Post by Ebon Martell on Sept 27, 2017 14:32:13 GMT
[googlefont=roboto]
[ Flashback Thread ] -- circa twentyish years ago
And in her darkest hour, the realm found its flesh ripped and torn of her inherit beauty. Stripped of its lovely qualities and its bare harvest ripe for the collective to drink with their hazed stares. the excitement of magic and new creations ushered in a world that was far too forgetful of the presents she had bestowed. and though the savage and primal may have been the few sharp and loyal enough to never forget, the majority of the world shirked behind false words, fine silk, and laws cemented in pages that were no more older than whining tots suckling on the teat of a wet nurse compared to her age. It was that ungratefulness that spurned him from the duties of his namehoods.
Clad in his armour, a single stripe of a hung yellow streaked through the surface of his pauldrons. Ebon... no.
Marik galloped onwards to a scene of blissful disaster that reflected off the lid of his eyes. Word had been sent days ago about the siege of one of the stations that proudly donned the Basilisk Brothers flag. It had been no more than another outpost of operations equipped well enough to handle any contract or threat that had the fortune, good or bad, to align into their view. There was no doubt in his mind about his fellow mercenary's capacity to wage conflict. Yet with their line of resources effectively truncated, it was only a matter of time until his wolves gnawed their own limbs for sustenance. Regardless of his belief in their skill, two useful appendages beat that of one.
As he veered past the fallen and fires, he could see that his arrival along with reinforcements had trudged along too late to save the greater whole. A half of the gate dangled out of its hinges and the familiar sound of steel rang from within. The number of marked yellow men were small and outnumbered by the colors of the enemy. And though the battle had thought to be one sided, a boisterous yell by the cloaked commander of the Basilisk let both friend and foe acknowledge the entrance of a new party. A force that was soon to turn the tide of battle and eviscerate all pretenders that played at the notion of war. This was the language of the realm that had gotten lost in the progression of time.
But not to worry.
The taste of bitter steel and red that rivaled noble wine were soon to remind these people of who they really were.
NIYANA XHAA
[ Flashback Thread ] -- circa twentyish years ago
And in her darkest hour, the realm found its flesh ripped and torn of her inherit beauty. Stripped of its lovely qualities and its bare harvest ripe for the collective to drink with their hazed stares. the excitement of magic and new creations ushered in a world that was far too forgetful of the presents she had bestowed. and though the savage and primal may have been the few sharp and loyal enough to never forget, the majority of the world shirked behind false words, fine silk, and laws cemented in pages that were no more older than whining tots suckling on the teat of a wet nurse compared to her age. It was that ungratefulness that spurned him from the duties of his namehoods.
Clad in his armour, a single stripe of a hung yellow streaked through the surface of his pauldrons. Ebon... no.
Marik galloped onwards to a scene of blissful disaster that reflected off the lid of his eyes. Word had been sent days ago about the siege of one of the stations that proudly donned the Basilisk Brothers flag. It had been no more than another outpost of operations equipped well enough to handle any contract or threat that had the fortune, good or bad, to align into their view. There was no doubt in his mind about his fellow mercenary's capacity to wage conflict. Yet with their line of resources effectively truncated, it was only a matter of time until his wolves gnawed their own limbs for sustenance. Regardless of his belief in their skill, two useful appendages beat that of one.
As he veered past the fallen and fires, he could see that his arrival along with reinforcements had trudged along too late to save the greater whole. A half of the gate dangled out of its hinges and the familiar sound of steel rang from within. The number of marked yellow men were small and outnumbered by the colors of the enemy. And though the battle had thought to be one sided, a boisterous yell by the cloaked commander of the Basilisk let both friend and foe acknowledge the entrance of a new party. A force that was soon to turn the tide of battle and eviscerate all pretenders that played at the notion of war. This was the language of the realm that had gotten lost in the progression of time.
But not to worry.
The taste of bitter steel and red that rivaled noble wine were soon to remind these people of who they really were.
NIYANA XHAA
MADE BY NOVA