.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
08-18-2015, 08:17 AM
Ashamin By the time Ashamin heard Zandora call out his name, it was too late. He had felt her underside press against his back as he had weakly stood. He had thought he would crumble and fall, even with her frail weight, but somehow he had risen far and fast enough for her to fly through air and strike that tree, just as he had planned. Just as he had planned. Back to the moment when he heard her call out his name, back to the moment when blood sprang from his dear friend's lips and covered his back in dim misery. Back to that moment when he stopped, froze, and felt himself filled with regret. What had he done? What had he done? Out of the corner of his eyes, so filled with fear for her that their rare whites showed, the buck watched Zandora slide against the tree. He didn't think she would get up. He wasn't sure she could. And his own heart pounded heavy in his chest, his own pain was heightened as the magic of the warrior's spirit that had instinctively reached out to protect him fell away. His leg... Ashamin stared down at its white sock, now covered in blood. Was it his, dripping from the wound Zandora had left on his shoulder, or was it hers? The Haruspex thought of himself as a monster. Maybe he was a monster. Only a monster could so fatally injure a friend. How had this spar, this practice of skills, come to this? How had it all gotten so out of hand? Ashamin shivered. He waited. He stared down at his shuddering leg that curled up in pain from the earth, and he prayed for Lochan to return, for this misery and betrayal to end. But somehow, Zandora still stood. And the painted stallion with the crooked horn, this soldier's confidante, was frozen in fear. It was fear for her more than himself, but fear nonetheless. Ashamin watched her as if in slow motion—perhaps, though, he was only seeing the truth: the dulled, aging motion of the injured. When she stood he couldn't move. When he saw the muscles in her front legs bunch and tense to hold her weight, he couldn't move. And he remembered his first spar, his display of failure before Torleik the Bloodskald, and how he couldn't move. The memory was enough; though he did not have the strength left, Ashamin ran. He ran as best as he could, stumbling in a chaotic direction somewhere away from her attack—anywhere away. He pitched forward every time the slightest weight was thrown upon his injured foreleg, he coughed and he sputtered, and he turned to watch Zandora's last flame burn out. He was looking, when her hind-hooves clipped his hindquarters, threatened his balance and shoved him aside, and caused the start of an ugly bruise; he was watching her, only her, as his run faded into a fall and he landed in the snow, the pine needles, and the blood. Everything was cold, and everything was hurt. Slowly, the snow filled the gaps in his horn. Ashamin never let his eyes leave her body: once blessed, now broken and bleeding. He had done this, and he couldn't forgive himself. He remembered to feel guilty, and then suddenly he could feel nothing outside of that heavy, moral pain. What had he done, and how could he have done it? "Zandora..." WC: 575 PC: 1/1 defense Timeline: Standard, no more than 3 weeks between posts. Summary: Ashamin stops short when he feels Zandora's weight leaving his back and takes a moment to recover as he falls. When she stands he remembers his fight with Torleik and begins to run forward and to the left, away from Zandora's attack. He is not quick enough to evade it completely due stumbling on his injured right foreleg, but angling left allows the buck to hit his hindquarters rather than his already injured side. The force of Zandora's buck Pushes further to his left and he stumbles, eventually laying down on the ground to await help from a healer. Notes: In the summary of my last post I mistakenly identified Ashamin's final attack to be crushing her left side against the tree, though the prose indicated right. I meant to type right in the summary, to clear up any confusion. Thankfully you still understood me Shadowmare, sorry about that. The setting of this spar will be continued in a thread in the Aurora Basin, set directly after, as the pair wait for healers sent by Lochan. |
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead
