Hot breath, like the waking of a dragon, began to roll through the air like steam. The golden’s mind began to spin, whirling out those old thoughts and aches. It felt so fucking good. Teeth trigger the blades on the pole, lashing them out threateningly. His grip on the pole hid the smile that surely grew his lips, but you could still see it in his eyes. The gold sparked in them like reactors of electricity, blazing up in a fire of delight. The world was no longer dark, dead, and frozen. There was life here, and they were fighting for it.

It was as beautiful as it was deadly. Though the darkness hid many warning about his opponent, it did not hide the size. Short, but full grown. This wasn’t going to be a play date, but instead a battle to wound and bend the knees. With his crown of thorns and sharps blades the gold felt no quiver in his heart. They were not his strongest weapon though. Oh no, that resided inside. His pride saw all things with a master’s view.

Look at that little short clutz tripping over ice yet trying to stand ten feet tall. Hear how it dares wake a dragon. This is no lion and thorn, this is a damn dragon, and blades do not so easily pierce him. Feel how good the faster pace is, with adrenaline reminding you, you are alive, and powerful. Power was pride’s brother in his breast, and it suckled from the same mother. Since the invasion it had starved on emotional trappings and weakness, but this, this was something it knew, and could control. Oh yes, pride and power saw and spoke the gold up till the menial phrase the other spit was a seriously thrown strike at his chest.

But he was not alone. A dark figure shifts beside him, and crowned head snaps over. Haldir looks back at him, with pale eyes seeming like two moons in the night. Though the gold would never admit it, there was a moment of tension as he looked on the still bareheaded deer. He was worn and innocent in this matter, leaving in him a state the golden hated to name, vulnerable. His harks pin back, but his mouth full of the leather bar he could not speak. It frustrated him all the more. A hoof lifts and shoves the dark body towards the heap of items he had thrown off. Bleating the deer takes it as a serious offense, pinning his own large ears, ready to protest, but he never gets the chance. A flash of brilliant white light whips across the two.

Reeling in the deeper darkness of the light’s extinguishment, Haldir stumbles down by the cloth, stunned. The golden was ablaze. The blindness and lack of harm did not stop him from turning back straight with the wrath of a wounded dragon. How dare he, she, they! They would feel the rock and snow and know the place where they belong.

The golden, forgetting he too had not an honorable bone in his body, cried out a rawr of war. Voice hisses after, “Anduial,” and the armor, alive with his energy, unfolds over him with a silent snap. There was no concealment or stealth. He was enraged! Of course, he was also still slightly blind. The world was full of dark shadows outlining mountains and rocks with the little cretin hiding among them. Pace then started off slow at a jog, armor making not a sound. In hindsight the pace might have saved him the slip on the ice, for the rat’s hard learned lesson had not been his own.

A few paces out shadows define, and the half white body stands out. A snarl slips through the bar like a growl, and the he quickens, rolling up into a canter. Hooves, cloven and practiced in the conditions, do not reach far, concentrating on their balance. He might not be fully wary of the ice, but his instincts were trained. Teeth, practiced, roll the bar, and mechanism triggers the blades in. All that seemed to bore towards the still shadowy figure were the five horns, but also, hidden, were the spikes about his neck. All they needed to come alive was an impact, and the golden aiming to give it. Body shifted a little to the right so his left shoulder could take aim. Head twists and lifts, ready to slash down upon the barrel of the still dim figure. It would be a whirl of blades, if the darkness and ice did not set fate against him or his pride make his steps too rash. The flames may have woken him from his depressed slumber but they could easily burn him in their vigor.


OOC :: @[Roskuld]
ATK:: 1/3
WORD:: 800
Items:: Circlet, polearm (closed at the end)
Identities:: Ampere, Cashmere
Injuries:: None
Summary:: Turned to push Haldir away, the light of Roskuld's attack enrages him and temporarily blinds him to the night. He turns back and slowly charges, gaining speed only when shapes are clearer. Thranduil aims to strike Roskuld's left shoulder with his collar, and slash with his horns.
"Speech"