Mission: Loot as much as you canAt the risk of staying longer than he'd wanted, the aegislash had set up a small camp for himself on the outer reaches of Nirmala's fortress. He needed to get back to gathering..stealing, supplies as soon as possible but..the chance of getting anything of worth from that citadel was something he felt he couldn't pass up. Imagine, what just a few golden coins could do for him..for his family, food for a few days was nothing short of normal for some..but back home it meant survival. A good dinner was a rare luxury, and if he could get that somehow..or enough to sate the water auctioneers for a time..it was too priceless to walk away from.Upon the order from Duskim, the thief would be quick to enter the citadel once more, a slight panic to him. If that woman were gone, then others would come here all too quickly, the treasure in their minds as well. He had to be fast, get as much as he possibly could before it was all gone-! Darin would make his way to the treasure room that Act had been
Spirits of OletulGiving a tired sigh, Darin walked through the barren streets of Oletul an occasional sullen face giving the aegislash a glance before going back to their own business. Most people in the general area his parents lived in knew of the sword gijinka, and how he'd typically return with something in tow. Today however, his coat looked particularly flat..so there'd be no interest in causing a stir or bothering him for whatever he may have brought. The thief's gaze would be cast downwards as he moved on, hands in his pockets, and mind preoccupied in thought.After recent events, the sword gijinka thought it fit to visit with his parents. The idea of the islands being threatened had been a disturbing one to say the least..and though he hadn't been able to do much, he'd clutch the small bundle of coins and jewels he'd taken from Nirmala's treasury tightly within his pockets. It'd been all he could leave with without the others coming in to take the treasure not noticing. He'd use some of it to
CoR: Distraction.The Aegislash would be walking through the streets of Ormona, his familiar safely tucked against his back. His scarf would be pulled up over most of his face, and his one uncovered eye watching the crowd around them cautiously. He'd stolen here before..and the last thing he'd want is to be recognized in some way, not before he could make it to the prison. Though the thief had a longing desire to go rushing into the massive building himself..he knew he wasn't capable of doing much once inside. Even if he were able to make it to the innermost depths and to Kamal's prison, he had no powerful moves..and couldn't break the bars that imprisoned him. A small plan had made way to him however, even if the very idea of it had earned high complaints from his familiar. All around them he could spot the faces in the crowds, watching, hiding..looking for some kind of opportunity. He'd stop in place within sight of the guardsmen, steeling himself for what he was about to do. Even if he couldn't fight
The wonder of flightAs the morning sun began to rise over the grand plains, Darin would slowly come to consciousness. Still snugged warmly against the Talonflame, he'd let out a yawn and open his eyes blearily. Slowly blinking away the sleep he'd look upwards, taking a moment to recognize the large bird. It's eyes were closed, the large pokemon breathing softly in it's sleep; placed next to Darin would be his familiar, the sword's eye still shut. Getting up slowly and carefully so as not to wake the two of them, he'd walk a small distance away and stretch, watching the sun as it continued to make it's way through the sky. That had to have been the best he'd slept in a good while..a full stomach, and something warm and soft to sleep against. He'd purse his lips, thinking hard for what to do next..if they were going to have any chance of winning, he'd need to figure out how to ride it somehow. The thief had his doubts that careening through the sky in it's talons would count towards a mount competition.Beg
Learning bit by bitAct would be angrily pacing -or rather floating- in a circle around Darin as he lay in the grass, slowly calming from the flight. Honestly when the bird had come at him in the way it did, he'd thought it was an invitation. His plan was to grab onto it's legs and see if he could climb onto it's back from there as it flew. Little did he expect the large bird to snatch him up like a piece of prey and take off with him-though at least it seemed like it wasn't wholly interested in eating him. It'd just dropped him in the grass, and landed nearby, neatly preening it's feathers as if nothing were out of the norm for it. As startling and scary as the moment had been, he did have to admit a touch of thrill to the little trip..he'd never been that high, or gone that fast before. Sighing, he'd sit up and rub his head, glancing over to the bird. It had chosen to stand in place, sharp eyes watching Act as it circled around him.He'd turn his eye to the agitated familiar, deciding to break whatever
Silence in the midst of screamsTime was running out. He could feel it, screaming, clawing..edging at every fiber of his being. The demon's mentality, his one remaining shard of who he had been lay within his cracked mind. Watching with a dread as everything lined, as his existence would slowly be diminished. If not the next soul devoured, it would be the starvation, that ended him. Any more pressure upon his already shattered mind, would have the shard be no more, a spiraling insanity would only remain. As it were on the surface...anxious, paranoid..fearful of everyone, and thing. Obsessive to the point of compulsion and actions driven by colors and nothing but the remnants of himself. He could only silently guide and hold the hope that his body would comply through his mind's disarray. Yet, as the time passed...he would find no solution to the issue at hand. How, could he survive without consuming the souls of contracted humans? It'd been unheard of by the demon thus far for such a thing to be. His search had been
9 years and 10 monthsConfusion, yelling and fear. Small arms reaching in desperation, a swift and loud CRACK, followed by the thump of a small body hitting the floor. Silence, as the storm slowed and ended, the small form being looked upon in contempt before the assailant would drop the heavy bottle and saunter off, leaving the small boy alone on the floor. As his consciousness left him, and the blood flowed freely from the wound upon his head. Coating and soaking through the already bright red hair darkening it and sinking into the carpet upon which he lay..confusion would riddle the boy's mind..why had this happened..? His consciousness would only return fleetingly as his father would return from work, his worried voice yelling, calling to him..he felt himself cradled up into the man's arms as the older Octillery attempted to get what had happened from the younger boy. The boy's eyes..fogged over and riddled with confusion would only stare back blankly. What happened...a slow blink. His mother had beaten
Tick, tock...goes the clockTick, tock...goes the clockevery day,every night.Tick, tock...goes the clockevery moment,every placeTick, tock...goes the clockit's everywhere,I can't escapeTick, tock...goes the clocka never ending symphonywhy can't it ever leave me be?Tick, tock...goes the clockin the back of my mind,even if my ears cannot hear itTick, tock...goes the clockthere is no place here,that the ticking does not haunt meThe agonizing stress,that SOUND.it makes me a mess,when will quiet be found?Not even away...out there,it's always at playjust..where?try to break them away,remove the battery..but there are too many, the ticks and tocks won't swaythe stress they cause is too much to carryand so...the panic arisesa mess left to be messier,but still...the faint..Tick, tock...of the clock.
