Post by Markus on May 18, 2007 18:06:11 GMT -5
Life. Forever changing, twisting and bending, turning and curving. There is no way to know which way it will go next, even with all your planning. Your choices have already been made, your job is to understand why, now. Your life, out of your control. Fate is real. Fate is cruel. Travel with the Lera for a short period of time and you will come to understand that you have no choices. You must eat. The decision has already been made, why? Because without food, you would die. And so you eat. Now, leave the Lera to their thoughtless consuming and defecating all over. Leave them and soar above the clouds with the Flying Putnar. The flying hunters. For we, as Varg, are Putnar of the oldest kind. The Flying Putnar glories in all below it. The world is simply there, they watch as the hunt begins. They watch as the hunt ends. They say they know and see all. Perhaps they are as all-seeing as our Gods? I suppose that depends on whose Gods you're talking about.
My name is Markus. I choose to believe in Tor and Fenris. Tor, the female God of the Varg and represented in the moon, forever waxing and waning, forever changing. And Fenris, the male God of the Varg represented by a relentless sun. The oldest lore of the Varg, of my pack and the pack before mine, of my lands, speaks of Sita, Wolfbane, the Sight, fortune tellers. It speaks of the Red Girl and Fren, of Harja and Larka, Morgra and her insane curses and wishes to bring the dreaded Man Varg into being. But those are stories from another place, and for another time. Should you wish to hear them, I would gladly tell the stories. Stories, in my lands, are treasured. They represent knowledge and lessons unto themselves. To know many stories, is to be armed for your perilous lives.
But now I come, Anubis. I come and I ask Tratto's Blessing to enter your lands. But I come, not with a hospitality wish. I come and ask you to clamly give me your lands. I wish for no fights, I wish for no hard feelings. I simply want the land you have claimed as your own. Without fear, but with great care, I step across your boundary and travel deeper into the land. Glacitus. Ice. A soft growl escapes me, excitement coursing through me. Half of me hopes you answer, and don't give up without a fight. Should you not answer, are you rude or cowardly?
I have placed myself in your land, in the center of your operations. I seat myself, my cold eyes scanning what will soon be mine. A gleam in my eye, I stand and throw my head to the sky. The notes ring true and free from within me, bouncing off the trees and snow covered ground. "I challenge thee, Anubis. Give me your land, or I will take it from you. I am Markus, Glacitus will be mine." Your move, Anubis. And a bold one it should be. Hopefully. "Tuck tail and run, fool." I whisper to the wind, a smirk alighting itself on my features. My head held high, I trot around what will be mine, and begin to mark off my border. The border of my land, Glacitus.
ooc;; shorter than i wanted. whateva.
My name is Markus. I choose to believe in Tor and Fenris. Tor, the female God of the Varg and represented in the moon, forever waxing and waning, forever changing. And Fenris, the male God of the Varg represented by a relentless sun. The oldest lore of the Varg, of my pack and the pack before mine, of my lands, speaks of Sita, Wolfbane, the Sight, fortune tellers. It speaks of the Red Girl and Fren, of Harja and Larka, Morgra and her insane curses and wishes to bring the dreaded Man Varg into being. But those are stories from another place, and for another time. Should you wish to hear them, I would gladly tell the stories. Stories, in my lands, are treasured. They represent knowledge and lessons unto themselves. To know many stories, is to be armed for your perilous lives.
But now I come, Anubis. I come and I ask Tratto's Blessing to enter your lands. But I come, not with a hospitality wish. I come and ask you to clamly give me your lands. I wish for no fights, I wish for no hard feelings. I simply want the land you have claimed as your own. Without fear, but with great care, I step across your boundary and travel deeper into the land. Glacitus. Ice. A soft growl escapes me, excitement coursing through me. Half of me hopes you answer, and don't give up without a fight. Should you not answer, are you rude or cowardly?
I have placed myself in your land, in the center of your operations. I seat myself, my cold eyes scanning what will soon be mine. A gleam in my eye, I stand and throw my head to the sky. The notes ring true and free from within me, bouncing off the trees and snow covered ground. "I challenge thee, Anubis. Give me your land, or I will take it from you. I am Markus, Glacitus will be mine." Your move, Anubis. And a bold one it should be. Hopefully. "Tuck tail and run, fool." I whisper to the wind, a smirk alighting itself on my features. My head held high, I trot around what will be mine, and begin to mark off my border. The border of my land, Glacitus.
ooc;; shorter than i wanted. whateva.
