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Tanto Monta
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icmasticc
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Bio
Sanity is not statistical.
Most Recent Posts
Dusk finally harbored the internal schism of mice and men, as the feline soon transformed, behind unseen walls, into its acquainted and most predicated prey. Ogling Brannor and comparing the fetters binding both the ferine champion and Leosin, the shapeshifter, benefiting from eyes above, quickly scurried, with tantalizing tail whipping close, covered by the brightness of dirty darkness, to the tent’s outskirts, now shouldering the bemused paladin.
He must be the first to be free. Then the monk.
The apparent quarantine seemed more of a humble trap, allowing the prisoners to roam in their confines as guards judged from afar. However, such allegorical ploys were far more effective, to the bard’s experience, at catching unwanted hands reaching into unexpected places than actually snaring wayward rodents. The chanced meeting with Krets scorned Xaron, though, a once neglected but now considered uneasiness, as her furry shape brushed upon the boots of Greenest’s champion. The angsty apprehension effervesced, mostly due to the physical liberty permitted to roam within the encampment, as if the lax cultist’s intention subsisted to enumerate and capture all along, entirely those incorporated in this Faustian rebellion.
This potential danger flowered red flags, within her partnered pirate’s cerebrum, aware of the proverbial rhododendron and rhubarb, sprouting such symbolic perils of treacherous pitfalls ever ahead. The trick to bridge the corporeal gap, between all the missing pieces to the party’s jigsaw, would be full of thorns. Nothing could come of a floundered escape, save the satisfaction of future sacrifices to the glorious Tiamat. To flatter this double jeopardy, the murky avian swirled and circled the manacled martial artist, again and again, to the pattern of an ominous carrion swooping over a soon to be carcass, aspiring to scavenge flesh and feast, whilst simultaneously noting the surroundings.
Then, once reconnaissance was surveyed, the aerial scout would seek the Hin, the half-blood and the priestess exact whereabouts.
A caress and squeak, intentional and abrupt, spurred the black rat’s slight trek to now beeline away and back again, leading the golden eyes from soiled steeple to shoe, suggestive of the commonality between the charcoaled rascals.
Hopefully, the man would follow the mouse, in this dead of night.
@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Ryonara@Norschtalen@Lucius Cypher
He must be the first to be free. Then the monk.
The apparent quarantine seemed more of a humble trap, allowing the prisoners to roam in their confines as guards judged from afar. However, such allegorical ploys were far more effective, to the bard’s experience, at catching unwanted hands reaching into unexpected places than actually snaring wayward rodents. The chanced meeting with Krets scorned Xaron, though, a once neglected but now considered uneasiness, as her furry shape brushed upon the boots of Greenest’s champion. The angsty apprehension effervesced, mostly due to the physical liberty permitted to roam within the encampment, as if the lax cultist’s intention subsisted to enumerate and capture all along, entirely those incorporated in this Faustian rebellion.
This potential danger flowered red flags, within her partnered pirate’s cerebrum, aware of the proverbial rhododendron and rhubarb, sprouting such symbolic perils of treacherous pitfalls ever ahead. The trick to bridge the corporeal gap, between all the missing pieces to the party’s jigsaw, would be full of thorns. Nothing could come of a floundered escape, save the satisfaction of future sacrifices to the glorious Tiamat. To flatter this double jeopardy, the murky avian swirled and circled the manacled martial artist, again and again, to the pattern of an ominous carrion swooping over a soon to be carcass, aspiring to scavenge flesh and feast, whilst simultaneously noting the surroundings.
Then, once reconnaissance was surveyed, the aerial scout would seek the Hin, the half-blood and the priestess exact whereabouts.
A caress and squeak, intentional and abrupt, spurred the black rat’s slight trek to now beeline away and back again, leading the golden eyes from soiled steeple to shoe, suggestive of the commonality between the charcoaled rascals.
Hopefully, the man would follow the mouse, in this dead of night.
@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Hekazu@Ryonara@Norschtalen@Lucius Cypher
We are all gonna escape with Brannor and Leosin. Via disguises.
Anyone else?
Anyone else?
Thanks to all for your understanding.
Ahh sorry for the super long description, this is my first Fallen London RP and it's one of my favorite settings so I got super pumped and before I knew it I was staring at a super-long bio hahaha.
