A warrior exploited their courage, their bravery, their audacity for loyalty, for protection, for security and vigilance. They harnessed their sinuous designs upon opposing forces, lashed against kingdoms that threatened their own. They grew cold, heartless and remorseless as bodies sunk into the floor. They became restless, fervent and rapacious without the turbulence of war crooning, ghosting into their ears. They felt pain but ignored it for another moment, tossed their joints, limbs, muscle and sinew into disaster and decay for just one more taste, one more relish, one more delicious savoring of beast against behemoth. As he watched the Impersonator, he thought that she encountered the mimicry of a soldier well, struggling not to flounder as the savagery of his attack met her frame, leant what little strength she had left to his own aching body. She refused to fall into ice and rime, into slush and debris, into the Basin’s calculated barbarity, continuing on in pursuit of his hide, maybe to show her worth, her credibility, her muster and valor. At this, he gave her the shortest of acknowledgements: the slight dip of his head, a brief, cordial nod, and the hasty flicker of pride in his sinister stare.
Then it vanished and the glacial world enacted its fray again. She stumbled a few strides away, and he began his own motions to avoid some of her, undoubtedly, building tenacity, gaze focused upon her wayward motions. Despite some of his energy coiling back within him, his left side still brandished aches and pains, tirades from her former attacks, left shoulder still dabbled with blood, haunch still ruminating on a bruised and swollen sentiment. However, perhaps with the meager lessening of soreness and discomfort, he could manage to evade some of her intended marks. Her slow charge gave him ample opportunity, and as mud, ice and droplets of snow flew into his sights, so did her snaking muzzle, ivories ushered towards his chest. Did she aim for his stony heart?
He twisted his frame to the right, attempting to protect the layers of muscle and tissue gathered along his chest. Arah’s teeth managed to scrape along the lower point of his already injured left shoulder, and a frustrated snort quelled through his nares at the hot onslaught of pain and fresh swelling. It was another nuisance plagued upon his frame, a nagging juncture that, had he not been the paragon and epitome of composure and control, would have altered him into ferocious, acrimonious tirades. Instead, he offered her another attack to try and defend.
From his swerving, right-directed position, he altered his head’s movements, the rest of his body achingly following suit. His cranium swung back to the left, towards the mare’s own left side, hoping to encounter her flesh (even if she continued moving). He brandished his sword in a long, sweeping arch, aimed to lightly scrape it along her side, perhaps at her shoulders, her barrel or her haunch – whatever he managed to encounter and incise. There was no intent for it to be a wicked, damning wound, but another reminder of what she could face upon the fields of battle. Such was his duty to bestow: education, insight and cruelty in distorted kindness.
A soldier carved their heinous pursuits into mercenary wakes, but a General encouraged his people. He roused them from their beds to steel, to steal, to arms and alms, whispering strategies into their ears, inciting devilish mantras of assaults and assails, strengthened their cores until they become fiendish fixations of power, brawn and might, warriors in heart and mind. Perhaps this encounter with Arah would make her rise to the challenge, to become part of their proud regime, to no longer cower in the shadows, but don the sable cloak, the Stygian armor, and join them in defending their home.
[637 words. 3/3 posts. 1/1 magic used.
Some of Deimos’s energy has returned, sucked out of Arah from his previous enchantments. As Arah’s teeth come towards the left side of his chest, Deimos attempts to swerve to the right. Instead of snagging at his chest, her teeth scrape along his already injured left shoulder, going down to the lower point.
He twists his aching body back towards the left, turning his head and horn toward Arah’s left side, hoping to sweep the sharp edge down along her body.]
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