumble across her by accident. She is drawn to the night, to him, and he embraces her with a cold and hollow fury. “Hello, little night witch,” he slurs to the enchantress, his slow, raspy voice soon followed by a dark chuckle that vibrates deep into the forest, caught by the writhing shadows until it echoes through the bones like an undying disease. Ugly yellowed teeth flash against the black as calloused lips are pulled taught into a ghastly leer, fixing her with a gaze that screams of everything cruel and dangerous. “Coming out to play?” He derides her teasingly, his angular figure exposed as moon beams slide across the slippery sinews, highlighting the hellfire in his barbaric gaze and the leer that sits too comfortably on rough lips. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘Let's go back to war and violence, I'm so bored with peace and silence... Nights of evil, filled with fear — YOUR WORST DREAM, THAT'S MY IDEA.’ thoroughbred (hybrid) stallion . argon x noeko . ten years old . black . black eyes . dark . 16.3hh |
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |
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| madie | May 2 2014, 09:59 PM Post #3 |
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![]() _______________________ There is something alive, something bewitching and seductive in the way the shadows seep through to the very marrow of her bones. Moonlight plays in sallow shades, and there is a sickness that spreads like decay, and it is beautiful and sweet. Yes, the little night witch has come out to play, and when his ragged voice eviscerates her soul she smiles as she turns to face him. Come, play with my bones and make them into the magic they ought to be. These are her shadows, and thus he is hers as well, and so she slithers closer as if she knows him, as if they are lovers long lost. She has come to play - to play with black fire and necromancy and she needs him for her spell. This is when the night things crawl, and she needs them likes she needs the stars; like she needs to feel alive. “Do you have something in mind? she nearly whispers, dragging her pink lips against his throat as she completes her circle around him. There is so much shadow she is unsure if he is real, as if his form were a dark star about to devour her entirely. She laughs softly, a hum against the silvery trees and pale moonlight. ______________opium;___ |
![]() antimony . balor . chaul . desdemona . eidothea . malady . opium . rowtag . ryse . scorn . sköll | |
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| `d e p p | May 7 2014, 05:03 PM Post #4 |
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I think everybody's nuts.
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TYRANT'S VOICE _____________________________________________________________________________ T Y R A N T Your worst dream, that's my idea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She comes to him, like a lamb to the slaughter, embraced and consumed quickly in the shadows that writhe and throb from his umbral bones. Calloused lips pull taught against his sharp yellowed teeth, and they drip with the impatience that feeds his hellfire. A savage leer flashes in the night as his wild eyes watch her hungrily, stripping away the flesh from her sallow bones that are ferally bleached beneath the chalky moonlight. The lustrous beams dance with her, gliding like a silk gown over pleasing curves and teasing hips that sway as she moves. Brutal black lips slowly twist into a soundless snarl as she comes to circle him, playing with the wicked mirth that burns his gaze as the enchantress hypnotizes the night, calling the dark creatures to their cold and ruthless games. Like a sharpened blade being drawn against the soft beating throat, quick and smooth, the monster lunges for her when her velvet lips caress his scarred black skin. A heavy woe next to her laugh that tinkles along the long shafts of moonbeams, he ravishes her excitedly. “Amuse me,” he leers slowly, cruelly, raspy voice whispering against her skin as he looms against the darkness that thrashes with him, caressing her like the devil would of death, “and give me reason to stay.” The wood seems the relish his deep tones, the trees twisting against their heavy boughs as the empty darkness crawls. His grasp on the pretty mare is a cold one, as hard and unforgiving as the touch of his petrified lips that draw roughly across her warmth, embracing her body with an exhilaration that is fueled by greed rather than affection. Eventually he draws back from her, as though he should dissipate into the writhing shadows that call so seductively to their vicious master. She will have to win him, this enchantress, keep him from his hungry shadows; but already the task is tilted in her favor, as the icy grasp of sweet avarice threads fiercely through his hollow bones and seethes behind chaotic devil eyes. It is a delicate line that this pretty little night witch dances on, tempting, and the monster is eager to play with her. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘Let's go back to war and violence, I'm so bored with peace and silence... Nights of evil, filled with fear — YOUR WORST DREAM, THAT'S MY IDEA.’ thoroughbred (hybrid) stallion . argon x noeko . ten years old . black . black eyes . dark . 16.3hh |
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |
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| madie | May 19 2014, 12:35 PM Post #5 |
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![]() _______________________ He consumes her, much the way gravity pulls at them until they are naught but stardust. He lunges at her and she can barely conceal her mirth as she scampers a couple strides from his reach, a chortle in her throat and a gleam in her eye. She returns to his touch and allows him to whisper against her neck as her lips trace his shoulder. Theirs is a game of hidden doors and toothed snares, but neither of them have found prey, no. “I’ve no more reason to stay here than you do, devil.” She hisses beautifully against his shadows. It is true, she will be gone before morning, before daylight lulls her to sleep in shadows darker than this place can conjur. She is restless and unstable, and quickly she is losing patience, for she is hungry for magic like he is hungry for her. She wonders what kind of hole he must live in, this creature of black, spectral smoke. Their language is arcane, of raw instinct, no doubt taught by her dam, and witchery. She speaks more in the way she moves, like shadow twisting into the moonlight, than she does with words. Capture me… she seems to say as she pulls away from his gravity with a simper on her lips. Again, she lets the moonlight take her. ______________opium;___ |
![]() antimony . balor . chaul . desdemona . eidothea . malady . opium . rowtag . ryse . scorn . sköll | |
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| `d e p p | Jun 5 2014, 11:26 PM Post #6 |
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I think everybody's nuts.
