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The damnedWe are hunted day and night,
By those that hate the light,
Tormented forever more,
About those that are no more...
They fell in midst of nigh,
With battleragers in their sight
Wich had a gross demand for gore
Wich nothing more then blood could cure
And take they did, with speed of dart
The blood of those wich were pure of hart,
BLoody, battered, severed heads they took,
Whille barking savadge courses at their loot.
And whille we weaklings that were left behind
Were tending to those few that had survived
The heretics made evill incantations to the Thorne
With not even so much as remourse or mourn.
But such evills will ultimatly
PREY NO MOREPREY NO MORE
Rope dug into Patrick’s wrists as he struggled to free his hands. His hot, damp breath washed over his face, trapped by the fabric sack secured over his head.
A floorboard creaked. Patrick froze, his back rigid against the chair, and strained his ears. Another creak.
“Hello?” he called.
The sound of swishing fabric.
“Who’s there? Where am I? Why’d you bring me here?” Blurred memories swam through his mind: drinking at the bar; stumbling home; a shadow sweeping out from an alley.
Fingers grasped his chin and jerked his head upward. “Hush.” A woman’s voice.
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More