| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
Finally, the Lord, the Reaper, was comfortable, satisfied, and content. While the world hummed around him, drowning in the murky chords of war, of pestilence, of destruction, he maneuvered and motioned through the spellbinding haze, he crooned in the deep midst of enigmas, he twisted and stoked the fibers of bedlam, of chaos, of mayhem. Vigilant violence scraped at his chords, kindled his limbs, heightened his prowess, until all he could see were the rancorous edges of abhorrence, until all he could taste were the sumptuous, delicious trials and tribulations of crusades, until every sight, every sound, registered the composition of Ares, of Mars. He belonged to battlefields, to combat zones, to theaters of war, where he could play the part he’d been born for, shoving his blade into the masses, another monster streamlined for disaster. Like a tempest, he craved anarchy, relished sedition, and coaxed the fine webs of Machiavellian interludes for the chance, for the opportunity, for the conniving aspirations of plunging his knife into another’s heart.
How lovely would it be, to watch the world of another catch on fire? How wonderful would it be to watch another kingdom crumble and fall?
It had always been them, once the Edge, then their unlucky venture through mist and sands – and this time, he yearned for the contortion of conquest, a plaque, a sculpture, an emblem, a sign, a composition he could return to his cadre, to throw across the empire, and show they’d been victorious. It threaded through his cold, callous movements, through his bold, malicious strides, through the following steps as they fixed upon an unknown path, an unfamiliar realm.
Deimos listened to OPHELIA, but his silence was its own deafening roar. He pulsed, he pervaded, he scattered the rime citizens with his own intimidating factions, urged it towards their forms so they may too grasp and clench and hold overwhelming, battle-hardy prowess and desires; his muscles undulated and rolled beneath the weight of his bone armor, taken from a seething wench who’d crossed them one too many times. Now it was the Falls’ turn.
What could they take from them?
They roamed from the south-west, barreling from the innards, entrails, and veils of shadows and sunset, bleeding ferocity and maliciousness in their feral, quiet chords. The winter sovereign didn’t have the luxury of refining himself into invisibility, besides, his power was likely too potent and sinister ministrations and movements would give himself away. Instead, he glanced towards the leading OXY (monsters escorting monsters; murderers steering murderers), opened his eyes to the flora and fauna, to the awakening grounds, to the soft earth and the trickling falls. He had every intention of ruining the utopia, the paradise, obliterating it into segments, slivers, and fragments of Midas’ golden reign. If rage didn’t fill him, fuel him, it was the mere possibility of ruin and oblivion funneling across his mind.
He unfurled, he uncoiled, he unleashed havoc, crossing away from the boundaries, from the outcrops, a shadow unraveling through the verdant plain. Swift and sure, he glanced towards an incoming ARCHIBALD, difficult to miss with his massive bulk, and his target, GHOST. While he had never had any ambitions towards teaming up with the monstrous Edge King, there was a significant opening to render an opposing leader useless, fatigued, and decimated. The wicked, the sinister, the nefarious notions spurred his motions, and he drifted towards GHOST’S right, eyeing the nearby canine snapping her jaws, the shaking tremors of the ground beneath him causing him the slightest stumble, the slightest loss of speed, (had this been caused by the mass of the titanic creature, ARCHIBALD, or something else entirely?). Snorting – for friendly fire was going to likely be a natural, obnoxious occurrence, he managed to continue on his path, streamlining and aiming for GHOST’S right haunch, lowering his skull and brandishing his long, pointed blade; running his rapier for her hind.
[OPENING ATTACK. 651 words.
- DEIMOS IS ASSISTING OPHELIA WITH LEADING THE BASIN TROOPS UP FROM THE SOUTH-WEST into a secret entrance.
- OXY is leading them in.
- They FLANK the Falls from the back at SUNSET with the sun setting in the west so that the sun is at their LEFT and BACK
- DEIMOS IS WEARING HIS BONE ARMOR. Reference from Confutatis’ profile.
- As DEIMOS nears GHOST, he feels the friendly fire of ARCHIBALD’S earth magic, causing him to stumble slightly and lose a little speed.
- Righting himself, he tries to draw close to GHOST’S RIGHT HIND, aiming to stab her right haunch.]
|
|
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[O] Blood Colored Sky [INVASION ATTACK OPENING]
