Post by ~Zelda~ on Apr 22, 2008 17:02:14 GMT -5
Elongated steps resounded, stalking the terrace of my hellish tune. Thick muscle licked up around my soul bars connecting to a ripped broad chest and glimmering of a buckskin pelt. Jade optics darted around viciously, as a snort tore through my nostrils as I tumbled along looking for anything to crucify. Onyx stockings glinted with a thin layer of agua as the waves rose against my iron-built brawny stomach, the diabolic rays of Lady Luna casting down upon my buckskin pelt. My movements lacerated it until I moved swiftly out of the annoyance of water and onto the beach. Dense fog crept over the beach, as hoofprints sunk deeply into the ground. Beneath the embers of hell burned, and it called to me with the upmost feeling. Of course, every "dark" thinks they are somehow connected to the calling of hell, and I hear bitches all the time say how they were the devil's humble servants, or they've bred with the devil and oh, my favorite one how they "had tea with the devil, and little bat shaped cookies." Many of the things heard was said out of a corny whore's sarcasm, but it still causes a demonic smirk come across my maw. Yes, but what they don't know, stupid bitches, is that when they even use those sarcastic phrases in front of a horse, its just an excuse that you don't have anything else to prove your a "true" dark. So what does every fucking faker do? Brings the devil into play. Does it work on me? Hell no. I laugh in there face. I feed on their assanine sarcasm that they think is so god damn sadistic.
Jet black threads blew into view as I shook my form, the moisture falling off like fleas. Scars matted my pelt bitterly, including a chunk of my ear missing. Thanks, mom. What can I say? I was an evil little bitch. But oh, weren't we all? Isn't every dark I come upon just the most wicked thing I've ever met? Steel flints clanked against the rockier part of the beach as my muscles vigorously went into motion, my banner waving like a flag in the breeze. Fog surrounded me, couldn't see a damn inch from my nose. Hopefully a lost and feeble light would come along. Stupid idiots, all so much fun to eat--I mean mess with. I love the bold ones too. You know, the ones who act all heroic and brave and are proud to be a piteous light soul. Those are the best. Because we you really strip them down raw, they become the equine that every dark would feed upon. Darks feed on weakness. It is a known fact. However, I feed upon flesh. Sure I'll listen to the smack they send a me, but I rather get to the more violent part of things. Ha, another rhetorical question, "Doesn't every dark love to fight?" I'll let you answer that one yourself.
Furrowed brow and pinned thorns I halted and looked around. Fog. What a wonderful surprise. Flicking my banner, I pawed the ground as my jade occs rolled into the back of my crania. I was not looking forward to meeting the other darks here. Not at all. Sarcastic, blood-lusting, brutish things. Eh. Sounds like myself. Well that explains a lot right there. A smirk laced my devilish facade as red-tinted (you can only guess how they got that way) ivories tore up some sea grass and chewed mootnously until the salty plant was down my throat. Pawing the ground, I looked ahead my emerald visionaries piercing into the fog. The moonlight shed down upon me drearly, as if disappointed to have me in its bathing spot. Can't imagine why. Buckskin pelt rippled with health and muscle as I quickly decided I might as well try and meet other bastards and bitches already, have to do it sooner or later. Joy. Brow furrowed as I shook my crania at myself. If only the world consisted of one thing: me. Greedy? You know it babe. But unfortunately I would be overrun by lights. That's why other darks are here. To help me bring them down so this planet can have some proper sanity. Lights with all their petty dramas and deteriorating the reputation of modern day horse. Darks are made stronger, better and a hell of a lot more sensible. It made since only to kill them off.
Jade voids flashed in the moonlight, satan and insane rays witheld in them. With a bob of the head I released a blood-curtling scream, my nares dilated and my front pistons lifted off the ground. Coming down hard, I let out an impenetrable sigh of regret and hoped nobody would answer. I hated meeting other darks. They were like meeting myself. And the fake ones...oh I just want to rip their pretty little hearts out. True darks would have scars. True darks would have insanity churning throughout their orbs, and would have a hell of a lot of muscle. No daint bitches around here are true darks. No way. You fight for your survival. And if you're not as finely conformed as I, then that's fine babe, because when it comes to my body and a stallion's stature: there's only one difference. And I think we all know that difference honey. If not, have a light whore explain it to you. She's surely seen them enough.
Words: 907
Muse: Nice.
Notes: It's been awhile since I've played a dark. I'm still trying to get into character. This thread is open to anyone.
Jet black threads blew into view as I shook my form, the moisture falling off like fleas. Scars matted my pelt bitterly, including a chunk of my ear missing. Thanks, mom. What can I say? I was an evil little bitch. But oh, weren't we all? Isn't every dark I come upon just the most wicked thing I've ever met? Steel flints clanked against the rockier part of the beach as my muscles vigorously went into motion, my banner waving like a flag in the breeze. Fog surrounded me, couldn't see a damn inch from my nose. Hopefully a lost and feeble light would come along. Stupid idiots, all so much fun to eat--I mean mess with. I love the bold ones too. You know, the ones who act all heroic and brave and are proud to be a piteous light soul. Those are the best. Because we you really strip them down raw, they become the equine that every dark would feed upon. Darks feed on weakness. It is a known fact. However, I feed upon flesh. Sure I'll listen to the smack they send a me, but I rather get to the more violent part of things. Ha, another rhetorical question, "Doesn't every dark love to fight?" I'll let you answer that one yourself.
Furrowed brow and pinned thorns I halted and looked around. Fog. What a wonderful surprise. Flicking my banner, I pawed the ground as my jade occs rolled into the back of my crania. I was not looking forward to meeting the other darks here. Not at all. Sarcastic, blood-lusting, brutish things. Eh. Sounds like myself. Well that explains a lot right there. A smirk laced my devilish facade as red-tinted (you can only guess how they got that way) ivories tore up some sea grass and chewed mootnously until the salty plant was down my throat. Pawing the ground, I looked ahead my emerald visionaries piercing into the fog. The moonlight shed down upon me drearly, as if disappointed to have me in its bathing spot. Can't imagine why. Buckskin pelt rippled with health and muscle as I quickly decided I might as well try and meet other bastards and bitches already, have to do it sooner or later. Joy. Brow furrowed as I shook my crania at myself. If only the world consisted of one thing: me. Greedy? You know it babe. But unfortunately I would be overrun by lights. That's why other darks are here. To help me bring them down so this planet can have some proper sanity. Lights with all their petty dramas and deteriorating the reputation of modern day horse. Darks are made stronger, better and a hell of a lot more sensible. It made since only to kill them off.
Jade voids flashed in the moonlight, satan and insane rays witheld in them. With a bob of the head I released a blood-curtling scream, my nares dilated and my front pistons lifted off the ground. Coming down hard, I let out an impenetrable sigh of regret and hoped nobody would answer. I hated meeting other darks. They were like meeting myself. And the fake ones...oh I just want to rip their pretty little hearts out. True darks would have scars. True darks would have insanity churning throughout their orbs, and would have a hell of a lot of muscle. No daint bitches around here are true darks. No way. You fight for your survival. And if you're not as finely conformed as I, then that's fine babe, because when it comes to my body and a stallion's stature: there's only one difference. And I think we all know that difference honey. If not, have a light whore explain it to you. She's surely seen them enough.
Words: 907
Muse: Nice.
Notes: It's been awhile since I've played a dark. I'm still trying to get into character. This thread is open to anyone.