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09-24-2015, 08:46 PM
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Rikyn
The dragon falls. Clumsy, stupid lizard, I think to myself, coming about in a semi circle (clockwise in its direction) as she wheezes and moans on the ground, a harsh snort spraying black, signifying my feeling of superiority as the sound of her body hitting the earth fills my ears. That the dragon has caught the strange lung disease infecting the people of Helovia is a cursory thought, her sneezing and hacking forgotten in the challenge that drips from her draconic lips as I face her once more. My breath rattles in my chest, burning with each sharp inhalation, the rush of my blood and the needy demands of my sinew devouring oxygen, difficult to come by with fluid filled lungs. But she has threatened my life, and has already taken another, and though the air feels like needles, though my shoulder throbs, it is nothing in comparison to the inferno which consumes my heart as my aureate gaze defies her own, red as the blood which drips from her bleeding chest in the strange vision of this disease. Together, we charge, my chin again tucked to my chest so that the tassels of my growing beard tickle the curvature of my muscular breast, dark and tangled mane flying back gracefully as I angle my horn for violence and blood… The touch of her blade as it pierces my shoulder is not the sharp, immediate pain of a bruise; it is immaculately painless, strange, from the first pop of the flesh breaking, and then the secondary pop as it leaps out the other side, poking straight through the flesh of my shoulder along the left side. My eyes grow wide, the dark pupils constricting, the knowledge that I have been wounded, and badly, a dark and sickening grip on my belly. There is no cry of anguish, but the soft sigh of worry for the pain to come. That I have been wounded by a horn is something that sends reality spiraling along with my thoughts, and the delusion that she is a dragon melts. Though the world is still black, the trees an elegant and almost imaginary promise on the outskirts of the clearing, the living red back I look upon is not the upper arching, scale riddled spine of a dragon, but a unicorn’s, the curve of her whither draped in silvery mane, my nose suddenly accosted with the snow and stone scent of her being. I know her, I think, a strange guilt blooming amidst the worry and anger that had flooded me before. The realization is an audible garble on the air, an indistinct word of some sort that I can’t even make out through all the things besieging my brain – maybe something along the lines of “stop” – but it’s too late. Pain blooms to life as she pulls backwards and up, a sudden motion that rends the flesh upon its exit, slicing loose a chunk which wobbles grotesquely as I too try to pull away from her, spinning to the right as stars fill my vision and crimson floods from the savage perforation in my shoulder. This time, I do make a shout of pain, short and honest in its pitch (because it hurts like hell), my eyes squinting shut as I tuck my head down and try to pull aside and then forward, to gain a few seconds to assess whether or not I’m going to bleed to death, and to relocate for an attack if I haven’t fainted between then and now. I feel wind brush by me from her hooves, narrowly missed, the scream of the bruise surrounding the new wound having grown into a dull moan in comparison the living fire of my new piercing slash flesh flap. Agony makes me pant and wheeze, each breath rattling and obvious in the Birdsong air, but no sudden weariness beleaguers me as would be suspect should she have severed some major artery or another. Belief that I will live floods me, and as she swats at the air, I leap forward, my blade reaching for where I gauge her haunches to be, hoping to inflict some bleeding wound of my own in return. I continue my forward pace, and, assuming my timing was correct (and she had not moved), I kick out sideways with my hind legs towards the right in an attempt to clip her with my hooves in passing, though I cannot help but yelp in pain as the wound on my shoulder spreads wide and oxygen causes the open veins to burn. [ 3/3 :: 762 words Summary: Turns around while Ki'irha is on the ground. Charges towards her with hopes to stab her in the shoulder, instead gets stabbed in the already wounded left shoulder; as she pulls back into the rear, she rips the wound partially open so that there is like a tunnel type thing which ends in a floppy flesh flap. xD He pulls to the right, takes a second to be like am I dying, and then moves forward to attack her booty end with his horn, continuing forward two paces before cow kicking at her. ]  |
