06-05-2015, 03:24 PM
See, here’s the thing… Belgarath is the type of guy who doesn’t care what other guys want, but the moment he sees something or someone that other guys want, he wants the same thing. It’s a classic case of the biggest lion taking the best piece of meat from the lionesses who did all the hard work.
Or maybe it’s closer to a lion running a cheetah off its kill.
Either way, the biggest and baddest wins. And with his newfound power… Belgarath is pretty big and pretty bad, and he knows it. Several years ago, he was the best as throwing his weight around and snatching the ladies right out from underneath other stallions’ noses. Now he could literally scare them away. What could be more scary than the prospect of death? The fear of ice weighing one down… down and down until one drowns in frozen, bone-chilling waters?
Bel is an impressive figure, if I do say so myself. He’s big and broad, being half Percheron, and yet has some sort of sadistic sensuality to him with the other half being Andalusian. He’s a powerhouse without being too bulky. Once, his ancestors were war machines for humans, trained to fight beneath their rider as an additional weapon. His sire was a war lord, his mother a harem wench. And Belgarath? Bel was run off for being too much a threat to daddy dearest. So here he is, and I’m so, so sorry.
Bel spots a little dappled bay lady already attended by two winged stallions, and he feels the urge to really test his powers.
Though winter is on its way out, and frost only clings to the ground in the morning, an icy sheen surrounds the green shoots in his immediate area. With a predatory gleam in his eye, the dapple gray stalks forward, sending a breath of icy cold air their way, quickly followed by an invading tendril of ice. He expects them to run or balk, or move in some way, because who in their right mind stands still when ice comes slinking towards you? He tries to follow the stallions’ movements, sending neck-high walls of ice up around the mare, and with it, the potentially crippling fear of all that is winter, and all that is icy, and death from its sharp, sharp points and cold, cold stillness. Horse’s hooves were not made for such slippery material… be careful, friends, lest you slip and fall and oops… there go your legs!
He has tried to cordon off the mare, get her in a little three-sided pen with Bel at the entrance, using fear to keep her a quivering mess – and fear to keep the stallions away. Why would they risk an icy death (impalement or… crushed by icicles, for instance) for a simple mare they’ve only just met? Don’t tell me they’re both heroically brave and chivalrous (I’m looking at you, Nier), and would overcome such threats just for a little piece of ass? On the off chance that they do come looking for trouble, he’s ready with a couple more tricks.
God, what an asshole.
[heh... sorry guys? don't hate me! <3 ]
Or maybe it’s closer to a lion running a cheetah off its kill.
Either way, the biggest and baddest wins. And with his newfound power… Belgarath is pretty big and pretty bad, and he knows it. Several years ago, he was the best as throwing his weight around and snatching the ladies right out from underneath other stallions’ noses. Now he could literally scare them away. What could be more scary than the prospect of death? The fear of ice weighing one down… down and down until one drowns in frozen, bone-chilling waters?
Bel is an impressive figure, if I do say so myself. He’s big and broad, being half Percheron, and yet has some sort of sadistic sensuality to him with the other half being Andalusian. He’s a powerhouse without being too bulky. Once, his ancestors were war machines for humans, trained to fight beneath their rider as an additional weapon. His sire was a war lord, his mother a harem wench. And Belgarath? Bel was run off for being too much a threat to daddy dearest. So here he is, and I’m so, so sorry.
Bel spots a little dappled bay lady already attended by two winged stallions, and he feels the urge to really test his powers.
Though winter is on its way out, and frost only clings to the ground in the morning, an icy sheen surrounds the green shoots in his immediate area. With a predatory gleam in his eye, the dapple gray stalks forward, sending a breath of icy cold air their way, quickly followed by an invading tendril of ice. He expects them to run or balk, or move in some way, because who in their right mind stands still when ice comes slinking towards you? He tries to follow the stallions’ movements, sending neck-high walls of ice up around the mare, and with it, the potentially crippling fear of all that is winter, and all that is icy, and death from its sharp, sharp points and cold, cold stillness. Horse’s hooves were not made for such slippery material… be careful, friends, lest you slip and fall and oops… there go your legs!
He has tried to cordon off the mare, get her in a little three-sided pen with Bel at the entrance, using fear to keep her a quivering mess – and fear to keep the stallions away. Why would they risk an icy death (impalement or… crushed by icicles, for instance) for a simple mare they’ve only just met? Don’t tell me they’re both heroically brave and chivalrous (I’m looking at you, Nier), and would overcome such threats just for a little piece of ass? On the off chance that they do come looking for trouble, he’s ready with a couple more tricks.
God, what an asshole.
[heh... sorry guys? don't hate me! <3 ]