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02-28-2016, 05:27 PM
Ashamin
With the coming of the night, the haruspex and his companions were at their sharpest. His ears tilted forward vigilantly as he stood at the Rotunda's edge, looking out over the thin layer of snow. His coat was thick and woolen, kept especially warm by the armor that he wore over it and the sentimental touch of Mriga at his side. Worn on his neck was his usual chain, a thin gold strip bearing the Bear God's mask and an assortment of amulets. In that fading light the frost glittered in a peaceful way that beckoned him and his companions further out into its cold. Not one to deny beauty, the haruspex let himself be taken in. Unsurprisingly, though, peace could not last. The haruspex had only moments to bathe in that beauty before Lochan's central eye was pressed to his leg in warning. Rakt, too, seemed on edge. Maybe Ashamin should have been nervous, too; after all, the last time he'd been to this structure he'd been attacked by a stubborn coward. Why had he assumed it wouldn't happen again? The earthen mare had left without accepting his terms, flagrantly throwing his truce back in his face. He might have been tuned into the surroundings--the sway of the wind, the bitter chill of the dawning evening--but he wasn't aware enough of the threat always at his back. Her voice rang out, instantly familiar and infuriating. Ashamin turned and saw her, shuddering and no longer hiding as she had before. Had she learned, at least, an honorable approach in the time of their parting, or was she just mocking him? The moment her words formed into something the haruspex could recognize, the buck let out a snort. Maybe it was true, but knowing nothing of her role as storyteller and having not made the connection between her and the raven in the Riptide Isles, it seemed to be nothing more than foolish conjecture. As far as Ashamin knew, this rude stranger was as mortal as he. "You again! I shouldn't be so surprised," Ashamin tossed back with a frown as she denounces him. The stag's long tail waved and curled behind him, and his two companions fanned out--Rakt moving from his right to circle the space and provide another perspective farther removed from the scene, Lochan steady on his left. Unkind as this fool's words may have been, Ashamin would not yield to her taunts so easily. Had she kept her distance, they might not have fought at all. "Your insults have weakened, stranger. The Gods have better things to speak of than my performance, don't you think?" he replied gruffly as she started towards him in a sort of insane and clumsy fit. Ashamin was quicker and better trained than he had been when they'd last met on this field, and after fighting with Mortuus Nox the buck had learned well how to use his endurance to his advantage against a larger, more powerful foe. She really was larger, too. Now that he was accustomed to the added weight of his armor, Ashamin moved to his right easily, cleared his figure entirely of the mare's blunt attack, and sent Lochan further left with a nod. Ashamin had seen Lochan exercise such skill against Ciceron and trusted the Cerndyr and his young but sharp antlers in battle. Even as the paint maneuvered, though, he didn't take his eyes off of the hybrid. What was inside her? Was it rage or actual insanity? The haruspex huffed, his breath turning to an icy cloud in the air, and reached out with the tentative fingers of his magic to try and slow her heartbeat as he had Mortuus'. It was intended to be a gentle attack, a warning, but given that it was still new and he was irritated it had the potential to slip and cause major damage or halt her stone heart entirely. The hybrid mare he saw now was not the same, obnoxiously reasonable fool he'd met before. Why was she attacking so eagerly? Maybe he really was the worst haruspex the Spark God had seen, but he wasn't completely thick. Something was off. "I called for a truce, and the offer still stands. We're both intelligent, even our disagreements have the potential for greatness. Do you really want to throw that all away?" Ashamin asked with a look like pain, or sympathy, or maybe hate for his own kindness. He stood to her left and pawed at the earth, numbing cold creeping into the clefts of his hooves. Why couldn't he just strike her blindly like she so clearly wanted? Didn't he want it just as badly? To tear Mriga from its sheath and plunge it towards the mare with deft prowess... wouldn't that be so much easier? "" |
WC: 799/800 (wordcounter.net)
AP: 1/4
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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