Post by Memoir on Jun 3, 2006 9:48:42 GMT -5
Name: Memoir
Breed: Morgan
Color: Black
Age: 6
Gender: Mare
Height: 16.2
Alliance: Dark
Past: It has been lost over the course of years, for she chooses to move on rather than grasp on to old news.
Example Post:
Memoir wandered in at her own pace. She hadn't come plodding along with her foal, for it had passed. But even so, she felt no grief. No shame or guilt in the fact that the passing was indeed her fault. There had never been no bond between them, only a mere business arangement. Though, all promises are broken, for what is a promise for it to stay kept? They need to be broken, shattered, torn into bits of pieces that lay at the hooves of the maker. Otherwise there is no point to it. Without it broken, the is no real need for the promise. For when it is broken, then it is time to take action and beg for it. And given the beg is when you repair it and make the promise complete. The feeling of being worshiped is joyous, but one she might not ever feel unless she breaks it. Her promise had broken, and now her foal can not repair it. For her promise had been to keep the young thing alive, but she had failed willingly. With death there is no life, so there is no way he can beg for it to be repaired. Her skulled propelled toward the heavens, shaking her forelock from her d**ned optical pools. Her mind lay twisted with rage and a vulgar attitude. Another might think as a promise something to keep, something to worship. But she wasn't like that. She wants them broken, for she likes the sensation of being begged to. But, then she does not like to beg, so why want them broken? Because no one ever makes a promise to her. She does not want one to linger on her withers and keep her awake at night. That is not her...
..[x]..
Pillars carried her ebon chassi through the dried atmosphere. The weather cloudy and cool, the sun deeply hidden and out of sight. Harks pinned down on her tiara. Her mood had not stiffened from the very day she was conceaved. She is always to be vulgar, repulsive, and remain a hellion for the rest of her days. Only then would they respect her, fear her, know her for one that is not to be messed with. For if you dare slip an insult into your words, she might just tear you a knew one. Spill your crimson liquid among the foilage under her hooves. Skull propelled toward the heavens once more in a enraged state. Her thoughts whirled through her twisted cranium and her black heart began to pound. Stress was overtaking her, she could no longer bear the weight alone. She needed a herd, a strong herd, a herd the belonged to satan and rules in the darq. Perhaps the King would claim her - that would be nice. Yet, so unlikely that she just stomped a flint into the litho make a deeper imprint of her solid silver. Plumage flicked at her hocks, sending a light sting up her pillars. A smirk pressed her maw, and her jowls emitted a screech into the empty atmosphere. May a demon come, find, and claim this d**ned ebon vixen.
..[x]..
>>Sorry for the awful post. >.< bleh...<<
Breed: Morgan
Color: Black
Age: 6
Gender: Mare
Height: 16.2
Alliance: Dark
Past: It has been lost over the course of years, for she chooses to move on rather than grasp on to old news.
Example Post:
Memoir wandered in at her own pace. She hadn't come plodding along with her foal, for it had passed. But even so, she felt no grief. No shame or guilt in the fact that the passing was indeed her fault. There had never been no bond between them, only a mere business arangement. Though, all promises are broken, for what is a promise for it to stay kept? They need to be broken, shattered, torn into bits of pieces that lay at the hooves of the maker. Otherwise there is no point to it. Without it broken, the is no real need for the promise. For when it is broken, then it is time to take action and beg for it. And given the beg is when you repair it and make the promise complete. The feeling of being worshiped is joyous, but one she might not ever feel unless she breaks it. Her promise had broken, and now her foal can not repair it. For her promise had been to keep the young thing alive, but she had failed willingly. With death there is no life, so there is no way he can beg for it to be repaired. Her skulled propelled toward the heavens, shaking her forelock from her d**ned optical pools. Her mind lay twisted with rage and a vulgar attitude. Another might think as a promise something to keep, something to worship. But she wasn't like that. She wants them broken, for she likes the sensation of being begged to. But, then she does not like to beg, so why want them broken? Because no one ever makes a promise to her. She does not want one to linger on her withers and keep her awake at night. That is not her...
..[x]..
Pillars carried her ebon chassi through the dried atmosphere. The weather cloudy and cool, the sun deeply hidden and out of sight. Harks pinned down on her tiara. Her mood had not stiffened from the very day she was conceaved. She is always to be vulgar, repulsive, and remain a hellion for the rest of her days. Only then would they respect her, fear her, know her for one that is not to be messed with. For if you dare slip an insult into your words, she might just tear you a knew one. Spill your crimson liquid among the foilage under her hooves. Skull propelled toward the heavens once more in a enraged state. Her thoughts whirled through her twisted cranium and her black heart began to pound. Stress was overtaking her, she could no longer bear the weight alone. She needed a herd, a strong herd, a herd the belonged to satan and rules in the darq. Perhaps the King would claim her - that would be nice. Yet, so unlikely that she just stomped a flint into the litho make a deeper imprint of her solid silver. Plumage flicked at her hocks, sending a light sting up her pillars. A smirk pressed her maw, and her jowls emitted a screech into the empty atmosphere. May a demon come, find, and claim this d**ned ebon vixen.
..[x]..
>>Sorry for the awful post. >.< bleh...<<