| Subject: + the advent of a tyrant |
Author:
satyr
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Date Posted: 01:26:49 07/17/02 Wed
Author Host/IP: 24.84.196.177
Death is succulent, yet an aquired taste. One of which only after it's full mastication could be fully comprehendable for it's full vitality, it's full deletibility. As restrictions can be bent, as could fate, time and even death itself--thus aforementioned forebodings of the frivolous use of the word death can be moderated..as can anything spun from life's selfsufficiant hands. From admist all regulations of the corrupt abysse we populate spawned a twist of fate incomprehendable by even those who have become perfectionists of the term innilation, a figment of generous dexterity and vindictive spite interwoven to prelude a figure of nearly supernatural being; or in least, supernatural stealth. Taut pallet woven of finest golden pigments exuberantly accented by intertwine of crimson..fore scarred with ivory. It rose, above all lamentations of satan's grasp, emmerging from the depths of sanity, brimming with delerium before subsiding into an intolorable figure of spiting hatred and utmost vitality. Here rose god's own creation, god's own concoction of inexplicable sadistic, malignant prophecy. Embarkenment was hell'born, features diligently producing uncontrolable sentances of criticism and scrutinty, for what did these lands barrier's posses along lines of fate for the immaculately contemptuous brute accept regions of innocence upon which utmost havoc he could exhale-- and yet it was retained, cadence of visage held parallel with intentions the sole dictator of tyrantly being..for he was aware, indeed, those that had infested before him were not unlike him in any shape of the word, not symmetrical, hardly comparable, but alike..and this was a force he could not restrict. The chances of retrieving a sense of appease were low in odds, for Satyr had never felt such an emotion, but allegiance? He spoke it well. He was well aware of the ranks of which around this scene revolved, and was compelled into depths of dismay, for never before had his satanic form been restricted in such a manner. Never the less, callow amuse toiled admist seeth of iris, compelling brief taste of menace to rise in throat..and he allowed it to lay, salivating over it's promise..constructing it's use, until one day, when it might be released, when it might break free of the chains of which the heathan had constricted it with. Chains of mastermind. This thought, and only this thought, kept him from genocide of the race set out before him, and yet..
this thought, and only this thought
has burdened him upon you.
SATYR
+ blackblood
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