Thread: Festival of Warring Races ||Lagertha x Google||

The politics of Elven royalty would seem alien to any Minotaur, Jandrax was no exception to that. Since positions of power and authority were not hereditary among his kind so an attempt to assassinate someone in order to improve your odds of succession was entirely pointless. Poison was particularly worthless against a Minotaur as their particular physiology protected them from just about any poison that you could think of, secret it in their food and drink or coat your blade in it... most likely the best you could hope for was a rash or a case of indigestion. A waste of money all around and if that Minotaur was to notice it then you would soon be an immense amount of pain. Of course Minotaurs tended to be different from just about every other race in the world in more then just their immunity to a variety of poisons. Among all the races that walked this world only Minotaurs were the only ones without their own females. Each and every single one of their kind was male. In order to reproduce they were uniquely gifted in that they were compatible with all of the humanoid races, capable of impregnating any and all of them. A male child would be born a Minotaur and grow up no different from any other Minotaurs while the females would be born the same species of their mother. Before the coming of humans and elves to this land Minotaurs would mate with Orc or Dwarf women but they had very much come to appreciate the variety now available to them. Jandrax himself was quite partial to Elven pussy himself, often being able to indulge his tastes after a battle or with trips to higher end brothels in his city. For him the contradictory views, things of pleasure and arch foes, weren't a problem. In his opinion Minotaurs should rise up and take the entire world for their own. They had the strength, they had the drive, and it was their gods given right to take whatever they could. For the time being he would play nice though, no reason to start a fight in a place like this when he could just observe and enjoy himself. Perhaps latter on that day he would return home and visit one of those high end brothels and indulge his desires on a pliant Elvish whore or two. Approaching a group of the better dressed Elven women he looked them all over with a slight smirk upon his face. None of them were anything less then quite beautiful and it appeared that they were indulging in some sort drinking game. He was quite content with games like this, a man of his size took quite a lot of liquor to actually get drunk and it was an interesting way to prove his superiority. A game? He rumbled with a raised eyebrow as one of the women called for more drinks to facilitate a game. You seem to think you could out drink a minotaur? Humor lacing his deep voice, the concept was so ridiculous that he couldn't even begin to be offended by the idea. Spotting a couch that seemed to have been built to the proportions of his people he moved closer to it, still carrying the strong ale. He had not bothered wearing armor that day, a statement being made that he clearly didn't need it. Instead he was wearing loose pants of white linen, comfortable though if one looked closely it was possible to make out the outline of his cock down one leg of the pants, still flacid but already quite large and thick, starting to swell slowly at the scent of so many delicious little Elves around him, tempted to grab a few of them and drag them home for his amusement. So how are we going to do this? He asked, breaking open the seal on the ale and quickly filling up a heavy mug that was nearly the size of an elven girls head. Are we going to go drink for drink? Will we alternate drinks? Is there a prize for me when I win? No if, in his mind it was a garuntee.