January 08, 2013 02:29AM
Role play Live : Castle of Primus Originus

A man of Colour

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Players:
CharlotteCarrendar
VladePrimusOriginus

Role play Poetry

CharlotteCarrendar:- Within the darkened nursery, of the Bryne Household, the maid is blowing out each candle; whilst the toys eyes appeared to follow the maid about the room, till only the candle which she carries, offers any of its light. “Sleep tight, Miss.”- The maid says with a bob, then exits the room, her skirts just touching the floor, and the sound you hear is the rusty hinges in the door frame. But under a lump, that lay on the bed, two eyes open; staring out at the door. Covers thrown back, and the child sits up without a groan or moan. Snatching up her top hat, and affixing her monocle to her right eye, she twirls the half shaved moustache, and winks at her bear. “Thomas, it’s time to go, this night has but begun. I am too tense to sleep, and I wish to have fun.”- Slipping out from beneath the covers, and already dressed, in a pretty lace gown that rests just above her knees. A bow tie, and boots done up with leather straps. The child looked bizarre, there was not denying that. Her name, Miss Winnie…Miss Winnie Bryne, and there is much about this child we are to learn. Upon the walls, that are illuminated by the moon’s rays, are the images of her father, the Great Lord Bryne. Dressed in finery of office, and a man of good means. A man of mystery, for if you look at his coat, there is something sticking out of the pocket. It is not a chain, or a fob watch locket. Eyes that burn, like coals that are hot; he is not human, to believe so is rot. Miss Winnie, has the same smouldering eyes. Dangerous and deadly, but she is not one child you can despise. Skipping over to the looking glass, she adjusts her bow tie, and gives her hat a tip, and the clicks together her boots, and utters a strange chant, that has the glass wobble and bend, bow and then….it looks like water, that never leaves the frame, and the young Miss Bryne, lives up to her name. Stepping into the glass, her body shall pass, and into a new realm. For though there be nothing on the other side, the young girl loved adventure, and would not run and hide. But what is this place, that she has discovered. It’s not a chamber, and it’s not a cupboard. Shadow’s lengthen, and yet there is no sound. No welcome mat….not even a black cat. Miss Winnie is quite alone. “Oops…I took a wrong turn. I guess I will have to go back. Pooh.” Miss Winnie stated, as she scratched her right cheek. “This is the third fail I have done this week.” <3>

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VladePrimusOriginus: One might be thinking as they are silently sleeping about the dark monsters that inhabit the mind, One such has reasons to Exorcise these daemons to utterly seize them and cease their holds. One such being profound with seeing as if encased in a corpse of impenetrable gore. Alas his form hold Pain, Marks of Love, marks of Strain, An image enticed by the hands which suffice a source of desire seemingly begot. His eyes they have power, there sources they tower over the seemingly nothingness the Realm would thus flower. Out of nowhere and from nothing something would come, what it was or will be is unknown to all but one. His body was tall his Muscles did fall Rippling in contrast to the scars that are formed. A twist on his face, Was carves just in place as if intricately tattooed to his flesh with a whip. Designs they form A story fore lorded More or less treats all who see with scorn. A word for his power; the darkness would flower from the source of his being, all would be seeing the pains and the horrors trapped within. Calling for sin, the immortal soul burns within, His eyes are like fire, His height not higher. For he stands tall, at seven feet he’d fall. Blood drenched his clothing fire charred his skin, only small evidence of the daemons within. Chaos swarms him, death more than forms him. Yet despite the fact, his bodies intact all nine hidden in the word. Trapped in the blade done by the Sade’s now six have been destroyed. An aura of pain all this the same but desire admissive upon him. His scent of the gods, a heavenly façade. Conjured up by the powers he sought. As if touched by desire his likely on fire a beauty in form of perfection. Flawless he appears Deathly it adheres all of the people viewing to see. Within his flesh was the sword of Seth, of his blood and flesh does it feast. Three times seal, once repealed now sacrificed his body me. Yet this none would see being that his aura was possessive as can be. Clad in a Cape, A shirt and a hat, A pirate he seems so matter of fact, A blooded bandage covers his eyes not allowing those tears of blood to dry more so he seek respite. From all the Vampires He damns to fight. Their Filth they dirty the Name of his Race so without further ado Death they shall face. A vision of death undisturbed by concepts. A castle they form, the essence they warn from the pits of the realm Darkness would swarm. Uncouth by light, and beings that blight across the lands unquarried their sight. Shades they be more so its sees that Forces of nature and physics have ceased, The realm has acquired a taste of the fire, and from its idle spark a inferno now spoke. Then came the Smell it settles unwell, the putrid stench ere the warmth it complements a sin upon the lands before it. Bad enough to make them scorn it. A command he mutter, The land it shutters as the form of a portal begins to thus show. A tendril of darkness, death and strife shoots through the portal into the night, a chilling sight, its smell so fierce merely begotten to the soul’s it will reap, Poor young Thomas his life ever short, mainly destroyed by this daemon of course, Within his own head the thoughts that he’s dead permeate and begin to control him. Trapped in a dream Death it would seem a nightmarish hell is all this would mean. A loud chuckle shudders at the voice that would utter though the expanse of voidness before them. “Greetings,” He’d mutter, “Are you lost?” He shuddered. “It seems to be that your here for these meetings.” He chuckles once more and proceeds to ignore the foul smelling air before him. “I am a Friend of death and the end, a victim of Fate lies before you.” He chuckles again and out he would send a smile that idly tore him. “I am known by many names, and many names I knew, but throughout most of the lands this name I shall use. Through the past I was the man who inspired acts of pain, One of my disciples should you know his name was none other than the Marque De Sade, Which is why I decide that my Name should be signed as none other than the Primus Vlade.” He bows slowly with a tip as to not slip from his head the spot his Tricorn sits.

