What scythe had spared; let no man bare. (Open)

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by The Fox and The Spider, Mar 14, 2012.

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    Winter had gripped the land; the once joyous concert of the birds was now replaced with a daunting narrative. Frost decorated and adorned the blades of withered grass as the insipid night air ushered with it a sense of humility. Bringing with it the promise of spring. A common yet humbling tale of a struggle among a season of warmth and prosperity; and that of frigid death. An allegory often synonymous with the change of times and all that they do. Yet despite all this death and loss; there by a gardens path lingered a tuft of wild flowers. A sign of life the scythe of fate had spared; meant not for no man or woman to bare.

    It was here that Ulfric pondered within the radiant beauty which now littered the scene. Breathing forth a refreshing change in scenery. Allowing the delusion of respite to settle like dust on a wooden floor. It was at this time that a disturbing thought had begun to sink in. Ulfric realized that he had been; as his mentor had been alone. Living a life plagued with the baneful smite that is vengeance. A vendetta which coursed through his metaphysical and corporeal shell much like the vile venom of a cobra. With feral silver hues he would find his gaze galloping and resting on the lush array of wild flowers. With nostrils flaring he would clench his fist.

    Memories of old resurfaced; as wounds best left forgotten were reopen. The mental scabs peeling back as the wounds began to throb. Ulfric recalled a time in his life when much sorrow gripped his heart. The effects of which resonate till this day much like the strings of a guitar. With sword now planting itself upon the moisten earth. The monstrosity of a man found himself nesting by the flowers. With eyes now closed he'd listen; hearkening to the sound of the creek as well as the faint whispering of winter's wind. Within the swarthy embrace of a tale oak tree he would find a moment to meditate. Cleansing the ill thoughts from his mind; but not thoroughly purging them. Less he forget the mistakes of winter's past.

    From shades influence he would take a deep breath; exhaling as his muscles began to flex. His veins would throb as more blood flowed through them. He could feel his animalistic urges trying to take control. Using this moment of weakness to manifest itself. Ulfric had to remind himself that he was in control; and that survival belonged not to the smartest, strongest or fastest in the land. No, rather toward those which could adapt and overcome whatever obstacles lie before them. Whether they be natural; or man made ultimately resulted in little difference.

    With bare chest littered with scars, each telling a frightful tale of miscalculations during a waltz with death. His fingers would trace a few of the more predominant marks on his flesh. "Goddess of hunters, lord of shadows, Lady of fate. Grant your servant forgiveness for what he is about to do; and for what he has already done. Separate the soul from body; so that the blood which stains hand fails to taint soul. Guide me as I carry out the tapestry and canvas of your will. And if I should fall; allow your servant to bask within your benevolent, radiant grace. Forever and forever I pray this prayer. Not for my sake; but so that your glory may be done." Ulfric finished.

    A prayer which would most likely fall on deafen ears. For now Ulfric would remain silent...waiting for his true reasons for being here to dawn. Manifesting itself in the most insidious manner possible.
     
  2. Annabelle walked though the beauty of the outsides around her.
    The wind was light and she was happy just to be alone.
    She saw a patch of flowers, and her heart jumped in delight.
    She came closer, mystified by their beauty.
    The closer she came, she saw something lying with the flowers. Silently.
    As shy as she was, she crept closer, but stopped.
    She was only 10 feet away from the guy, but she hid herself behind the tree.
    Stealing glances of him.
    He was handsome, she thought.
    Her face flushing pink.

    Annabelle:
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  3. Becca Fitzpatrick flew through the air, her nift fingers reaching out to catch the branch. She swung, and landed nimbly on the tree branch. Her grey eyes darted around, and they caught a flash of light hair.
    Curious, Becca decided to investigate - she moved further along the branch, and the figure became clearer - it was a girl with pale skin, and pretty features.
    Taking a chance, Becca called out, "Who are you?"