Author   |
Title |
Description |
Date |
Rank |
| Elobo |
Quicksilver Highwayman |
It takes real grit to crawl to the top of the Scarabian underworld. To control the black market and to scream across the sands in search of quarry ripe for plunder. He's a master criminal. Lightning fast and untouchable. Yet fastidious, exacting, and meticulous. Of course, such desperadoes demand a high ransom. Not monetary, but in the position that comes in offing number one. Being on top means always keeping watch over your shoulder.
|
8/2/12 |
0.00 |
| Elobo |
Scion of Filth |
How carelessly refuse is discarded and forgotten in the dark crevasses of the urban wilderness. The tainted overspill of human laziness given shape, given life, given new purpose. Reveling in the filth of the world, gathering it up and making it its own. Serenading the Earth with garbage. And we revile it, a superficial damnation of a creature we see as garbage. Or perhaps it is reviled because it is a reflection of our own waste. But it has adapted, it is alive, and it will inherit the trash of humanity.
|
8/2/12 |
0.00 |
| Elobo |
Duck Hunt |
Simple crossover quickie.
|
1/13/12 |
0.00 |
| Elobo |
Let... ME OUT. |
[ebff2011] Despoiled sac of bloat, frothing behemoth writhing in the decay below. Sealed in, captive of the pulsating energy of earth. Contagious wretch, held in invisible magnetic bonds. It soaked them. I grew to hate them and depend on them. And then they were released. Stolen. Its power and its prison. Its inhibitor. Its spawn grew larger and more violent. And its anger swelled in propensity. Too large now to fit through the holes to the pristine world above, it hews its cage away without effort. Great chunks of stone and metal tossed aside, difficulty a foreign notion. All of the filth spilled into the underworld is about to bubble up and rot away the surface. Imbibed in the pestilence of the Rat's wake.
|
1/17/11 |
0.00 |
| Elobo |
Clipping the Wings of Courage |
[ebff2011] A mind encroaching upon itself. Such useless bravado, such wasteful swagger. This facade, is this how you see yourself? Your meager veneer is crippled, your psyche squeezes in upon itself. You had courage, it's been shattered. Now you see clearly. You see just how great of an adversary you are yourself. The illusion rent asunder, innocence ground to a pulp. All that is left is desperation. For the world, for your friends, for yourself.
|
1/17/11 |
0.00 |
