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09-06-2013, 01:38 PM
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CIRCE Whatever satisfaction Circe felt in finally bringing punishment to the Shadow was naught but a short-lived spark in the confusion of a maelstrom. Because—amazingly—the ease of which she was able to crush Phaedra’s defense, to send her careening so wildly off balance, left the horrid taste of further frustration in Circe’s mouth. There was no justice in the beating of this spindle-legged windsock of a mare; Circe’s spleen refused to be vented on such easy prey. What was more, the speckled bitch had the audacity of tear-filled eyes, the nerve to squeal as a sow might in obvious distress for whatever hurt Circe had brought down upon her—when it was Phaedra’s own disgrace that had begun this conflict. It left the shadowmere wanting to rage and storm with aggravation, to wring the spy to and fro in an attempt to shake some sense into that dense, lovely head of hers—which only added to Circe’s irritation, because she knew that such treatment would snap that pretty little neck and there would be hell to pay. “Have you no honor?!” Circe spat at Phaedra, her voice finally rising into something strained and agitated as she stood there surveying the sniveling coward of a mare. Coward. Was this place full of them, lurking under rocks like the spineless lizards they were? “Have you no shame?! What loyalty is this—you call me dog, you call me pet for our own General, and I had no quarrel with you! What shit is given that you were here before me, when you stand preening your feathers with misplaced pride, jeering at your family as a child might in jealous anger? What—“ The shadowmere’s speech was cut off by the jagged yelp that burst from her chest, her back curling under the sharp bite of the secretary bird’s talons. Standing there, screaming her lungs out at the sniffling, speckled Spy, Circe had completely lost track of Phaedra's gangling companion, and she was now reaping the reward for her lack of attention. There was no escape from the talons; their aim was true, scraping and peeling at Circe’s skin, and her lower back and dock burned with the searing pain of it. Wind brushed against it, and while the air remained mild and pleasant, against the marks upon her back it was not; the wind was cold and biting against the hurt inflicted by Phaedra’s bird-creature, which told the sorceress that fur and skin had been at least partially torn away. Would it bleed? Perhaps with rough movement the now-brittle skin would break open. Circe’s rage reached its peak; this was not Archibald inflicting these things upon her, biting her body and breaking skin, and so there was no pleasure or excitement felt from it. Almost unconsciously, Circe danced to the right, calling upon her arcane abilities as she moved; from the depths of her body she willed the bird-creature to be pulled downwards to the ground, to come and properly meet its fate. Circe then threw her left hind hoof—not backwards, but outwards, towards the creature that afforded this pain and damage. It was mostly a gesture of her mounting frustration, but some savage piece of the Executioner hoped that her hoof would collide with the hopefully-falling pile of feathers. Away from the bird’s talons, Circe looked at Phaedra again, her eyes dancing with the red haze that swam before them. “Ophelia was here before you, I’m guessing,” she growled, and a taunt was slipped somewhere between her words, “and see how much that mattered. No, Phaedra, this is not loyalty. You chose to mock me, a warrior, you chose to play with fire and mess with bull, and you will now receive horns from hell.” And once again, she charged Phaedra once more, thick tail curling and swiping the air around her throbbing loins in an attempt to deter the feathered beast from another attack. As she attempted to get closer to Phaedra, Circe skidded to a stop in front of the Shadow, dirt and sticky mud coming to gather around her hooves and inside her frogs; she raised into a half-rear and threw one, then two, fore-hooves towards the left side of Phaedra's chest, trying slap the mare with reason and the mud accumulated in her charge. “It is time you learned to shut up!” ~.~.~.~.~ [W/C: 738 3/3 PC, 0/1 PC 1/1 MC Cusses out Phaedra, and is attacked by Stella while she's distracted. Receives shallow, yet painful scratches on her lower back and dock area; she uses her magic to increase the gravity around Stella, hoping to upset her flight and pull her downwards, and aims a kick towards Stella. Circe then charges Phaedra, and begins to cuss her out some more as she does; skids to a stop, half-rears, and tries to strike Phaedra's left chest again with her forehooves. Also tries to get her dirty. __________ Circe | GaitedxSmallDraft | 0VP Strength: 6 Speed: 6 Agility: 5 Endurance: 4 Offense Item: 0 Defense Item: 0 Amulet: 0 Magic: .5 Companion: 0 HP: 21.5 x2 = 43 Defense: 7.5 Attack: 6.5 (includes +2 for being a warrior) Damage: 5.] |
