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Better Than Gore

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About Better Than Gore

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  • Birthday 07/05/1992

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    Arizona, USA.

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  1. A little was an understatement, Mythandriel was in pretty rough shape. Zan couldn't make out the injuries--but he did witness what had caused them, and of course, he wasn't dumb. She was down playing them and that much was obvious, he would have done the same. Adrenaline also played a crucial role, but as soon as it wore off, she'd feel it. Zan had to get her back into town for treatment, but he also had to stop the bleeding. Releasing her momentarily, he would remove his shirt and tear through the fabric with ease, ripping it in half. Zan would then wrap the larger portion of the shirt around her torso, tying it in order to stop some of the bleeding, and the other around her shoulder, looping it underneath her arm at the pit. “That should do until we can get you back to town.” He then picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, just like their first date. “I'll come back for this bastard in the morning.” He kicked at the bear's corpse. “But we're not leaving your deer.” That buck was important, not nearly as important as Myth's wellbeing, but important nonetheless. Approaching it, he would bend down and grab its hind legs with one of his hands, dragging it behind him as he walked. @Witches Brew
  2. Zanzarog's distraction lasted long enough for Mythandriel to get a clear shot, said shot also made the beast turn on her once more. He couldn't tell whether or not she was close enough to sustain any further damage; however, Zan took that small window of time as an opportunity, he had to put this creature down before it injured Mythandriel more than it already had. Thinking quickly, he jumped onto the back of the beast, his knife wielding hand sought the side of the bears throat, or anywhere in that vicinity. If the initial stab was successful, more were sure to follow, each time deeper and just inches apart from one another. Zanzarog was relentless and had no plan on stopping until the creature wasn't moving any more. Which wouldn't have taken much more, especially if he had lucked out and struck a main artery. “Watch out!” Zan's voice boomed, if the bear did fall from the wounds he had inflicted, he sure as hell didn't want Mythandriel to be underneath of it when it did. Right as it began to fall, he would retrieve his knife and kick off of it, landing just feet behind it in a crouched position, his free hand scraping across the dirt as he slid. Then he immediately broke into a dead sprint, closing what distance they had between one another in the blink of an eye. Tossing his knife aside, he would rush to his lover and begin to inspect her wounds, being careful not to jostle her around too much. “Are you okay? Did you pack any bandages?” Zan was full of adrenaline still, these questions were practically spilling out of his mouth with little to no time for her to answer them. @Witches Brew
  3. Mythandriel had been successful once again, hitting her target with immaculate accuracy, only for it to flee upon being struck by the arrow. Which was normal, most bigger game fled if their hunter hadn't struck a vital organ. Leaving the hunter to follow a trail of blood and inevitably find them, some escaped, Mythandriel would see to it that this one hadn't. That much was proven the very moment it began to flee, she immediately followed suit, breaking off from their hiding spot in search of the hopefully downed creature. Zanzarog would only be a few paces behind her, observing in silence as his mate put the creature out of its misery. They were two for two, so far their hunt had been a great success. Then she approached him, blood slowly trickled from her fingertips. Mythandriel then decorated his face, rubbing it just below his eyes. Orc's typically wore warpaint into battle to add to their intimidation factor, so this was nothing new to him. But something told him that this meant something entirely different to his Elven mate, he responded to the act with a smile, she was clearly very proud of her kill and he wouldn't dare take that away from her. If anything he would encourage it, but they would have to celebrate later. Before he had a chance to react, a much larger creature charged them, targeting Mythandriel before turning on him. Zanzarog had a difficult time making out just what exactly it was, but by the sound it made, he could assume it was a bear. He had encountered them before, although it was unusual for them to attack something their own size, unless of course they were rabid, or had their young close. Which must have been the case, which spelt trouble for the two hunters. Mythandriel had regrettably already felt the beasts wrath and Zan was next on its list. But it would soon find out that the Half Orc was just as ferocious. The bear was taller than him on two legs and probably a lot stronger, it reared back and aimed to swipe with both of its enormous paws. Instinctively, Zan's freehand moved upward in an attempt to take the brunt of the bears swipe, upon connecting, the Half Orc would push with the same arm in order to deflect the attack away. Simultaneously, he bent his knees and drove the knife up and into the bears torso, once it entered, he immediately withdrew it and back peddled, circling counterclockwise. This would hopefully keep the bears attention and encourage it to follow him, doing so would present the beasts back to Mythandriel. @Witches Brew
