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CrowfeetAt first sight the bulky figure hobbling through the cloudy harvest evening would not appear as unhuman to any observer. Any citizen that saw the figure would just assume that it was some old, misshapen beggar in his dirty ropes. Only on a closer look someone could see the strange feet the person was walking on and maybe if he turned his head, become aware of something that looked like and unaturally long nose.
They called him Crowfeet, although he had an actual name, he still used Crowfeet because he learned that the people in this city weren't able to pronounce his name correctly anyway.
Crowfeet was a stranger to this city, he came from about half a world away, but his people abandoned him or he did abandon his people, depending on the point of view.
Crowfeet was a Tengu, the tengu were a people of humanoid ravens, living in the far east. Crowfeet's kin loved soaring the skies abouve the dragonspine mountains and practice the art of the sword. He himself however never was that much
A Job"I have a job for you."
Joffry opened his eyes. He had been sleeping on the ground in the "establishment" in the Rhinestreet. Now he looked up.
Lucretia was standing over him, she gazed down on him. She was expecting a reaction.
"Am I getting payed.", yawned the young man without much interest.
"I was expecting you to do this as part of our agreement." answered the women that was called "Lady" or "Mother" by the other women or girls of the house.
"Ah yeah our agreement.", he knew that she wanted him to do it as part of the agreement, but he nevertheless wanted to double-check and see if he can get any money out of it.
The "Agreement" was that he could get shelter in the house whenever he needed it and in return "scare" off any men that would threaten the integrity of the establishment.
Actually he did not need to do anything so far - most of the time dropping his name was enough.
"So what is it?", mumbled Joffry, still lying on the ground.
"I want you to punish someone." - now he looke
Written with BloodPlease do not ask me
'Bout Dark Poetry
Have no need for it
It doesn't touch me
These are little Words
Of Pain, Hate and Fear
But they have no Sense
If you haven't felt such
If you have not seen
And you have not felt
They are just three Words
Like You, Me and Thee
These are puny Words
For those who felt it
Burning Pain in you
Roaring Hate for you
And the Fear of you
Of what thing you are
The beast you might be
The Darkness you crave
These are just Words
If you have never
Heard the fearful shouts
And seen the shed Blood
Do not talk to me
About Fear and Loath
If you have not seen
MistHe stepped out into a cloudy october night.
It was allways cloudy, or misty or both in the little town at the edge of the swamp.
The people of the town carefully avoided the swamp, allthough nobody really knew why. It was just a creepy place that no one wanted to visit especially not during the night.
He was on the way home from the towns pup to his house on the other side of the town.
Lost in lought he walked the streets untill he saw infront of him a huge, black dog sitting on the street.
Strange...he had never seen such an animal around here before. As he came closer the dog set up and started growling at him. He wanted to sneak past the dog, but the animal was blocking the way. He wanted to step back and try another way around, but another dog was sitting in the adjecting alley. He turned around just to see that there was another dog coming from the opposing alley.
"What the fuck is going on here...?!"
He started to walk the way back and realized that they were following him, so he
A true StoryThis is a true story.
A story about my grandfather and about the second world war.
When my grandfather was at my age he was a communist and gave speeches in collogne.
Communists were bitter rivals of the Fascists and their favored country was russia, because it was the only country at that time that had a communist system.
Maybe that was the reason why he was send there in the war.
My grandfather was send to siberia. In case you don't know what that means a small anecdote: Soldiers that were honored for fighting in siberia recieved a medal, that was called "Frozen-Meat-Medal" among the people. The russian winter on his own was deadly enough.
As far as I know my grandfathers group was on the march when they met a naitive that tried to defend himself. The officer of the group decided that the man had to die and ordered my grandfather:"Shoot him."
My grandfather refused, I don't know if out of compassion or simple stubbornness, but I do know that the Officer and my grandfather strated to
Raven's FlightHe looked at the coat of arms - with a frowend forehead.
