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AND ALL THIS DEVOTION WAS RUSHING OUT OF ME The pirate is not used to being wrong. He likes to think he is a rather good judge of character, so the knowledge that he might have misjudged Kisamoa is quite a heart-wrenching one. He'd trusted the creature on principle because he was of the ocean, like Bartholomeo himself is. It seems, though, that he's placed his bet on the wrong horse. As the great skeletal creature rises from the plinth, the stag pins his ears and snarls towards it. He helped collect those bones. So did dozens of others, all pulled into the thrall of Kisamoa. How can they have been so stupid? Bartholomeo paws the ground angrily and glares up at the creature, knowing he is powerless to do anything but watch. One mare does attack, her sword raised, but the stag fears it is pointless. Fruitless. Perhaps if he still had his swords, if he could command them to twirl towards the colossal creature...but that is not the case. His antlers, hooves and teeth are not enough. The pirate huffs again, flicking his untidy mane and stomping his hooves once more. He loathes this feeling, this sensation of utter powerlessness. What is the point of everything if creatures this big are just going to rule the damn world anyway? "You won't get away with this," he bellows up at the bone creature and the disembodied voice that controls it. Big words from a stallion that, compared to the monster, is rather small, but he has to do something. Standing here useless just isn't in his nature, and yet that is what he is forced to do, shackled to the ground with nothing but his words to attack with. |
