Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
| Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit
Bunnie |
sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:
It was amazing how swiftly anger could become pleading.
Sound of pain, and the stench of blood and fear meld into the air; the thud of our hooves as she attempts to flee, and I dance along after her, rises in cadence, in tempo, the thrumming of blood pulsing behind each staccato step. Her eyes are wild with fear, and I steel my own heart against the minute flicker of compassion that bids me to stop.
She has to learn!
The sound of her bow slapping about quiets, though her breath still comes ragged, and fearful, so I find it hard to concentrate on the insidious weapon at all, driven by a primal instinct to protect myself. The red of her blood is bright and beautiful against her skin, the wound obviously deep, each pulse of her frantic heart spilling more and more. I press after her, wanting to tower over her staggering figure, to further impress upon her the foolishness of her actions.
Rikyn! yells Duir from wherever he is, a sharp cry of sheer fear and preemptive pain, bow!
Literally roaring with outrage that she’d fucking dare use it against me again, I don’t balk away as the warning rings through my head; rather, I lunge forward, the hot and cold arrow again striking into the flesh of my shoulder. Aiming my horn for her body again in the evasive motion, I don’t care if it even hits her (or where), as long as she doesn’t kill me before I can slowly beat some sense into her idiot head.
This time, like her first arrow, the projectile sticks, protruding from the front of my shoulder, nestled deep. It’s too close to my chest and bone for comfort, the sort of sharp, fretful pain that immediately makes your insides sink and spin; blackened blood oozes forth among fresh bouts of red, the wound severe enough to bleed despite the magical cauterization. Suddenly, all thoughts of crushing her beneath my hooves are lost in concern that I've just been shot to death by a diminutive, hybrid cripple.
She scampers away while I gawp down at the quivering, magical shaft, assuaging whether or not I’m about to die. Testing my leg to discover it still usable, but no where near trustworthy enough to reliably give chase, I decide to let her run – for now. Laughing darkly at the sight of her insanely stupid, clamoring scramble away from me, and the rich smell of her fear upon the wind and her blood, scattered across the sand, I call after her:
"That’s right! Run, bitch! Try and hide, if you can!"
’Cause I won’t have forgiven you, the next time we meet. That I can promise you.
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sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.
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Image by TheArtlex@DA
Wishlist - Plots
Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).
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