"Interesting, isn't it?", said a voice behind him and he turned around.
He saw a man, with grayish-blond hair, a blond, stubbly beard and a black eyepatch over his right eye. The man beared the same coat of arms.
"Greetings, Milord.", the sentence was pure rutine, he had said it a hundred times before and will say it another hundred times, before the end of his duty.
The man with the eyepatch nodded as a response. He stepped forward and looked at the coat of arms on the wall.
It showed a raven carrying an olive branche in it's beak. A raven as an emblem wasn't unusual, also a bird carrying an olive brach wasn't an unusual symbol, but he had never seen a raven carry an olive branch. Well...he had never actually seen a dove that carried an olive brach either, but the combination of raven and olive brach seemed like a twist in the myth.
"You ask yourself: Why a raven. Don't you?", aksed the lord.
"I would never dare to question a lo
Pride of the Dark Ones 2Look at this man, you might remember him as an old scholar. He had the pleasure to explain to a young boy, whos father had been slain in battle, why "Darkelves" didn't equal "Evilelves".
As most scholars do he left out some details to make his statement sound more believeble. In fact it was a number of detials, in onther words he just told the boy a half of the actual truth. The other half...
It was true that the soldiers, nobles and even the King of the dark elves were bound by a strict code of honor. But these aren't all of the dark elves and no we are not talking about the females here, the women of the dark elves are as much warriors as their male counterparts.
But in a world were a large part of influence is in the hands of people that study things that aren't visible to normal people, we have do ask ourselves how do "they" do it.
What are the mages of the dark elves.
First, they aren't called mages the are Warlocks, which indicates that they work with dark energies. Some of them
Great Fire of RomeCertain boys used to press their fingertips into my skin
as if they were cigarette butts and I was an ashtray.
They stamped out leftover guilt that wouldn’t burn away,
grounded it into my skin so that when it rained,
I could smell smoke and their brands of cologne.
There are burn marks on the insides of my palms
from all the times they held my hands with bonfires between theirs.
The scars on the inside of my mouth taste like copper and woodsmoke
from where they left their candles
as if I was a faulty altar.
They picked flowers from every garden my body
grew and left them at the feet of some makeshift effigy
as if they had given me a gift.
They burned me to the ground like Rome and dared to call my ashes beautiful ruins.
I have let people ruin me.
Then I found a boy who set my ribcage on fire
and illuminated my lungs with every breath.
His fingertips were fireflies
and my body was a warm summer night.
The lanterns on his lips lit up every corner of my being until my body c
Inner StrengthYou feel it again
That burning in your breast
When you want to speak up
You know who you are
And you know the rest
But instead you hold back
Clutching to your sacred words like a cross
Don’t let it get lost inside you
Don’t let yourself go unheard
Like all those defining moments
You let fall through your fingers
You could have said something
But you chose to caress
The thought of another hanging on a moment
Passive aggressively taking control
Of a truth or opinion that is yours alone
Close your eyes and count to ten
This is one of those moments
When your life will never be the same
You can start again
And relieve your pain
If you would just speak up
You have the power to change your path
You can find the courage
To not hold back
It all starts with you
What do you have to lose?
1901, SomewhereI am tired of opening my eyes and immediately wanting to empty myself out. I am less like a garden hose, a vessel of water pouring itself onto death, these days and more like a watering can. I have to be filled up first. I have to be tipped head first, hands over knees, before I can give up. I run out, often.
And I know what they will say. It is not beautiful, in any way. The priests at my old church call it praying but I feel more and more like the mantis these days. Preying. I keep trying to climb trees that are dead in the hopes I will be the one who finds the one live branch. I am trying to find the one inch of live wick in my own self too. I keep cutting and cutting but I never find the green.
