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07-17-2015, 09:09 PM
Ashamin
There was something in the way she said "my." It was a distraction, to be sure. Ashamin couldn't stop wondering why he voice had carried such an inflection. Was he really hers? Her dear anything, anyone, Ashamin? The thought had hounded him ever since she had spoken. Never before had he been special to anyone but his father, not really. But here, in this valley of ice, he was making more friends and family than he could count. Zandora was one such friend, an unlikely one whom had chosen to keep his company even after his failures before her. Perhaps, in that way--in their friendship being a choice--she really did own their friendship. Perhaps he really was hers. But Ashamin didn't have time to dwell on it, for as soon as he turned his head to bite and found his eyes trained downwards, he was startled by an unexpected sight: ground, nothing but snow and dead needles from the pines about them that dripped with ice and vestiges of their life. The purple daggers that had been embedded there, the bright forehooves Zandora bore with such gentility, were gone. After that, all he could feel was air. The rush of legs turning up and away from him, the sudden speed of his own attack. Without her there to stop him, he was moving so much faster than expected, still building momentum. He felt his whole body swing as if on instinct as he tried to turn to run parallel and shift his angle as quickly as he could. But underneath, the ground felt clumsy. The Haruspex's cleft hooves could dig into the frost as naturally as they would like, but his mind was too unfocused, too shocked by her swift motion. Should he have expected anything less? Zandora was a lot of things, but she was a warrior first and foremost: a soldier of the Aurora Basin. How could he have thought she wouldn't see this coming? Ashamin's turn protected him from one attack to come, but forced him directly and unwittingly into the path of another that was more immediate. The stallion watched, head lifting to follow the path of Zandora's motion, as her legs swung as if in slow motion and her head was tossed up. Her mane, a flash of purple obscuring his vision and the scene likely playing across her features, caught his attention before her horn did. And when her horn caught his attention, it caught him through the flesh. His face turned from an expression of admiration and awe to a twisted grimace. The spiraled dagger Zandora bore upon her brow had met its mark with his own help. He had simply kept charging, perhaps under her lifted frame, he would have been nowhere near the weapon. But as it were, it cut cleanly, delicately, from his right elbow to his shoulder, leaving a thin red line in its wake. The painted buck made no sound. He only crashed his teeth together, his bite empty, his aim poor, and his tactics suffering from inexperience. Where she had so easily dodged his strike and cast one of her own, he had fumbled. And now he darted before her, a shallow wound dripping red from his shoulder to the snow. For a panicked moment, Ashamin felt hopeless. His shoulder strung and he feared he'd be struggling with it for the rest of the spar, unable to fight back with his true strength. But Lochan stood watching, third eye unblinking, and as soon as fear came to Ashamin, so too came an overwhelming sense of encouragement flooding from the heart of the cerndyr to his bonded. With that feeling, that message, came a calm focus. Ashamin cast his gaze back and watched as Zandora reached for his back with her hooves as she fell, comforted with the knowledge that his speed and maneuvering had at least carried him out of the reach of those blunt strikes. Ashamin knew it was the time to strike. As he slowed, his body positioned directly in front of hers, he felt his blood slow, too. The spirit of the warrior... was this the magic that Deimos had mentioned to him after the meeting? Was this the benefit of his rank, focusing his heartbeats, dulling the pain in his shoulder, and lifting him now to rest his weight on his forelegs? The haruspex felt unaware of his movements, as if he were being pulled along on strings. But those strings were powerful ones, those jerks of the muscle filled with intention. As he bucked, then, his pointed hooves aimed for Zandora's chest as she fell, his adorned and sparking tail striking out towards her neck, he knew this was instinct. This, this focus, was what he had been searching for. Tagged: @[Zandora] WC: 798 PC: 2/3 attack, 0/1 defense Timeline: Standard, no more than 3 weeks between posts. Summary: Ashamin sees that his attack will miss when Zandora starts to rear and turns as quickly as he can to run mostly parallel to her left side. This moving along with his continuous run puts him in front of her, so that her horn is able to cut his right shoulder up from his elbow. He keeps running so that he is not under her when she tries to hit him with her hooves and that attack misses. He slows down in front of her, uses warrior's spirit to dull the pain in his shoulder and allow him to put his weight in his front, and bucks back at her chest. His tail waves behind him and sort of blindly he aims for Zandora's neck area--if his tail hits she might receive a small shock from his tesla coil. Notes: Sorry for the little wait! |
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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