12-12-2020, 06:05 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Italianno' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .sleaze_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/cCs2JrRw/sleaze-bg.png'); background-size: cover; width: 600px; min-height: 300px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 2px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .sleaze_container p { margin: 0; } .sleaze_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; border-radius: 0 0 40% 40%; border-bottom: solid 5px #826aab; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px -4px #000; } .sleaze_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 550px; margin-bottom: -400px; border-radius: 0 0 240px 240px; border-left: 1px solid #826aab; border-right: 1px solid #826aab; border-bottom: 5px solid #826aab; background: #00000070; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .sleaze_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #9ea5b9; padding: 30px 20px 10px; } .sleaze_name { font: 125px 'Italianno', sans-serif; color: #1d253d59; padding-bottom: 10px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #1d253d; } .sleaze_quote { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: 2px; color: #826aab; padding-top: 30px; } </style> <center> <div class="sleaze_container"> <div class="sleaze_text"> <p class="sleaze_quote"> I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies<br /> tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife</p> <p class="sleaze_message">
The noise of the purple thing’s arrival is like a whipcrack across the ice-desert air, and the hunger – my ever-constant companion – wakens. I move, slow at first, too far for it to notice me. My footsteps should sound loud, here on the icefall, but there is silence. It’s a gift, of the tariaksuq, we are things made for cold and ice and hunting.
Mostly hunting.
It’s scarce, prey – live meat does not thrive in the desolate cold, the beasts seek warmer places. Not me, though. It’s in my blood, the core nature of everything tariaksuq, of me, Ombra.
Quietly, I move closer, and the snow and wind follow – they always do. It has not noticed me, not yet. They so rarely do, not until I am too close for it to matter. I stay on all fours, at first – easier to cover the ground – but as the distance between us closes, I rise up, let my full height show. Great and terrible, I have been called, but what do those words matter? All that matters is this moment, where I can smell – almost taste – the blood that I hunger to spill.
He sees me, finally. I am the monster his mind built. Nightmares come to walk in snow and ice.
Almost as sweet as blood, the taste of fear.
Breath is heavy in my lungs now, reaching over the noise of the snow. I have not eaten since that nudiustertian morning when an errant elk crossed my path, and thought that meal was sweet, I think I will find this one creature. There’s a sense of something about him, something I am eager to taste, to rend.
I watch him watch me, his eyes wide and cow-stupid. He should run – most of them do – but he stands as if frozen to the ground.
Easy pickings, then.
The wind whips harder as I pounce, and the snow turns red beneath our feet.
</p> <p class="sleaze_name">Sleaze</p> </div> <img class="sleaze_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/9f7vg3XR/sleaze.png"> </div> </center>
The noise of the purple thing’s arrival is like a whipcrack across the ice-desert air, and the hunger – my ever-constant companion – wakens. I move, slow at first, too far for it to notice me. My footsteps should sound loud, here on the icefall, but there is silence. It’s a gift, of the tariaksuq, we are things made for cold and ice and hunting.
Mostly hunting.
It’s scarce, prey – live meat does not thrive in the desolate cold, the beasts seek warmer places. Not me, though. It’s in my blood, the core nature of everything tariaksuq, of me, Ombra.
Quietly, I move closer, and the snow and wind follow – they always do. It has not noticed me, not yet. They so rarely do, not until I am too close for it to matter. I stay on all fours, at first – easier to cover the ground – but as the distance between us closes, I rise up, let my full height show. Great and terrible, I have been called, but what do those words matter? All that matters is this moment, where I can smell – almost taste – the blood that I hunger to spill.
He sees me, finally. I am the monster his mind built. Nightmares come to walk in snow and ice.
Almost as sweet as blood, the taste of fear.
Breath is heavy in my lungs now, reaching over the noise of the snow. I have not eaten since that nudiustertian morning when an errant elk crossed my path, and thought that meal was sweet, I think I will find this one creature. There’s a sense of something about him, something I am eager to taste, to rend.
I watch him watch me, his eyes wide and cow-stupid. He should run – most of them do – but he stands as if frozen to the ground.
Easy pickings, then.
The wind whips harder as I pounce, and the snow turns red beneath our feet.
</p> <p class="sleaze_name">Sleaze</p> </div> <img class="sleaze_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/9f7vg3XR/sleaze.png"> </div> </center>