'The room’s design was a work of dark genius, put together by a man who had spent many long years studying the subtle arts of persuasion, manipulation and coercion. The great hall had been the culmination of all Vasper’s art and skill and served its intended purpose ruthlessly and efficiently.'
' “What was it you said before? That I should bow to my master? It is long since time that you were educated about the true gravity of the position you now find yourself in.” Vasper said, half whispering and half hissing in Bey’s ear. “I will show you who the real master is.” '
This was another decent poem among those I submitted to my English teacher. It is based on 'One Angel' by Ann Snodgrass (my assignment was to find and existing poem and try to duplicate the style). So, without plagiarizing, I have created something that is hopefully fairly nifty.
the story continues. I really have no idea where I am going with all this...I don't even know what the point is in this story. However; if I am going to create and evil knight...that knight needs a suit of really cool black armor. It's, like, almost required for the job. hehehe. I am working on a part 3...but don't expect it any time soon. its kinda got pushed into the background due to all the other stories I am currently working on.
' “Someday,” spoke the master, all aglow with the dark and mysterious energy, “when your power has come into its ultimate completion, you shall become the mighty star around whom the fates of all the great and small in Serapis, Unver and Giliathor beyond, shall orbit. When that day comes you will have only to reach out your hand to the dalgo board and move the pieces where you will. In that moment, you could challenge the gods themselves.' '
The crowd collectively shuddered at the implications of Vizina’s questions. Had she, in fact, deserved what Vasper had done to her? “No,” Bey answered, “not when she was under the orders of the King!”
Here is an opening, I want you to tell me what ought happen next. The best suggestion will get it written. The main character is a halfdemon, with a human form, who has run away from Hell because has worked out that the torturing of souls and bringing of evil is not what he wants to do with eternity. He is a demon who wants to be saved.
continuing in the flow of the SInner's song saga...
'Oh, how he hated them, and how that hatred gave rise to darker things within. He had quenched their thirst with the blood seeping from his many wounds to form sticky pools on the dirty floor below, fed their hunger with flesh stripped from his ravaged body by devilish scourges woven with the jagged shards of his own broken bones.'
It was time to save the fallen race of humanity would the army be enough? One of the soliders views of the army being brought together the journey just begining
Here it is, the sequel I didn't even know I had in me until I sat down at the computer the other day and started typing. Until then, I had never decided what happened to Tethyn, and I was leery of making that decision. +) It spilled out, so I'm not sure how well its going to come across. All comments and critiques are, as always, welcomed. Oh! And I should finally tell you, Yana is a character I played in a PBeM called 'Rainbow's End.' All of this background helped me define how she had become who she was, and she is probably the most memorable character I have ever played.
A little blurb i wrote at 15 about the pains of broken trust. At the time i wrote this, i was pretty mad at the world for alot of reasons, but i dont live my life in this type of screwed up- limbo, i have moved on and now i have a lot of things going for me. The first part has a loose rhyme scheme, then it just goes to me commenting on a bunch of things.
This chapter is the meeting of the seer in the darkness, the young vampire, Lena. Undead? Why undead? Perhaps there is more to her state and a reason for her than meets the eye...
This story was inspired by the Robbie Williams song Angels. The title you might recognise as a line from that some one.
When the homeless die on the streets, people wonder if they could have helped and if the dead are mad for not being helped in a time of need.
'There were rumours in camp about strange noises from beyond the fog, like heavy footsteps, and the sounds of tinkering.'
'. It was over in the blink of an eye, and there she was, standing over her beloved son’s bed as the dark-haired form beneath the covers drew the peaceful breaths of a deep and untroubled sleep. Wherever his mind was presently wandering, it was free of worry. She could take solace in that.'