10-28-2018, 01:58 AM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Playfair+Display' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .woolf_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background-color: #1E1F21; width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 1px #6b899570; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .woolf_container p { margin: 0; } .woolf_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .woolf_gradient { position: absolute; z-index: 5; top: 553px; left: 0px; width: 600px; height: 200px; background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%, rgba(30,31,33,1) 100%); background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(30,31,33,1) 100%); background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(30,31,33,1) 100%); filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00000000', endColorstr='#1e1f21',GradientType=0 ); } .woolf_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; padding-top: 10px; margin-top: -110px; } .woolf_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #859191; padding: 20px 35px; } .woolf_quote { position: relative; text-align: center; width: 60%; color: #5b686c; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-bottom: solid 1px; } .woolf_name { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #2a3439; width: 100%; font: 40px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 20px; padding-bottom: 10px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 0px #000; } .woolf_quotetwo { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #5b686c; width: 45%; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-top: solid 1px; } </style> <center> <div class="woolf_container"> <img class="woolf_image" src="https://s15.postimg.cc/bpsaehnrf/jaroslav-devia-715052-unsplash.jpg"> <div class="woolf_gradient"></div> <div class="woolf_text"> <p class="woolf_quote">bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze <br>if you must drink of me, take of me what you please</p> <p class="woolf_message">
He can practically feel the man’s anger as a tangible thing, pulsing around him. It should frighten him, if he was a normal man, but it excites him instead. It cuts through the armor of his indifference, piercing through his apathy to stir some fierce interest. Where Woolf felt things rarely, Ruan seemed to feel them all; the agony that the man was experiencing, the betrayal, the distrust—it was all so completely rare to Woolf. It felt alien in his hold, and he found himself drawn to it, wanting to dissect it and understand it.
His eagerness pours into his magic, the mage growing more intent on cracking the fortress that the winter wolf had resurrected. He can feel the other respond to his taunting commands and his belly tightens in anticipation as the magic begins to shift. Then, suddenly, everything happens all at once. He can feel the way that Ruan’s own powers redirect and then flow outward. The ice practically implodes in front of them and Woolf feels the ice crawl his legs, rooting him to the spot as the stallion emerges from the ice.
Ruan is all fury, all anger, all chaos. Armor snaps into place around him and he lunges.
For a second, Woolf is mesmerized by the scene, practically seeing it in slow motion, and he wonders what it would be like to simply remain where he stands, letting the ice remain locked around him.
But he is not done learning about this man yet and he feels his own tendrils of predatory hunger begin to unfurl like smoke within him. His wounds bleed once more and he reaches for Bright’s own magic, pulling the two streams of power together to shatter the ice shackles. As the stallion leaps for him, Woolf shifts into his namesake, turning into a mulberry dire wolf, hackles rising, lips pulling back on a snarl. Then, he does the same to Ruan, shifting the other into his own wolf form. Evenly matched, Woolf settles back onto his haunches and then launches forward, jaws snapping as he reaches for the other wolf.
If Ruan wanted a target, he’d find one.
If Ruan wanted a fight, he’d have it.
</p> <p class="woolf_name">woolf</p> <p class="woolf_quotetwo">I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste </p> </div> </div> </center>
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00000000', endColorstr='#1e1f21',GradientType=0 ); } .woolf_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; padding-top: 10px; margin-top: -110px; } .woolf_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #859191; padding: 20px 35px; } .woolf_quote { position: relative; text-align: center; width: 60%; color: #5b686c; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-bottom: solid 1px; } .woolf_name { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #2a3439; width: 100%; font: 40px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 20px; padding-bottom: 10px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 0px #000; } .woolf_quotetwo { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #5b686c; width: 45%; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-top: solid 1px; } </style> <center> <div class="woolf_container"> <img class="woolf_image" src="https://s15.postimg.cc/bpsaehnrf/jaroslav-devia-715052-unsplash.jpg"> <div class="woolf_gradient"></div> <div class="woolf_text"> <p class="woolf_quote">bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze <br>if you must drink of me, take of me what you please</p> <p class="woolf_message"> He can practically feel the man’s anger as a tangible thing, pulsing around him. It should frighten him, if he was a normal man, but it excites him instead. It cuts through the armor of his indifference, piercing through his apathy to stir some fierce interest. Where Woolf felt things rarely, Ruan seemed to feel them all; the agony that the man was experiencing, the betrayal, the distrust—it was all so completely rare to Woolf. It felt alien in his hold, and he found himself drawn to it, wanting to dissect it and understand it.
His eagerness pours into his magic, the mage growing more intent on cracking the fortress that the winter wolf had resurrected. He can feel the other respond to his taunting commands and his belly tightens in anticipation as the magic begins to shift. Then, suddenly, everything happens all at once. He can feel the way that Ruan’s own powers redirect and then flow outward. The ice practically implodes in front of them and Woolf feels the ice crawl his legs, rooting him to the spot as the stallion emerges from the ice.
Ruan is all fury, all anger, all chaos. Armor snaps into place around him and he lunges.
For a second, Woolf is mesmerized by the scene, practically seeing it in slow motion, and he wonders what it would be like to simply remain where he stands, letting the ice remain locked around him.
But he is not done learning about this man yet and he feels his own tendrils of predatory hunger begin to unfurl like smoke within him. His wounds bleed once more and he reaches for Bright’s own magic, pulling the two streams of power together to shatter the ice shackles. As the stallion leaps for him, Woolf shifts into his namesake, turning into a mulberry dire wolf, hackles rising, lips pulling back on a snarl. Then, he does the same to Ruan, shifting the other into his own wolf form. Evenly matched, Woolf settles back onto his haunches and then launches forward, jaws snapping as he reaches for the other wolf.
If Ruan wanted a target, he’d find one.
If Ruan wanted a fight, he’d have it.
</p> <p class="woolf_name">woolf</p> <p class="woolf_quotetwo">I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste </p> </div> </div> </center>