EDIT: And yeah, I'l poke my head into the party in a while, probably should read through the IC first.
Wondrous bio!
And welcome. To the desert. Of the real.
Plaisir…
Were not pleasure and pain an ancient continuum, previously acclaimed by the axiomatic Bentham, spurned by the critical Spinoza and experienced by the dreamy Descartes? Biological connections between neurochemical pathways, caffeinated with psychological plunders, bases its acuity upon nociception, the sensitive and physiological transmission of buried signals from primed organs, for instance, the skin to the roots of a dancer’s spinal cord. These same afferent receptors detect not only a spectrum of burns, tickles or caresses, but even the decadent herald of a Master.
“Welcome to the masquerade.”
Layered, with asymmetry, the drivels of an unexcited limbic system must mandate a discernable code to decipher, lest the burden of an unexpectant stimuli be indifferentiable between reward and punishment. Similar to the mind’s eye lost in the merge of smoke and fire. This no longer faint but beautiful signal interjected amongst the noise within the boisterous shindig, to not accept imitations. That which is empty, whose purpose is to be filled.
Was this belle, the golden wheat among the auburn chaff littering the room of this ball? Does this curtsying rose have thorns?
The gambler desired the unknown professor passing by to glean his now encumbered, but polite English, while simultaneously offering any other hidden eavesdroppers her calculated namesake. “Ray, what a wondrous moniker!” Zorkybksi risked the odds that this coryphée was not simply a planted danseur by the coveted Spices, but he had to be absolutely sure. No more riddles or boogying. A guarenteed bet.
If her past and reasons were fabricated, it would be obviously superficial after a careful, subtle inquisition.
“What brings you to this revelry?”
@Sofaking Fancy@Hekazu@Lady Selune
Were not pleasure and pain an ancient continuum, previously acclaimed by the axiomatic Bentham, spurned by the critical Spinoza and experienced by the dreamy Descartes? Biological connections between neurochemical pathways, caffeinated with psychological plunders, bases its acuity upon nociception, the sensitive and physiological transmission of buried signals from primed organs, for instance, the skin to the roots of a dancer’s spinal cord. These same afferent receptors detect not only a spectrum of burns, tickles or caresses, but even the decadent herald of a Master.
“Welcome to the masquerade.”
Layered, with asymmetry, the drivels of an unexcited limbic system must mandate a discernable code to decipher, lest the burden of an unexpectant stimuli be indifferentiable between reward and punishment. Similar to the mind’s eye lost in the merge of smoke and fire. This no longer faint but beautiful signal interjected amongst the noise within the boisterous shindig, to not accept imitations. That which is empty, whose purpose is to be filled.
Was this belle, the golden wheat among the auburn chaff littering the room of this ball? Does this curtsying rose have thorns?
The gambler desired the unknown professor passing by to glean his now encumbered, but polite English, while simultaneously offering any other hidden eavesdroppers her calculated namesake. “Ray, what a wondrous moniker!” Zorkybksi risked the odds that this coryphée was not simply a planted danseur by the coveted Spices, but he had to be absolutely sure. No more riddles or boogying. A guarenteed bet.
If her past and reasons were fabricated, it would be obviously superficial after a careful, subtle inquisition.
“What brings you to this revelry?”
@Sofaking Fancy@Hekazu@Lady Selune
Posted.
It remained bright, with dusk curdling above the frothy horizon.
The black cat toggled, concealing intermittently amongst the congealed rays of sunlight and the furnished spoils of the encampment, weaving its body like a proverbial stitch into the lacy panorama round about, that now imprisoned the indentured Brannor. These children of Tiamat, some sporting shaven scalps, stood guard both afar and close around the wilder, restrained behind the invisible bars of religious cribs and dutiful watchfulness, longing for the arrival of their Mother, to finally nurse them into that fiery bosom of death, that only a blissful cultist could even fathom or appreciate.
What’s more? Who were the real captors here?
The delusional diluted minds of pious, but evil sacrosancts, awaiting the coming reign of an additional deity, who was ironically bound Herself? Or the paladin suffering a dutiful ruse to free an alleged unmet monk of Greenest, captured in this convoluted war of hoards and dragons?
