LifeStrings of beads,Life by ~RoTTeNBC
fly through the air,
like moonlight to
a silver mare
"There they worship, there they sing, there they run and dance and play!"
"The fools, they know no peace, no quiet or calm!"
"How could they worship him so, when his name they do not know?"
"How could they pray, on their knees, hold their heads high as that?"
"The fools, they know nothing."
A cloaked figure, trailing shadows black as black, floated forth, propelled by ferocious winds. Layers of cloth flap and flock as the doors creak and open. With a great shove, the doors moan awake and shed light illuminates gathering dust, revealing yawning chasms and shutterin
A Sour PactDarin Hopskin was a man who only touched, and was touched, by three things. His daughter, Areena Hopskin, his sword, Lily, and the ground. So one might understand his reaction to being touched, king or no, by Duruk Warsater. Darin did not recoil, however, because for all his finesse and agility, he could not hope to match one of the kingsguard, and there were three of them. Each wore the traditional colors of his unique position: dark red plate touched with gold-dyed leather where the armor gave way at joints. Light red wyverns slept on their heads, carved of Toldorian steel, and their bony tails rolled down the knights' spines past their assA Sour Pact by ~RoTTeNBC
SunnyFat, fat feet wobbled and waved,Sunny by ~RoTTeNBC
Forwards steam blew off,
Some baking buns.
So Fat Lommy trotted on,
Towards death's sun.
Poor, poor Tommy shivered and cried,
Shaking with glee when an exit appeared,
He thought he had won.
And Brave Tommy trotted on,
Towards death's sun.
Lazy, lazy Lommy ached and moaned,
But he kept ahead,
Because of a cushioned bed.
Aye, Lazy Lommy trotted on,
Towards death's sun.
Remember, dear reader,
Small, small voices echo and lie,
They tell you your ten times to die,
But don't believe them,
Because your only once,
To death's sun.
Baitwranglin'The belt curled like a snake, wriggling and wreathing as if in pain, before snapping straight again on my back. Goddamn my father knew how to use that thing, even my nightmares are filled with its despicable movement. I see it now, a thing of black, tarnished leather with silver lining and a fine, cold metal buckle. He was, indeed, a cruel man. Nonetheless, he was a great man, and history, myself along with it, has been scarred by his passing. Aye, I am his bastard son, and the only living heir to his throne. It is no surprise he died, and although his death was staged as an accident, no sane man across the seven corners of my newfound kingdoBaitwranglin' by ~RoTTeNBC
Sta.sh
Give Premium Membership
