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Thranduil
How dare he! HE WILL BURN IN HELL! A roar echos across the floating isle. In its center flashes about at hot paces a golden rage. Earth eyes burn with a ferocity of a hundred flames, and horns flash in full display of their danger. Tossing them about in the rage which powers him like a hurricane the golden beast canters about the training grounds. The sandy terrain spits and sprays sand about to match the inner storm of fire and wind. All is a blaze till that golden mind spins to a justified punishment. That little runt who had tried to pathetically to touch that which the gold kept close would pay for his crimes. He would see what power and might his stupidity lost him, and feel it come to bear on his own flesh. Sliding to a stop, with sand and white hairs tossing about, the gold halts. Sides heaved and heart already pounded, his blood burned with the fire of his temper, and it yearned to let it loose. To set another ablaze, even at the cost of tearing itself to sear their flesh. Yes, let the run pay for his insolence, and foolishness at trying to touch the gold’s prize. Let all see that nothing but wrath and ruin awaited those who dare cross the golden son. Tossing his head, a cool wind seeps under his next to touch the burning skin. It cannot even send a child down his spine, for all the gold can feel is the burning fire in his core. Nares catch the air of the late afternoon, searching for he who would rue this day. Nothing about the creature is caught. No matter, the fire within the gold was powerful enough to blaze out the warning. “CETAN!” Low, rough and blazing into the air hotter than the fires of hell the gold calls out. Oh but the inferno inside him can no longer be contained, even to wait. Cloven hooves flash out in a high two pace about this sandy plain. “Get out here you scum!” Liquid gold, burning with madness rounds about the arena. It was a madness. A rage uncontrollable and exploding beyond proportions. The stealth had failed, and all ended well, but the gold could see no sense. He would know no end, but the deepest regret of that creature that he EVER tried to touch what the gold possessed. His blood would spill upon that silver armor and he would bend to the golden’s fire. Stomping to a stop with a snort the gold cannot even stand the wait of a few seconds very long. He needed to feel the vengeance of crashing bodies and screams. But the seconds did give the Edge’s sneak a blessing. A maliciously set plan written in the flames of his mind evolved. Sneaks were always sneaky, creeping and crawling. What if that low life did not show his face? Or bowed it in lewd of punishment. A cloven hoof lifts and slams to the ground, sending reverberations echoing in the sands and his body. An explosion of hot temper came against the thought, that little shit could not escape that easily. The gold would have command of this creature on this day. Whether bending to force or order that little sneak would not escape. No, there would be no escape, and delay was only costing him further anger. Another roar echoes across the landscape like a dragon calling in the flames of war. “You will know what hell awaits those who cross me!” His blood would taste that steel, of this the gold was certain. It was time to show him just fully what ferocity a true wielder of a sword and flame could show. “Aduial,” he spoke in a harsh ember of a whisper. The circlet about the top of his head began to shiver, then matching its bearer, exploded out into its fully form, curving over back and body. Heat from his body seared at the metal and sweat already lathered like smoke about him. The heat did not burn the gold though, for it flamed from inside. It possessed him, pushed him, and would not rest till it saw the bent will of the creature that ever underestimated that golden son. “FIGHT RUNT! Or accept your place and task.” Wind whipped about that armored head, tossing those white locks across his vision. Nothing though could blind him to what he sought. That inferno could only be quenched by the blood of another or their recompense. That golden son, burning as hot as his twin in the sky roared out like a dragon in its keep. This creature would see dragon fire in the sky, and would burn. "talk talk talk" OOC:: Continued after Cetan's attempt to steal Thranduil's armor. TAG:: @[Cetan] WORD:: 790 ATK:: 0/4 DEF:: 0/1 Injuries:: None Summary:: Thranduil, with armor open and displayed, taunts Cetan to come out. Setting:: On the floating isle training grounds in later afternoon. The sun will not set during battle, but can affect sight towards the end. Wide sandy fighting area. Sand has fairly decent traction, but can be slipped in. Fairly gusty wind from the west. CONDITIONS:: In order to fully seek his revenge the battle has the following additional conditions. Though default is allowed, it will be an acceptance of a task set by Thranduil. Cetan will have until the last sun of autumn to make, steal, or find a sword or spear, and give to Thranduil. This can also be obtained OOCly through items, this equaling a medium item. If these conditions are not satisfied by the last sun of autumn, Thranduil has full right to Cetan's head (another spar without the option to default). These conditions must be agreed by Tribs (who wanted to see the post above before deciding). |
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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.
