http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/nightclub_image.jpg
Once upon a time there was a night club where dead men walked, and the night-king loomed in the shadow of an empty booth, smoking cigars and watching his chaotic kingdom. Now the king was dead and his palace had fallen, but another burst from shadows and the prince to his place on the throne of nightfall.
Ambrosia would never rise again, but Peccavi easily stepped into its place like it had always been there.
The large concrete building only had one set of doors, wide oak things that looked like they had been pillaged off of something older -- perhaps off of Ambrosia itself before the Burning -- but those doors rarely opened. The didn't need to. Inside, the club thrummed with energy and life it didn't have: deep bass beats vibrated through the floors and the bodies on it, masking the voices, the debauchery that the club seemed to embelish itself in. And above all sat Sinjin, reclined haphazardly in his chair on a balcony overlooking the dancefloor; it was his preferred roost. A king in his castle.
http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/nightclub_03.jpg http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/nightclub_02.jpg
http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/msl_fusion_nightclub_kirkwall.jpg http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/MonasteryNightClubBrisbane.jpg
Once upon a time there was a night club where dead men walked, and the night-king loomed in the shadow of an empty booth, smoking cigars and watching his chaotic kingdom. Now the king was dead and his palace had fallen, but another burst from shadows and the prince to his place on the throne of nightfall.
Ambrosia would never rise again, but Peccavi easily stepped into its place like it had always been there.
The large concrete building only had one set of doors, wide oak things that looked like they had been pillaged off of something older -- perhaps off of Ambrosia itself before the Burning -- but those doors rarely opened. The didn't need to. Inside, the club thrummed with energy and life it didn't have: deep bass beats vibrated through the floors and the bodies on it, masking the voices, the debauchery that the club seemed to embelish itself in. And above all sat Sinjin, reclined haphazardly in his chair on a balcony overlooking the dancefloor; it was his preferred roost. A king in his castle.
http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/nightclub_03.jpg http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/nightclub_02.jpg
http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/msl_fusion_nightclub_kirkwall.jpg http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z98/youthculture/MonasteryNightClubBrisbane.jpg