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01-07-2016, 04:45 PM
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Gull!
underneath it all, we're just savages [That's what I doooo, Odd ;D] As his hooves scrabbled in the sand, Gull had a feeling that it was already too late. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gaucho lower his head. Even as he struggled to his feet, he could feel the ground vibrate with every beat of his opponent’s pounding advance. Then the curtain of smoke erupted between them, and Gull lost sight of the dun. For a moment, it was quiet. All he could hear was the crash of the surf just behind him, pulsing in time with his own racing heart. Until, suddenly: “NOT DISRESPECT SUN GOD,” came Gaucho’s primal roar. It pierced through the black blanket with fire on its heels, and Gull screamed as he felt the wall of heat rush towards him. If he had had time to think about Gaucho’s words, Gull might have had the luxury of confusion. After all, what did the sun god have to do with this? Did Flamethrower here think that he was said deity? An outcast for all of his days in Helovia, Gull neither knew nor cared much about herd politics. Offending Gaucho’s patron god had been the farthest thing from his mind when he had approached Nephele. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it would have been almost laughable—this talk of gods was beyond him, for Gull’s instincts were far too base to understand the depth of Gaucho’s religion. As it was, he barely had time to react to the flames. Once again, adrenaline lent him strength, but his reserves were run nearly dry. The small burst of energy was not enough to keep him from harm’s way completely, for his battered body was too beaten to move with the speed that had previously saved him. Though he sprang up the beach, heading for higher ground, the flames were quicker. They boiled forth like the angry tide, and his face contorted in pain as they billowed around his back legs, coating them in a layer of blisters to match the ones he sported on his haunch. The burning wrenched a guttural yell from the smoky paint’s chest, and he kicked out wildly in a futile attempt to stay the agony. Son of a…! However, Gull had no chance to finish the thought, for his thrashing had cost him his balance. While his legs were too damp and too coated with sand to catch fire, the sting of the fresh burns drove him forward. Without both wings to balance him, Gull pitched ahead unevenly, and he shrieked anew as he felt the sand give way beneath him and his uninjured side overcompensate. Stretched beyond their limit, the muscles of his left shoulder overextended, and Gull pulled up short with a limp and an unearthly howl. The pain was maddening, and his sides heaved visibly as the useless muscle spasmed, nearly bringing him to his knees. He was now doubly hobbled. Though he was no master of quick thinking, Gull knew what that meant. Even if Gaucho were to abandon this battle, to leave him here would only mean slow death. Unable to run or fly without worsening his condition, his life would be as good as over. The breath rattled in his chest, and he swayed slightly on three legs, as if suddenly hit by the weight of this realization. To die, today? He certainly hadn’t penciled it in, but then again, death had a fondness for surprises. As he watched Gaucho’s bird swoop into the smoke, Gull’s eyes grew dull. What sense in there was continuing, anyway? No matter what he did, Gaucho was always ready to dole out much worse. For once in his life, he was tired of fighting. There was nothing left to fight for. They were all dead and gone, he thought, clenching his jaw. Ma, Bell, Muriel…what was there left for him? In the past, it had always been his own life. But now, robbed of his freedom, even that could mean nothing to him. And so, with a great cry, he rallied one final time, charging into the smoke for what he was convinced would be his last attack. He set his mark on the bird, for faintly beneath its glow, he thought he could see Gaucho. Every stride brought a fresh wave of agony to his shoulder, but Gull bared his teeth against the pain—he would not feel it for much longer, he was sure. He only slowed when he judged he was within range, then reared up on trembling hind legs, hoping to bring his full weight upon Gaucho. It was a clumsy maneuver, but with no intention of getting up afterwards, he figured that it did not matter much. If he was to die today, Gull wanted a proper sendoff. "talk talk talk" Attack: 4/4 WC: 796/800 Summary: Gets his back legs burned, and pulls the muscles in his shoulder trying to leap away. Figures that he's going to die anyway, so does a hail Mary run at Gaucho, rearing up to bring his full weight down on him. Will likely not get up whether the attack hits or not. |
@Gaucho
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!