The ill humor frosted across the panes of Xaron’s cerebral windows, tickling her cognizance, of a persistent winter where one would still slay or relay to maintain an ideal or connection to another in this world of Toril. Her egocentric mentality had salvaged her nearly exterminated intellect over the decades, leeching upon the available corpus of a once young druid, whose old Gods allowed the violated betrayal of her seed to satirically sprout in the brain of one of Their youngest followers. The bard swayed to the same very id, which within every individual cares only about itself. Adulterating this realization with relationships, even with a blue-haired Hin, a boisterous half-orc, and a stoic bird faithful to the frail physique of Torus, mitigated and attenuated but simultaneously also substantiated the purpose of her careful immortality.
Besides, the Queen to come would poison her invested plot, if she remained lax and negligent.
These thoughts of darkness chased each other, transparently, convincing the witch that the steeple of dirt was not tall enough to church the golden eyes to wander amongst its hidden pews. Xaron opened her mouth wide and tried to mew but her throat only emitted a wheezing sound, due to lack of the mastered vibrato of a subtle but noticeable purr. The feline pouted, with a wry and wrinkled face, beginning to infrequently whine, hoping only the green knight would heed the occasional shrill squeal and the soaring dot in the squall above. Profound weariness mounted and manifested in her face, as the sun pendulated across the sky and her green eyes with their narrow charcoal pupils frayed an expression both languid and sentimental.
Soon, the night would better camouflage her intentions.
She would rest, along with her paused penchant of wine, dragonchess and pickled mushrooms, to follow him to his cell. Possibly a rodent would suit this better. A cat and mouse game after all? All the while, Judgement would conveniently keep tabs on the others, cementing and confirming all of their whereabouts, including Leosin, to embolden their escape, with ease and elegance.
The black cat toggled, concealing intermittently amongst the congealed rays of sunlight and the furnished spoils of the encampment, weaving its body like a proverbial stitch into the lacy panorama round about, that now imprisoned the indentured Brannor. These children of Tiamat, some sporting shaven scalps, stood guard both afar and close around the wilder, restrained behind the invisible bars of religious cribs and dutiful watchfulness, longing for the arrival of their Mother, to finally nurse them into that fiery bosom of death, that only a blissful cultist could even fathom or appreciate.
What’s more? Who were the real captors here?
The delusional diluted minds of pious, but evil sacrosancts, awaiting the coming reign of an additional deity, who was ironically bound Herself? Or the paladin suffering a dutiful ruse to free an alleged unmet monk of Greenest, captured in this convoluted war of hoards and dragons?
The ill humor frosted across the panes of Xaron’s cerebral windows, tickling her cognizance, of a persistent winter where one would still slay or relay to maintain an ideal or connection to another in this world of Toril. Her egocentric mentality had salvaged her nearly exterminated intellect over the decades, leeching upon the available corpus of a once young druid, whose old Gods allowed the violated betrayal of her seed to satirically sprout in the brain of one of Their youngest followers. The bard swayed to the same very id, which within every individual cares only about itself. Adulterating this realization with relationships, even with a blue-haired Hin, a boisterous half-orc, and a stoic bird faithful to the frail physique of Torus, mitigated and attenuated but simultaneously also substantiated the purpose of her careful immortality.
Besides, the Queen to come would poison her invested plot, if she remained lax and negligent.
These thoughts of darkness chased each other, transparently, convincing the witch that the steeple of dirt was not tall enough to church the golden eyes to wander amongst its hidden pews. Xaron opened her mouth wide and tried to mew but her throat only emitted a wheezing sound, due to lack of the mastered vibrato of a subtle but noticeable purr. The feline pouted, with a wry and wrinkled face, beginning to infrequently whine, hoping only the green knight would heed the occasional shrill squeal and the soaring dot in the squall above. Profound weariness mounted and manifested in her face, as the sun pendulated across the sky and her green eyes with their narrow charcoal pupils frayed an expression both languid and sentimental.
Soon, the night would better camouflage her intentions.
She would rest, along with her paused penchant of wine, dragonchess and pickled mushrooms, to follow him to his cell. Possibly a rodent would suit this better. A cat and mouse game after all? All the while, Judgement would conveniently keep tabs on the others, cementing and confirming all of their whereabouts, including Leosin, to embolden their escape, with ease and elegance.
Apologies for my absence. My real life has been whelmed as of late. I should have a post this afternoon.
Apologies for my absence. My real life has been whelmed as of late. I should have a post this afternoon.
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