11-07-2018, 08:25 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 600px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 550px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Bubonicplague was not a man that dwelled on things. At times, perhaps, he allowed himself to be overcome with nostalgia. To think back on when he had been happy, his life going somewhere rather than remaining stagnant as it always had. He had dwelled far to much as of late on the death of his husband. His life's one love, gone; and yet they weren't. Not really. He could feel their presence around him when the nights grew long and that hate clawed at his heart. They entwined with him, comforted him, brought him love. But he dwelled. He loved Lirim, and he always would, but the demon knew it was well past time for him to move on. He would be stagnant no more.
The Typhoon had always had a sort of pull, though the thing that interested him most was their captain. One by the name of Pincher; he had quite a reputation, and reputation was something that Bubonicplague liked. This place, this new world, the demon had yet to make a name for himself here. In time, a rumbling voice in the back of his head reminded. Yes, in time. In time he would reclaim all the things taken for him. For now, he need only wait. His chance would come. Was that not the reason he had come all this way?
Business, politics, dirty work. In his prime, the demon was a businessman, and he was damn good at his job. High rank, power, control. He was made for it. It all came easy to him. His upbringing as Bubonicplague, and the legends that followed from his life long, long before he had been given that name. He was raised with an iron fist, and eventually he had inherited it. Some were born into the role, some worked for it, and then there were those who were merely handed it. Not for their strength or wisdom or courage, merely because no one else was suit for the job. Rarely was the person given the position deserving, as well. Many times had he seen it happen, and returning to the Rosebloods, it seemed it had happened again. A Lord, or Pharaoh, whatever the fuck the name was, that was not only indecisive but also seemed to think himself the fairest of them all. He had a royally high horse and a stick up his ass, topped off with a god complex. Bubonicplague wouldn't have it.
Ebony paws set slowly down upon the damp sand of the Typhoon's beach. The beast stood in relative silence for some time, ears twitching, paws shifting occasionally. Listening to the muffled conversations about the island, feeling the vague vibrations in the earth as the pirates moved about. A busy little place, much larger than the Rosebloods. This will do just fine. Bubonicplague's jaws parted to exhale a cloud of smoke, billowing into the cool sea breeze. A moment passed as he thought of whether or not to call out or simply wait for someone to come along. The latter never took very long, and he much preferred it to barking out his name and business to empty space. With a low hum, the demon lifted a paw and gave the bell a rather too-hard hit, filling the air with the annoying noise. That would be more than enough to draw attention. He just hoped he didn't have to wait long to speak to their Pincher.
The Typhoon had always had a sort of pull, though the thing that interested him most was their captain. One by the name of Pincher; he had quite a reputation, and reputation was something that Bubonicplague liked. This place, this new world, the demon had yet to make a name for himself here. In time, a rumbling voice in the back of his head reminded. Yes, in time. In time he would reclaim all the things taken for him. For now, he need only wait. His chance would come. Was that not the reason he had come all this way?
Business, politics, dirty work. In his prime, the demon was a businessman, and he was damn good at his job. High rank, power, control. He was made for it. It all came easy to him. His upbringing as Bubonicplague, and the legends that followed from his life long, long before he had been given that name. He was raised with an iron fist, and eventually he had inherited it. Some were born into the role, some worked for it, and then there were those who were merely handed it. Not for their strength or wisdom or courage, merely because no one else was suit for the job. Rarely was the person given the position deserving, as well. Many times had he seen it happen, and returning to the Rosebloods, it seemed it had happened again. A Lord, or Pharaoh, whatever the fuck the name was, that was not only indecisive but also seemed to think himself the fairest of them all. He had a royally high horse and a stick up his ass, topped off with a god complex. Bubonicplague wouldn't have it.
Ebony paws set slowly down upon the damp sand of the Typhoon's beach. The beast stood in relative silence for some time, ears twitching, paws shifting occasionally. Listening to the muffled conversations about the island, feeling the vague vibrations in the earth as the pirates moved about. A busy little place, much larger than the Rosebloods. This will do just fine. Bubonicplague's jaws parted to exhale a cloud of smoke, billowing into the cool sea breeze. A moment passed as he thought of whether or not to call out or simply wait for someone to come along. The latter never took very long, and he much preferred it to barking out his name and business to empty space. With a low hum, the demon lifted a paw and gave the bell a rather too-hard hit, filling the air with the annoying noise. That would be more than enough to draw attention. He just hoped he didn't have to wait long to speak to their Pincher.
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I AM THE END OF ALL THINGS.
I HAVE SEEN THE FALL OF BABYLON.
I HAVE DRUNK THE BLOOD OF KINGS.
I HAVE SEEN THE FALL OF BABYLON.
I HAVE DRUNK THE BLOOD OF KINGS.