How he won his homeWhispers were carried on the wind that night...whispers of the king and his tree. "The king is getting old..the king may die soon." "Who will get his home when he's gone?" the many voices of the forest's inhabitants asked one another quietly, careful not to disturb the old Nidoking in his place. "That tree is the best in the forest...it has many places to hide, many places to live." the voices would continue on, very well aware of the one listening in the shadows beyond the bushes, but paying no mind to the worthless scrap. HE certainly wouldn't be a threat to their plotting or planning, the runt couldn't fight and didn't have the bravery to go against king. They, on the other hand...or anyone else here could contend this treasure. "Should we challenge him now, while he is weaker in age? Or wait until he simply dies of his own?" they would question, each inhabitant in this place wanting that tree as their own, each determined to obtain it.Listening intently from where he hid, the youn
You Are BeautifulHey there friend,I have something I need to tell you -You are beautiful.Whether you are a cute little pixieOr a voluptuous goddess;Whether your body is a rolling landscapeOr a smooth, flat tropical beach.This is something I really must stress -You are beautiful.Whether your hair is blondeOr brown or blackOr red or green,Long or shortOr tied up at the backOr not there at all -You are beautiful.Whether you wear short skirtsOr button-up shirts,Or torn up jeansAnd band t-shirts;Whether you dress all in pinkOr blue or blackOr every colourTo the sky and back -You are beautiful.Whether you don your make-upLike war paint,Or you wear none at all -You are beautiful.Whether your body is an art galleryOf scars and stretch marks,Or as smooth as honey;Whether you hang out in parksOr libraries or malls or bars -You are beautiful.Whether you stride aroundAs the magnificent force you are,Or you ride a wheelchairLike royalty in a carriage -You are beautiful.Whethe
For those who are teasedPity thosewho throw knivesat your back,for you'vedevelopedsteel armor,and they're leftwith porcelain skin,and broken knives.
he saved me, but he killed me._i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest. it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes you walked out, your five year old eyes greener thansunlit saplingsyou reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me."what's your name?"daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.I looked at the rose in my hand."Rose."you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.i didn't understand but I knew.ii. i forgot about you for 1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,you shoutedmy name, but i didn't recognize youuntil i saw your eyes.iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.i screamed, and you carried me home.iv. i didn't talk for a week. i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.you sat next to me in the pouring rain,your war
Humans Are Like RagdollsMaybe humans are like ragdolls.Some of us are manufactured,With stitches that are a bit off.And we get put back on the shelf.While others are made perfectly,Included with bows and pretty dresses.But eventually we all get loose strings,And we become such tattered, worn out things.We all eventually pull at these loose endsUntil we all unravel.And some can be sewn back together,While others are broken forever.
God's PaintbrushI've learned that God's paintbrush is incredibly flawed,with lashes picked at, and bristles torn nearly off.I don't think everybody likes what God paints,because we're always trying to smear it away.We cut off a few pounds, or cut up some skin,when we soil the paper, we throw it in the trash bin.I think His paper has been sauntered with tears,or blood, and vulgar language from our peers.Like others have taken His brush and dipped it in oil,and have painted themselves, in a way that's soiled.I knew that God's paintbrush was incredibly flawed,but that doesn't mean that we should change it at all.“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” they say,perhaps it would be better to keep it that way.I'm incredibly certain that God makes no mistake,I think that we do, when we try to be fake.When we take His art into our own hands,and when we ruin the strokes that He carefully commands.I don't really think that God wants us to be perfect,if so, then He wouldn't take th
BipolarThere's that moment when I wake up in the morning,And without a warning.I feel myself plunge into the ocean.As my thoughts drown me,Like anchors tied to my ankles.And I feel the water all around me.I am being consumed by the sea,Of me.My mind is my own worst enemy.There's that moment when I wake up in the morning,And I get that feeling.In my chest,But it's not pain.I feel like I am actually sane.Or maybe a little more than that,I feel creativity and happiness,And just plain joy.I can't describe this emotion,I just know that I actually feel alive.Maybe even more than that.And I can laugh and I am okay.But then there is the next day.And the next,Until it all goes away.And then I am neutral.I am not manic.I am not depressed.I am not anything.I feel bored, irritated.I don't know what I am.Just plain, nothingness.I don't feel creativity flow through my finger tips,I feel this might be a sinking ship,As neutral,Fades to the next hour or so.And I am once aga
Heart strings.The lines,that connect our hearts.through them we feel,something very real.The bonds.Of love, life, friendship...these tender lines...that joy defines.