Re: Mini-Grand 5105 (Round 1: Bernal Sphere Upsilon)
08-12-2011, 04:04 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
Unrelenting stalkers. The world slid over them as unsuspecting as their prey. Above them life was gold. Death was gold, they were gold. Halo of fire and death in the sunbaked sand.
But there was no sand here. No gold, only grey.
Like a fish uprooted from the sea, Harena was from the ground. The disk laid twitching, swathes of sand flying around the room it had been stranded in. Image had no need, and Harena had no mind to think it. Still, aware of threat and those that exposed it, the blue warrior dared not disappear.
When in the room, a scorpion entered. Harena turned, with it towers and gates. Come, scorpion. Invitation to the netherworld. Image waved a taunt.
The scorpion ran, up for the challenge. Bloodthirst dripped from his face and evaporated into not the lishtest bit of remorse. This scorpion was daring, but yet foolish. It drew weapons, expecting a fair fight.
Two hunters stood across, both a reputation of invisibility. One would leave with knowledge of the other.
As the field around them drowned in dunes, the warriors greeted, snarled. If they listened closely, they would hear Nothing between the two.
Locks like swords, conflict that ate hearts and left a trail of victims vain in love.
The flowers on the field faded, turmoil of crashing waves threw them away. It didn't steal his heart, but forever the Scorpion left its skin there. As it dripped, it marked his leave. His solemn leave that begged to savor revenge.
On that day, nothing died.
Distance spoke time. It told hours of travel, exile, how they took from the world and were taken from it in return. Loran Twight, in canaän. Oh, the western wind called their name to where the sun set.
You are broken, Scorpion. Don't ever return as you are to reclaim glory.
Unrelenting stalkers. The world slid over them as unsuspecting as their prey. Above them life was gold. Death was gold, they were gold. Halo of fire and death in the sunbaked sand.
But there was no sand here. No gold, only grey.
Like a fish uprooted from the sea, Harena was from the ground. The disk laid twitching, swathes of sand flying around the room it had been stranded in. Image had no need, and Harena had no mind to think it. Still, aware of threat and those that exposed it, the blue warrior dared not disappear.
When in the room, a scorpion entered. Harena turned, with it towers and gates. Come, scorpion. Invitation to the netherworld. Image waved a taunt.
The scorpion ran, up for the challenge. Bloodthirst dripped from his face and evaporated into not the lishtest bit of remorse. This scorpion was daring, but yet foolish. It drew weapons, expecting a fair fight.
Two hunters stood across, both a reputation of invisibility. One would leave with knowledge of the other.
As the field around them drowned in dunes, the warriors greeted, snarled. If they listened closely, they would hear Nothing between the two.
It came from the window, and flew around, but
The scorpion set foot on the arena like aether rode over the sky at night and made silence. Beasts, hounds, vile creatures that best both died. War was never beautiful. Flowers of blood drew no art. They shone brilliantly, love and lust and sex, but they weren't beautiful.Locks like swords, conflict that ate hearts and left a trail of victims vain in love.
The flowers on the field faded, turmoil of crashing waves threw them away. It didn't steal his heart, but forever the Scorpion left its skin there. As it dripped, it marked his leave. His solemn leave that begged to savor revenge.
nobody paid any attention to it
On that day, nothing died.
Distance spoke time. It told hours of travel, exile, how they took from the world and were taken from it in return. Loran Twight, in canaän. Oh, the western wind called their name to where the sun set.
You are broken, Scorpion. Don't ever return as you are to reclaim glory.
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.