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CharlotteCarrendar: – Impressed is she and she says “Oui Oui!’- Tis so nice to meet, one so discreet, and with the flourish of his bow, the young Miss, does reach for the edge of her lace, and then her fingers she moves to place,and catch the hem. Right foot tipped up, and in her hands, though cupped, she holds a simple gem. “Salutations to you, Primus Vlade, I am indebted that you have shared your name. For lands I travel, and realms so fair, there are none as inviting, nor can I compare.” Again with a bob, her right knee bent, and up travels her left hand, to then catch the edge of her felt hat. Another wee tip, and then right foot down as she moves to skip and approach the statuesque gent. Though the scent about did reek of death, this did not phase our wee minx. Dimples deep, set into her face. One hears the ruffle of her skirts of lace. “May I be bold, to offer the name given to me, by my father, the Lord Bryne?” The child’s monocle slips, and caught on a black ribbon, it swings loosely before waist. A pause, a moment held in time, and Miss Winnie tips her head back and forth, to carry on this rhyme. “Miss Winnie..Miss Winnie Bryne. I travelled to this realm, for there is much in the worlds to learn. Knowledge is power, wouldn’t you agree? If not, perhaps you can enlighten me.” – And so she stood, in the middle of the floor, and didn’t say another word, for he now knew the score. A travelling child, with a funny hat, a quirky way; perhaps he should tell her to scat. <3>

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VladePrimusOriginus: “Winne? That name inspires lust, or is it your form with such perky bust?” He smiles and chuckles and lets off a grin as more then less his intentions would spin. “I man I was, of many skill, one is death, the other still…” He ceases his wordings their meaning the same before he takes off his Tricon and begins it again. “Still it was and will it has been for when the times I have not sinned. A daemon some call me, a God I am to some, Ancient are my roots and I embody more then one.” He pauses and smiles and restarts his admire. Staring his eyes taking her form for desire. Much was the same as in terms to his brain except that with sane, He was a pervert and life had not desert the very Beings he made or broke. Loved and broke. A smile of thousands encompasses his look as if their souls he obviously took, Pain marks his voice and with it much suffer as if it were he that causes this buffer. He pulls out a flask, a hand with two glasses and beckons the Wench to come before him. He opens the lid and pours what was in into the glasses his held before him. Dark and red, as if amber instead was the colour of the drink before them, its smell was divine and real hard to find for it was an ancient Brew of Rum, From which one was lucky should they acquire some. He laughs with glee as it would be his form had held no Manners. “Please, if it bee so should you see you are welcome into my Home, Lest the Shade start to know then seeing your form they would then Swarm and most painfully end you.”

