Thread: Grab Life by the Horns [Massfanatic/Squish]

RE Grab Life by the Horns PearlheartSquish While at first it may have seemed that the tauren's armor made him seem much larger, once he was free of it it became clear that the vast majority of his impressive size was natural. His body was incredibly muscular, even for a tauren, and even when slack, they were hard as stone. Even totally naked, he certainly didn't look like the kind of man you would want for an enemy. Blood matted down his fur here and there, centered around the joints of his armor and the deep wound in his side. The uneven, ragged black fur concealed a dense network of scar tissue. And since magical healing closed wounds cleanly, leaving no scars except for the most deep gruesome wounds, it was clear this tauren had been without it for the majority of his career. There were sharp, clean lines, wounds from bladed weapons. Star-shaped patterns, wounds from spears. Jagged, arcing lines, wounds from blunt, rough weapons, things that tore at flesh as they glanced past. Jagged, parallel lines, wounds from a beast or monster's claws. Here and there were larger patches, scorched free of fur. Likely from some sort of magician, or a fire-breathing dragon. The tauren's hide told a tale full of pain, full of battle, full of self-reliance and perseverance. Once the danger to his life had passed, the tauren's sleep became more and more fitful as the days wore on. At first, it was just brief groans now and then, then progressed to rolling and shifting. As the end of the week approached, the bouts had progressed to weak mutterings, thrashing, kicking, and painful-sounding groans. Many times, the mighty tauren had managed to fee himself entirely from the blanket, leaving him completely exposed on the soft moss. And while at first, the healing process left him too weak to spare the blood, by the end of it, his member was 'flexing' every few hours as he slept. The meaty cock arced proudly through the cool air, like a steel shaft. It was almost the size of a night elf's arm, the flared, flattened cockhead reaching almost the underside of his broad, powerful pecs. Sometimes, it would spit grape-sized dollops of clear, sticky precum, which coated the monster, giving the smooth black flesh a glistening coat. Finally, as the afternoon of the seventh day wore on, the tauren began to stir from his long sleep in the night elf's clearing. The first thing he was truly aware of was the feeling of the soft, cool moss beneath him. It felt... nice. But before he fell back out of consciousness, he realized he felt the softness on his fur. WHERE WAS HIS ARMOR? With that his eyes snapped open, then immediately regretted it as a shaft of sunlight peeked through the boughs high above him and speared into his newly-opened eyes. The tauren cursed, loudly, quickly squeezing his eyes shut to block the pain of the sudden light. He slowly opened his eyes the second time, this time letting them adjust to the brightness. He found himself in the forest, on his back staring up at the boughs of a broad-canopied tree. He followed the branches down to find a reddish-brown tree, obviously sculpted and pruned into a night elf's home. He'd seen a few of them before, but never quite this close... He tried to rise, only to pause for a moment as pain lanced through his chest when he tried to roll forward to a sitting position. The pain reminded him. The fight! There had been a battle. Five orc hirelings and Garrosh Grimtotem. He lived through the entire fight all over again in a single instance, his arms remembering the wight of his weapon as he swung it, the pain of the orc's lucky stab, the heavy blows of Garrosh's hammer, the hot, metallic taste of blood, either his own or another's, he wasn't sure. He remembered handing Garrosh's head to the orc woman. He remembered losing blood quickly, the busted lung, the world slowly fading... then nothing. How long had be been out? Tor that matter, how was he still alive? He hadn't bandaged the wound, clearly, so he had to have been rescued by someone... He looked to the tree-house. A night elf? Healing a tauren? Unheard of. He struggled to rise to his feet, his iron-shod hooves sinking into the soft moss as they supported his bulk. He looked this way and that, his mind awhirl with questions. Where was he Where was his armor? His sword? If he could just get his armor and sword, he would be able to handle whatever came next. He was vulnerable like this. Unarmed. Naked. He would be easy prey for a hunter or a roving... Naked? He looked down, confirming that. Yes, he certainly was naked. Why would someone take his underclothes? He raised a huge hand, pressing it to the side of his head, one thick finger on either side of his horn. Too many questions... He stuck out his other arm, using it to catch himself as he leaned forward against the night elf's tree-house. He was getting dizzy from all the stress, combined with the massive blood loss not long ago.