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by Darksabre on Tue Oct 02, 2007 2:06 pm
Death, be not proud...
Some would call her mighty, but she was not. She was simply clever. She knew the ins and outs, the good and bad the yin and yang of everything. Living for ages seems to do that. Like a sword, she never forgot her master, the one who created her, the one who defeated death when she could not. At the moment when she was to succumb to deathās dark and never-ending embrace, he saved her. Made her immortal so that death would never again grab hold of her. Forever would she be his. And forever she would remain his alone.
Though some have called thee mighty and dreadfulā¦
Her powers were unimaginably muted. She had somehow discovered a way to hide what she truly was and continue her masquerade as a Dhyphire among a world of Morries. She was intelligent, to say the least and could wear any number of invisible masks in order to slide ever-so-gracefully under the radar. Sure, she could claim her right to royalty and prestige and honor, but there was no game in that. She may have the body of a twenty-year-old woman, and the experience of the ages, yet she never got over games. Board games, most of the time.
She had a special affinity for chess and constantly ranked people in her mind, finding them to either be a lowly pawn, or the lofty king. Herself, she considered to be a knight, erratic in movements and the purveyor of veiled deeds. If one was not wary when walking about a knight, one could easily find oneself trapped, or worse. Death may not ever come for her, but Death was a constant visitor to those who rose up in defiance against her. Especially those who thought themselves higher than she could bring herself to think of them. No pawn would ever be recognized as a rook, and no bishop would ever be elevated to King. It would never happen.
ā¦Thou art not so.
For now, she would be content to stay still and do nothing more than play her games. But woe be to those who rile her immortal anger. For, unlike a sword, her temper, her anger, her rage was not dulled with time. Rather, the dual-edged sword of her rampant emotions was honed to a wicked point. Violence was not a preferred mode of strategy in her game, however she never grew out of her violent urges and wants. As a creature of blood and anger and violence and shadows, her gameās plan will never include pacifism. Without a need or a reason, no blood shall be spilled. But words can be twisted and situations bent until she finds a reason worth shedding blood for.
As strong as steel and as quick as lightning, the creature called Dark walks amongst the undead, a living memento to memories long past.
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A drifter is what she was called. Just because she hated staying in one place. Just because she found the world to suddenly be too small for her tastes. Just because there was suddenly less in her world, Dark was labeled a drifter.
In all actuality, she floated from place to place, her feet never seeming to touch down upon the earth long enough to leave a mark. If she were to be truthful, and others were to be watchful, they would find that the only place she ever touched down were oceanic-type areas. The water she loved with a burning passion was what calmed her when she found that all the change around her was simply too much. However, her passion and her love kept themselves separated on the basest of levels. Fire cannot embrace water without going out, and Dark couldnāt step foot onto the water without loosing all coherent thought and rationality.
Forever separated, Dark took to reflection pools and small rivers and ocean to satiate her need to be close to the waterās edge. Even now, walled up in a city so she could continue her newest game, she had a locket full of ocean water swinging from around her neck. As she walked down the rather busy street, the water-laden locket swung back and forth, back and forth. Her face was set in a pleasant grin as she moved along, her eyes flicking from one thing to another in rapid succession. She didnāt have an attention problem, but she was constantly consumed with a desire to know everything around her. There was no way she was going to end up getting snuck up upon. āCause ambushes sucked.
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(((OOC: Words in Bold are from John Donne's "Death Be Not Proud" )))
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