  4. Zanzarog took a moment to inspect the knife he was provided, even lightly running his thumb down the side of the blade to see just how sharp it was, had he have applied any pressure the blade would have cut him. Perfect. His attention fell back onto Mythandriel, mimicking her gesture with a smile. When she signaled for him to follow, he kept a small amount of distance between the two of them, allowing her to lead the way. His posture would adjust accordingly, crouching down to remain as quiet as he possibly could. Flipping the knife to face outward, the opposite hand would follow, open palmed, just a few inches in front of the other. As if he was about to engage in combat. Who knew what was waiting for them in the wilderness, better to be safe than sorry. And then it happened. Mythandriel spotted her first victim, lining up the shot only to release the string and strike true. Killing what appeared to be a rabbit, she then retrieved the arrow, as well as the kill, flaunting it to her observing mate. Those shivers returned as he watched it all unfold, the act itself was beautiful, but Myth's image was that of a goddess in that very moment. He said nothing, but the smirk displayed on his face said enough. Zan was proud of her, and waited in anticipation for her to stalk more prey. If she had been paying close attention to his face, she would have noticed him mouth ‘There’, nodding in a direction just right of her. Off in the distance, a white tailed deer grazed off in the distance. By the look of it, it was a four point, she would have to be precise in order to take it down with one clean shot. @Witches Brew
  5. There was not a single cloud in sight, so, needless to say, the echoing sound caught him off guard. Taking a moment to pinpoint the location of the noise, Zan pulled on the reign and signaled his horse to push forward. Then the noise occurred once more, this time the sound of an object falling followed it, which gave him a pretty good heading on the source. A hill stood between him and the creator, which took him a few minutes to tackle, steep inclines were no cakewalk. Upon reaching the top, Zan would adjust his posture and look down into the valley resting at the bottom. A tree had fallen, roots and all forcibly ripped from the Earth. The culprit was nowhere in sight. Even he couldn't accomplish such a feat of strength, whatever had done so must have been quite the force. “Easy girl, easy..” His grip on the reigns loosened and his heels retracted from the side of the beast, letting it come to a complete stop atop the hill. Zan felt no need to descend until he spotted whatever had been causing such a ruckus. @Spooky Mittens
  6. While she was occupied setting up Dorian, Zan made his way toward his own mount, taking hold of the reign in order to pull himself up and onto the saddle. Dale Thimmick and him had established quite the friendship since Ioreth's incident, so borrowing a horse every once in awhile was to be expected, at least until he got his own. And just like that, she was off. Dorian was fast. Then again, Mythandriel was practically weightless, so it came as no surprise. Keeping up with her wouldn't have been too hard, but catching her would have been nearly impossible. Myth and Dorian had a headstart and weren't nearly as heavy as Zan and his horse. “Yah!” Mythandriel could probably hear Zan's voice booming behind her and the echoing slap of the reigns crashing down. He was trying, but it was of no use. By the time Myth and Dorian had come to a stop, Zan was descending the hill. Once he had reached the bottom, he found a decent sized tree to tie up the horse and walked the rest of the way. Zan hadn't come equipped for a hunt, he simply looked the part. Tonight wasn't about him, he was here to observe and swoon over his mate. Something told him she knew what she was doing, so he kept his mouth shut for the most part. Whenever he did speak, it was but a whisper, especially since they were relying on the element of surprise. “Lead the way, love.” His voice was soft and quiet out of necessity, but Myth could probably catch a glimpse of his smile if the moonlight struck just right. Despite his size, Zanzarog was pretty damn quiet, not nearly as silent as Myth, but good enough. @Witches Brew
