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11-19-2014, 06:45 PM
Pissed does not even begin to describe the way you feel when your horns naught but dance over metal armor, clinking and clanking but not daring to break flesh. You want blood. You want his life seeping onto the floor, into the ground, all around you. Perhaps not for death- you have seen enough death recently- but to at least teach him a lesson. He should not threaten you, should not dance about you with foolishness in his heart and hope to walk away unscathed. Unfortunately, it seems most of your injuries to him have been blunt. Another time, you think to yourself somehow, distantly, in some far-away mind that is not the crazed and frenzied one that leads you through this battle. You know your body’s limits, and you know that on this moonlit night you are reaching them.
However, the moonlight that dances down from the sky proves to be somewhat of a distraction. The bright light flashes in your eyes for a moment and you lose sight of the golden beast until it is too late to really defend yourself. He appears suddenly behind you and you try to dance forward, away from him, to safety, but this is not your time. His hooves fly through the air, lashing out at you, assaulting your left ribcage, beating against bone, the hollow thud echoing all around. You grunt, air rushing out of your lungs, and your forward motion is stopped as you are suddenly reminded of the terrible pain in both of your hind limbs. You should not have jumped forward so quickly. As one particular rib starts to bruise, you consider trying to trot away from this idiocy, back to the safety of your home, but you shall not on this day give in to fools who think they are better than you. You may be too pained to move this moment, but this pain will not last forever. “Get out,” you hiss at him, your voice sharp and demanding, but also infiltrated by gasping breaths that betray the weariness in your body. “And stay the fuck away from her,” you follow up with, trying your best to glare at him. Against your side, your bag seems to grow heavier with naught but air. There should be drugs in there to numb the pain, to wash away the pulsations, to damping your memories of this moment. There are none there. Just emptiness… a metaphor. Words| 407 Post| Defense  |
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.
Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post
Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post
