The black stag stopped as his name was called and turned around, a slow, gradual motion that expressed mild surprise in conjunction with some measure of irritation. He had been pretty certain that this would happen, but it was annoying none the less; hadn't he been generous, allowing this prisoner to greet the lady goddess despite his captivity? Hadn't he been kind, to refrain from inflicting pain and injury upon the feathered creature that clung to the stallion like a cub to its mother, frail and vulnerable? Torleik too was free of injury, something he decidedly wouldn't have been if Morir had done what he ought to have and left this valuable source of information under the watchful eyes of Tyradon.

Chiseled ears pinned down against ebony poll and with a grace that was surprising considering Morir's large bulk and youth that had yet to fully master control over this premature vessel he moved to face the shorter opponent, guided as usual by sharpened senses.

"If it were up to me I'd let you go" the skull-masked strider said quietly, arched neck swelling as he lowered the triple spears towards Torleik in quiet warning. "As it is... I'm afraid I will have to stop you. Won't you reconsider, before anyone gets hurt?"

Even as he spoke the blind giant stepped closer, highly lifted knees guiding the way in towards the other. Judging by the sound of this fellow's footsteps that he had listened to ever since the stallion was captured he was both big and heavy, not as much as Tyradon or himself but more than Confutatis; Morir believed himself to be taller, yet his fathers blood had created him a tad lighter in built. It was hard to gauge the level of experience this person had. The charcoal hellion was unable to see scars or honed muscle, unable to estimate age or witness determination should it glow from the eyes of a challenger... but he did pick up on the confidence in the tone of that angry voice, and knew he had quite the arduous fight ahead of him.

He didn't wait for Torleik to reply however. Once he believed himself close enough with the rabicano on his right side, head to head with naught but a horn length separating their bodies, Morir acted. With the suppleness of a dancer he dug the hind legs deep into the snow and ice of the ground for traction and heaved himself half a stride forward and slightly to the left, caught himself on massive forelegs and allowed the rear to skid around as he hoped to aim the horn towards the others left side, trying to scrape the tips of his long horns from flank to neck. The pallid death-mask dislodged slightly at the abrupt movement but Morir payed it no heed, too accustomed to the annoyance to be bothered. It wasn't as though any vision of his would be impaired anyway.

Truth be told, he didn't feel anything in particular about this challenge. It was naught but a slight annoyance, an arduous task he wished to complete as soon as possible. The taunt fell flat to the forest floor as the swarthy heathen refrained from paying it any heed - he knew his own worth, and felt no desire to prove himself to this nobody, this idiot foolish enough to let himself get caught by a blind. If any of his brethren had said the same it would have been a different matter, but right now... Morir simply wanted to get this over with so he could take Torleik back to the Rotunda.

Even as he initiated his attack the young stallion tried to map out the landscape with his senses, listening intently as the echo of their voices bounced between the trees. It was unfortunate that they had to be in a forest of all places, the obstacles were many and the ground uneven. While the layer of snow and ice might be less thick due to the canopy, the hidden roots and rocks would make movement challenging, perhaps even downright difficult. He would have to be careful not to hurt himself, careful not to get himself caught in any clever traps. For now it seemed that the closest trunk was located on the opposite side of Torleik - but how close Morir couldn't quite say. It would be good if he could make the other step closer to it though, trap himself between this immobile obstacle and his own menacing attacks.



ooc:

PC: 1/4 + closing
WC: 751

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"