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Plans were forming for the sweet tasting vengeance, getting his mind off the mud still dripping from his gold chest. With distance growing between him and the lovely couple, the twin horned gained more reassurance. That ignorant brute would see words could stand taller than even he.
A plan was settled, and mind determined, so the gold continued his slow canter out of the pines of the Threshold. Home free and easy sailing. That was till the ground began to tremble, and splashes began to echo off the trees. Harks pull back for not all was right, something, or someone was moving behind him, and they weren’t out for a Sunday stroll. Smirk began to slip down, and mind swirled. Golden limbs slowed to a skipping halt. Watch out! Cloven hooves slipped on wet leaves that littered the ground. Limbs spread out and caught the golden boy but he was left locked, half turned, and unprepared to find that dark charging unicorn barreling towards him.
Heart pounded. He was fit, strong, and youthful, but that creature was younger and taller. Not to mention it had been years since the blood lust flowed through those gold veins. For the first time a teaspoon of fear, dropped into Thranduil’s body, and trembled down his spine. The smirk of making another crack, which should be brazenly on his face was absent. Teeth grinded together, harks slipped behind twin horns, and a front cloven hoof raised to turn back straight and hightail it away from this mess. This was not the plan. A full out brawl was not in his style, running from consequences, that was his style. The only thing running right now though was time, and three black blades. Head tossed to look through the thick groves of trees, then back to the charging dark horse. Though Thranduil may have been more agile and able to dodge through the trees, the gold doubted he could out run that stallion’s rage. Tick. Tock.
Cornered. That’s all it took. An old look took over those gold features, and the braced limbs gained power. Another feeling seeped into that Spanish body that had been missing for oh, so long. It was arrogant, brash, and yet focused. Muscles under that thin coat trembled not with fear, but electricity. Gold dusted eyes no longer sought a way out, but only that white laced coat. Having been forced in to fight, the careless gold was reborn into a soldier’s son. If vengeance was to come a little early, who was Thranduil to grieve? More time to gloat. “Was afraid you wouldn’t like that. Have it your way then.” That gold voice spat, and the wicked grin returned once more to his lips. Mind swirled with calculation. Cloven limbs readied, and earth eyes counted down.
Three. Two. One. Hinds shoved off to the dark horse’s left. Trajectory made. Lion tail swinging to help him balance as the golden surged forward then twisted back. Speed was not on his side, but perhaps luck was. Curving his agile body, and spinning his hips out in a pirouette, the golden hoped to dodge out of the charging blind madman’s path then swing, to pay him the backstabbing attack back. Spanish neck snaked out ready to aim those vicious fangs. Half way lifted, and curved it all seemed so well. That was, until cold pierced the fire and froze time. Searing heat stabbed his left hip. Burning and burning, then freezing. Ice like pricks felt like millions of blades diving into his open flesh. Like flies on a carcass it seized every crevice of the wound and devoured the tender meat. Those black horns had cut deeply into the left golden hip, then slid, growing shallower towards his lion tail, due to the black devil’s momentum. It had been ages, years in fact, since that golden hide was pierced by a blade so maliciously welded, and it made an utterly unfathomable shock.
It was too late though, the path was chosen, and the golden dragged his swirling head and seizing hip with him. While the remembrance of the levels of pain washed over him so too did that vengeful, warrior spirit roar in his chest. The smells, pain, and revenge were surging back into the golden’s memory, and it guided him and armed his spirit. Twisting in a pain driven speed the Spanish neck stretched out, and leveled. Wet leaves underfoot may cause him to slip, or the speed of the black to surge the target out of reach, so that only the hot blood on that gold’s teeth could bring confirmation. Teeth bared, heart racing, and mind reeling the golden sought out that black flesh. Mud slinging was a minor charge, but now it was personal. Now red ran onto gold.
OOC :: eta- Injury list below was wrong, sorry!
TAG :: @[Morir
WC :: 798 (<--hardest part XD )
Attack :: 1/3
INJURIES :: -Three deep gashes in mid-hip, gets more shallow towards tail
SUMMARY :: Spinning left and slipping of leaves sees Morir. Waits till last second, surges forward but curves back in, like a U turn, to try and bite Morir's barrel, back or hip.
"speech"
Mud will wash,
Blood will not.
Blood will not.
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
