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The JesterThe Jester
The curtain draws, the stage is set,
For the travelling dancer, jester, he's yet,
Prances forth, with confidence full,
And begins his act, all else annulled.
Colours twisting in the air,
You cast a glance, but he's not there.
His limits of skill, the jester meets,
In spirals, back flips, turns and leaps.
He holds the crowd with a paralysing spell,
The children, too, their interest tells,
All are stunned at his daring tricks,
Not seen before, an exotic mix.
His hat adorned with many bells,
Of happy times the sweet sound tells,
A break from hunger, and tiring work,
To see this actor, from task they shirk.
'He has a gift!' is said by one
The cry taken up, none to shun,
The talented performer on his stage,
Gold coins thrown, they are his wage.
The dancer slows, and takes his bow,
A tale to be told, of the jester, long from now.
Love and War - Part OneLove and War Part One
Settling herself in the enormous cockpit chair, Flight Captain Mayar Toren looked out of the aircrafts cockpit at the chaos that raged ahead of her, the blackness of space lit by explosions and cannon shots. Battle Destroyer Callidar was entering the battle. The hangar was alive with marines running, fighters being launched and the ships enormous main guns pounding the enemy. An enemy fleet had sprung out of the depths of space, disrupting the Serran Coalitions blockading fleet, taking the momentum out of a massive ground attack in progress and hinging the future of the siege of Sorrova on this single battle.
Engines running at full, flight path ready. called to her co-pilot, flicking switches and taking a last look at her mission readout. She switched channels. Longbow flight ready, sir. Catapult on your mark.
Copy that. Launch sequencing beginning in 5. the deck officers voice crackled in her ea
Just Another MissionJust Another Mission
A practice short story for the upcoming book Keystone, by Dan Rankin
It started like most missions. Then again, they also do. A nerve-wracking, stomach-wrenching ride through the turbulent Sorrova atmosphere in a Peregrine transport that was not designed for comfort the padding in the seats was only there to stop the occupants organs leaking out through his skin in Gs of 20+. Flipping, twirling and skidding sideways to avoid to searching beams of Rourke Alliance radars on the ground. A landing, only called a landing and not a crash because the brakes were on slightly, and a slightly paranoid feeling as your only air support streaks back into the upper reaches of the atmosphere, far too far away to help.
Marine Lieutenant Korros Bailey Wells was secreted behind a large, slightly alien-looking bush, searching the surrounding area through his ultraviolet vision binoculars for any enemy ambush. Rourke troops had long
Pull My StringsPull My Strings
Pull your strings as you pull mine,
Moving lips, our hearts entwine,
Breathing faster, lungs are deep,
Faster still, for love wont keep.
I slide my hands up and down
Whats long and hard, pleasure abounds,
Youve never felt a DDario touch,
Golden brown but not too much.
Time of your life! you spoke in gasps,
My steady, practiced fingers are fast,
Pleasure gleams behind blue eyes,
Didnt think Id sleep in that bed of lies.
With speed and skill I caress your head,
To tune our love, longing said,
Through careful sets of words and phrases,
Now all regret has gone in traces.
How far weve come since the day,
When I first took you away,
From lines of summer at eureka,
Heaven forbid that Id be weaker.
Wrapped around your curvy waist,
A common shape for a similar taste,
An elegant neck with jewels of pearl,
A beautiful design you twirl.
Im wrapped around the warmest body,
Dead wrong when I thought so slowly,
A cable car o
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More