When The Sun Dies and Night is Calling
10-01-2013, 08:54 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-01-2013, 08:55 PM by Isardis.)
The news of a defeated queen would rattle his lobes, the towering angel meandering somewhat half-heartedly towards the thrill of the battlefield; the lingering stench of blood inviting him to where several wolves had no doubt lost their homes. It was risky really, wandering so willingly into the jaws of a looming war, but oh how it pleasured him. Several woman would lure him onwards, however it was the spitting form of a faint familiar that would entice him more-so, waltzing so carelessly towards the group, only to loiter eerily upon it?s edges; a brisk chuckle announcing the war-lords presence, ?Well, well, well? has the ebony mistress lost her throne?? however she lacked the bloodiness of a tell-tale brawl, ?Or does she simply feed sharp-cut words to an audience unaware of her lacking authority?? Daringly, he would take a step closer. Oh how brilliant a specimen she would be, to boast of beneath his rule. |
ooc; directed to medusa