Post by r.andom on Aug 22, 2006 7:35:55 GMT -5
[named]
Zynfendal
[molded]
Friesian
[muscled]
Feminne
[dressed]
Black
[aged]
3 summers
[stilts]
15.2h
[marked]
Dark
[played by]
r.andom
[sample her]
She, this creature one could only describe as a warrior, was proud, strong. It was defined in her every smooth, easy step, the proud, noble crest and arch of her neck, every small ripple in her dark skin. Oh, this creation was of the otherworld, beautiful – darkly so, menace sloughing off her skin in every step she took. No, this woman figure was not one to be messed with, never one to be messed with, she brought fear into the eyes of the devil (and this was not exaggerating, o no, although I wish it was so). This mare, she was whole, for although a warmonger not a single scar dared tread upon her dark skin, save the whispers, the ghosts of those long past their time, and even those were no longer moonbeam, no longer noticeable.
Zynfendal, this was her name, and she was striking in appearance. She walked smoothly, silky soft, curls of fine black threads rustling on her femine neck. Her barrel was curved, o so gently with virginity well-settled into her body, but was soon to grow with a foal. Her eyes, they were confident, calm. Stallions turned, when she walked, elongated, slim legs built up with muscle earned from her past. She cared little for them, her fine hips swaying dangerously. Zynfendal knew, she knew of this scum that were rapists, but she cared not for them, for they were nothing.
Oh, to see this dark mare, swan-like in her way, moving. She was stunning, chaste, untouched by stallion or mare in any way oh wait yes once by her father, yet beneath this surface, this attractive exterior she was perilous, dangerous – for were not swans like this? Swans, they were beautiful as much as she, gliding smoothly – harmless - looking, but it was truth and truth only that they could kill a man. And so with Zynfendal, soldier mare, shield maiden.
Beneath her hooves layed a crisp red-gold carpet, for autumn was beautiful yet cheerless, and she moved effortlessly, freely, her tail carried by the wind, for she did not bother to secure it down to shield her organs – she was safe enough. Zynfendal, warmonger, she saw this place with what could only be described as disgust, moving with a passion and a fire in her eye, and casually raising just a single hoof as everyone stared. They shy, and she snorts, turning her dominantly raised neck with a smug look of contempt lingering across well-defined features. This place was just another playpin.
[picture her]
Zynfendal
[molded]
Friesian
[muscled]
Feminne
[dressed]
Black
[aged]
3 summers
[stilts]
15.2h
[marked]
Dark
[played by]
r.andom
[sample her]
She, this creature one could only describe as a warrior, was proud, strong. It was defined in her every smooth, easy step, the proud, noble crest and arch of her neck, every small ripple in her dark skin. Oh, this creation was of the otherworld, beautiful – darkly so, menace sloughing off her skin in every step she took. No, this woman figure was not one to be messed with, never one to be messed with, she brought fear into the eyes of the devil (and this was not exaggerating, o no, although I wish it was so). This mare, she was whole, for although a warmonger not a single scar dared tread upon her dark skin, save the whispers, the ghosts of those long past their time, and even those were no longer moonbeam, no longer noticeable.
Zynfendal, this was her name, and she was striking in appearance. She walked smoothly, silky soft, curls of fine black threads rustling on her femine neck. Her barrel was curved, o so gently with virginity well-settled into her body, but was soon to grow with a foal. Her eyes, they were confident, calm. Stallions turned, when she walked, elongated, slim legs built up with muscle earned from her past. She cared little for them, her fine hips swaying dangerously. Zynfendal knew, she knew of this scum that were rapists, but she cared not for them, for they were nothing.
Oh, to see this dark mare, swan-like in her way, moving. She was stunning, chaste, untouched by stallion or mare in any way oh wait yes once by her father, yet beneath this surface, this attractive exterior she was perilous, dangerous – for were not swans like this? Swans, they were beautiful as much as she, gliding smoothly – harmless - looking, but it was truth and truth only that they could kill a man. And so with Zynfendal, soldier mare, shield maiden.
Beneath her hooves layed a crisp red-gold carpet, for autumn was beautiful yet cheerless, and she moved effortlessly, freely, her tail carried by the wind, for she did not bother to secure it down to shield her organs – she was safe enough. Zynfendal, warmonger, she saw this place with what could only be described as disgust, moving with a passion and a fire in her eye, and casually raising just a single hoof as everyone stared. They shy, and she snorts, turning her dominantly raised neck with a smug look of contempt lingering across well-defined features. This place was just another playpin.
[picture her]