Tag "Hunting" - Works and Original stories

The Guardian of the West, the Lord of Casterly Rock, the savior of the City, the shield of Lannisport, the right hand of King Tommen and his grandfather, the head of the house of Lannister was killed by his own son, by the will of the unknown, and perhaps the Lord God himself, he turns out to be the son of the head of the younger branch of the house of Rurikovich, Vasily Shuisky. He has to win the struggle for power, defend the family's right to the capital city of Moscow, he has to intrigue

In shadows deep, where whispers weave, A jester's just, a plot to grieve. In cloak of night, with vengeful art, He played his role, a twisted heart.

In the shade of ancient trees, on the shore of an endless lake, stood an ancient castle, bathed in the light of the moon. Its white towers stretched to the sky, like mute witnesses of countless stories hidden in the depths of the walls. In this royal refuge, where hundreds of years have passed, the vital smell of antiquity and wisdom was melting away.

In the garden where whispers carry secrets untold, Flowers, withered, in sorrow's grasp they hold. A shadow of days gone by, draped in dusk's cloak, The agony of time, a powerless sorrow spoke.

In a corner of the dark alley, where the raindrops were crying with despair, there was a shadow. He was like a mosaic of the night, fused of dark shades and starry twinkles. His eyes, like two sparkling stars in a bottomless night, glided through the streets, absorbing every moment, like a passionate artist enjoying his work.

In the darkness of the forest, the stars twinkled like tears on the black fabric of the night. The hunter, like a wanderer in this world of shadows, wandered among the trees, his heart beating rhythmically, as if calling him to dance with the ghosts of the past. His gun was his companion, but not his friend. It adorned his shoulder, but it did not warm his soul.

The Irk was outlasting hard times. The Resistance dropped a biological weapon in the heart of the main planet. Civilization, built in millenniums, has wilted in no time.