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Better Than Gore

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  1. Once they had arrived back at Dorian, he would wait patiently for the Elk to inspect Mythandriel before positioning her atop the creature. He assumed she was able to ride, Dorian was fast and could probably get her back into town without direction. “Get her to town safely, I won't be far behind.” Zan spoke calmly, petting Dorian under the chin before looking up at Myth. “You're going to be fine, love. Don't wait for me to catch up, find someone that can treat those wounds.” With that being said, he pulled her in for a kiss and headed toward his own mount. Once there, he bent down and scooped up the buck, placing it on the horses back and tying it down with what supplies he did bring. He then mounted the creature, but wouldn't sit, he didn't want to put any unnecessary weight onto the horse. Instead with a ferocious “Yah!” and a snap of the reigns, they were off. Galloping through the forest in hopes they wouldn't get lost to reunite with Mythandriel in town. @Witches Brew
  2. 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
  3. 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
  4. 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
  5. 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
  6. 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
  7. 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
  8. 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
  9. 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.]
  10. 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
  11. “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
  12. 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
  13. 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
  14. 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
  15. 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
  16. 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
  17. “Bread it is!” Almost immediately his hand dove inside the basket once more, retrieving a loaf of bread he had picked up in the market on his way to Myth’s humble abode. Breaking a couple of pieces off of the loaf, he would trade her for the bottle. He could smell it the second she popped the cork out, he knew wine when he smelt it, they had a pungent fruity odor. The color was also a dead giveaway. Swirling it around inside the bottle with a simple rotation of his wrist, he brought it to his nose to smell it once again briefly before taking a swig. Wine definitely wasn’t something to just chug, it had to be sipped, so that’s exactly what he did. Casually he took a sip and let his taste buds familiarize themselves before swallowing. She wasn’t lying, it wasn’t too bad. He was more of an ale guy himself, but this would have to do for now. “So, what’s on your mind?” Small talk, really? Regret set in the minute he opened his mouth, oh how he wished they could go back to what they had been doing just moments ago. But this is what had to be done. Zanzarog needed to figure out what made her tick, besides hot bean juice and almost moving to second base. He then took another drink from the bottle, then proceeded to wash the wine down with a bite of bread. It was perfect. Crust baked to perfection and the bread itself was a perfect consistency, if only he remembered to pack butter or honey. Or both for that matter. Then another gulp of wine. Sipping was now apparently out of the equation. Once it had been swallowed he would offer the bottle back to her. "I don't know how to put this without sounding silly, but, I.. uh, I like you. A lot. I'd like to see where these feelings take us, I'd also like to have you as my own." Guess a little liquid courage did the trick. Hopefully Myth understood the jist of what he was saying, he didn't know how else to put it and didn't want to just come right out of the gate with 'Will you be my mate?', she probably didn't understand Orc culture and he really didn't want to explain that part of his life to her quite yet. @Witches Brew
  18. “Ahem,” Zanzarog cleared his throat, he honestly couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or whether she was hinting at something. “A lot, I would imagine.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. If they continued at the rate they were going, they would have been far more acquainted than they had originally bargained for. As much as he wanted to continue their naughty escapade, there was no need to rush, especially if they felt so strongly of one another. That definitely wouldn’t stop his mind from wandering further though, he could only imagine what it would be like, how magical it would be in comparison to their first kiss. “Mostly for food and drink though, right?” Zanzarog’s eyebrow raised and yet another laugh broke free. Taking a moment to get his mind back on track, he suddenly rose, sitting up straight and forcing Myth into a straddling position. Casually his closet hand sought the leg of his pants, grabbing at the fabric in an attempt to adjust and perhaps hide a noticeable bulge. “Speaking of! Would you like