It’s all black in here, you know. I am less the color of obsidian and more coal, more the color of gray darkness. I am ___. I cannot even manage to exist bleakly enough to be called night, to be called eyes closed forever, to be called keyboard keys when no one is touching them. I am t
1:40amthe empty-belly night sky rumbles
Lana aches in my ears
the curtains curl around lightning-flash
my fingers smell like smoke
and I try to sweep you out of my untidy head
but you linger in the corners still
like you always do.
life is the looming monster we never look straight in the face
afraid of its shadow.
I want to wrap my arms around you
I want you to be the future I am so afraid of
I wrapped my past around my fingers so tight
it cut off the circulation
i want to cut all the threads of my never-let-go
and let my truth stand as unaplogetically
as the scars I've let heal
I am learning how to never adjust my views for your approval
my skin is not an apology
this is not an invitation to walk over me
learning yourself is like learning a city
it is continually changing
growing out and shifting under
like our fingernails
or the sunset.
SomeoneShattered wide - a ragged tear,
One the soul cannot bear.
Crumbling mask - a gentle lie,
Hides a face that begs to cry.
Hoped not - a prayer unspoken,
Too many promises broken.
Nothing flies - a crow or dove,
Grounded by voids of love.
Sole survivor - a grain of sand,
Heir to a great drowned land.
Last breath - a man overdue,
Missing happiness he never knew.
Gnarled stump - a failed dream,
Only witness it would seem.
Wilting yet - a confession said,
And blades and rope dress in red.
Delightful Dreams“If you could do anything now, what would you do?”
After hearing these words I gave it a moment or two
And found that swimming in my mind was not the will to be kind,
Was not to end poverty or make a world so divine,
But instead to meet old friend, sister and brother
And let ourselves lose within the presence of another.
For none to control our talks
Or to mandate our attire.
For us to sneak out at night
And set a rebel flag on fire.
Perhaps just too freely talk
Or meet the friends I have yet to.
Oh yes! Simply to slowly walk
Amidst an urban ocean side view!
Perhaps Washington where I once shed tears!
I’ll walk the starlit streets with a date
Whose name I won’t remember in years!
Arm in arm,
Up and down stone steps and sidewalk paths,
Gazing over the shimmering waters,
Surrounded by brilliant architecture at last!
But though I desired to reveal these thoughts
In the presence of the asker, I knew I should not
For it is a sin to dream of such selfish t
Fearing the DarkCowering
in fear of an invisible beast
behind the counter
in the sweltering heat
at the chill down my spine
at the shifting shadows
out of the corner of my eye
to my own shallow breathing
from the monster inside
Remember Meremember the days when black skies didn't blot out the sun overhead,
a time where colors danced from the petals edge yearning for the light of day,
and ever in the effervescent dawn of morning sunshine burst hope,
the days when you stood for something just a little more then pity and self indulgence,
where the sweat of your brow was enough to drive away all sicknesses that ailed you,
where truth and justice weren't virtues but codes of conduct for life itself,
the bitter tides of fate binding nothing but a few paper books with rotting leather spines,
where being a hero started first with standing up for yourself rather then something bound by fairy tales and graphic novels,
you used to have imagination once and the places it took you where more fanciful then anything this reality ever could have offered,
and yet something about it always kept drawing you back in with a fighting fervor,
where being with someone meant less about sex and more about companionship,
and at the end of the day
Forgive MePlease forgive me
for singing this sad lullaby to you.
This wretched heart can't bear to part
knowing you'll be miles while my soul is missing.
Gathered along the parade
are where the hollow souls come
to say goodbye
and maybe some day you'll understand.
Can't bear the tears that stain my pillow
long hours of waiting for sweet words
that turned into violent lashes
with blood dripping to the floor.
My silence was my longest words
and my pain was my loudest scream.
Dreaming of you was my best reality
that messed with my mentality.
So, here I'll be for you
sacrificing while singing this song
and I wish I coulda told you, I wish
you knew how lonely I was.
The parties over and I wonder what you'll think
knowing this isn't like me.
Six feet under I'll still want your hand to say "I'm sorry"
while my heart drowns at sea.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More