Take Me As I Am [Open, Ktu/Phi]

Take Me As I Am [Open, Ktu/Phi]

Rafe Posts: 30

Outcast

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1 hh :: 8 Buff: NOVICE

Tamme

10-28-2012, 03:13 PM

RAFE</style>
The coldest blood runs through my veins</style>

Rafe saw the familiar look of a warrior in her eyes, but he could not call himself such a noble title. A warrior fought for a just cause that resonated deep within one's soul, but for him? A sociopath rarely ever had a reason for doing anything except for personal gain. Still, he had not completely fallen along that pass of selfishness as he was still somewhat altruistic in his violence. The irony of that thought did not escape him, and an ear tilted in her direction.

The sarcasm that dripped from her tone was humorous, and he snorted in amusement, eyes still void of life. He looked up at the falling snow, feeling the way the icy shards impaled his fur and settled against his skin like a shock. The masochist in his soul enjoyed the little bites of pain. As long as you could still feel your body ache, you were alive. "Indeed," he agreed, though this weather was a walk through summer compared to his birthplace. Icy rains fell like sleet upon his orphaned figure. The memories were foggy and unpleasant.

Another mare approached, her figure muscular and strong as well. She held the most odd and stunning crimson eyes that he had ever seen, and the stallion's eyes moved over her figure as well in assessment. Black is graced with white, and her voice was stern. Another warrior, but leading a group of mercenaries? Apparently racism was rampant here as well, but Rafe knew that his appearance and weapons made him a better creature of violence. The four crowns along his skull made him a better weapon that even those with horns.

Racism often mingled with fact in minor instances. Rafe was a better equipped killer, and to deny that would make a fool. However, those lacking often found creative ways to overcome their evolutionary handicaps. Obviously the mare had a problem with this Dragon's Throat. Scorn, perhaps. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and that held true with those who were warriors as well. Rafe had no interest in being a part of a herd. The tradition and monotony would drive him madder than he already was.

The blue turned black mare in the snow spoke the question that was already lingering on his lips, and he smirked. She was clever. "Why do you kill and who for?" he asked as an extension of the blue's query. The depth of his voice had a smooth tint but still hit a level of baritone that was brusque.