Post by Rxy - Sen on Jun 29, 2009 20:09:00 GMT -5
Physical Description: 
The heavens scream...
;; Sendoa
Cursed the earth for 5 winters.
The god put her on the minx side of the table.
Blessed with a pelt of darkness like no other.
Follows a path of deep dark hatred.
persona
A dark outlook on everything. From equines, to land, to the gods above. Nothing can rise above her expectations. A wench of a Vixen, some may say. Always out to make this hard, especially for stags. Partly the reason she's such an outcast.
eg post
Jagged flints struck dusty, hard terra in a calm 3-beat. Nares moved air in and out, feeding lungs as they worked, trickles of sweat speckled the wenches slim, well-conditionned bodice.
Ridiculing the last herd she passed a few days ago, still kept the explicit smirk across her maw. Travelling on her own was easy. she could pick up and leave whenever she felt was time. The outcast she was, had its ups and downs.
She never cared much for stags, feeling she could do a much better job than her father, or any stag after him ever did, handling their herd. Snuffing at the idea, her thoughtbox moved to what she would do, if the gods had given her genitalia that of a stag.
Frame dropped into a two-beat enabling orbs to more thoroughly study the surrounding forestry for movement, or signs of life. Thoughtbox still toying with the idea of being a stag. What a rush the brute's must get, penetrating wenches against their will. Sending a shudder down her spine, her maw let out a shrilling neigh, that scared the crows from the tree's.
Hoping to find something to do, and soon.
The heavens scream...
;; Sendoa
Cursed the earth for 5 winters.
The god put her on the minx side of the table.
Blessed with a pelt of darkness like no other.
Follows a path of deep dark hatred.
persona
A dark outlook on everything. From equines, to land, to the gods above. Nothing can rise above her expectations. A wench of a Vixen, some may say. Always out to make this hard, especially for stags. Partly the reason she's such an outcast.
eg post
Jagged flints struck dusty, hard terra in a calm 3-beat. Nares moved air in and out, feeding lungs as they worked, trickles of sweat speckled the wenches slim, well-conditionned bodice.
Ridiculing the last herd she passed a few days ago, still kept the explicit smirk across her maw. Travelling on her own was easy. she could pick up and leave whenever she felt was time. The outcast she was, had its ups and downs.
She never cared much for stags, feeling she could do a much better job than her father, or any stag after him ever did, handling their herd. Snuffing at the idea, her thoughtbox moved to what she would do, if the gods had given her genitalia that of a stag.
Frame dropped into a two-beat enabling orbs to more thoroughly study the surrounding forestry for movement, or signs of life. Thoughtbox still toying with the idea of being a stag. What a rush the brute's must get, penetrating wenches against their will. Sending a shudder down her spine, her maw let out a shrilling neigh, that scared the crows from the tree's.
Hoping to find something to do, and soon.