That bitch! The golden limped along the meadow. That freaking BITCH! Rage blinded him, and his left leg tangles in a thistle. A sharp croak snaps out as the gold’s leg buckles. Those thistle branches tangling torturously around his wound. Gah! Shit. The golden stops. Wind from the south blows up behind him and beats his locks on his neck wound. It still dripped blood down his neck. A howl of rage shakes the gold, but it also winds him. He doesn’t have the strength. Horned head falls low, and breath rags out of him. He can’t. The golden can’t. And it wakens an anger hotter than even the one Thor earned. His mind throws every curse and hating line it can for this woman. This Confutatis.

Anger never gave strength. He had worn himself far too thin in that challenge. Yanking his leg free of the thistle the golden stumbles to a tree. He would not do himself the injustice of lying down like a failed animal, gasping for breath. Oh though how the wound on his neck drains him of his senses. The blood leaving so close from his mind. With gruff actions he falls onto the side of the tree. That woman. Her crime was actually not unlike Cetan’s, only worse. She tried to steal him. The almighty Thranduil. The keeper of words and masks. How dare she think to come after him. She would pay the price of all before her and rot in a prison cell. It was a pity the gold did not know of her previous actions against the Basin. He was left to only think her a common bitch, instead of one who deserved much more retribution. His mind swam with the growing heat of the day, the loss of his blood and strength, and the anger boiling inside him that he could not keep up with. He was fading. And he most certainly was not in any condition to journey of the plains of battle again any time soon. Look at his body, completely winded from his armor, caked with dried sweat, and stained with a close call by his vital mind. He can not fight. In rage, and in a call for all those near he raised his horned head, dizzy as it made him, and a voice like a hurricane bellowed forth. He would see that bitch pay. Never again, will anyone question his prizes or freedom.


OOC :: @[Deimos] @[Ophelia] @[Ulrik]
"Speech"