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Sarandiel



Sarandiel
The Cry of the Banshee (Coven)

Life is a joke that we all must live, but from which none survive.
Set at 16:42 on October 12, 2010

Vampire Rave member for 14 years.

Status:  Doppelganger (69.14)
Rank:  Member
Honor 0    [ Give / Take ]
Affiliation:  The Cry of the Banshee (Coven)
Account Type:  Regular
Gender:  Female
Birthdate:  ?
Age:  ANCIENT
Location: 

Sitting on a forgoten street of lost memories with my friend Spot




Portfolio

Journal


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Websites


Quote:

Byncio ata caniad Ca erioed clywedig anad , chwedleua 'n esmwyth , jyst sibrwd , chan sawl Addola.



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Welcome to my little corner in the shadows...

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Why not take a few books from a chair, and join me a while in my little home from home.

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-I am sure a little dust will not hurt your clothes-

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But first I had best introduce myself, though this is not my favourite thing to do.

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~About Me~

Diabolus Templum

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The coven I am now in.



The Coven of Shadowed Angels

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Though I have moved on, this is a coven that I was proud to call home.
A true family.


My name is Sarandiel

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A loner by nature, yet I still enjoy a good conversation now and then so feel free to drop me a line...

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I am a 34yr old Witch -not wiccan- who has a thirst for knowledge and isn't too proud to learn from others... As long as they respect my right to make my own mind up.

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A mother with two children -who are my heart and soul, they keep me young and I keep them safe and well loved.

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I have studied bike/car mechanics, art, photography, sociology, law, biology, printing -including screen printing-, and hope to soon study psychology in university.

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Beneath the politeness I have a strong will, I do not walk over people, but at the same time none can walk over me either... If I am lead it is only because I want to be, though sometimes I can be very naive as I take people at face value.


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I would like to say that I do not judge, but lets be honest... Everyone judges.
To make a decision is to judge.
To rate a profile is to judge.
You can not live without doing it.
So what I am is open minded, and as such even if I do not agree with you, I believe it is your right to be who you are and choose what you will.


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I just ask that I receive the same courtesy in return.

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It's been brought to my attention by a friend that I missed something off in my introduction -besides a few other quaifications and my dyslexia.
Admitedly it's something I don't tend to mention often, but I'm also an ordained minister.
Something that gives my friends and family a good chuckle as I'm so anti-religion that it brings me out in a rash.
What can I say...
I was bored and enjoy irony.


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~Interests~

A lot of things interest me, so I best start with the hobbies I enjoy...

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I basically live to paint, though sadly I do not have as much time as I would like to do it. Mainly as I am almost as driven to write, not that I claim any great talent at this, but both I find a release to what sometimes rages inside of me.

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I collect swords and daggers, Hello Kitty stuff, B-movies, classic horror films and spell books.
The swords and daggers because I love the mix of beauty, art and lethality of them. The Hello Kitty because I am cat mad and a sucker for cuteness, the films because I just like movies. And the spell books because I do love a good laugh.


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I like motorbikes, hence my attempt at restoring one.
Old school D'n'D, though I do enjoy playing the computer game versions.
Reading both fiction and non-fiction books, of which I have far too many.
(They even line both sides of my staircase now)
Chess and backgammon.
Growing herbs and roses.
Comics and graphic novels.
And I'm also teaching myself to rebuild my computer, I've missed it since it broke and I refuse to just buy a new one.


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As for the rest... Ask me, it's easier than listing it all here.

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-Books-

As I said earlier I read both fiction and non-fiction.
(And own too many)

Some of my favourites are -


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~Terry Pratchett~

Soul Music
Mort
Reaper Man
Equal Rights
Night Watch

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~Neil Gaiman~

Good Omens
(co-written with Terry Pratchett)
The Sandman: Preludes And Nocturnes
A Game Of You
The Kindly Ones
Death: The Time Of Your Life

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~Alan Moore~

Basically everything he wrote for the comic 2000AD
Swamp Thing
Watch Men
The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Promethea

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~George Orwell~

1984
A Happy Vicar I might Have Been
Sometimes In The Middle Autumn Days


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~Music~



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~Films~



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~Of Cabbages And Kings~

Here is just a small collection of poems that I have enjoyed over the years that I thought I would share.
I hope you may enjoy them too.

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Ode On Melancholy

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

~John Keats~

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The Jabberwocky

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

~Lewis Carroll~

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The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle
His rapier hilt a-twinkle
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching
Marching marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
Her musket shattered the moonlight
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding
Riding riding
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair

~Alfred Noyes~

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Earth

SAD is my lot; among the shining spheres
Wheeling, I weave incessant day and night,
And ever, in my never-ending flight,
Add woes to woes, and count up tears on tears.
Young wives’ and new-born infants’ hapless biers
Lie on my breast, a melancholy sight;
Fresh griefs abhor my fresh returning light;
Pain and remorse and want fill up my years.
My happier children’s farther-piercing eyes
Into the blessed solvent future climb,
And knit the threads of joy and hope and warning;
But I, the ancient mother, am not wise,
And, shut within the blind obscure of time,
Roll on from morn to night, and on from night to morning.

~William Roscoe~


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~Random Bits Of Nonsense~

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~Last Words~


~To add or not to add~

When it comes to adding me the decision is completely up to you, please do not message me just to ask.
Just as I do not ask to be rated, I do not mind either way about being added.
I am on VR to talk to friends and meet new people to hopefully talk to, levels and so on don't interest me.

And I add to my friend list for three reasons...
1, We are in the same coven.
2, We have spent time talking and have found things in common.
Or
3, You are on less than 50 friend lists and getting penalised for it.
(If so please message me, don't just put it in the comment box below)

~Stalking~

My profiles stalking button is inactive, so please do not bother trying to click on it.

~My Journal~

Under “In another life” in my journal is a collection of funny stuff that I constantly add to instead of jamming up my profile, so if you're feeling down or just enjoy silly stuff pop by and hopefully have a laugh.

~My Portfolio~

Slowly but surely -when health allows- I will be adding more pictures to my portfolio...

But I ask that it is not rated as my children will be included in my photos, and I sure as hell don't want people deciding what rate they should have!!!

~Me~

I am not an ignorant or snobbish person, though I know I may often come across as such.
Many probably wonder why I suddenly seem to go quiet or why I rarely if ever re-initiate conversation.
The truth is that my social skills suck and I'm always worried I might be bugging people when I contact them.
So sorry to those on my friends list who think I maybe ignoring you...
I'm not, I just don't like to push my presence on others.

Thank you.


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Both Spot and I thank you for your visit, he does so enjoy it when people stop by.
And rate us or not, we both wish you health and joy.

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Member Since: Jul 22, 2009
Last Login: Nov 02, 2010
Times Viewed: 11,484



Times Rated:331
Rating:9.9

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