Crying crimson Tears

[.E.v.o.k.e.]

A loud thundering shudder came through the darkness. Here I go again. My soul black and tortured. Heart - barely among my insides. Here come the beating drums. A pain at my leg as i watched blood drain out. Well thats great. A cackle of shrieking laughter came from the underground. Does he ever give up? I'm delusional. I sighed pushing away my lord Satin. Through my head back and continued my walk, searching for something. Something to call my own. Or someone. But why would i want someone? I, Evoke, of all known sources, wanted to be claimed. How sadly annoying that grew inside of me. I closed my eyes, re-opening, well theres nothing to see. Just the same old thicket full of damp currents and low temperatures.

I came to a halt, upon a cliff i searched around the lower land - nothing. Picking at my mind. My pistons pawing the rock - my daggers sharpening. Oh Merci. My head threw back. My pistons threw up. My daggers piercing the air. Physique landed with a crash to the ground meaningfully. My shriek came through the atmosphere and seethed through to the mild minds of other enquins - maybe theres a brute among them. Worthy of a black heart. With a sick tortured mind. A soul drained of its spark. His heart - no where to be seen. Perhaps this kind could come. Take me and mold me to the kind I truly belonged to. All those years with the old stag. A scrawny little king of lights. At least thats what i saw. After my knowledge of alliances grew more and more. A cackle of laughter came from my own vocals at last.

There you go..
What the hell are you talking about?
Your losing it.
Losing what?
Your sense..
Sense for?
Darkness...Your giving in for the erge each mare has.
Maybe i am.
Thats not the Evoke I molded...
God - you haven't molded anything.
Don't be too sure about that....

I hate it. I want my

[/i] mind back! I want to be able to think rationally. God how i want to be a normal dark. To myself ... alone. A devil has over taken me. Possessed me. Help me. God help me. What have i become? A lunatic. I belong underground. Kept away from the sain equines. Merci. Ill take this away one day. After i destroy another. After another is molded into me. She's taking over - Demora - The devil. She's overtaking my mind - My life - My sanity. Help me find myself again. Help me accomplish what i long for. I'm sc.rewed. Just like that. She keep in charge. As long as i keep to the vile ways. But how am i suppose to turn back? After all - I'm bound for a life of torture....



((HM, feel free to reply. i was bored, and Evoke needs to be claimed. lol. dang thats the most ebilest Post Ive done. What do you guys think? If you could be so kind..))[/color][/size][/center]

[envy]

((Beautimous. Very unique and well-done. ^^=))


This is a strange sensation.

For hours have I been ambling, 'cross this endless terra used most commonly for those seeking mates. I was, at first, rather reluctant to leave my new homeland; I felt I was neglecting my duties as Dark Lord. But, I had reasoned, ruling without a mate at my side would be an even more cruel form of neglect. And so I find myself here, deep aquamarine visuals scanning, searching, for any sign of life to the lands that might offer some form of direction.

Nothing.

Well, this sucks. Here I was, waiting for my future partner-in-crime to come tumbling from the moonlit skies like rain. This was stupid. I had stuff to attend to, being a Lord, and this was getting me absolutely nowhere. As I turned 'pon my hinds to wheel off in a three-beat, a shrill, desperate sound resounded in my sensitive ears. I was startled half to death, scrambling on thick, feathered forepistons just to keep my bulk above earth. My massive cage whirled to face the shrieking cry, tense and coiled, as I have trained it to be. For several moments, time stands still. My respiration comes in quick pants, nares widening to take in the extra oxygen. My sharp optics pick out movements on the cliff far above me, and my world stops.

There perches a fae of silver, streaming tresses and a dark, tortured look to her. She looks troubled by something... But her beauty was unsurpassed, I was certain. This was strange, very strange. I had been alone for many moons now; it was a straight-out miracle I had not yet gone completely insane. And this femme of silver and pearl... Yes, she would do. I begin my ascent up the rocky outcroppings, taking care to place my flints exactly, my darkly clouded mind set in what I intended to do. That's how I am--deadset and yet, so unpredictable. Ah, well. Life is more exciting that way, in any case.

I stand behind her now, silently, just watching. I am shadow-like in my movements as I pace closer, every sweeping step bringing me that much closer to my target. Perhaps I was simply amusing myself, sneaking up on her like this, but I, of course, could care less. I wasn't heartless, for I had some ability to care, I was just slightly impaired. That's all.

[Synex]

Tick Tock Tick Tock
The stopwatch of time keeps ticking
The relms ever changing
However you screamence shall be traced upon one
Foolish Wench
Follow me now, hurry along
Your moments of life slip away slowly
Time an element you now do not hold

Time goes to waste as our presence lingers here. For the reason holds no purpose, do you wish to linger here with the foolish dogs of the land. Think fast tiny doe, your days of breath shriveling away, your grip loosening. I dare you to revolt, a brawl taking place. I will take you with force, taking your life aswell. A shreik will be noted, taken in by the surrounding creatures lurking amoung the devil infested corradors. Your form will lay lifeless, snow flecked upon your pelt dipped in rouge. Angry brush strokes, the devil himself screaming in hatred. Your loss a discrace. The stop watch benith your cage has stopped, leave now. The ones of grunge scavenging your remains, remains that were whole enaugh to do so that is. For when the brawl meets its end, a mockery your shall be. Cripled, meek. As you were when you arrived. Tick tock, time is wasting. The bastard of onyx lacing had arrived, wake spreading through the shadowed vessels of his choosing. Nares remained submerged with the scent of a femmoria, one whom he had spoken to recently. Lands sprouting parce green, placed upon a molten area, oh yes it was indeed only his. You will gasp for air, but none shall be inhailed. You will scream for assistance, none responding. Your hand shall rise, outstretched in hopes of another to grasp. But one shall be there, I will. I will push you down, into the dark abbys.

Nares of paper flare, auditives laced the the ebon scull of which they clung to. Brawnty ligaments churn, serpintine withdrawing to an abrupt arch. Matted cords snapped and twisted, colliding with the loam the stark lord tred upon. Loam lifted and begin to sift benith the unsightly titaniums he held. The eroded relm held hidious slaughter, how he abhored mess. Mess was for the thoughtless, the meek. Thoose whom do not have the scence to distort traces of their being, even if they had no fears, no competors. Were is this bytch whom has loursed me here so easily? Putrid Filthy dog, dare she make waves in theese relms? A foolish banch this may be, were does she reside.....

Click


Cloves of emerald lay matted along the chiseld serpintine of the ebon lord, his presence dripping from the thick shadow infestation he had once set tred upon. Appex thrashed thrice, annoyance striking his bod. Glare pinned to a wench of devilish, a grim smirk set in stone upon his mug. This banche shall indeed be his, under his rule, his toy. A puppet he would conduct, but would she rise to the placemetn of queen. There was only one other he courted, but whom shall recive the prize?

Click


He moved but a few paces forward, nares flared in slight disugst. Wenches, meek incubators they were. Jawls clenched with hate, the tone he shall project holding its own.

Wech spit your dubbance befor, I am Lucifer, Ruler of a relm you have yet to discover. Do not get whitty with me banche, I am in no mood for games. No beating around the d**n bush.

He snapped haistfully, agression rising with the brutens posture before the wench. Serpintine outstretched, appex looming over the doe. He had held attraction for the wench, but he dare not show it. Dial lowerd to her relm, hot air spreading against the pelt of she, the breath of he scolding as the embers he tred upon.