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01-13-2015, 06:58 PM
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Torleik
The beard of glory... The wet schlicking of hooves over damp leaves and slushy ground reached his ears and Torleik's audits and eyes flicked to the right. The noises carried strangely in a forest, sounds bouncing off timber and stone; absorbed and softened by leaves and dirt, pinpointing the source was always tricky dance of intuition and the senses. Torleik had some practice from his homeland but he'd lived more on the coast than in the woods. Still, his perception that whatever approached was to the right was correct enough: movement caught his eye as someone thrust their dome around gnarled bark to stare at him through the fog with dark, nearly obsidian eyes. Unsettling, but he did not let it show. The crown that came forth held a single, sharp point indicating unicorn...but a quick glance caudally told the Bloodskald that this sooty mare held white-and-crimson-tipped wings. Visions of a pale woman with blood-dipped mane and tail flashed in his head and his body shifted to face this newcomer of sanguine shadow. Recognition hadn't crept into his mind as of yet but it was no matter. Whoever this challenger was, the Viking vowed to crush them into this soil so perfect for new life: all it needed was a little extra decay for some fertilizer. He was the Basin general, he was a warrior, and he would be strong. He would be victorious. Torleik's gaze still boring into her, the hybrid stepped out from behind the trees and violated the sanctified silence, offering his name as if they knew each other. His challenging bray had killed the saturnine doldrums in the dead, heavy air – so why not spin the threads of sound into the cultured loom of speech with articulate meaning? Her identity struck him then, flashes of their only other meeting coming back, one that had not been far from here at all. She was "Ghost." The greeting was simple, without frills or niceties. They both knew what they were here for. In those aching seconds before battle, tense and full to bursting with humming potential energy just waiting to be unleashed into kinetic violence, the Viking’s crystalline eyes snapped from one feature of his opponent to another, cataloging as much as he could. Single horn. Cloven hooves. Wings. This would be like fighting a weaponized and possibly more adept Serenity. Or would it? The trees were thick here and opening up massive wings to take flight would prove very difficult, the Bloodskald assumed. He would try to use that to his advantage and keep them in the thick of the timbers, away from open sky. The boughs of the surrounding wooden pillars would be to his advantage in other ways, too, shielding and hiding Irelyn between attacks. The burly warrior's thoughts were cut short as the much more lithe Ghost suddenly popped forward at a crisp pace, heralding the start of this skirmish. The distance between them was not great and Ghost's cloven hooves gave her a marked leg up on this uneven and slippery ground. This was brought to painful light as the General, attempting to avoid the mare's attack, thrust his forelegs to his right to push away and gained no real purchase from the offensively slick ground. Wet, slimy leaves offered no traction and Torleik felt his center of gravity shift too far over his hips and his momentum begin to carry him towards the forest floor. Swiftly, he tried correct, yank himself upright to halt the fall, but failed. A grunt puffed curling smoke from his nostrils concurrent with his left hip smashing into the unforgiving ground, the ache instant and settling deep within the angered joint. Damn this forest floor! Torleik scrambled his hind legs underneath him and hauled his currently ungainly bulk to the left just as Ghost's horn tore a ragged path high across his right shoulder, the sensation a sharp, burning, raw line over his flesh, nerves howling with each minute movement of his muscles; the fresher, more furious pain eclipsed the dull throb in his backside for now. An involuntary cry of pain erupted past his lips and rage – at himself, at the powerlessness he felt in this life, at his wound – filmed his senses with a dull haze of adrenaline. All he could hear was his heartbeat thundering like a thousand galloping stallions submerged underwater in his eardrums as he angled himself more perpendicular to his opponent. Naught but two seconds trickled by, time enough for him to move and begin his attack; rune-etched horns lowered and legs pushed him forward, driving his ossified weapons directly towards Ghost’s sleek, dark, unprotected side, seeking vengeance. He wanted to make it deep and he wanted her to bleed. @[Ghost] ------------------------------------------------
WC: (787) | (1/3) | Summary: Torleik slips and falls on the left side of his ass (ow), and doesn't even manage to avoid Ghost's horn (more ow). He scoots to his left, pivots to face her more and then tries to stab her in the side with his horns quickly, trying to capitalize on their proximity and what and her unprotected right side.OOC: My turn to apologize for slowness. I always underestimate how tired school will make me. I stupid. "talk talk talk" |
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Pixel by: Tamme :D
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