  7. Hunting was a pretty common practice; Zan was more than familiar with the concept, it had just been a great while since he participated. One developed quite the skill set while in a tribe, most of which were out of necessity. Zanzarog was quite the bowman, but he excelled in close quarters combat, as did most of his kind. As good as he may have been, his size didn't permit him to be very nimble, or stealthy for that matter. Zan stuck out like a sore thumb. That's why they inevitably transitioned to horseback and spear, why take your kill by surprise when you could simply outrun and outmaneuver it? Mythandriel was built for subtlety, she was quick and silent. Tonight almost served as a rite of passage, Orc's typically didn't bed someone they hadn't shed blood with, it was as if violence was a part of their DNA. Once this deed had been done, Mythandriel would forever be deemed worthy in not only his eyes, but every Orc spread far and wide. They needn't be present for the kill, they would simply know by the way their brother carried himself in her presence. Not only proud, but fearful of what she might do if crossed. Zanzarog was not only excited to be spending time with his mate, but the thought of watching her stalk and kill her prey was euphoric in a way. The surface of his skin broke out in goosebumps just thinking about it. If he had remembered anything from his days of the chase, it was to blend in and not look too out of place. His attire certainly made that apparent, it consisted of mostly black, save for what flesh was visible. A long sleeved shirt equipped with a hood, which was pulled up and down to mask his identity. Fitted pants and of course, the boots he normally wore. Upon arriving at Mythandriel's house, he hadn't expected her to spring out of the front door and attach. Instinctively he embraced her, smiling and laughing as she kissed his nose. “Aye, ready when you are.” An actual kiss followed, closing his eyes as he did so. @Witches Brew
  8. Zan would see to it that Mythandriel was comfortable before he departed, closing the door quietly behind him in order to not disturb her or the fruit devouring Dorian just outside. He would then walk down the trail leading to the front door and start heading further into town. With an occasional exchange of waves and nods with the townsfolk, before he knew it he had arrived at his destination, placed his order, paid, and simply waited for it to be ready. Once prepared, the meal was placed inside a wicker basket and he was out the door. Zan made it a point to stop and purchase an apple from one of the many stands on his way back through town for the Elk guard dog. Handing it off to Dorian once he had arrived. Just as quietly as he left, he entered, trying his hardest not to wake Mythandriel unless absolutely necessary. Setting the basket down beside her cot, he would gently kiss what was visible of her head, which wasn't much. What hadn't been hidden underneath the multiple furs was masked by strands of silver, so who knew what actual portion of her head he kissed. Waking her up after seeing how peaceful she was just didn't seem right, instead he would take a seat wherever would permit his massive frame and doze off himself. Giving Myth one last smile before closing his eyes. When she awoke, he would be there to share a meal with her before departing. Next time he'd be sure they had a bed big enough for the both of them to share, perhaps in his own home, dare I say their own home. @Witches Brew @Vansin [Mythandriel and Zanzarog relationship established. Etch that shit into the Cothite tablets.]
  9. Just when he thought nothing could get worse, the Elk charged. Zan stood his ground, not that he had much of a choice. Myth straddling his shoulder made fleeing not an option, and even if he was able to, the likelihood of him outrunning Dorian was slim to none. With flight out of the question, the only other option was to fight, but, that probably wouldn't have gone over well with Mythandriel. Ever heard the expression, ‘Taking a bullet for someone’, yeah, Zan was about to take some antlers for the woman he cared for. She better have loved him, because this was going to suck. Apparently the creature had second thoughts for it didn't carry through with the gore, it stopped just inches before striking Zan deadcenter and instead stared him down. Dorian was smarter than Zan gave her credit for, she was testing him, seeing if he'd give chase. Instead, the Half Orc just stared back, unblinking, an eyebrow slowly raised out of curiosity. Dorian circled him and brought her attention to Mythandriel, concerned for her wellbeing, the Elk was more loyal than most canines. Once Myth had ensured the creature that she was fine, it brought its attention back to him, accepting his offering, happily even. A sigh of relief escaped him and he slowly stood once more, leaving the basket open and an abundance of fruit for the Elk to ravage. He would have petted Dorian, but he didn't want to press his luck. Approaching the front door, he slowly and quietly opened it, out of fear for what awaited him on the other side. As if there was going to be an angry mob waiting for him, equipped with torches and pitchforks. Don't ask, it happened more often than you'd think. Instead, he was greeted by silence for once. Gauging the entrance, he'd be sure not to bonk his mate on the frame or on anything else once inside and carefully lay her down atop her cot, covering her with the hide she clung to so dearly. “Any more requests besides rabbit?” He inquired, smiling down at the snuggled up Elf. Zan was already going to be out, so he figured he might as well oblige to any other tasks she required of him. @Witches Brew
