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12-06-2014, 07:26 PM
For a moment the world vanishes. In the wake of her magic all that remains is a blinding darkness and a sinking guilt. In her confusion and rage she forgot her code, but now it returns to her with the weight of her convictions, burning brighter than the leftover remnants of power and searing hotter than the electricity she just breathed into life. She had promised, had sworn she would not sink so low, would not strike another with the strength they did not wield; she had vowed to fight with honor and integrity, yet how strong were her pretty words when fear and anger infiltrated her heart?
She shakes with shame and agony. Black lashes flutter against light spots and tears. She wishes she could disappear, could run and forget she had ever signed up for this stupid tournament. Has she truly come so far, only to fall in the final round?
Her body does not stop to consider the moral consequences of what she's done, adrenaline fueling long limbs forward and left. She is nearly parallel to where her strangely garbed opponent had just stood when his hooves soar past her inky nose. She feels the air of him, hears his movement; it's the only thing that warns her to halt, for she is still largely blinded from her electric surge. Iron hooves tear into damp, uncertain ground, pulling her to an abrupt and painful halt; she gasps in pain, staggering as the tear in her flank burns in protest, crying out as her aching ribs sear beneath the inhalation. She is lucky, she knows, to have avoided his strike, but she does not feel fortunate. She wishes his hooves connected with her flesh. Maybe that pain would detract from the weight of her shame.
Onyx eyes finally adjust to the light just as the bats flee the foe's bi-horned head, and for the first time the girl gets a good look at her assailant. In another situation she might have been struck by how similar they are; though she is thinner, copper and not gold, she can see the sunlight shade of his coat in the light cast by her amulet, and the strands of silver hair which drift down his neck are not unlike the girl's own. The two swords he bears look viciously sharp, and for a moment she thinks maybe it's okay, maybe she can forgive herself for striking with her magic- but no, he did not use his advantage. Her behavior is still dishonorable, her actions still unforgivable.
Still, it is a battle, and she faces a strange and wooden-backed foe. Even in her guilt she knows she cannot grow complacent. Uncertain of anything, too sore to rear, the girl lunges forward to where her opponent's left side should be, or was, or maybe had never been- she isn't really sure. The movement tears open the gash in her side and she stumbles again as her right hind twists and gives way, her lunge now an aimless forward and downward surge of sinew and bone. Blindly she bites where she thinks his stomach might be, snarling as she kicks a small unseen crystal, blinking as paint seeps into her eyes. In the dark, a chip of her right fore bounces away. Her right hind pastern aches dimly, but nothing compares to the pain in her flank. It is not her day, and her heart is not in it.
In the darkness her guilt takes form, and before she can move to strike again a dark shape flings itself toward her face. The bat's teeth glitter in the light she wears; she ducks soon enough to save her nose, but cries out as fangs latch onto a golden ear, tearing away a penny-sized chunk of sensitive skin as she thrashes, attempting to dislodge the beast. It stings, burns; the paint which leaks into it does not help, just as it did not help the gash on her side. Her costume has been only hindrance, no help. She doesn't even know where her udders have gone, only that they fell off at some point in the fight.
Agony fills her. She does not want to fight anymore. Tandavi is done with this battle; all she desires is to go home.
@[Thranduil] | 2/2 | 717
Avoids Thran's rear, but stumbles and tears open her flank further. Lunges at Thran but stumbles and hurts herself more; tries to bite his belly. Mildly twists her right hind pastern and chips her hoof on a crystal. Bat bites her ear, takes out a small chunk of it. Tandavi is unhappy.
She shakes with shame and agony. Black lashes flutter against light spots and tears. She wishes she could disappear, could run and forget she had ever signed up for this stupid tournament. Has she truly come so far, only to fall in the final round?
Her body does not stop to consider the moral consequences of what she's done, adrenaline fueling long limbs forward and left. She is nearly parallel to where her strangely garbed opponent had just stood when his hooves soar past her inky nose. She feels the air of him, hears his movement; it's the only thing that warns her to halt, for she is still largely blinded from her electric surge. Iron hooves tear into damp, uncertain ground, pulling her to an abrupt and painful halt; she gasps in pain, staggering as the tear in her flank burns in protest, crying out as her aching ribs sear beneath the inhalation. She is lucky, she knows, to have avoided his strike, but she does not feel fortunate. She wishes his hooves connected with her flesh. Maybe that pain would detract from the weight of her shame.
Onyx eyes finally adjust to the light just as the bats flee the foe's bi-horned head, and for the first time the girl gets a good look at her assailant. In another situation she might have been struck by how similar they are; though she is thinner, copper and not gold, she can see the sunlight shade of his coat in the light cast by her amulet, and the strands of silver hair which drift down his neck are not unlike the girl's own. The two swords he bears look viciously sharp, and for a moment she thinks maybe it's okay, maybe she can forgive herself for striking with her magic- but no, he did not use his advantage. Her behavior is still dishonorable, her actions still unforgivable.
Still, it is a battle, and she faces a strange and wooden-backed foe. Even in her guilt she knows she cannot grow complacent. Uncertain of anything, too sore to rear, the girl lunges forward to where her opponent's left side should be, or was, or maybe had never been- she isn't really sure. The movement tears open the gash in her side and she stumbles again as her right hind twists and gives way, her lunge now an aimless forward and downward surge of sinew and bone. Blindly she bites where she thinks his stomach might be, snarling as she kicks a small unseen crystal, blinking as paint seeps into her eyes. In the dark, a chip of her right fore bounces away. Her right hind pastern aches dimly, but nothing compares to the pain in her flank. It is not her day, and her heart is not in it.
In the darkness her guilt takes form, and before she can move to strike again a dark shape flings itself toward her face. The bat's teeth glitter in the light she wears; she ducks soon enough to save her nose, but cries out as fangs latch onto a golden ear, tearing away a penny-sized chunk of sensitive skin as she thrashes, attempting to dislodge the beast. It stings, burns; the paint which leaks into it does not help, just as it did not help the gash on her side. Her costume has been only hindrance, no help. She doesn't even know where her udders have gone, only that they fell off at some point in the fight.
Agony fills her. She does not want to fight anymore. Tandavi is done with this battle; all she desires is to go home.
@[Thranduil] | 2/2 | 717
Avoids Thran's rear, but stumbles and tears open her flank further. Lunges at Thran but stumbles and hurts herself more; tries to bite his belly. Mildly twists her right hind pastern and chips her hoof on a crystal. Bat bites her ear, takes out a small chunk of it. Tandavi is unhappy.
o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!
