Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Oct 28, 2013 13:24:18 GMT -8
Deep in the shadowlands of Kashyyyk, lies the ruins of the academy founded by Feral Ragnos. The walls have crumbled, stones strewn about the site, but the scavengers have been diligent as there is nothing left to steal. The room that once held the thrones of the Sith'ari and his Jen'ari is wide and open but the seats of power were stolen as relics long ago. There are moss and lichens on the boulders and steps working to eradicate the rest.
"La... De... Da..."
What appears to be a teenager takes a sit high above what looks like a good place to get into the kind of fight that gets called a duel of fate. Usually, Diva would hop and skip into the path of the fighters in order to feel their warm blades pressing into her flesh to enjoy gouges as the slashes make love to her manifested organs. But here in the arena there were rules to things, and if she didn't go along with it there would be punishments unparalleled: bunnies running amok, or people enjoying their lives -the thought of it was frightful. Thus, the self styled Queen of Ice would watch happily from the sidelines.
Just in case these two flesh bags got her all warm and slippery under her collar, she had set aside a bottle of wine squeezed from a number of kittens. Did it have to be kittens? Of course not. But variation was literally the spice of unlife.
"La... De... Da..."
What appears to be a teenager takes a sit high above what looks like a good place to get into the kind of fight that gets called a duel of fate. Usually, Diva would hop and skip into the path of the fighters in order to feel their warm blades pressing into her flesh to enjoy gouges as the slashes make love to her manifested organs. But here in the arena there were rules to things, and if she didn't go along with it there would be punishments unparalleled: bunnies running amok, or people enjoying their lives -the thought of it was frightful. Thus, the self styled Queen of Ice would watch happily from the sidelines.
Just in case these two flesh bags got her all warm and slippery under her collar, she had set aside a bottle of wine squeezed from a number of kittens. Did it have to be kittens? Of course not. But variation was literally the spice of unlife.