.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
01-24-2016, 11:01 PM
|
Gull!
underneath it all, we're just savages Why are you doing this? her voice sighs in the back of his mind, a whisper against the roar of his exuberant gallop. He can feel the weight of her disappointment pressing down on him as he lunges, can see the sadness in her eyes. But he only smirks around the knife, refusing to answer. He doesn’t owe her anything. Not anymore. Stop, she pleads, but he ignores her. He lengthens his stride, and Deimos grows that much closer. Don’t! she wails, but he doesn’t listen. He can count the strides before impact now, and he hurls the numbers back at her like grenades, drowning out her sobs with a ferocious three…two…ONE…! She screams, and he swings the knife. He is quick, but his enemy is quicker. Even as Gull moves to slit his throat, the dark beast darts away, leaving just the tip of the dagger bloody—yet that is not all that burns red as his body skims by. The monster knows how to cut too, and he wastes no time in demonstrating his handiwork on the clean white canvas of Gull’s flesh. His grip tightens on the knife as he feels the point of Deimos’ horn slice through his hide, the weight of the hilt on his tongue the only thing stifling his scream. Where Gaucho had once left his mark with fire and Tiamat with herbs, Deimos leaves his in an angry red line. Though the beast has not skewered him deeply enough to tear muscle, his hindquarter pulses, dark and sticky with blood from the gash that runs from thigh to hip. His face contorts, and he kicks out unevenly with his back legs, sending a spatter of red onto the sand. However, one weak kick in passing is not nearly enough to repay the Reaper for the damage he has inflicted. His back legs have barely hit the sand again when he wheels, spreading his wings to help balance himself on his three good legs. As he pivots, his primaries drag through the sand, spraying it upwards in a fine shower of dust and grit. With any luck, it will find the unicorn’s eyes and buy him enough time to strike once more. However, he cannot wait to confirm that the sand has done its work. Given the quick sequence of his pirouette, he must slash first and judge later. In the cloud of dust, it is difficult to gauge his enemy’s position, but his eyes search for an expanse of flesh far from the reach of Deimos’ darting horn—a flank perhaps, or a thigh. How fun, to have matching scars! he thinks in savage glee. Look, Tia--how fun! You’re awful, she whispers, but he only laughs to himself, as if it’s a private joke between just the two of them. His eyes lock on his target. Don’t worry, he tells her, raising the knife, it barely hurts. The blade glints in the sun as he brings it down. "talk talk talk" Attack 2/4 WC: 497/800 Summary: Gets his thigh slashed by Deimos’ horn, and kicks out in passing. Pivots, using his wings for balance and sand-throwing, and tries to bring the knife down on Deimos’ flank or thigh. |
@Deimos
Please do not tag Gull except for in opening posts or spars!
