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01-14-2015, 12:26 AM
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Torleik
The beard of glory... Torleik’s audits were angled slightly forward in interest as this dual-toned mare approached, inspecting her with each passing moment. Movement analysis was an integral part of assessing one’s opponent and the Bloodskald had become quite adept at gleaning information using his eyes alone. How did she move? Was it smooth, awkward, halting? Were her strides long or short? Were her shoulders or hips uneven; was she limping or favoring a leg? From what he was currently given, the rabicano filed into his memory the two white stockings that graced her hind legs, and the bald face she presented. At a greater distance, it was almost unnerving how her visage appeared as though the flesh had been peeled back to the bone. And speaking of, he noted the horn that glittered in the midst of her crown, jagged and broken. Was that…glass? A fleeting thought to the culprit who had shattered the weapon skittered across a momentarily open channel of his mindspace before he thrust it aside in favor of more pertinent cogitations – like how she would have to get much closer if she wanted to use the translucent spear. Aviya was smaller than he by a good six inches with slender legs propelling a compact but muscular frame. Long, elegant neck ended in a sculpted face much smaller and more delicate than his own thick anvil; her entire form was rather like twigs beside bricks when compared to him, he mused. The rune-horned expected her to be a little faster than he, but he was rather nimble and hoped to surprise her with his own impressive movement – though she would likely expend less energy to perform a task. His bulk did come with a price. She drew close and uttered few words, stating his name and offering hers without so much as a pause in her motion, earning her suspiciously pinned ears and silence in return. Her own flicked down and suddenly she shot forward, moving towards him at a swift clip. When she feigned left and tried to draw alongside him, the Viking pivoted to keep his shoulders squared to her, not about to let her get easy access to an unprotected flank. His nostrils flared in anticipation, hooves dancing lightly on the grass, ice appearing and disappearing around them with each brief step. The flash of her forelegs took him by surprise and he realized he’d been lulled into a complacent defense by the rhythmic movement they’d mirrored for those few moments of calm before this pugilistic fusion. The Bloodskald lifted his left foreleg in futile avoidance, hissing when the jarring, deeply agonizing pain of a bone being smacked by a solid, dense object reverberated through his leg. Luckily, moving as he did made it a more glancing attack than it might have been; this was not to be said about her bite, which Torleik saw coming and took a calculated risk to endure. His body instinctively pulled away from her but he didn’t flee, and snarled a noise of anger when the sharp, pinching, grinding pain erupted around the sensitive skin just behind his elbow. Torleik immediately regretted allowing this to happen as it did; he could feel his flesh being scraped and pulled to the breaking point and it hurt like absolute hell. But his strategy served a purpose: he hoped to let Aviya succeed so as to leave the rest of her body unprotected for him to attack. So, in that flash of a moment where she bit down hard, he pushed through the pain and dipped his head low, coiling his thick, muscular neck to the right and then rocketing it to the left with the intention of slamming his horns into the yin-and-yang mare’s left flank – or shoulder – or whatever he might hit. Any pound of flesh was acceptable if his attack were to connect. Irrespective of the outcome, he kicked his legs into a canter, hooves throwing up bits of dirt, rock and grass while he tried to put a modicum of distance between their bodies, eyes never leaving her form. Though the morning was in the prime of its life and the air cool, Torleik could already feel his body beginning to sweat and he knew that soon he would be awash in white foam with a steaming pelt. He was a creature built for the cold and even temperate weather could contribute to quickening his exhaustion. Sucking in a deep breath and risking a glance to the lake that was now to his right, memories of his battle with Ulrik came sharply back. That damnable metal hellhound had been his downfall; his opponent was not so lucky as to have an overpowered helper this time. With a quick flick of his orbs to the sky, he checked Irelyn’s position. ’Soon.’ @[Aviya] -------------------------------------------
WC: (800) | (1/3) | Summary: Torleik gets a glancing smack on the leg and takes her bite (probably a bad idea). As she's biting/trying to bite, he lowers his head and tries to smash his horns into whatever part of her side he can hit, then puts some distance between them quickly. "talk talk talk" |
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Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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