Posted by G R IcPrunch on July 1, 2008, 7:23 pm
64.35.207.176
Name - Gripcrunch
Age - 3 or so.
Breed - Thoroughbred/Mustang
Gender - Female
Strength - Fighting, sheer muscle strength
Weakness - Being over impetuous, very one-track minded - to a fault, and has some difficulty listening to those who might know better
Minor Objective - Find Bartholemew.
Super Objective - Not too sure yet.
Harem Preference - You're gonna laugh at meeee, but send me somewhere dear old Barty isn't. After all, I gotta not see him right away in order to FIND him.
Intended Class - Warrior type.
Sample Post - Please note, I'm nice and horrible with writing sample posts that relate to NOTHING. Cause frankly, I hate writing about 'oo, look, the black ponii entered the new land, yadda yadda.' Hence, this has traces of other posts in it.
ABOUT YOU:
Name (or Alias) - Queen of Hearts or Jaina; take your pick.
Contact Info - aim: xkhx morphine
And without further adue...here is GRIP.
twist; writhe; death dance
Kyke.
Slut.
Whore.
She-demon from the ninth level of hell.
Any of these apply to you?
All of the above. I’m your bloody worst nightmare.
GRIPCRUNCH. Learn to fear the name. The simple, two-syllables that will make life hell for most, if not end others. They said she was merely the second coming of PINCH COLLAR’s terror – they were wrong. They were so wrong. The bright bay that was her full-blooded sister was hardly a scratch in the paint compared to the dark creature you see before you now. She is the aftermath, the turmoil that follows the calm. The storm. And PINCH COLLAR was the calm.
If that lays any hint towards what kind of creature you’re about to engage, than please heed the warnings: her tail is clamped firmly to her, admittedly well-muscled, hindquarters. Her black ears are hidden in the black tangle of mane that lines her crest and poll. The whites around her eyes shows, but not in a scared sort of way. A thin white lather runs from her jowls to her chest, where it smears down her legs. She’s the kind of horse that, even if born in captivity, the vet would fear. Rabies shot? I think not. The vet would’ve taken two steps into her personal bubble and been ravaged in the worst way. Stitches would’ve been a nice day for the filly-mare.
Ok, granted, she’s young in much of her aspect. But she’s more horse than many stallions will ever comprehend. Raised to be what her elder sister could not be to ROTTWEILER, the dark bay practically mirrored his looks. Her stocky frame would only grow to be a mere inch taller than that of her sire, and on any given day her coat was more black than bay. The star that adorned her forehead was more of a mirror to his than anything else. GRIP was the mare her sire could never be. (And yet, despite three years of proving this, in everything but a fight one would guess her to be a stocky youngster.) He would be forever trapped in a world of politics and vies for power; she, on the other hand, would be just as likely to obey a stallion as to kill him.
Have fun with that.
To say the least, GRIPCRUNCH was not impressed. With the situation. With her sire. With her dam, moreso. But mostly? The situation. She had been fine romping around under ROTTWEILER’s watchful eye, learning to be more colt than filly. What use was she, if not as a fighting dog? She’d learnt that lesson young. Her sire had allowed the filly to watch mock-fights, to beat the colts soundly when she finally was allowed entrance, and she’d watched her father destroy others who angered him. Anger management, in other words, did not exist in her family. Since those days of young, she had continued her education under another dark being...one who had decidedly left an inprint on her mind. More on that later.
AHEMAIT, too, had been inspiration abound – a vampiress in her own right, the white goddess was little more than a mare with an attitude and a taste for blood. But that combination made her as deadly as many other killers on the desert lands of GRIP's birth: ABAAYA.
Back to why she’s pissed.
You’ll love it, too.
Really, unless your name is BARTHOLOMEW.
See, dear old daddy – she actually adored ROTT, despite everything – had sent her to be a house warming gift. Excuse me? No. She had make his life hell. Back when those days had been her life, the dark creature had stormed into BART's, her only desire to send this so-called master into the hell hole he belonged to. Through no fault of his own, BART was her target of vengeance for her sire’s wrong. Because, like I said, she likes her sire. He does no wrong in her eyes. She just hadn't liked that particular decision's outcome. Regardless, she'd gone and met the dark stallion.
She'd arrived, skidded to a halt, only three feet in front of the dark stallion who would soon come to preside over her life and her ducation in a way only some would understand. But since that fateful day, GRIPPY had been contorted into a creature made for blood and tearing skin. BARTHOLOMEW had, unintentionally, also left a different impression on the young mare. As the yearling she had been at the time, the black-bay took a liking in the stallion in a way which some might call love. But from this little welp b###h, such emotion would never be believed.
Time passed, and suddenly BART had vanished. So here she is now, searching out the stallion the world had deemed her sole overlord. (Because let's face it...this mare isn't likely to listen to anyone else.) But if you're looking for a blissful reunion, you'll have to find some young sap. GRIPCRUNCH, while missing the company of the older stallion, was in no mood for kiss and make up. She was more than ready to grab a chunk of his hide and rip it from his neck. Oh, sure, she'd caused him bodily harm before, but this time she was after him with a vengeance.
So BART, darling, if you're reading this?
You’re ####ed.
gripCRUNCH;
rottweiler x ahemait
full blood to pinch
mutt
15.3
dark bay
Message Thread:
« Back to thread