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![]() source. TYRANT'S VOICE ____________________________________________________________________ T Y R A N T Your worst dream, that's my idea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She plays with him, teasing him, and the black monster allows his leer to deepen and a cold snarl to rumble in his broad chest. Wild black eyes, wicked and wanting, trace over the lines of her slender figure with little concealed hunger, eating her up as a wolf would to warm meat—ravenous and greedy. Already this witch has him desiring the humid marshes of his kingdom, the familiarity of darkness and gloom. There they will play, dancing with his foul shadows and chasing each other around slippery barbed tongues; the enchantress and the demon—such a tantalizing ending to their dangerous game. Suddenly the glistening shafts of moonbeams reach between his enchanted penumbras and snatch her away from his covetous grasp, his silent growl matching her wretched smile as he eyes her intently, looming and wanting with lips that hunger to steal her warmth. With her heckling words, his eagerness to escape these vile borders, to take his prize and hide her in his treasure cove deepens. His powerful body coils, sinuous muscles rippling with greed and impatience as he stalks closer to the enchantress, a savage grin donning his calloused lips. “Then I will show you where little witches must hide,” he sneers, resisting the urge to seize her now for his own, knowing that the game must be played right—after all, he cannot risk allowing such a dark gem to slip through his grasp so easily. Reaching the mare, he does not touch her, hovering over her, looming against the warmth of her skin and inviting her to him like cheese to the mouse’s trap—the bait set and enticing. The monster’s body curls around her, protecting her from the sight of others who might take to thinking that they can steal his treasure. “Tell me,” his deep words slither slowly, with his chapped lips pressed close to her ear, “what name would mark a pretty pale face? Or shall you be held at the whim of my imagination?” A ghastly chuckle slips from his coarse throat as he draws away to look into her dark eyes, entertained with the vicious idea. The beast muses for a moment, toiling with thoughts that would send most to their hellish nightmares, still holding the pretty siren with his powerful body. He only speaks again when his features have trickled into the feral barbarity that has corroded his soul and picked like vultures at his mind, leaving only the beast behind. His raspy voice is soft, beckoning her ever closer to his poisonous trap, “I am Tyrant.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘Let's go back to war and violence, I'm so bored with peace and silence... Nights of evil, filled with fear — YOUR WORST DREAM, THAT'S MY IDEA.’ thoroughbred (hybrid) stallion . argon x noeko . ten years old . black . black eyes . dark . 16.3hh |
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Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum! #EpicStrut ![]() paper faces on parade; | |
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| madie | Jun 20 2014, 02:06 AM Post #7 |
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![]() _______________________ Perhaps, there is something in the way his eyes, black and gleaming, seek to capture her that makes her want to stay. Something in the way he leers at her with lips that have killed that lures her deeper into his darkness. The cold moonlight reveals her bated breath, along with the hungry glint in her doe eyes. He follows her, as was to be expected, for crows cannot resist shiny new trinkets. He will take her to his nest of mud and twigs and bone, but only because she is too curious for her own good. She wants to know where it is that the shadow things crawl. “With all the sprites and nymphs?” she asks with a tilt of her pale head. He is close now, inviting… tempting. She knows this game he plays, and she grins, a flash of yellowed teeth from behind soft, pink lips. He curls around her, casting shadows that seem to consume everything they touch. His voice, deep and haunting, slithers down her neck and she shudders at the feel of his breath. He teases her as she would tease him, pulling away just as she was about to give in. “You’ve lips like wrath and poison, devil.” She ponders aloud. “My name is Opium.” There is a softness in her voice as she stares into his beastly eyes; a lie from soft, pink lips. She closes the space between them, allowing him to cradle her against his shadows and her moonlight. “Take me where you will.” For now, she will be his. ______________opium;___ ooc: topic complete! Edited by madie, Jun 20 2014, 02:09 PM.
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