something to eat, besides my finger?” Leaning toward the basket, he’d struggle to retrieve it but inevitably his finger snagged on and drug it closer to them. Peeking into it, his gaze would continually shift from the confinements to her, hoping to get some sort of indication that she wanted something. Maybe the bottle she brought with them, whatever it was, she sure didn’t hesitate to grab it when they originally departed. Alcohol perhaps? Zanzarog partook every once in awhile, mostly in social situations, so he wasn’t necessarily against it. Maybe it would aid them in opening up a bit more, in regards to their feelings for one another, that would certainly move things along. Their kiss was pretty evident, but if it was out in the air, maybe they could spend more time together. There was nobody else he’d rather spend a day with than her. @Witches Brew
  19. Mythandriel embraced the kiss and time had suddenly came to a standstill, it couldn't have happened at a better moment. Before he knew it, he was flat on his back and she was laying atop him. Staring up at her, he couldn't help but smile, the redness had returned to her face. His hands instinctively traced her body, leading from her shoulders, to her back and eventually her hips. Zan would stop there, as much as he wanted to continue exploring. “If only you knew,” He retorted, chuckling afterwards. They were both inexperienced, but it didn't take a rocket scientist. “If you liked it so much, then why did you stop?” He laughed once more, only to lean forward again. This time was different though, the ice was already broken, he wouldn't hold back. As they connected, his head tilted to deepen it even further and his lips slowly parted. Before he knew it, his tongue was lapping at her own, assuming she followed suit. A single hand trailed further down, stopping and resting atop her rear. Squeezing gently and playfully. If he was moving too fast for her, she would inform him of that, and he would respectfully stop chasing. Not that he had planned on taking it this far to begin with, the heat of the moment and all that. Breaking the kiss for a moment, he'd open his eyes once more to gauge her reaction to everything thus far. “How's that?” Zan then nuzzled his nose against her own. @Witches Brew
  20. “Well that's a relief.” Zanzarog added in while he was in the midst of feeling around for the fruit, which he'd soon regret. Obviously Myth found him attractive; otherwise she wouldn't have agreed to a date in the first place. Looks weren't necessarily the most important aspect one should look for in a mate, at least that's what his culture practiced, but they certainly helped tip the scales. There was something here other than just basic attraction though, a spark, a spark that would ignite a wildfire. Mythandriel probably picked up on that just on the way he stared at her, how he took in every imperfection, if one even existed. He had hoped she felt the same way. Then it happened. It may have come as a surprise, but no matter how masculine or strong one might have been… A bite, was a bite. It was painful no matter how high your pain tolerance was, like stepping on a lego barefooted, it hurt. A typical response may have been to immediately pull back whatever had been bitten to inspect for damages, but that would only further embarrassed both of them. Instead, he aimed to only further embarrass Myth, in a very clever way. Moving his finger away from her mouth, tossing the strawberry aside, the rest of his fingers cradled her chin. His thumb swirled across her cheek just as it had to her thumb. Zanzarog stared at her for a couple moments before mouthing, ‘Screw it’, leaning toward her while simultaneously pulling her in until their lips finally met. Interrupting her apology with haste. She probably could have accidentally stabbed him and he would have reacted in the same way. It wasn't rough, but it was heated. With all of the pent up emotions he had been feeling since their initial introductions, all packed into one kiss. Was this too fast? Would it backfire? Either was a possibility, but something told him it wouldn't. His eyes closed at the very last second before their lips met, just on the off chance she reacted poorly to his decision to move in closer. @Witches Brew
  21. Elvish was such a beautiful language--unlike his own, granted, Orcish did have a certain appeal to it. It was extremely barbaric and intimidating sounding, especially when yelled, it had won wars on that factor alone. There was nothing scarier than an army of bloodthirsty Orc's. They were polar opposites, Elvish and Orcish, Mythandriel's native tongue was elegant and honey to the ears. Zan's language was guttural and harsh, together they formed an almost perfect balance. "I have plenty things I could call you." She wouldn't understand it, unless of course Ioreth had been secretly teaching her. Which wouldn't have been too surprising, especially after their last encounter. His eyes widened when she suddenly took the lead, practically dragging him, in fact, she would have had he not have picked up the pace. Her strength impressed him, and that was a feat by itself. It