  10. “Perfect!” Well… That was easier than he thought. Mythandriel didn't disagree one bit! Zan was thankful for that, he had dealt with intoxicated Orc's on an almost nightly basis, her stubbornness was nowhere close to one of his tribes. Her reach for the fur caught him off guard, he wasn't expecting her to move so suddenly. Thankfully the basket wasn't too out of reach. Myth's warmth was comforting as well, beneficial, even. Despite the sun being out, it was a bit nippy out, more so due to the fact that he had no shirt on. Upon approaching Myth's house, a creature of sorts made their presence known. Grazing momentarily before staring and exchanging glances with the Half Orc. Except his stare was a lot friendlier than its, which spelled trouble. Zanzarog knew its name, Myth had mentioned it when they first arrived at Thimmick's farm, it just wasn't coming to him. Then she said it. “Uh-oh.. uh.. hey girl, it's not what it looks like. Please don't charge, please don't charge..” That last part was mumbled under his breath as he tried to come up with a solution. What do elk eat, what do elk eat..?! Flooded his mind as he stared back at the beast like a deer in headlights. Slowly he crouched down, careful not to make any sudden moves. Zan didn't want to threaten the creature any more than he had already. Lowering the basket to the ground, his hand rummaged around until he pulled free a handful of berries. He didn't bother to check what type they were, all he knew was they were soft and squishy to the touch. Blackberries perhaps? Extending his arm out toward the animal, he would open his hand and offer the berries to it. “Here ya go girl.. want some of these?” Yes, the giant scary Orc was trying to bribe an elk with food, it was either that or end up in the infirmary with gore wounds. He didn't trust those enough barbarians yet to treat his wounds, no matter how many of them he beat in arm wrestling. “I'm not here to harm you or your Mama. I promise.” Not today Satan. @Witches Brew
  11. Dale Thimmick loaned Zanzarog a horse to enjoy for the afternoon as compensation for helping out around the farm. Dale offered him coinage for his hard work but the Half Orc respectively declined, this was the next best thing. Riding was one of the greatest feelings in the World, there was so much to explore and discover, and it sure as hell beat walking. There was a trail he normally chose to trot down, but today was different. The townsfolk spread rumors of mythical creatures and monsters that prowled the forest and he was on a mission to find them. Did he believe them? Hardly. He was probably the only monster they had ever seen. Zan had nothing better to do today, save for spending time with Mythandriel, but she had to tend to her garden. So off he went, riding until he came to a split in the path, the townsfolk said to take a right and keep on going until the trees were plentiful. Just beyond that was a grassy hillside and there, that’s where the so-called creatures would be. So far he had only seen a couple of deer and a fox, he’d have to come back here with a bow one of these days and bring some pelts to Myth. Bringing the horse to a gallop, he’d eventually reach said hillside, it was riddled with colorful flowers. Nothing but flowers and bees. God damn did he hate bees, little bastards did nothing but buzz in his ear and sting him. ‘Don’t swat at them, you’ll only make them angrier’, Myth always warned him, but did he listen? Nope. Zan would let the horse rest, for the time being, it seemed pretty happy with the assortment of flowers and grass to graze on. It would nibble and cut the tops off the fresh grass, chewing relentlessly and nay every once in a while. He would simply enjoy the view, not a hobble or street merchant in sight. Today was a good day. @Spooky Mittens
  12. Mythandriel’s tantrum was adorable, to say the least. It made him laugh. She probably could walk by herself; although it would have been a balancing act, and Zanzarog didn’t feel like chasing after her. At this point, even he was feeling the effect of the wine, just nowhere near Mythandriel’s level. Speaking of balancing act, he didn’t think this through very well, carrying her and gathering their belongings. It took him a couple of minutes and an occasional curse word in Orc, but he got it accomplished. Mythandriel’s drum solo was initially ignored while he was cleaning up, he was determined to do so without having to put her down, and once again their basket was neatly packed to the brim and swaying from the nook of his free arm. But once he started walking, it became apparent to him that she had been playing his buttocks like a war-drum all along. “I have an idea,” He couldn’t really use both of his hands since the basket was swinging about, so he adjusted the one securing her. Moving it up and onto her own rump and tried to match her rhythm. “I’m going to drop you off at home, get you tucked into bed and I'll get our rabbit to-go.” It was a win-win, right? Myth got to cuddle up in her bed and have food delivered to her? What a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man. From there the possibilities were endless! Maybe Myth would let him join her and they could take a nap together to sleep off the wine. That sounded wonderful. @Witches Brew
