Post by Illinois on Apr 10, 2009 19:08:05 GMT -5
The devil awoke. Crawling from the lair. Hidden well above the surface of the realm. His creaking bones, sliding over the joints. The noise echooing over the land. His dark auora, like wispy fingers. trailing over everything in sight. His blank cess pools searching the distance for figures. To convey with. To inhale the scent. The silence of his beats as he danced across the sod was noticeable. No noise otherwise could be heard. His ebon tips, landing ever lightly upon the quigmere. Rebounding without a sound. His russet stalks long, lean, tendons and veins outstretched. HIs dial, lowered. His muzzle running over the parchment he trod upon. Enamels, grinding the soil. Crunching upon the small stones on the floor. His nares. Wide. Inhaling. The throat burned by the icyness of the early morning squall. The zephyr. Suffocating, tingling the buds on the inside. His towers, twitching. Twirling. Noticing the slightest. Banner, slashing the hocks. Drawing blood. His own blood. self-inflicted injury. His nape. Curved, resting the tassels lifeessly upon the crest. His dial held long and low. He ceased his movement and awaited the approach of another. One to call his own. A follower. A slave if you may. Silently he stood the air engulfing him.
