Author:
- - - Krymsyn - - -
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Date Posted: 18:30:39 11/13/01 Tue
In reply to:
«†he¿ƒate»
's message, " .....Thought of only a monster......" on 20:55:30 11/12/01 Mon
Oh, of all the names I've been called in my life, there were none that could ever be so beautiful as that which I call myself. As I rip screams from my prey's worthless body they'll ball me a beast, a cold-hearted, uncaring, damned demon. I'm supposed to be hurt by words? They mean nothing to me. Especially when they are so true. When I told a young mare that I killed her newborn son for no real reason, she called me a fiend, a horrible, self-centered, sick, disgusting mule. I will say, I didn't like being called a mule. I am pure equine you know. But everything else was true. I've even been called handsome, glorious, wonderful, strong, intellegent, and other complimentory things by those foolish brutes that thought they were evil. Oh yes, don't you know the Devil goes around and falls in love after he declares his full alliance with the dark side? But seriously, they think it's all fun and games until I tell them that to be truely evil they should kill the one they love. Then their true colors show through. Pathetic worms. Just once in my life I'd like to be called something that would really set me off. I wonder if anyone can find a word that label me with that I'd take offense to. It'd certainly be interesting if they could.
Attention is captured most suddenly, onyx optics shed wide, vision spanning over the female. Pillars beneath the male strengthen, sturdy bones locking into place as weight is spread evenly upon square sector. Stones indent against the soil, dirt tainting upon the charcoal surface, wearing away at the toe. Slim tail hangs limp behind the brute, spliced tips dangling, kissing against both hock and earth, dust clinging to the ebony strands, staining them chocolate. Skull lifts slightly, words muddled within mind, attempting to string together to form coherrent thoughts before splashing away from masculine lips. Jaw drops slightly, cleary showing that the stallion only half expected a reply from the lost soul within the mare. "What is this? An attempted insult? I will admit, I've never been titled a fool, though I suppose if the proverbal shoe fits, I must wear it. As for your tenacious tendancies, I cannot say I've ever seen one whom was more so than the legendary Krymsyn. But of course, if you are not from my homeland, you might not have heard the tales! Why Krymsyn was the biggest, baddest stallion to ever live. His pelt was licked with crimson flames, heated like a brandishing iron. Some even claim that when he shed, he could start forest fires, and a touch upon his skin would burn you instantly. Of course, those are just rumors." Male begins shifting slightly, limbs gliding about himself as he talks, leading a path to circle the vixen at a safe distance, adding to the enthusiastic attention he details into the story. "And his teeth! Why, they were big as whales! Sparkling silver too. They called them flower roots, or indian heads. They would dig into flesh and manage to expand once within, thereby delving further, catching the wounded animal in his mouth." Cheeky grin is cast at such point, brute still circling, still speaking his tale in a winding voice. "His hooves? Why they were claimed to be pure platinum! What a mark they left. He could break bones with just a gentle tap upon the shoulder. And they were sharp as razors, making nice swiping noises in the air when he might rear." Coming near an end, the brute halts, facing the female, still maintaining a safe distance. "But then again, all that was just rumors. I don't think anyone really knows what he was - or is - like. But then again, do we really know anyone? Do we know ourselves?" Words are left to dangle as brute blinks a few times, seemingly captivated with the profoundness of his own words. A good actor must never be in love with anyone but himself.
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