The table was set. The decorations...perfect. The lighting, afternoon shades of orange. A perfect hue for a perfect tea party.

Six places were set here around the stump of a large tree. One for him. Five for the others. Each place was set with a white teacup, except for his, which was adorned with a red teacup. The tea was already poured for them. In the center were various hors d'oeuvres, special pinecones and mushrooms to be exact, for them to eat at the party.

And here they arrive, five guests brought to his table, their heads all adorned with candles.

Jorogumo, the lady of the night, dressed in white and crowned in black.
Amazon, the fawn of nature's splendor, with eyes bright and face beautifully smiling.
Kaoori, the little mother, in blue regalia adorned with stars of gold.
Wesker, the bone king, his body reflecting death itself in black and bone.
And finally, Nekumbra, the spider doe, in golden fur and brown arachnid legs.

The five come and sit at the table. The stage was set. Let the festivities begin.

"I have gathered you all here for a special ceremony.", Mr. Sanguine speaks, "Above us, the moon glows in crimson, the beckoning time for all who serve the Autumnal Equinox. For you see, this moon is unlike the others in the sky. It is known as the Hunter's Moon, the Blood Moon, or for the purposes this afternoon, the Sanguine Moon.", he smiles here.

"This afternoon is a festival of many things. Change, balance, remembrance...but there is also a hidden meaning to why they call it the Hunter's Moon. For you see, those who hunted and preyed upon the victims of early times used an afternoon like this for opportunity. They would track down their prey in the twilight hours, taking the very lives of those who were worthy of sustaining them through the winter months."

The guests looked to one another, unsure what this even meant.

The following night was the worst. Morale was sorely diminished, and both of them - however reluctant they were to admit it - were almost past the point of exhaustion. Saxophone, with the scratches all down her side, feared infection. Snake, with his leg worn from climbing and running and walking, feared falling and not getting back up.

I just get funny idea... How about all of us play as a fawn and go together somewhere?

Just go:

-Control
-Put x to "Play as a fawn"
- u will be fawn again

-REMEMBER go first:
-network
- save current deer appearance
(if u wanna look same again when u dont wanna be fawn again)


WHERE WE MEET?
- Im now sitting on a playground, and my pic looks like triangle. Come to me and sniff me so i know u wanna join dat meeting !

I want to know that I'll be over at 3:00 and that I am like the .big zombie deer. that and expect those who were with me yesterday at 10:00. Waiting. Goodbye!
(please answer me).
At the big grey rocks
(playground)

I really wanna that cool skullmask... But i have no idea HOW i can have it...

Dat halloween pelt (Grey with blood) is also nice..

CAN SOMEONE HELP?

Im sitting on playground? And i have butterfly pelt and antlers. Here is also 3 skullmask dudes ;D


ANSWWERS PLS (

...how the Gods kill.

Subtle satisfaction, the way the blood wets the snow.

The way the bodies, still hot, started to steam in the winter's cold.

It's hard to understand the way a predator's mind worked, if you'd never hunted a day in your life. It's not easy explaining that rush, that spill, that thrill kill cult of having something die, all because of of you.

It wasn't evil, it wasn't cruel, it wasn't even malicious, but there was no denying the pleasure that came with it.

It was a sick, twisting pleasure, a bolt of electricty that shot through one's guts, the penultimate conclusion of a chase she'd known she was going to win the second it started.

And it always started so simply.

It always started with a rustle, a stirring, a tiny change in the way the world seemed to turn.

It had been a rabbit. The sound seemed to have come from miles away, but the next thing she knew, it was all fur and fangs, claws sinking and securing her in the snow, racing around trees, beneath branches.

Snow white and the seven fucking doves went scurrying in her path, quick to get away from the bolt of black that raced after the rabbit with all the surity of a greyhound around the track.

White powder had gone flying, something clipped her ear. She didn't notice. She never noticed.

All that mattered was the screaming of muscles and the way her blood roared in her head, louder than the way the Gods seemed to sing.

Save right now, there were no Gods. There were no birds, no bugs, no deer, no doe.

It was her, the rabbit, the winter cold that told her that if she didn't eat, she was going to die.

And Winter was a bitch of a mistress, she really was.

Teeth as white as icicles snapped.

And then there was blood in the snow.

...you creep across my skull.

The world had a funny way of working. It had a way of surprising you, shocking you, scaring the ever living hell out of you. And then, after all of that, after all the nightmares, the bad dreams, the stories we tell ourselves to make sure we know we're not crazy?

It pleases us. It writes us a story, gives us a present, a gift, a something that just falls in your lap and lets you know you're all right.

Maybe you're not different. Maybe the world isn't as bad, as terrible, as cruel as we'd all like to think.

He'd looked this way for a long time. He'd had these scars, these horrible marrs on his face for longer than he could remembeer.

And in a way, it had made him fascinated. The forest was a place of lies, falsifications, because everyone here seemed to have something to hide. He could hide the worst of his horrors behind a mask that seemed to suit his features, hiding that which was his visage from the world.

That suited him just fine.

And there was one around here that he'd always wondered about. He'd always wondered what hid behind that mask, what could possible be beneath it, to make it look the way it did.

It was not easy asking. It wasn't some simple task. Because one didn't just march into Mordor, as the saying somewhere went. You didn't just strut right up to a throne like that, and you certainly didn't pitch perfectly innocent questions that way.

But he did it anyway.

It took him days. Days of working up the courage, summoning up his guts. Not to mention turning them to iron: that particular patch of the forest just smelled wrong. It was a wet, rotten, fetid smell, too many corpses collected in a pile.

The last stretch of it had been done on his belly, eyes watering and the bile trying to creep up his throat. By that point, it was a matter of pride that drove him.

I'm a bit of a dolt when it comes to css. I've read the tutes and messed around and I just end up confuzzled.
I'd love a simple scroll box for my bios to put my deer's diary updates in. Nothing fancy . . .just a scroll box.
Can anyone help me?

*begs and gives cheese*

Zeus's wip bio

now not so cunfusing title