| Subject: That Wasn't So Bad Was It? |
Author:
Chaos
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 10:00:01 08/09/03 Sat
In reply to:
Leagacy
's message, "+As you wish+" on 18:46:20 08/08/03 Fri
OOC: Alright I guess, but see, Chaos just doesn't get grosed out. In his past he's seen alot of sick stuff and has before conversed with ghosts (he's a real character from another fanticy-like RP where ghosts wonder around all the time and a very grusome war raged through the game.) It just really isn't in his character to be scared or nautious from a sight like her. But hey, why not, he can get grosed out a bit. But if you really wana scare someone, go after my other horse Solaris. *Snickers evily.*
¦The chill that ran down his spine was nothing new, he had felt it many times before when his optic pools would see one of the specters that wondered his old home. His body merely stood still as the grousome mare came into vision, no outer signs of discust or fear was shown. Yet, there was still that odd twist of his stomack that he could never rid himself of, though by now it was barely felt anymore. The stallion had seen war and mutilation, he had seen his mother slaughtered by five stallions, her skull crushed to rid her of her pain only after the stags had beaten her to the edge of insanity, all her limbs broken and one torn away from her body. Then he had witnessed the death of his mentore, his own brother shattering his bones and riping him open, spilling his life fluids onto the ground. Then there had been the war, the things he had seen when he had just been a colt, horses being shreaded and torn apart, the ones who still lived walking around in a dream-like state, ears torn away, eyes gouged, chunks of their hides missing, their own blood staining what was left of their pelts. So somewhere along that line of life he had steeled, actualy grown used to the discusted mutal horridity of grusome deaths. But there was still that churning that he could never rid himself of, the only reminder of his coltish days. Outwardly, however, he merely tossed his crimson dial and smiled.¦
There, see. Guess it must all depend on who sees you. Some may see you as an embodiment of fear, and, rightfuly so. But others, sadly, have grown acustum to the sight.
¦His whiped tail swished lightly behind his frame as his eyes still stayed upon the mutalated faye.¦
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 