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10-04-2015, 11:56 AM
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Thranduil
He wanted release. He wanted raw force. And he got all he was asking for a more. The great head turns, and the soft spot of the target stolen in a flash. Replaced by a literal grove of antlers. Like lightening they clash, crack and surge with power. But the golden does not have the same protections. Only two horns bear on his head and though they meet the others, some slip past their guard, and scrape at his poll and neck. A hiss sings from his lips and though his earth eyes look up their sight is blocked by the dark form of the rank decayed flesh tangled among them. Blood slides down his neck and inches more the antlers would find more than that. Suddenly this little release just got a whole lot deadlier. Hooves slide backwards in the soft earth, though braced and dug in. The golden muscles locked and straining to just hold his own against the beast. Age may have worn his body but it was still the King of his kind. But like a masochist, a psychotic warrior, and a fool twisted so deep in this mess the golden grits his teeth and strains against the two locked in. To let go would be to have the great beast’s antlers pierce his tender flesh, and his heart, pounding in the reveals of threatened mortality, roars with such ferocity that it knows no other path than this. Spanish neck, trembling with strain pushes out in an effort to uncurl, straining to get the better of the locked in, but little ground was made. The golden put all his weight to hold the deer in, to keeps its antlers locked in, but the great stag was about to put the flaming gold back in his place. A surge of force shoves onto the gold and he slides another length back, unable in all his strength to stop the force, then gone. Body reels as the pressure leaves, and the darkness over his eyes vanishes into a bright morning light again. Gasping in the light and air the golden, with all the movements of war still stirring in him, takes no more than a second to turn and move forward. Earth eyes charging back onto the beast. Glutton for punishment. Raging for power. Addicted to the releasing pain. A black shadow moves with the pink but the golden pays little heed. He charges again, his horns, feeling the paradox of a lightheaded heaviness, aim low, clawing for the tender flesh of the old stag again. Desperate for something, some movement, power, or pride he can grab on to and possess. Something he can conqueror in this recent world of shapeless demons and shadows. "talk talk talk" OOC:: Is shoved back by the deer, breaking the connection, but quickly runs after him again, once again lowered horns, ready. I'm not sure where he should hit, maybe since the deer turned left his right side is exposed? I think thran would be aiming for his barrel, heart, or lower neck, but not sure how ru fits in. |
@Hotaru
@Deimos
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Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
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