And that is my post for the morning, as I am unlikely to provide another until much later in the evening.
So much talking, so little explaining, Genevieve.
So much talking, so little explaining, Genevieve.
The Harbinger of Ferocity Member
STATUS: Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics. 6 yrs ago- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 3754 (0.86 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- The Harbinger of Ferocity 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Vixere,
Captain Uni,
parelaxis,
Passable Writer,
rush99999,
Nightwing95
Status
Recent Statuses
6 yrs ago
Current
Masses are always breeding grounds of psychic epidemics.
6 yrs ago
The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
1
like
7 yrs ago
One cannot live from anything except what one is.
7 yrs ago
The slave to virtue finds the way as little as the slave to vices.
7 yrs ago
The core of an individual is the mystery of life, which dies when it is 'grasped'. That is also why symbols want to keep their secrets.
Bio
The Harbinger of Ferocity
Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.
"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten
I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those things whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is this which convicts and controls my works, my writing, my being; the force and guidance in which I gain wisdom from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.
My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort as there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom can be drawn from. No others captivate and motivate my talent and skill as the greatest of cats do.
Most Recent Posts
"The Red" at last audibly roared in frustration at this woman, drawing a step forward and directing a finger toward her, "Enough of your arrogant prattling, woman and state what it is you intend; your vagueness is going to do no one good, least of all you."
The powerful limb of the man snapped to his side and the other, at the wrist, loosened slightly, stirring the heavy curved blade to sway faintly - a readiness of impending danger born from animal duress.
"We have wasted more than enough time on talk."
The green eyes shifted to Isabeau as he looked over his hide clad shoulder. They gazed at her with a distrust and wariness, but the hooded savage "trusted" her and her inner, even outer, darkness than some woman who talked much but explained little. As far as the primalist was concerned, he had seen enough of Isabeau's fury - there was little to be of surprise.
"If you wish these demons destroyed and you are no enemy, speak plainly." The sizable man growled, looking back to Genevieve.
"If I could care less who dares against demons, so should you."
@IcePezz
The powerful limb of the man snapped to his side and the other, at the wrist, loosened slightly, stirring the heavy curved blade to sway faintly - a readiness of impending danger born from animal duress.
"We have wasted more than enough time on talk."
The green eyes shifted to Isabeau as he looked over his hide clad shoulder. They gazed at her with a distrust and wariness, but the hooded savage "trusted" her and her inner, even outer, darkness than some woman who talked much but explained little. As far as the primalist was concerned, he had seen enough of Isabeau's fury - there was little to be of surprise.
"If you wish these demons destroyed and you are no enemy, speak plainly." The sizable man growled, looking back to Genevieve.
"If I could care less who dares against demons, so should you."
@IcePezz
The inkiness, as it desperately grasped out to envelop the ragged man, recoiled in pain at the light of the divine flames - a spell sanctified by no god, but the pure divinity of nature itself in the form of sacred fire - faded and fought as it rolled in a turbulent dusky mist, altering the world around into a realm unfamiliar; a plane of infinite death, of infinite hopelessness.
Revealed once more, the spellcaster swung wide his hand, fingers spreading and allowing the fire to cut through the opposing magic, granting him sight in brief. Glancing to one shoulder and the next, he found himself among innumerable headstones and a sea of despair in a demiplane of wickedness and utter decay. All here was vile, but nothing in it could compare to the fervor the mantled man had in contempt for the once swordsmith, Cario; one so lost and diluted as to sink his soul to this pit by choice. It was here the man called up both hands before him and then motioned wide, uttering his retort.
"If you are so eager to serve your lord..." The fiery glow to his hands winked out of existence in an instant, "... then join him in demise."
A column of tremendous gold and natural flame appeared from the unfathomably distant heavens above, drawn across the planar boundaries by magical calling. No wider than ten feet, the blaze launched itself like a shooting star dropped from the deep midnight sky, centered upon Cario's armorless body and sought to devour him with its pillar-like form.
"Now is your chance - strike him down and let us be done with this unholy place!" The commoner turned and hastened between the tombstones, stepping atop some, throwing himself over others; the agility he bore only furthered the belief that he was no mere mage, either.
Coming to a rest beside the youth, the battered commoner took a moment to provide some lesser gesture and ease the wound upon his shoulder and that within his soul. The damage to himself, while not tremendous, was wearing on him as the increasing escalation was draining his repertoire of magical energy for the day and while this injury would now rapidly heal, he wondered how much more abuse the drow-elf could truly withstand. The answer, he hoped - the bleeding immediately ceasing from his shoulder - would come sooner.
He did not wish his own cover revealed, not so, not yet.
But if the next onslaught of attacks by those pulled here failed, there would be no choice but to make use of the greatest assets he had remaining - all other consequence be damned.
@Shade@TaroMaster4@Gentlemanvaultboy@SouffleGirl123
Revealed once more, the spellcaster swung wide his hand, fingers spreading and allowing the fire to cut through the opposing magic, granting him sight in brief. Glancing to one shoulder and the next, he found himself among innumerable headstones and a sea of despair in a demiplane of wickedness and utter decay. All here was vile, but nothing in it could compare to the fervor the mantled man had in contempt for the once swordsmith, Cario; one so lost and diluted as to sink his soul to this pit by choice. It was here the man called up both hands before him and then motioned wide, uttering his retort.
"If you are so eager to serve your lord..." The fiery glow to his hands winked out of existence in an instant, "... then join him in demise."
A column of tremendous gold and natural flame appeared from the unfathomably distant heavens above, drawn across the planar boundaries by magical calling. No wider than ten feet, the blaze launched itself like a shooting star dropped from the deep midnight sky, centered upon Cario's armorless body and sought to devour him with its pillar-like form.
"Now is your chance - strike him down and let us be done with this unholy place!" The commoner turned and hastened between the tombstones, stepping atop some, throwing himself over others; the agility he bore only furthered the belief that he was no mere mage, either.
Coming to a rest beside the youth, the battered commoner took a moment to provide some lesser gesture and ease the wound upon his shoulder and that within his soul. The damage to himself, while not tremendous, was wearing on him as the increasing escalation was draining his repertoire of magical energy for the day and while this injury would now rapidly heal, he wondered how much more abuse the drow-elf could truly withstand. The answer, he hoped - the bleeding immediately ceasing from his shoulder - would come sooner.
He did not wish his own cover revealed, not so, not yet.
But if the next onslaught of attacks by those pulled here failed, there would be no choice but to make use of the greatest assets he had remaining - all other consequence be damned.
@Shade@TaroMaster4@Gentlemanvaultboy@SouffleGirl123
Isabeau, Siegfried and Robert are all among those The Red has a not so positive interest in. They're the sort who, if they make one firm, wrong step, will eventually find The Red as an enemy after the events of Waeldeshore. Not that it this is hidden at all based upon his actions or demeanor.
Genevieve is unlikely to continue to live that long if she continues along these vague lines.
I will reply tomorrow night.
Genevieve is unlikely to continue to live that long if she continues along these vague lines.
I will reply tomorrow night.
"You would be wise not to speak for me," The wilder began, pausing to adjust his footing accordingly, trusting Robert as little as he trusted this new addition - the woman - "at least if you desire a long life."
The demeanor the Druid of the Fang carried with him had no love of Robert, least of all his "gold and glory" persona and the overly ornate sword he bore. The man, like Roanoke, was everything the wild man loathed the civil folk for.
The grasp around the old blade adjusted faintly but visble enough for the entire lot to see. "Our enemy is powerful and numerous... prone to whisper words of our supposed 'doom'."
"Either she will explain her actions or pay accordingly for her intentions."
@boomlover
The demeanor the Druid of the Fang carried with him had no love of Robert, least of all his "gold and glory" persona and the overly ornate sword he bore. The man, like Roanoke, was everything the wild man loathed the civil folk for.
The grasp around the old blade adjusted faintly but visble enough for the entire lot to see. "Our enemy is powerful and numerous... prone to whisper words of our supposed 'doom'."
"Either she will explain her actions or pay accordingly for her intentions."
@boomlover
I just went to comicon today. ^ ^
I find it funny how you said that with the word choice of "just".
La Brea indeed was, albeit the environment was disorganized the actual relics themselves are impressive. It is astounding to see them in such fine quality - everything from Panthera atrox to Smilodon californicus and of course Canis dirus, but those are just overrated.
I will reply this evening, with or without the rest of those drawn into the darkness.
@IcePezz, I reason there's more to her than we know, but I have no other credible way for The Red to interpret those words as anything short of a threat.
"The Red" having been distracted for a time, had produced a whetstone and set it to the aged blade he bore in the form of the scimitar's edge. Each gentle stroke producing a faint hum along the sword's deadly curve, the savage proved to roll a thumb lightly across it to test its keen. To him, the blade was the most valuable relic he carried short of the hood he bore - both icons of what he was one behalf the world. Lifting the sword with ease, despite its actual physical heft, "The Red" further examined its bronze-like inlays and their engravings; the most distinctive of the motifs a fiercely snarling feline beast, of which showed fangs wide and claws flared.
There was no mere mundane glint to the weapon either something more lingered about to its presence and humbleness.
"Excuse me." Spoke a thin woman who wore, most notably, thick glasses - a rare item of wealth.
"The Red", having paid her little heed until now, brought the untamed eyes he bore upon her, assessing the woman as his powerful grasp tightened around the scimitar's worn leather handle; the woman's deep brown eyes matched the rims of her glasses and short of the oddity of owning such a valuable item, she appeared seemingly unremarkable. To the beast of a man, this raised many suspicions and roused him to standing.
Taking a step forward, blade in hand, he positioned himself beside Ioannes whose kind naivety rubbed raw the nerves of "The Red". Did he not realize someone as unusual as this woman was a potential threat, or did he just not care? It helped little to prove the barbarian as wrong when she spoke next no less.
"You're all destined for great danger, sacrifice. Victory does not come without blood or loss, but it is a possibility."
"Either explain yourself, woman, or I will end you here as testament that I do not take lightly any supposed threat on my fate or that of the realm." The man snarled with a menace, slightly altering his footing in preparation of what he understood as a word of her willingness to do them ill; being vague with "The Red" was never a promising approach, particularly not if it could be interpreted remotely as a threat.
Nature's warriors did not live long if they did not view every potential threat as an actual one.
@IcePezz@Letter Bee
There was no mere mundane glint to the weapon either something more lingered about to its presence and humbleness.
"Excuse me." Spoke a thin woman who wore, most notably, thick glasses - a rare item of wealth.
"The Red", having paid her little heed until now, brought the untamed eyes he bore upon her, assessing the woman as his powerful grasp tightened around the scimitar's worn leather handle; the woman's deep brown eyes matched the rims of her glasses and short of the oddity of owning such a valuable item, she appeared seemingly unremarkable. To the beast of a man, this raised many suspicions and roused him to standing.
Taking a step forward, blade in hand, he positioned himself beside Ioannes whose kind naivety rubbed raw the nerves of "The Red". Did he not realize someone as unusual as this woman was a potential threat, or did he just not care? It helped little to prove the barbarian as wrong when she spoke next no less.
"You're all destined for great danger, sacrifice. Victory does not come without blood or loss, but it is a possibility."
"Either explain yourself, woman, or I will end you here as testament that I do not take lightly any supposed threat on my fate or that of the realm." The man snarled with a menace, slightly altering his footing in preparation of what he understood as a word of her willingness to do them ill; being vague with "The Red" was never a promising approach, particularly not if it could be interpreted remotely as a threat.
Nature's warriors did not live long if they did not view every potential threat as an actual one.
@IcePezz@Letter Bee
© 2007-2026