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02-23-2015, 02:18 PM
Elsa
My head's underwater, but i'm breathing fine.
My head's underwater, but i'm breathing fine.
The excitement that rushes through Edgar as he cuts into Rostislav’s ear is palpable. Elsa is immediately thrust into a torn state. She is angry, whilst her bonded is experiencing an immense amount of joy. A small, bitter congratulation is relayed to Edgar from Elsa. She cannot dwell on his success though, because her emotions were much more overpowering than his happy one. Darkness tends to fade out the light, both literally and figuratively.
The dark Rostislav had already managed to blacken her own pale skin. The disgusting bruise was her newest addition, and it continued to pulse just out of the reach of her jugular. As her body rose into the air, Elsa was prepared for another failure. It seemed that lately that was all that came from her. Attack after attack was sloppy, and not lined up. Instead of hurting them, she ended up hurting herself. This time, her hooves found purchase. The limited vision she was given stripped her of the fruit of watching him cringe in pain. Instead, she was left to savor the delicious catches. Each nick and bump slowly adding a little more sugar to this fight. This was turning to be a lot sweeter of a fight than she had originally predicted. Even as her wing still flopped limp against her side, the pulled and strained muscle was fading into the background of her glory. What is gain without pain?
Her legs finally fall against the ground. A jolt of pain rushes up her front legs, a horrid reminder that he still in fact had the upper hand. She may be grasping onto the straws that furthered her glory, but that was far from making her a victor. Rostislav must know that, because before she knew it, the ground was shaking. Her eye shoots upward from the ground, towards the epicenter. There stands Rostslav, in all his undeserved glory. The ground rises around him like he is a god. No you drunk, the power of the earth is hers.
A cry of outrage, terror and determination tears through the creaking of the earth. This is a massive wall of dirt, and she can see no outlet. This was her doom, was it? Elsa found humorous irony in this, that she would fall under the weight of the earth and rock she had so often crushed on a daily basis. Maybe the Earth God was trying to prove some sick point that she was not supposed to be here at all. Or, maybe the God was just jealous. That would be quite the story to tell if she made it out alive. Edgar could already see the headlines now, and he squawked from his perch on the tree he had originated from.
Suddenly, Elsa had an idea. In order to stop this madness, she needed to attack it at its source. Rushing forward, she dove into the oncoming debris. The dirt was the easiest to avoid, by a simple downward angle of her head much of the dry Tallsun dirt rushed straight over her head. The few paces between her and Rostislav, however, seemed to be just far enough. As she tried to dive near him, a stray rock blows past her right shoulder. At first, she believes it to be just a bruise, but as dirt starts to conglomerate, she knows its much more. The more dirt that rushes past, the more she knows. The rock had cut a jagged two-inch wound into her shoulder. It was deep enough to bleed. The dirty red blood stuck like gelatin and fell in globs down her shoulder. In the whirlwind of dirt, it stung to high heaven.
She cannot stop though; she knows she needs her momentum. Trying to angle herself in front of Rostislav, to lock chests with him, she decides to try something new. At the moment she thinks she makes contact with him, she summons and ice wall behind where she believes him to be. It comes up to the height of where Elsa’s hock is. With the combination of her momentum, height, and strong hindquarters she hopes she can push him back into the ice wall. If she’s lucky, he’ll become quite the grounded pony if he is smashed into it. Elsa knew better than anyone just how painful the cold could be. It may be a respite in Tallsun, but would it have the same effect when embedded into the fiber of his being? For Elsa’s sake, she hoped this would push him over the edge. She needs to grasp one more victory, falling to him would be another shameful mark on her career.
[@[Rostislav] || 3/3 || 774 Words]
The dark Rostislav had already managed to blacken her own pale skin. The disgusting bruise was her newest addition, and it continued to pulse just out of the reach of her jugular. As her body rose into the air, Elsa was prepared for another failure. It seemed that lately that was all that came from her. Attack after attack was sloppy, and not lined up. Instead of hurting them, she ended up hurting herself. This time, her hooves found purchase. The limited vision she was given stripped her of the fruit of watching him cringe in pain. Instead, she was left to savor the delicious catches. Each nick and bump slowly adding a little more sugar to this fight. This was turning to be a lot sweeter of a fight than she had originally predicted. Even as her wing still flopped limp against her side, the pulled and strained muscle was fading into the background of her glory. What is gain without pain?
Her legs finally fall against the ground. A jolt of pain rushes up her front legs, a horrid reminder that he still in fact had the upper hand. She may be grasping onto the straws that furthered her glory, but that was far from making her a victor. Rostislav must know that, because before she knew it, the ground was shaking. Her eye shoots upward from the ground, towards the epicenter. There stands Rostslav, in all his undeserved glory. The ground rises around him like he is a god. No you drunk, the power of the earth is hers.
A cry of outrage, terror and determination tears through the creaking of the earth. This is a massive wall of dirt, and she can see no outlet. This was her doom, was it? Elsa found humorous irony in this, that she would fall under the weight of the earth and rock she had so often crushed on a daily basis. Maybe the Earth God was trying to prove some sick point that she was not supposed to be here at all. Or, maybe the God was just jealous. That would be quite the story to tell if she made it out alive. Edgar could already see the headlines now, and he squawked from his perch on the tree he had originated from.
Suddenly, Elsa had an idea. In order to stop this madness, she needed to attack it at its source. Rushing forward, she dove into the oncoming debris. The dirt was the easiest to avoid, by a simple downward angle of her head much of the dry Tallsun dirt rushed straight over her head. The few paces between her and Rostislav, however, seemed to be just far enough. As she tried to dive near him, a stray rock blows past her right shoulder. At first, she believes it to be just a bruise, but as dirt starts to conglomerate, she knows its much more. The more dirt that rushes past, the more she knows. The rock had cut a jagged two-inch wound into her shoulder. It was deep enough to bleed. The dirty red blood stuck like gelatin and fell in globs down her shoulder. In the whirlwind of dirt, it stung to high heaven.
She cannot stop though; she knows she needs her momentum. Trying to angle herself in front of Rostislav, to lock chests with him, she decides to try something new. At the moment she thinks she makes contact with him, she summons and ice wall behind where she believes him to be. It comes up to the height of where Elsa’s hock is. With the combination of her momentum, height, and strong hindquarters she hopes she can push him back into the ice wall. If she’s lucky, he’ll become quite the grounded pony if he is smashed into it. Elsa knew better than anyone just how painful the cold could be. It may be a respite in Tallsun, but would it have the same effect when embedded into the fiber of his being? For Elsa’s sake, she hoped this would push him over the edge. She needs to grasp one more victory, falling to him would be another shameful mark on her career.
[@[Rostislav] || 3/3 || 774 Words]
- Any force can be used against Elsa.
- Please tag any posts that involves Elsa.
