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Air. All he caught was air. The powerful spirit that had swelled in that golden body was swept away. Stolen by the very air that had rushed through his open maw. It seemed to last an eternity, but this battle was falling apart in a matter of seconds.
Golden body had been so sure of tangible revenge had it had barred all pain from leaking into his mind. The rush, the blood lust, all had protected the golden mind a little longer, but that attack backfired. With body still in the momentum, lunging and twisting, there was no stopping it from lengthening, and so pulling that shocked hip flesh into awakening. Breath caught. Stabbing pain flared like wildfire through his mind and nerves. Whole golden body felt the blow and it shriveled at the face of its unfamiliar harshness. It was not that he was new to battle, or that the wound was so great for after all, it was only three medium slashes, hardly a mortal wound. The magnified effects came instead from his mind. You see, for so long, had worked hard on the ego, and pride of the gold. So the pain seizing that witty Thranduil, that pain came not just from slashes on his hip, but also from his wounded golden pride.
Front cloven hooves, who had been ready to land the gold solidly, now were sidetracked, and disoriented. They landed on earth, but that’s where all really went awry. Not only did those proud gold legs fail to lock, but landing in the mud and wet leaves, they slid, sending the front half of the twin horned down to the ground. Wound, burning from being exposed to that sharp air, cinched up the gold’s hind leg and so came crashing down too.
Mind was spinning, putting out fires. Truth would roar in a flame. Fear, a word not to be spoken lightly, was creeping in again. It whispered so hatefully: he was not fit. You only need more practice. He was not fast enough. Only due to the wound. He would loose. Only if you lay down like this. That woke him up. That, and a deep tremble in the earth. Gold harks lifted and pulled his earth eyes to the sight. The black brute reeling from slamming into a tree. Deep inside that golden chest, a chuckle ragged in his haunting breath. It was the spark needed to start the engine again, and the water to wash away the flames of truth once more. This constant fight, truth versus ego, was proving just as tricky as the current battle. Brow rose though as the elken skull twisted back in his direction. Harks pinned as the gold pulled his mud splattered, grounded body back together.
It was dangerous and stupid, but it was also, clever, and bold. The style of the golden was placed in his plans as he shifted to face the attack, still lying down. When finished the tri horned was nearly upon him, but the golden was calculating and resilient once more. Those feelings maybe more fragile than before due to his fall, but that golden son was determined he would not be on his knees much longer. Hinds were first. Seconds gained acceptance of the pain that tender hip held, and so though a struggle, especially with the slippery leaves and mud, they answered his will readily. His front though did not join them. Closer and closer the black roared. A front leg struck out and raised the golden halfway, the other supported its half raised weight. This lifted him, hopefully above the rolling hooves, but not the legs. What was he waiting for? Then head tucked to a muddy chest, and twin horns flashed out in a show of sharpened blades and leveled. Any other horse could have seen them and known the spears awaiting them, but, with a smirk, the gold reminds you, the black is blind.
Head being tucked, sight was difficult. The golden could not be sure where exactly those hidden knives would hit (if at all). He would not get this possibly deadly attack free: pain must be paid. You can't expect to lay on the ground before a charging blind horse and not get hit. The golden, had accepted the price. Payment came due. A black knee flashed under the golden sight and in its gait lifted and slammed into the lower plain of the gold’s head. The punch sent the golden head flying upwards as his face reverberated in numbness, and then pounded with ache. A warm trickle told of broken skin. Chaos flew. Golden youth was braced for impact, but would it come now that he was reeling from another blow, and the black was warned of his position?
OOC ::
TAG :: @[Morir
WC :: 795
Attack :: 2/3
INJURIES :: -Three deep gashes in mid-hip, gets more shallow towards tail-Bruised on front mid to lower half of face-small cut on mid front of face
SUMMARY :: Not catching Morir makes Thranduil unsteady, combined with the slippery ground he falls. On the ground he turns towards the charging Morir. Hinds stand back up, front half way stands (hopefully keeping him from getting a hoof in the face, but not a leg), and then he tucks his head to point out his horns. One of Morir's front knees punches him about mid way on the front of his face.
"speech"
Posting Poetics
![[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.
