Falling, floating to the earth below, the ebonite luster captivating the eye. The Figurine that loomed above it, waning autumn's glorious heavens blending semi-sastidfactorily with the darkened coat, crinkled threads that so ornately adorned the `crown` lifted up with the slightest breeze. And the raven, clearly avian in the prison of decaying branches that it perched upon, stared back at he, their identical lucid quality gloaming in such hours. Finally, as though it too feared the dawning like the mythical troll, let the black feathers be adorned with a metallic sheen, and then, apeared to merge with the empyreal dome above, the tiny pinpricks of stars blinking, and then slept. ZEven now, as I myself watch, sweet Autumnal at my feet, I wonder as though the thoughts of doubt coursing through his head were realistic, or perhaps true. The equine, realizing that the dawn had once again claimed his spoilt time, began that crude, almost vulgar melody, the one fell at his feet and rolled across the Proprieter below, soft notes nearly inconceivable among that of the other creatures. Depraved of life by their very guardians, the leaves fell, allowing the semi-collossal haul through, as it appeared to the immense steed that the earth was weeping--indeed, for those whom she could not keep. Not he, nor some of the others he would find, but the forial paper itself. Trifling, quite honestly, to the poor chap. But the raven's winding path was becoming more difficult to follow--to interepet, even--and such trivial philosophies were not of his concern, until he could rest. Rest among teh dust, that sacrificed it's own for him, the bones, which the beast had passed and wondered of their nameless requiems, and the leaves, their tears washing him away from the surface, only to be forgotten or forgiven. It was, of course, not the best of selections. But what could one do? Merely follow the way he himself had selected, and hope for better times.
And now, the gatekeeper, whose trial seemed so far away, was before the cavallo, the carved figurines on the chessboard switching positions in idle doubt. One choice, and one choice alone awaited. 3 up, and two over. The game was getting turbulent, and now...the move. Although fresian in every sinew and crevice, the body moved with rickety, agile strides, the barrier septerating he, The Rook, and the queen's court ever Nearing. For who feigning sanity would remain in such a precarious limbo, praying entrance but acting exit? Not he, and not the Raven for as soon as saritial edge clasped that forbidden edge, it held as though none could tear it away, his eyelids clamping shut, momentary suspencion creating the feeling of intense self-citisism...waiting, for that fleeing momment of liberation, taht he would pass the gates...or be hurled backward...
.nom.
.rook.
.checkers.
.5 falls of Sirius.
.peice.
.black pawn.
.beginner's fortune.
.chinos.
.waddle?.
.only if you ask.
.gameplay.
.Rather Intoverted, moderately shy, although large.
.scale.
.colossal.
.replay.
.Fresian.
.
R o o k
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