09-04-2016, 08:16 AM
Gunsynd
I wanna chain you up I wanna tie you down
For those that had known power, the feeling of magic nearby was undeniable and unmistakable. So when the crackling, vibrating feeling that had been seated on the detestable mountain was suddenly moved to the quest lands, the black beast notices. He perks his head up, ears and eyes alert in a way they had not been for days now and he finds himself moving towards the magic. It does not take him long to find the quest lands (there was not much inhabitable land left to separate him from it after all) and the fairy that was behind all of his recent misery. So she wanted to play games with them now? His lips move into a grimace.
But he knows there is no choice. The creature wants them to play to gain back what she had ripped away and he desperately needed to restore his lover to her former glory. He must play her game.
A race? The male feels a weight in his stomach at the thought. Maybe when he had been able to transform himself into something smaller, sleeker, swifter, he could have won a race. But now? His build, though muscular, was not made for speed. He knew there were many within the confines of this godforsaken land that could outpace him in a sprint, even without special abilities. His innards twist with anxiety. Still, he must try his best.
So he moves his bulk into the lineup of the others also playing along. From his vantage point in the middle of the pack he views their goal – it is not far for this would be only a “qualifying sprint” the impish creature tells them. He hopes against hope that a short burst of adrenaline will push him there with greater speed than his heritage should allow.
He readies himself. Waits for the fairy to wave her proverbial checkered flag, and then
He rears, letting out a terrible sound from the depths of his throat and pushes himself forward with all of his might. His heavy hooves pound the ground with terrifying vigor. He uses his strategic place in the middle of the lineup to his advantage now, jostling those to his left and right (hoping to cause some sort of chain reaction – 10 horse pileup or something like that). But he doesn’t waste too much of his energy on his competitors.
In his initial charge he has managed to pull ahead of a couple of his fellows. Though not by much. He thinks furiously about what he can do to ensure his position, to push them farther back. An idea hits him and a smirk forms on his open mouth despite the pain that is growing in his lungs from his exertion. Forcefully (and deliberately as it was difficult to do while running full speed) he empties his bladder, sending a stream of urine behind him and onto those that had the misfortune of being in its path.
(With the penchant for fucking younger chicks and now the golden showers he has rightfully earned the nickname “R Kelly of Beqanna”.)
He passes over the finish line at full throttle and it takes him quite a few paces to slow his mass. He gulps for air and looks about him to see how he fared.
I M J U S T A S U C K E R F O R P A I N