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CharlotteCarrendar: – With widened eyes, it was hard to disguise, that she was shocked by his bold declaration. Casting down her gaze, at her own chest, Winnie was slightly confused. “But my breasts are small, and while you are tall, I fail to see how they are perky. My name means Lust? Well that’s a bust, which again is another word for tits. I am surprised to see that you are enjoying my company, but a word I must express. My bosom is mine, and they are fine, and dare not think I will let you suckle, or my Father will tan me with his belt buckle.” Watching intrigued, as the man now withdrew a flask, and expressed with a voice that masked the truth behind the smile. With a finger he went, to bring forth the girl, the wench, to share with the host his drink. The colour he poured was crimson and reminded Winnie, of the blood that flowed from the neck of a gutted boar. There was no mistaking, the trouble that he was taking, to entice her to drink. A smell, so divine. Much sweeter than wine, but was it not what it seemed? And yet, the girl acted without a care, she gave the Primus a beautiful smile. “As you are my host, and wish to share a toast, who am I to knock it back. Should the shades come my way, and with to swarm me this day, then at least my heart and stomach be full. For the golden rule, when visiting, is to be gracious to the host. And you have treated me better than most.” <3>

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VladePrimusOriginus: “A toast to death, and things of such, a toast to life as we know it, a toast to all the dark and light a toast to boldly show it. To health and family, to youth and tragedy. And all the things betwixt Our knees, To Breasts and Bottles and boozes the same I lift my toast to the sky.” And with a chuckle he raises his glass and empties the contents into his mouth. “ A humble decree if I may be so bold to perceive, You be a lass of Age near to be at age of twenty? Or ere I draw lament at labelling you at wrong Agement?” He digresses from the Dull had passed over the land of nothing in which his Aura solely bore. “Come in” He would call just as the drawbridge began to fall and inwards his feet would carry not even missing a beat, As if drawn from power at every corner was a flower an etching of Beauty upon the macabre of this world. An essence swarms the castle its being ever fine just as the crystalline images would realign, A form most the same, With words of Blood gore trapped in frames. A very frightening sight, like a killers Home, Full of vast instruments to cut and to burn. Torture seems to be his Niche, Sexual maybe but not his clique A vision his life had surely missed? “Rest your head if you need a bed there are six above the floor to your head, Or a coffin you need a funeral you seem in the crypt that will stick all my corpses you see. What may I do to entice and to use, Your presence in a way to entertain? Perhaps a tour of the intangible gore and depth upon my home?”

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CharlotteCarrendar:- A toast, a drink, to hold a glass on high and speak do wells, and clever spells for those that have passed us by. So with her fingers curling around the stem, Winnie raised her glass, the crystal caught by light, and with a nod of her head, no words be said, and she tipped it back to her lips. So to drown her sorrows, you would think to say, but the girl from the glass, knew that the hours did pass, and soon she would need to be on her way. The glass placed down, with a slight frown, for the taste was not as sweet. And to his prose, she listened, though wondering his intent. “My age is nineteen, one year off twenty; does that bother you, My Lord? For I know that to woo a child, is against the laws.” The drawbridge lowers and the host does bid welcome to one not yet seen, and the young girl does spin, losing her grin, for evil this way comes. Flickering eyes dart about, senses heightened. Was this the swarm, the warning he bid her holding true? A form would appear, most troubling, my dears. Hearts set to fade to the black. A step taken back, the young women had seen enough. “Prime Vlade, I accept the invitation to sleep. Up in the bed, in the floor above. From there you shall not hear a peep, or angels will weep, and my heart does beat no more.” <3>

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VladePrimusOriginus: “Then go upstairs an take a bed, let sleeps warmth arms entice you, Take from the dreams all thee have seen and place them out from you mind. A haven I provide should you decide to pay respects to it” He lifts his chin and one last grin before he begins to show her. “Oh your age matters not for you see in this spot, the confines of Space time meet, though it is you seem not but nineteen in this realm you are also one. As well as a hundred and in some cases ten. I be not a pedo, but more or less insane for the creation of torture keeps me the same, an artist I fancy myself to be, and the body my medium for my Pain to impede upon causing various statures of unpleasant marks. The mind as well I dabbled in. Hell One heck of a monster I am.” He begins walking the stair from the floor to the air in hope that the young one would follow; through the lands he reprimands all the past and present quarrels.