Thread Closed
(Not too familiar with the lore of this game, just going off some hints thrown abouts. If mistake is noted, dont hesitate to call it forth)
Lust.
The manor stank of rats and garlic.
A large, black curl has made sweaty respite and looped in a hook at her collarbone. She stood listening to the critters, as they gouged through the walls of chiasmic tunnels, biting and scratching in their junket of supper, where the fattest of clan got the largest portion.
Her visitor reminded her of such fauna. His posture irked her nerves her as he walked hunched over, examining the artifacts of dried twigs and garlic facets. His scrivener trotted behind him, with upturned nostrils resembling a fly around a dung heap. Her timely swat, and the guard would end his route without him. But, patience. An hour had passed before he paused in his inquiry of a dried apple cork and barked at his man to leave.
Her face took on a starved, hunted look. Incidentally the avid aroma coming from the table had its desired effect. She rose from stance, sauntered over and picked up a breast of roast quail, dipped it in muddy sauce and nibbled at it daintily. Liquid sluiced down the length of her vein, staining the frilly cuff of her nightgown. Ample lips drizzled hungrily after it, pointy tongue licking up the remains.
The guard rose as by command, upsetting a filthy cat bowl and inserting a chair between them. He harked back a gurgle and spat on his boot. The beringed forefinger of his beefy, square-palmed left hand drew circles on his thigh.
“I don’t think you understand this kitten. We need to heed caution, the dogs are taking notice. You cannot go maundering around with two of the missing men before they are found slaughtered cold. The guards will want a full search, the head demands a cursory inspection of your buildings. If they find anything..†he paused, grabbing hold of her gown and crumbling it in his closed fist “I would be ordered to foresee the execution.â€Â
She did not dispute the truth, instead curving fingers had found his neck-fold as she titillated beneath his jaw bone ignoring her own furtive recoil. To punctuate her intentions, she wound his hands to her neck, where ravenous, they made to grab for stretched flesh and bumps of bone, and down...and down.
Tepid sweat marked the soiled trail to his bosom where filthy mesh discolored his torn leather tunic. A louse now made its was through his greasy cluster of hair, his nervures visible to her naked eye. She had seen it before: ordinary men who might at times have caught the act of kindness turn into wild dogs sniffing a scent of a prey.
Now his blood was ink to her calligraphy. Driven by want and climax, they subterfuge their safety, as their lover made pretty out of their corpses.
With besotted mind, rucksack was filled with garlic oils and needed remedies and thrown haphazardly over the saddle. The stirrups flinched as she put haste into them. Loose dark-green hood was draped over the heart-shaped face and riant smile as she left her arcanum on the wind, to the howling wind, and behind the back gate.
It would be hours till dawn, till the roosters crooned and alarms would sound. The dark-haired rider would by then, have reached the outskirts of Lominsa in needs of new surname and standing. Darkness growled with hypothesis of new tomorrows, of colorless lids and lying lips. Transparency, would be a welcome home. Overt lies. The pub, the pub was a place to be lost in the crowd and gain her knowing. She made the screeching turn.
Lust.
The manor stank of rats and garlic.
A large, black curl has made sweaty respite and looped in a hook at her collarbone. She stood listening to the critters, as they gouged through the walls of chiasmic tunnels, biting and scratching in their junket of supper, where the fattest of clan got the largest portion.
Her visitor reminded her of such fauna. His posture irked her nerves her as he walked hunched over, examining the artifacts of dried twigs and garlic facets. His scrivener trotted behind him, with upturned nostrils resembling a fly around a dung heap. Her timely swat, and the guard would end his route without him. But, patience. An hour had passed before he paused in his inquiry of a dried apple cork and barked at his man to leave.
Her face took on a starved, hunted look. Incidentally the avid aroma coming from the table had its desired effect. She rose from stance, sauntered over and picked up a breast of roast quail, dipped it in muddy sauce and nibbled at it daintily. Liquid sluiced down the length of her vein, staining the frilly cuff of her nightgown. Ample lips drizzled hungrily after it, pointy tongue licking up the remains.
The guard rose as by command, upsetting a filthy cat bowl and inserting a chair between them. He harked back a gurgle and spat on his boot. The beringed forefinger of his beefy, square-palmed left hand drew circles on his thigh.
“I don’t think you understand this kitten. We need to heed caution, the dogs are taking notice. You cannot go maundering around with two of the missing men before they are found slaughtered cold. The guards will want a full search, the head demands a cursory inspection of your buildings. If they find anything..†he paused, grabbing hold of her gown and crumbling it in his closed fist “I would be ordered to foresee the execution.â€Â
She did not dispute the truth, instead curving fingers had found his neck-fold as she titillated beneath his jaw bone ignoring her own furtive recoil. To punctuate her intentions, she wound his hands to her neck, where ravenous, they made to grab for stretched flesh and bumps of bone, and down...and down.
Tepid sweat marked the soiled trail to his bosom where filthy mesh discolored his torn leather tunic. A louse now made its was through his greasy cluster of hair, his nervures visible to her naked eye. She had seen it before: ordinary men who might at times have caught the act of kindness turn into wild dogs sniffing a scent of a prey.
Now his blood was ink to her calligraphy. Driven by want and climax, they subterfuge their safety, as their lover made pretty out of their corpses.
With besotted mind, rucksack was filled with garlic oils and needed remedies and thrown haphazardly over the saddle. The stirrups flinched as she put haste into them. Loose dark-green hood was draped over the heart-shaped face and riant smile as she left her arcanum on the wind, to the howling wind, and behind the back gate.
It would be hours till dawn, till the roosters crooned and alarms would sound. The dark-haired rider would by then, have reached the outskirts of Lominsa in needs of new surname and standing. Darkness growled with hypothesis of new tomorrows, of colorless lids and lying lips. Transparency, would be a welcome home. Overt lies. The pub, the pub was a place to be lost in the crowd and gain her knowing. She made the screeching turn.
![[Image: varrr.jpg]](http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc17/donald55/varrr.jpg)