HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun › Out of Character › Archives › Battle Archives v ⇒ [JUDGED] i keep it caged :: [HISTE : SPAR - OLD SYSTEM]
the Rift


[JUDGED] i keep it caged :: [HISTE : SPAR - OLD SYSTEM]

Circuta Posts: 100
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 7 Buff: NOVICE
Rhawon :: Siberian Tiger :: None aeolle
#7
09-26-2013, 05:55 AM (This post was last modified: 09-26-2013, 07:12 AM by Circuta.)


The rain comes to an end, and as does the immediate pain to her bodice.
It leaves her burnt, her entire frame scream's it's agony at her mind,
and she grits her teeth hard inside her maw to keep from screaming
out her agony. It aches, all of her frame aches, and she beg's
the heaven's for it to end.

The dreaded mare comes towards her, she speaks her wicked lyrics
in return to her faked, and her heart leaps. She hopes she will have time
to bring pain upon the wretched creature the Werewolf seems to have
under her control.
And she does.

A pleased wave floods her as a hoof slams down upon a paw, though
filled with frustration that the beast has not been knocked unconscious,
that his skull is not split in front of her, as some bloodied fruit. She wants him dead.
No. She wants the Werewolf dead. She wants her to change,
back into a small fox, so that she may be chased by the wolf, barbed
with sharp fangs and smeared across the earth.
But it is not to be.
Not on this eve.

Her horn slices into flesh, and she can feel blood splatter
unto her maw. It's scent, drawn from her enemy,
brightens her mood considerably. She has done good, she has done good.
She yanks her horn outwards, lifting her neck in satisfaction to begin and turn towards the
Werewolf.
And then it happens.

Her muscles freeze. They lock in place, and the sounds of the
crazed mare running towards her sleek frame alert her
to her fast moving arrival. Panic attaches itself to her soul, her heart,
and she desperately attempts to yank her neck upwards, to face her
enemy wholly with her crowned weaponry. It does not work, it does not work, and she
panics further, her heart constricting as the dreaded mare comes closer.
And closer.

She tries once more, but her body refuses her commands as if it was
someone else's, not her own. She would close her eyes, but they remain
dreadfully open, observing her coming attack.
Time seems to slow.

It does not slow down enough.
The mare slams into her side, her entire weight being thrown into her delicate frame.
And then she knows true pain. True panic. Because she still cannot move, cannot keep herself
from falling, and she does, painfully quickly; the impact with
the earth ricocheting up her entire body. It hurts, it hurts so much, and her
vision seems to go dull. Is anything broken? It's too hard to tell, her
pain too great, her mind feels as if it is shutting down
in order to deal with the unholy amount of agony she is experiencing.

She lays there, sideways in the mud, unable to move her legs,
unable to move anything. She would cry, if tears came to her orbs,
but they don't. And then shame befalls her, complete and whole shame, for she
has failed. She is a disgrace. She cannot fight a equine and win.
She has failed everything. Everyone.

And most of all, she has failed the white general. What will he think,
when he sees her bruised and battered frame, the blood leaking down her forelegs?
What will he think, what will he say to this disgrace of a mare, this
weakling of a warrior? She has no title as a predator, not now,
the shade doesn't deserve it.

The physical pain is better then the mental pain, she decides,
as she lays in the acidic mud. It is much better.
They will scar. She will live past this night.
But her mind cannot heal it's wounds. It cannot fix it's cracks and torn crevices.
She aches.

The white General will hate her. He will despise her. And something in those few
thoughts breaks her, internally. It is then that she finally feels a tear, slide down from her
orbs, painfully slowly. Her hark twitches.
She still cannot move.

Her voice croaks from her lungs.
"You are a worthy opponent, werewolf. My respect.."
She doesn't try to move again. She is broken, a tossed away doll.

It is sudden that she realizes what this feeling is, when she is around the white one.
It's love.

And she has never known more pain, then now.

@[Histe]
Word Counter

wc: 720 words 3898 characters
3/3 - thank you for this wonderful spar, ali!

:: Circuta raises her head after her horn slices through Merikh's flesh, though she does not manage to turn it in time to face Histe. Histe's charge is successful, and Circuta; unable to steady herself; is knocked to the ground on her side due to the force of Histe's entire body slamming into her own. Towards the end of the post, she feels her ear begin to be able to flick, as well as a tear slide from her eye. She still cannot move, however, and does not try again. There is no attack here.



CREDITS

VENOMXBABY : MIDNIGHTSTOUCHSTOCK


Website Find


Messages In This Thread
RE: i keep it caged :: [HISTE : SPAR - OLD SYSTEM] - by Circuta - 09-26-2013, 05:55 AM

Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture