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07-13-2016, 04:54 PM
A victorious growl ripped from the mare’s scaled throat, so much deeper than a woman’s voice should be, as she felt her horn slice through soft flesh. The bladed edge went deeper, deeper, until bone stopped its drive. Sharp teeth revealed in a satisfied snarl; she would cleave the wing from his very body. Though this man, in particular, had not (yet) brought harm to her or her people, he was guilty by association of having wings. So it was vicious victory that coursed through her veins as she saw the blood seep into the pale green feathers and pallid coat around the wing joint.
But her thoughts, they were hubris, the pride before the fall, because too long did she linger to see the gore of the wing joint; too slow was her reaction to the upward wrench of his feathers and twist of his body. Her side, despite its protective plates, was no match for the sharp and spiraled horn that he drove towards the soft flesh of her belly.
Abdominal wounds were deadly, especially above the ocean without saltwater to bathe the innards. The warrior maiden knew this very well— she had seen her cousin Rohkea nearly succumb to such an injury. But she was too late, too stagnant in her revelry of her landed attack, to entirely avoid his horn. So she lunged as far forward as she could, diving beneath the very wing she hated, trying to bring the brunt of his driving horn away from her abdomen and towards the muscle bellies of her haunches.
She partially succeeded, and a feral scream ripped from her as his long spear drove into the ventral fascia of her muscular flank. The wound was deep and sent muscles spasming in pain around it, but at least her intestines were not attempting to leave her abdomen via a horn puncture-wound in her belly.
Still, the gaping flesh hindered her movements; her left flank and part of her haunches were entirely locked in pain for the moment. And so she snarled and whipped her spike-laden tail around towards his face. Her body might be hindered and her spikes may be poison-less, but they were still sharp enough to slice the the tender skin of the face or puncture the globes of the eyes.
“Fiku vian patrinon, picxo ĉielo,” the curse was thrown from her scaled lips, so unlike any other spar. She was not one to throw insults in battle, unless there was foul play. Then again, to Aquila, this man started the fight with foul play just by having wings. Her bright aqua and yellow eyes flashed in hatred as waves of pain traveled through her left side. She tried to move away from him, towards her right, as her tail sailed towards his face in attack, though her movements were slow.
Fiku vian patrinon, picxo ĉielo= "Fuck your mother, sky c*nt." :X
A: 2/3
D: 0/1
WC: 477
Damages: Deep flesh wound in left flank.
Summary: She moves forward so Ilios's horn pierces her left flank, and then tries to move to her right (away from him) while swinging her barbed tail towards his face.
Sorry for the delay <3
But her thoughts, they were hubris, the pride before the fall, because too long did she linger to see the gore of the wing joint; too slow was her reaction to the upward wrench of his feathers and twist of his body. Her side, despite its protective plates, was no match for the sharp and spiraled horn that he drove towards the soft flesh of her belly.
Abdominal wounds were deadly, especially above the ocean without saltwater to bathe the innards. The warrior maiden knew this very well— she had seen her cousin Rohkea nearly succumb to such an injury. But she was too late, too stagnant in her revelry of her landed attack, to entirely avoid his horn. So she lunged as far forward as she could, diving beneath the very wing she hated, trying to bring the brunt of his driving horn away from her abdomen and towards the muscle bellies of her haunches.
She partially succeeded, and a feral scream ripped from her as his long spear drove into the ventral fascia of her muscular flank. The wound was deep and sent muscles spasming in pain around it, but at least her intestines were not attempting to leave her abdomen via a horn puncture-wound in her belly.
Still, the gaping flesh hindered her movements; her left flank and part of her haunches were entirely locked in pain for the moment. And so she snarled and whipped her spike-laden tail around towards his face. Her body might be hindered and her spikes may be poison-less, but they were still sharp enough to slice the the tender skin of the face or puncture the globes of the eyes.
“Fiku vian patrinon, picxo ĉielo,” the curse was thrown from her scaled lips, so unlike any other spar. She was not one to throw insults in battle, unless there was foul play. Then again, to Aquila, this man started the fight with foul play just by having wings. Her bright aqua and yellow eyes flashed in hatred as waves of pain traveled through her left side. She tried to move away from him, towards her right, as her tail sailed towards his face in attack, though her movements were slow.
Fiku vian patrinon, picxo ĉielo= "Fuck your mother, sky c*nt." :X
A: 2/3
D: 0/1
WC: 477
Damages: Deep flesh wound in left flank.
Summary: She moves forward so Ilios's horn pierces her left flank, and then tries to move to her right (away from him) while swinging her barbed tail towards his face.
Sorry for the delay <3
men have drowned
in seas such as these
in seas such as these
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
