Thread: streetlight swag

Boisterous laughter infected Rusko's crew like a disease. It was difficult to antithesize the thunder from their howls and eventually, both fell silent under Rusko's intimidating presence. A maiden, the lass! japed one of the pirates, One with a mouth like barracuda! Wonder if 'er cunt is as sharp. He cupped his groin and gave it a vulgar shake, inspiring his brothers to do the very same. Enough, Rusko boomed. Suddenly, an eerie silence washed over his crew, the only ambience left to fill their ears being that of the rain, elements and the sea spewing forth its spume. I apologize, milady , Rusko grunted through a tightened jaw, We are a barbaric people, us Palans, for abstaining from corrupt politics. The game of thrones is not ours to take part in, Miribaran there is nothing intelligent about plotting to kill your brother because he possesses more land than you. If, however, you deem this as intelligent, then we as a people are indeed sea vermin. The rain bled through his oversized surcoat, beating against his bare chest as it would stone. His hood, limned with a teased lion's mane, was flattened about his shoulders and his breeches were cemented to his rough-hewn thighs. I am named Yeaman Un Rusko. Captain of this vessel, Behemoth , one of Pala's most revered galleys barbarian and sea vermin . We'll show the lass how sea vermin fuck! cried one of the men. His outburst would have merrited punishment from Rusko given any other circumstance, but having his brothers preach felt infinitely more reassuring. I tire of these fucking trivialties, Rusko spat, Prepare to sail. Not one cask of wine or draught of ale will be opened until the barracks are spotless. Is that under stood? 'Aye, cap'n! I have not, Samosa replied tranquilly, Before I was chosen to be Neferset Yule's successor, I was a merchant. I travelled the Sandsea's nations, but those across its waters are unfamiliar to me. Like her fiance, Samosa, too, was plagued by fatigue. Her eyes laid half-lidded as she rested against Troen's ocean of exotic throw pillows, cradled by his absurdly oversized mattress. At a glance, Troen wasn't altogether monstrous Samosa was a spiritual entity, one that sensed a tyrant leagues away. Underneath Troen's smug mien she was all too cognizant of his despotic plots. Totalitarians virtually oozed autocracy and, as Samosa perceived, his speeches were eerily nonchalant. Samosa did her best to avoid reaction when Troen mentioned a child. As per Palan customs, baring a child was a sacred thing. As monarchs the mother played a crucial role the fathers were often relieved of parental obligations at birth, unless both parents shared mutual affection for one another. Since Samosa could remember she was uninterested in having children. When she was vagrant she drank moon tea to keep her womb empty if she chose to lay with a man, though her trysts were few and far between. You needn't mollify your words with exaggerated, non-existent affections, Samosa said, Let us expose this betrothal for what it is a diplomatic scheme. She gazed at him with heavy eyes, laying her body upon the pillows. They hugged every curve and framed her hips like her mane framed her cheeks. Although I find it impressive that you've chosen to reconcile, plying me with honeyed words is no more useful than tits on a bull. In public, assume the role of loving husband, but in our bedroom you needn't be so attentive. Fuck your whores until your hips are bruised curse as you desire, sputter profanities about your affiliates as you see fit. But please ... do not feign love. It is treachery.