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Member
SupremeKingofAwesome
Other/United States
Birthday
September 15
Last Visit: 2 hours ago
Art Zone
Personal Zone
Misc. Zone
This is the place where you can personalize your profile!
But, how?
By moving, adding and personalizing widgets.
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"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.
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Lightening streaked the sky as thunder followed. Clouds of grey and white meshed on the horizon as rain began to pour heavily towards the earth. As droplets hit your head your mindset was stuck in bullet time. You heard nothing but could see everything in slow motion, thousands of soldiers plunged towards the Basteel; the strong hold of Team Gratitude. You were meant to protect it but fear kept you paralyzed. All you could do was stare. You want to move but mostly you wanted to run. A ladder had propped it’s self a few feet from the edge you stood near. An enemy vaulted up and over towards you, his sword raised high in the air and meant to deliver a fatal crushing blow. Apart of you wanted it to be over; the journey to make it hear had been so long. It was so tiring and time consuming that you couldn’t recall the last time you knew what day or time it was; ‘Thanks for the fave’ was all it took to get you hear, a seemingly harmless gratitude for favoring a piece at Mobis-New-Nest but at this point you wished you could have undone all of it. You close your eyes and wait for the blade to pierce flesh and bone but it was not meant to be as your whole body pushed aside abruptly and in that instant you opened your eyes as you began falling sideways; you caught a glimpse of pistol that blasted twice with two bullets piercing the man with the sword through the abdomen and he fell back to his death. As you looked to see who you rescuer was a medium built man wearing a beautifully decorated vest with ivory colored long sleeve shirt, tight dark pants, silver like sandals and a large pistol he held out towards the vicinity of the man he just killed. He rose, putting out his hand to you “I never thought it would end this way Baltheir” you say as you look up to him and begin to whimper “End? This is not the end. Death is just another path, one that we all must take but until then the curtain rises and we each take our role and must play our roles well for the audience” said Baltheir. You half smile, wipe away the tears and take his hand “Here take this” said Balthier as he handed you a weapon and scroll “What’s this?” you ask “A request for my dear friend The Rock, if you could be so kind as to deliver it to him, I am sure this time you won’t wander off into La La land or perhaps this time I should flog you instead of saving you?” Said Balthier as he winked at you with smile. He left you to do your deed as he fended off enemies around him. You run while dodging and subduing enemies in your path and you finally make to The Rock on the west side of Basteel. You hand him the parchment. He reads it and grins “What does it say?” you ask “Stand back jabroni and feast your eyes on this” says The Rock as he turns his back to you and rubs his elbow with his hand “I don’t get it? Feast my eyes on what? You ask. The Rock turns towards you with one eye brow raised and replies “The Peoples Elbow”
The darkness gave excellent atmosphere to the moment, broad swipes, the shuffling of hakama, the clatting of foot against floor. Those among us that may be truly called great men do not seek praise for their work. The master had always taught his students that subtlety would develop a great moral stature, growing the student into the greatest artist possible. Now, in this forgotten Do-Jang, the master diligently practices his swordplay, awaiting the time that his skills would be needed, reflecting on the past. The choices he made. The mistakes. The failures. The stones at his feet bled as he took a malformed stroke, the steel in his hands glancing off of the floor and leaving a gash through which a fountain of water sprang forth. The master studied his brush. Never before had he ever made a swing that was imperfect, creating such an eyesore, such a stain as this. Something was out of balance. Something was horribly wrong. Time sped and slowed in the same instant, the other brush narrowly missing the master's face, leaving the other artist in a state of confusion. He was watching the whole time, he had calculated just where to swing his weapon in order to decapitate his other, yet he managed to miss. Impossible, seeing as how the master did not move. Until now Shiba didn't move, gave no suggestion that he might have been there, masking his movements in the darkness, stepping around the moonlight coming in through the sliding doors. The master took in Shiba, mentally cursing himself for not realizing it sooner. It was not uncommon for a student to come back to him in a bitter slump. After all, he believed in subtlety, so praising his students f any outstanding work was all but foreign to him. Shiba was obviously here to settle some old score he believed that they shared. Nothing new. It had happened before, it was happening now, and it would doubtless happen again. The master sighed in annoyance and readied his Brush for another conflict. It was a shame that Shiba had brought death upon himself. Master Mobis lost more star apprentices that way. Want some eggs with that Tea?
Sta.sh
