Story of an old man not yet finished.

Basics, My name is Jamie Dee along with other things I shouldn't mention. I'm 23 and I tend to RP a lot and write short stories and poems.



Below is Gekido Tsuki's story...

Gekido Tsuki is a Shinobi of the highest rank. He has traveled the world over collecting his Jutsu. His tribe is the Hidden Moon. His tribe shares the likeness of wolves in characteristics as well as their shape if needed but he is slightly different. His mother also gave him the gift of her own tribe the Thunder Fox. He is a 105 years and old and spends his days reading manga smut and smoking his precious tobacco and dealing with his dolt of a son Tetsuo and his family. His own grandson Kita dyed his tail pink. And the little ditz wonders why he gets hit with large rocks. Tammy isn’t so bad at least she knows how to bake this old man some cookies.

His youth...

The first thoughts of death. It shall be me who stands between so many burning buildings and upturned concrete bodies with their rotiron skeletal frames blackened by nuclear holocaust. The monoliths of mans creation. The beings given spirit through the petty crimes of pride, greed and lust behind their every window and locked door. We are their backbone. Their sight let alone their voice. We scream they scream. We all scream we’re ********. Yet I stay silent and smile a glimmer of a grin that tells you “I ******** told you so.” Shadows follow the dust and ash as it settles upon a world no longer rainbowed in color. There is only every shade of black and gray… And red, can’t forget red.

Death.
Such stillness.
Young immortal.
The old ask for it.
Closing eyes, an end to creation.
Divine sleep.
Never to wake.
Towards the sky.
The dead lie awake for a chorus.
Something to push up the daisies.
Grasping churned earth.
Discovering unmarred flesh.
As the worms ate away sin.
Oh what the young not think of.
What the old still dream.
Imagine to die alone.
Sing the silence, grasp the void.
Fade away, rise against the wills and the ways.
Taste a breath of mortality.
Hold the beating heart.
Bled dry and a husk left behind such in death as in life.

Gekido Tsuki the Sheathing Blade.

In the war of the ninth plague.

Decide the fate of an endless walk upon a miracle mile.
Stare at the still sand in an hourglass.
The sight of pain lit with rage within.
Sorrow give me flight, death carry my wings.

I am the order of chaos.

Prayer of the “Nine Wolves.”

Gekido Tsuki The “Sheathing Blade.”


Third battle of the war of Shoridin.
Year of the Monolith 4102 W.G.



Item List:
Cockerel\'s Waltz
Bad Moon
Frostbite Blade
Fremere\'s Guard 3rd Gen.
Assassin\'s Guise
Black Wolf X3
Silver Automaton Arm
Dark Star
Onyx Bolster Sword

I have spent nearly two months saving and buying the items needed to create my dream avi the items below are the only ones I have left to get. And they are expensive as hell o.o. Donations would be appreciated of any kind. I also write short stories and poems upon request. Most start at 600p and up. A bit different than sketching avi art I know but I'd rather do what i do best and that's writing. If your interested let me know.

P.S. I also write rp's if interested

Here is a poem sample

Inject a reality unreal.
Taste the memory of falling rain.
Remember yesterday in post-it notes.
Nothing masks pain that was never there.
Bound courage in fear.
Count to three and forget to breath.
Tongue tight behind clicking teeth.
******** the game played out of shame.
Shine the shoes of a dead man.
Piss away the writing on the walls.
The smell pure whiskey and the hookers perfume.
This, the American dream.
The truth sweet as Uncle Sam’s morning coffee spiced with still born promise.

By, Jamie Dee Brownlee

And here is the beginning for an rp I'm actually doing for some one.

The rp is a request for An Anne Rice style vampire rp.

The year was 1812 in the city of love. Paris in its prime. City streets sweet with the smell of death and blood caked lust. Children of the night, Nosferatu, Lamia all bloody paths lead to the same gate in hell. Simply put. A vampire is a vampire with any name he or she bares in any language. I don’t speak simply of only the Vampire and its slowly growing legions of covenants because no other Nightstalker exists. I only speak of them first as that is what I am. Three hundred and six years of endless nights. Born from the mud belched from a long lost Irish spring trickling into a dying pond. Descended of the Celts under a nation long been raped by the Romans only to be bent over a barrel by the British.

I run on to long of my own personal history. These words I lay down to let the dead rest are not just my own. They are a collective of still present and past lives. From the lips that have tasted blood, the ones who have tasted flesh and those who have uttered arcane knowledge to bless or curse a living soul.

Don’t worry this isn’t a simple tale of a Paris vampire who wasn’t given a choice. Let alone damsels in such simple distress as to be saved so easily from the wicked witch…

By Jamie Dee Brownlee