made him laugh and Myth likely heard it trailing behind her. Once she came to a stop, he sat the basket down and retrieved the fur blanket from the top. Placing it would unfortunately mean he'd have to let go of her hand. Rolling it out onto the ground, Mythandriel would assist and make sure there were no imperfections, which only made him smile. Taking a seat in front of her, Zan would observe her behavior, blushing slightly as she endlessly stared into his eyes. His gaze wouldn't falter either, he studied her own, lingering momentarily before admiring her facial features. “See something you like, gorgeous?” He proceeded to scrunch his nose at her in an attempt to make her laugh. Reaching toward the basket, his hand would dig around briefly before retrieving a small red object riddled with seeds, a strawberry. “Here, try this.” Certainly she knew what a strawberry was and what it tasted like, he was more so testing the waters on how she would react to what he did next. He wouldn't place it in her hand, or wait for her to take it, instead, he brought it close to her mouth and offered her a bite. Smiling as he did so. “Good, eh?” A brief chuckle would escape him afterwards. @Witches Brew
  22. “Doesn't everyone?” He laughed. Surely there were plenty of people that didn't care for either, Zanzarog didn't necessarily think the World of them, however, he found them enjoyable nonetheless. His diet mostly consisted of red meat, that aesthetically pleasing body of his definitely didn't survive off of those two alone. Mythandriel took his hand and her fingers fell right into place, just as he had hoped for. A perfect match. Then came the squeeze, which practically made his heart skip a beat, that very moment had been everything he had hoped for, if not more. Soon his face matched her own, flustered and grinning. “Really? It's a term of endearment, it's a good thing, trust me.” Which wasn't what he wanted to say. ‘It means I like you. A lot.’ But that much was probably obvious. Zan's stare and smile made that pretty apparent. Nobody had ever caught his attention as much as Myth had, he had always put the safety of his people and village first, above everything else. With that coming to an unfortunate end, it was time to start a new chapter, a chapter with her and her alone. There were so many things he wished he could tell her, his heart ached for it, but his brain said it was far too soon. Or was it? “There! It's perfect.” Zan motioned toward a tree with his basket wielding hand. Just underneath of it was flat ground and was relatively secluded. That last part wasn't nearly as important, he'd flaunt her in front of everyone if he had the opportunity to do so. But just in case their date took a more intimate route, he didn't want people gawking at them, especially if they were to share that experience for the first time together. Now let's not get too far ahead of ourselves here, Zanzarog's intent was mostly innocent, a first kiss with the woman that dominated his dreams wasn't too much to hope for. Right? @Witches Brew
  23. There she was. Zan's smile only grew once he took notice of the redness steadily growing on her cheeks, her nervousness was surprisingly reassuring, he wasn't alone after all. He took a moment to take her all in, giving her a quick once over, just to be reminded of how lucky he was. “Well, it certainly doesn't compare to my afternoon.” A wink accompanied his statement. Mythandriel then invited him inside, which took him by surprise, he hadn't prepared himself for that occasion. Mild panic soon became part of the equation, only to settle once she realized he took the liberty of packing them lunch. “Take your time,” He managed to add in just before she headed back inside, only to return with a blanket and a bottle of sorts. What was in the bottle had yet to be registered. “I thought it would be nice to spend some time outside. It's beautiful out today.” Bending down to retrieve the basket, he'd offer to take the bottle and blanket from her, stacking them neatly with the rest of the contents. “I brought some fruit and…” Zan had to stop and think for a moment, casually lifting the blanket to take a peek inside to refresh his memory. “Bread! I brought fruit and bread.” Another chuckle escaped him. “Shall we?” He pivoted on his foot and extended his hand to her in hopes that she would take it. As sappy as it might sound, he had looked forward to holding her hand again, however, this time it was purely out of the affection for her that rapidly and continued to develop each passing minute within her presence. He even went as far as trying to lace his fingers between her own, assuming she let him. Every once in awhile his thumb would lightly circle and trace her own. And then he began walking. He had a general idea of where he wanted to take her, but to be honest, he hadn't done much exploring since they last saw one another. So he would continue walking and hope that she finally caught on to his lack of familiarity. “No need to apologize, sweetheart. I'm new to the concept as well.” Better late than never, to be fair, he was a tad bit distracted. I mean, did you see her?! @Witches Brew
