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11-07-2014, 08:20 PM
Nothing but air meets the drawn blades. Damn, why was there more air out here than in his chest. The gold’s lungs still claw inside him as sore muscles in his legs stubble to find a solid stance. This isn’t exactly going very well. His own victory won, the task of finishing the spar was looking a bit more hellish. Then, it hadn’t been something the gold had actually considered. It was supposed to be a quick skirmish. Anyone with an eye could see the gold was no warrior, despite his armor and horns. It was all a show of pride, something which was running dry lately. Feeling some solidness return to his body the gold looks ahead. There is nothing but open meadow, and soon a forest would surely hide him away. The stumble before proved that bay could not keep up. He got what he came for, why they hell should he keep making snow angels here with the bay?
Coward. Oh, that word stings every nerve. It was proof that even in the golden, words sting sharper than any action. Its blinding you see, that sweet elixir of vanity that drips in that golden man’s blood. It blinds him to common sense, (after all he could have just asked for the magic), and to his true self. Twisting, manipulating, cunning, and cold, is that pride which he does not rule, it rules him. Worse, when it’s cornered, beaten, and limping along, is when it’s the most dangerous. So as low as that pride was, that armored golden head turned away from the open meadow, to find that bay hide.
The golden always said he hated pets. If he had known what was about to come from that damnable race he would have given up and joined Ampere in her quests to eternally separate them. Of course, his methods would be a little bloodier than hers, but that was a small matter. Turning his hanging head the gold looking from under the silver armor for the bay’s thick hide. That dangerously low pride ragging with more blood lust and vengeance than before. It was only able to catch a glimpse of that blundering bay slowing to turn before the first snowball. It came hard and fast, hitting first the gold’s armored back. With a quick viciousness, the horned head spins around and bares teeth at this intruder in his fight. The gold may not have much sense of honor, but there was a dishonor broken in intruding in another’s fight. It was a deadly sin. That is, if someone was there to kill. No one appeared in the moonlit meadow. Golden harks lift from their permanent place, but there is nothing except a rustling but that was-oh fuck yeah the charging brute. But as the gold tries to turn back another snowball hits his neck. Bared teeth flash back to his right, as another hits the gold square on the face. But still, no form showed itself. Whatever unfortunate soul was throwing them, even if the moon Goddess was getting her kicks with it, they’d regret interfering. Wicked smile rises on the gold’s lips, he would get the bay, then get whoever hid in the night.
Snow slid up and sprayed against the gold’s cold legs. Like a knock at the door in a horror film the gold with regret spins his head around, and doesn’t have to look far to see the blurred form of bay rising up. Earth eyes burn with a returning flame as the gold moves to slip from in front of him by turning parallel. As emboldened as his returning health was it was too little too late. A flying hoof met the golden flesh just below his shield in a solid hit. Though the sheets on his back were flexible the shields were not, so as the gold stumbles from the hit away from the hooves, they worsen the fall, and the gold finds his hinds crumbling. The hard unforgiving edges of those shields slam into the already tender flesh as the gold falls slightly sideways, and it was only sheer determination that kept his front from falling at the pain of the cruel master less metal hitting the already tender flesh. The gold, even as aching pain reverberated about his hind leans to the left, and with turned head those horns seek the landing bay low. This wouldn’t be a scrape, but a stabbing. The gold would have blood in this fight damnit. Angling his head up to take advantage of his low position, and pulling with his shoulders to call along his hinds for momentum, the golden waited for the sweet crimson. It was a risky move, but then when had that golden son ever taken the safe route.
OOC ::
WC::799
ATK::2/4
INJURIES:: Sore left knee (will stiffen)
SUMMARY:: Rejecting running off, Thranduil is distracted by the snowballs, leaving him unprepared for Oxy's charge. Though the magic has worn off, and he can move faster its still too late, and one solid hoof hits its target, sending Thranduil's hips toppling over. Seeking to at last bring some blood to bear in this spar, Thranduil curves left and hopefully back into Oxy with his horns low around his shoulder or barrel.
"speech"
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
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