  13. Mythandriel's speech was slurred, thankfully not slurred enough to be incomprehensible, he simply nodded firmly when she thanked him. Then she spoke about going to a tavern for food. Not just food, warm food. Protein would also assist in sobering her up and probably take care of the massive hangover she'd have in the morning. “Sure, we can do that. Can you walk?” Good question. Zan didn't want her to stumble and fall, he would carry her if he had to. Would they even let them in the tavern? They might deny her service, at least refuse to serve her alcohol. Without warning, he stood, an arm swept itself underneath her and forced her up onto his shoulder. “Do you want me to leave this stuff here, or do we have time to pack it back up?” When people were drunk, they were pretty adamant about what they wanted to do, in this case it was get more food. He'd give her a moment to respond before deciding how he wanted to move forward with the situation. Hopefully she didn't get sick, that would just make the situation a whole lot worse. But at least she was in good hands, quite literally. @Witches Brew
  14. His suspicion was right on point. Mythandriel was intoxicated. He had no idea just how far gone she was, but that much would soon come to realization. “Yeah bread does sound pretty good.” It would also help soak up some of the wine, but he'd leave that part out. Reaching for the basket, he'd fish out what remained of the loaf and place it next to them atop the fur. Before he knew it, Myth had managed to spill some of the wine onto her poncho. “Oops,” Zan chuckled. Then off it came, he probably would have done the same in that situation, walking around with a giant red stain just wouldn't do. It had also managed to soak through her top layer and stain the shirt underneath. “It's not that ba---,” Too little, too late. Before he could finish his sentence, she decided to take that layer off too, tossing it aside and leaving her bare chested. Zanzarog went slack jawed and couldn't help but stare. Not for long though, he didn't want to make it too noticeable. But his gaze did trail down quite a few times, catching a glimpse here and there, only to return to her face. She didn't seem too bothered by the fact that she was exposed, then again, she was also drunk. He could play this one of two ways, encourage the nudity, or be a gentleman and offer up his own shirt. As lovely to look at as they were, and twice as lovely to play with/taste for that matter… He couldn't stand for some random bystander to catch a glimpse. So he leaned back and reached for the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and off to match her. “Here love, put this on.” Whether she accepted the article of clothing was ultimately up to her, he wouldn't force her to put it on. Their size difference would make the shirt fit similar to her poncho, so at least that would be to her liking. @Witches Brew
  15. Nervous was an understatement. Zanzarog didn’t even have a chance to answer her question before he more or less admitted what had been troubling him. For once in his life, it actually ended up in his favor. It was as if an immense weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “You have no idea how happy that just made me,” Assuming his smile wasn’t a dead giveaway. Once she nuzzled herself into his chest an arm accompanied her back, his hand snaked up into her hair, where it would weave itself into the silver locks. Scratching and massaging her scalp lightly. There was nowhere he would rather be right now than in her presence. “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, shall we finish our lunch?” In their case, lunch probably meant polishing off the rest or Ioreth’s wine and nibbling on bread. Giving Mythandriel a moment to respond to his question, he would release the grip he had on her hair and reach for the bottle once more. Taking a drink or two before offering it to her with a smile. Her porcelain complexion was flushed, whether that was from the wine or just the heat of the moment was still up in the air, either was probable. Mythandriel was tiny in comparison to her male counterpart, he would have had to consume a majority of that bottle to feel the slightest buzz. Maybe that factor would play out in his favor in the end. Or he would have to carry her back to Ioreth and try to explain why she was intoxicated, which didn’t sound too appealing. Ioreth was intimidating. @Witches Brew
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