The-Blazing-Star
06-05-2006, 23:13
OoC: This is my first try.
I'd appreciate any advice.
Sorry about the vagueness, lack of talent etc. I hope it'll get better in time. ¬¬
The flag fluttered in unrestrained glory, the craftmanship of the Nation, combined with a generous financial contribution, had created an impressive piece of art.
The Star, like a body plucked from the very Heavens, a celestial shine emblazoned with majestic beauty onto the opulent fabrics, which swirled, constantly trying to embrace it's standard pole, it's faithful lover covered in the scrawlings of ancient script, the words danced in pleasure, runes twisting in ecstasy, the pride of it's partner the reason for it's profound gleam.
Holding this aloft, his hue deathlike, and his bearing strong; Lord Baal, of the Silver Crown, the most feared of the Five Generals of 'Star- for in rage, he was powerful, and in contempt he was merciless.
Infront of this figure, on a cracked podium, as ruined as it was revered, the King stood, clad in a regal hauberk, and girt with a potent sword, his helm discarded on the floor, for he was leader of men, his countenance basked in the raging fire that was contained within his burning optics, the fury of his mind causing his eyes to roar, in defiance of the dark night, they burst with resplendence, and all who saw them were either smote with terror, or adoration, as is the effect of the truely great.
He had no need to wear a helmet, for a great doom was written on his brow, and thus was King Azrael blessed, and perhaps he would also come to be cursed, for it is said that Death dislikes those who try to rob him, and may make them stay overdue, even though they beg for release.
And Azrael would wish for it often, ere the end.
But in that moment, he was fearless, and he would have wrought the seed for a river of blood, before the Morn came.
"Zare." he spat, his tone oozing contempt.
He waited, the name needed to sink in, people had to remember it, remember it, so that when the youth began to die, they could curse it.
"Pythogria has been twisted, by the rule of this warped mind, for too long.
His joy in slaughter, and lack of honour, have resulted not only in the butcher of the wicked, but of the innocent also."
He paused, gathering himself, the people would accept his word as absolute truth, but he had merely whetted the knife, and had yet to deal the blow.
"The world should not suffer to let this Monster live, and if he truely craves slaughter, we shall bring it to his shores. And know also- that he can only flee from justice for so long, before he must surely stumble, and will turn in dread to find it etched upon my blade!"
War was declared, and with it a tremor ran through the crowd, the zealous' agreement were audible, as were those who had devotion to their leige.
Many however, were silent, for a grave worry had stole into their heart's, and though most found his words to be right, they were discontent, and when home, clutching their children to them- they wept bitterly, incase things should go ill.
I'd appreciate any advice.
Sorry about the vagueness, lack of talent etc. I hope it'll get better in time. ¬¬
The flag fluttered in unrestrained glory, the craftmanship of the Nation, combined with a generous financial contribution, had created an impressive piece of art.
The Star, like a body plucked from the very Heavens, a celestial shine emblazoned with majestic beauty onto the opulent fabrics, which swirled, constantly trying to embrace it's standard pole, it's faithful lover covered in the scrawlings of ancient script, the words danced in pleasure, runes twisting in ecstasy, the pride of it's partner the reason for it's profound gleam.
Holding this aloft, his hue deathlike, and his bearing strong; Lord Baal, of the Silver Crown, the most feared of the Five Generals of 'Star- for in rage, he was powerful, and in contempt he was merciless.
Infront of this figure, on a cracked podium, as ruined as it was revered, the King stood, clad in a regal hauberk, and girt with a potent sword, his helm discarded on the floor, for he was leader of men, his countenance basked in the raging fire that was contained within his burning optics, the fury of his mind causing his eyes to roar, in defiance of the dark night, they burst with resplendence, and all who saw them were either smote with terror, or adoration, as is the effect of the truely great.
He had no need to wear a helmet, for a great doom was written on his brow, and thus was King Azrael blessed, and perhaps he would also come to be cursed, for it is said that Death dislikes those who try to rob him, and may make them stay overdue, even though they beg for release.
And Azrael would wish for it often, ere the end.
But in that moment, he was fearless, and he would have wrought the seed for a river of blood, before the Morn came.
"Zare." he spat, his tone oozing contempt.
He waited, the name needed to sink in, people had to remember it, remember it, so that when the youth began to die, they could curse it.
"Pythogria has been twisted, by the rule of this warped mind, for too long.
His joy in slaughter, and lack of honour, have resulted not only in the butcher of the wicked, but of the innocent also."
He paused, gathering himself, the people would accept his word as absolute truth, but he had merely whetted the knife, and had yet to deal the blow.
"The world should not suffer to let this Monster live, and if he truely craves slaughter, we shall bring it to his shores. And know also- that he can only flee from justice for so long, before he must surely stumble, and will turn in dread to find it etched upon my blade!"
War was declared, and with it a tremor ran through the crowd, the zealous' agreement were audible, as were those who had devotion to their leige.
Many however, were silent, for a grave worry had stole into their heart's, and though most found his words to be right, they were discontent, and when home, clutching their children to them- they wept bitterly, incase things should go ill.