.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-11-2014, 12:55 PM
This was new. As those bone horns scraped against the winter coat then broke and dug deeper it vibrated the golden’s skull, sending chills down his spin. It had been so long, the feeling of breaking flesh, of that escape of heat, and wave of bitter, copper smelling blood was like new. Even the stiff back hock, feeling like creaky old door, could be lost and ignored in this bloody sensation of renewed blood lust. His heart pounded away hard in his chest for it, and body was jealous that only those horns wore the blood of pride. How dare that bay beast move off when his bloody end was just beginning? Mind, recovering now fully from the drag of that wicked fog of magic, is quick to reprimand the instincts of the gold, hissing at him, you’re not here for that. Snorting, like a charger being reined in, the gold pulls that horned head back, shaking with frustration. His dying pride had fed upon that rich dark blood split upon the snow, and now, stronger, it moved with a more containable cold calculation. Though that deep hit of magic had ripped away the gold’s mask, the spilt blood had vanished whatever insecurity lay in his chest.
The golden son has no fears, no nightmares, or so he would tell you. For his darkest fears are not of this world, and known to none here, which made the bay pet’s trick all the crueler. Where there had been a bay, there now flashed falling gold, right before the horned head. Body jerks backwards at this interruption and anger flares at yet another intrusion into this spar. Earth eyes roll down to catch what had fallen before him, ready to crush it and move on. Instead, it crushed him without even touching him. There upon the snow, under a thin film of red, lay a small golden body with white marks like those of our fighter. It was new, and on the verge of a vigorous life, but it was stone cold, and death corrupted its precious features. The dead foal of gold was the hardest blow any opponent could level. For this fear was darker, deeper, and sharper than even those shadows which had haunted him before like a murder compared to a small spider, because it was a murder. Mouth hung open, and heart (which was getting quite a work out emotion wise today), fluttered about its walls of flesh. Spanish head began to dip towards the small fallen creature when in a flash it vanished, replaced by ironed missiles.
A sharp cry, harsh and pained roared from the golden’s open maw, and instinct took over the addled mind, trapped as it still was in the webs of that image. Front half rose that body up and to the right to escape, but it is, once more, too late. The bay’s right hind hoof hits solidly on the soft flesh of the gold’s neck just above his collar. Reinforced as the hit was with iron, the breath of the gold fails for a moment and his legs fall back to earth, stumbling to the side from the hit. A small cut, barely visible stings in the mud like slush that the hoof left, and the gold’s stomach twists in knots at the continued pounding the swelling of blood brings. But that pain only serves to bring him back quicker. Cold, cruel glare rises up in those earth eyes and look for that bay coat. The hit was hard and harsh, that is certain, but the bay (which the golden believed responsible for this in a second form of magic) had committed a worse crime. How dare he reach inside the gold’s mind and use it against him! It was despicable, and broke every honorable code (well the few that were in this world for the gold). How dare that son of a bitch!
Body lifted and moved forward, cloven hooves gripping in the slush the two had created. The soothing his pride had gained from the spilt blood, and the simmering rage such a hit below the belt had caused combined, in a dangerous chemical reaction. Oh how much the golden man had changed since the start. A few rough hits he had been ready for, but the emotional attacks had caught him completely off guard, a rare occurrence. So as the golden raced to that bay hide he brought with him loaded guns. Left hock strained, and his chest protests but the gold could not let the low hit go without answer. Shoulder struck out, hoping that metaled bone would slam into the bay, and while doing so those deadly array of horns lower towards where the bay should be, ready to steal yet more blood in retaliation.
OOC ::
WC::800
ATK::3/4
INJURIES:: Sore and stiff left hock -- sore chest just above is collar
SUMMARY:: Feeling empowered by the drawing of blood, Thranduil moves to go after Oxy, but is stopped by the boggart which takes the form of a dead foal that looks suspiciously like the golden. Thinking it was more of Oxy's magic (because he knows nothing of boggarts) the gold is enraged that Oxy would first invade his memories, and second take such a low hit. Caught off guard then when Oxy bucks, he is caught on the underside of his throat by his collar with the right hoof. Pissed, but in control more than usual, he charges after Oxy and lowers his head, hoping to draw more blood or at least run into him with his armor (didn't know where Oxy would be, so please feel free Sevin to dictate that).
"speech"
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