  24. What exactly was a date? Why was it so important? Everyone always stressed the importance of truly getting to know someone before committing to a relationship. Normally people could pickup on each other's true intentions within minutes of meeting one another, whether or not they were genuine, etcetera. A date was something far different, however. A date was what followed that initial unveiling of one's true colors, to explore deeper into their personality, their desires and even fears. Frankly, that scared Zanzarog half to death. Not that he wasn't outgoing or had nothing to bring to the table in regards to conversation, he was scared that Mythandriel might grow bored with him. There was only so much they could talk about, only so many war stories the Half Orc could describe to her before there was nothing leftover. Then what? Would they simply share the silence? This is all he could think about as he slowly approached the front door of her home and yet his stride never ceases or slowed. A picnic basket swayed loosely from his left hand and his right firmly held a cup, steam could be seen rising steadily from whatever was within it, likely coffee. Zanzarog would set the basket down beside him once he had reached her door, inhaling sharply as he casually knocked. He was dressed to impress today, well, kind of. Let's rephrase that, he was dressed far more appropriately than when they first met. His attire actually fit him and wasn't nearly as revealing, although that may have been what attracted Mythandriel to him in the first place, a second glance at least. He sported a white long sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled just above the elbow, three buttons, three buttons were stationed at the chest, all of which were undone. Out of sheer laziness and he wasn't exactly lacking in the muscle department, so it only added to the appeal. His pants were just a shade darker than his complexion, loosely fitted, as loose as they could be without putting too much on display. Once again, his muscle definition was clearly evident. The bottoms of the legs were tucked into a pair of black boots, which weren't nearly as pristine as the rest of his attire, they had some wear to them. His hair was tied back and in a french braid, courtesy of the acolytes in exchange for riding lessons, thankfully there were no flowers included, at least to his knowledge. Stubble coated his face in all of the right places, had he of shaved he may have not arrived on time, and everyone stressed just how important that was. Which also didn't make sense, because they also said that it was perfectly fine and expected for women to be late. What a double standard--however, Mythandriel could take all the time in the World and he would have happily waited, she was worth every second. Upon answering the door, she would be greeted by a very happy Orc, smiling gleefully with the offering of a cup. “I.. uh.. made you some bean juice! It's probably not nearly as good as yours, you gotta tell me your secrets one of these days.” He chuckled. @Witches Brew
  25. Dale's reaction said it all; he wasn't surprised by the event whatsoever, as if he had witnessed something similar take place before. Constans probably too knew it had occurred. For someone that never left the Church, he was nowhere to be seen and the women confirmed his absence. Zanzarog immediately sensed Mythandriel's disappointment, he didn't even have to look at her, as soon as they broke the news he squeezed her hand repetitively in an attempt to comfort her. “Trust me, sweetheart. Whatever that was, it was seen for miles.” That much was true, if Ioreth's incident wasn't the talk of Coth for days to come, he would have been surprised. “Did he happen to mention where he was going?” Zanzarog decided to be the voice of reason, based on his companions reaction he needed to be, otherwise these two women might have been on the receiving end of Mythandriel's rage. Constans hopefully saw the pillar and immediately made his way to it, especially if it was as biblical as Dale Thimmick made it out to be. “If you happen to cross paths with him before we do, please inform him that there was an incident at Mr. Thimmick's farm and that his assistance is required immediately.” What else could they do? Endlessly search for this Priest to no avail? Another squeeze occurred, in an attempt to grab Mythandriel's attention. “A lot has happened in such a small amount of time, I need some time to gather my thoughts. Ioreth is in good hands for the time being, I have a feeling our Priest is with her as well. This is where I'll leave you for the time being, but I look forward to seeing you again.” He smiled and released his grip. Bowing to their newfound company before excusing himself. “Nice to meet you ladies,” Something told him this wasn't the last time he would encounter them. Making his way back outside, he would once more take the reins and mount the horse. And off he went, finding the nearest trail to enjoy while he contemplated everything, including Mythandriel. @Witches Brew @Ink Fox @vielle
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