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Serous Entry To Ironsong Post
#1
((Note, per Serous request we are helping him write his entry application, please take it with a grain of salt as we his raiding partners are not always the nicest of people. I will make sure that he goes through the static form as well. Please feel free to add any appropriate marks to his story to make for a truly unique application.))

The Life of Serous

Humble are a hero's beginnings. I am not sure about my lineage, for my first memories were a confusing haze. I spent my formative years in a fenced in locale near Lakeshire, amidst those I had always assumed were my family. The days seemed to pass slowly, the warm sun on my back, a mouthful of grass ever being gnawed upon. The occasional strange interruption would occur as the humans occasionaly came by and began the process of milking us. I would moo in frustration at them each time they attempted this, trying to convey in the simple language of my youth that I was not made for the process of dairy.

There came a day when I found I had to strike out on my own. After careful examination by the human whom I knew as "The Farmer" I had been placed into the Pen with another male of my tribe. Finnaly I had felt that I was where I had belonged. Then the horrible awakening came upon me. For I had learned some of their language in the time I had been amongst "The Farmer" and his compatriots. It was the moment that I heard the words "Breeding Stud" and was not being referenced towards me that I found it within myself to push up off my hands and begin running, my youthful voice a high pitched "MOOOOO" of terror as I lept over the wooden fence, bell clanging around my neck while I made my way into the wilds.

((thus ends part one))
#2
((and the continuation))

I had ran for what seemed an eternity until I chanced upon what seemed to be a traveling carnival. They were amiable folk, much like "The Farmer" save for the fact I was not being milked. In my own way I tryed to convey my wish for sanctuary and the like, but instead I was greeted with a rope around my neck. The were astonished at my sheer size and strength and quickly I learned what my purpose was to be. They put me in what they called a Rodeo an amusing sight where men dressed as jesters and ran around large cylinders. I thought it would be a simple job until the man with the spurs jumped on my back and layed in.

All I could do was buck to get him off me and when he was finally removed. One of the fools running about tryed to get in my way calling me horrid names. My pride was slowly burning and all I could do was run around hoping to gore these simple people. Such a shame...they seemed nice

((so ends the continuation))
#3
((thus more coninuation))

I spent many of the next years repeating the same games. I grew to hate these people who once seemed so nice. Tis one day...

A new show came to join us. A very large women, very furry and bearded. Our eyes met, I felt my stomach drop. She walked on to her tent, i could hardly feel the pain of the spurs the next few days. All i could think about is her, the large bearded lady.

One day i threw it all to the wind I had to see her, I charged the gate and broke free. I ran to her tent, people ran everywhere someone said "STAMPEED" but I just walked over him. When finally I saw her, our eyes met and I felt a shock run through my body. I was in love..... and was being proded with electrified branding irons. As I fell to the ground I watch my love, but she wasn't what I thought she was....

((NEXT))
#4
Ogre females, as I have later learned to understand it, are a true rarity to behold. While their male counterparts remain basically hairless, the females tend to grow facial hair as a form of plumage to attract a mate. Perhaps it was the pheremones coming from the caked and matted strands of grizzled black hair are curled around her chin...the way it tickled against my own warm fuzz as we lay in each others arms far away from our former home amongst the circus. The piles of leaves were our warm feather beds and we had each other. Serous, Grizeldamort and even the small half formed portion of another head for her that daily began the process of pushing its way forth from a puss spewing sack of skin on her shoulder. We called her Krok'Krok.

Sadly, it would be Krok'Krok who would drive a wedge between myself and Grizeldamort. Her tastes were to sophisticated for her to allow her sister head to spend time with me..and most horrible of all, she shaved Grizeldamort while she slept. Though it pains me to admit it, I could no longer stay with this hairless freak...and I was forced to move on.
#5
((Hope yall don't mind me throwing in a bit here.))

It was in this leg of my travels that I met a grizzled and elderly troll named Jäger. He spoke with an odd accent, very crisp for a troll. But he accompanied me on the road for several moons. I don't think he was particularly right in the head though as he seemed to think me some sort of large talking ape. He would often address me as 'Munkeh!' or 'You there, you large talking ape'- so I had my suspicions. But his stories were always entertaining and he did not once try to milk me.

One cold morning I woke to a long dead fire and he was gone. His pack and his weapons were where they had been, but the old troll and his feline companion were nowhere in sight. I waited in that clearing for three days, but he never returned. So I gathered his belongings and added them to my pack. To this day, I still keep an eye open for his ugly mug and it is embarrassing to say, but I readily answer to 'Munkeh'.


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