The Dog's new tricks

The Dog's new tricks

Postby Giarc Conry » Fri Mar 21, 2003 10:20 am

Giarc slowly ran a hand over his shoulder and down his slender, sinewy arm. His hand dipped. He felt good. Whatever that guard gave him to make him too sick to fight had finally passed through his system a few days before. At that time, his stool returned to its normal, semi-solid coil. He hadn’t forgotten the guards. Those maniacal cockgnawers had no idea what a Grinsman was capable of.

Giarc wiped a hand across his brow, as if wiping away sweat, though none clung there. He dipped again. They were all fools. All of them. Giarc was a fighter...anxious to put his fists to flesh. He was used to the cold rock and steel of the gaol. It wasn’t dissimilar to his cage in Amasynia. He was brought here to brawl though. He was here to cut his teeth and his knuckles on whoever he had to go through to get his freedom and rejoin his brothers.

Giarc massaged his chin and cheeks, his fingers sliding over the thick scars the went from the corners of his mouth out to his jawbone; the marks given to anyone who becomes a Grinsman. Giarc dipped again. He had uncharacteristically been an ideal inmate of late, however. Far too nice. He knew the guards were suspicious. He didn’t care. They were fools.

Giarc slid his hand over his genitals. The chill of the gaol bit at his naked body, but he was naked by choice. He dipped his hand again. He ran his hands together and slid them over his bare backside and down the backs of his legs. Giarc smiled.

The scent didn’t overwhelm him. He had gotten so used to the scent of death that the scent of his feces gave him no pause. His hand dipped in the pile of his refuse, coming away with another generous helping. He smeared his hands together and ran his hands over his hair, smearing it back, coating it in his own mess.

He looked himself over, making sure that he hadn’t missed any spots. He dabbed gently, until he was pleased with the coating and consistency.

Giarc turned to the bars of his cell. He drew in two long, deep breaths. His lips curled; a mixture of the stink and the rage that began to boil beneath his coating of excrement. He tilted his head back and, from the pit of his stomach, Giarc howled. He thrashed around the cell, roaring challenges, obscenities, and blasphemy.

The guards would come.
Giarc Conry
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Joined: Tue Feb 25, 2003 4:12 pm

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