Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
| Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit
Bunnie |
sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:
The bolt of cold which slams into my haunches is immediately enough to convince me of two things: that bow is likely about to get chucked into the fire-falls, and she’s about to die.
"What the fuck?! You idiot bitch!" I insidiously growl, not the ice of midwinter, but the hungry roar of molten stone against the brittle maw of the volcano, or the rumbling flash of white hot, destructive light.
Pivoting about with the magical arrow still protruding from my ass, Duir’s frightened bleat sounds through the air as he scampers away, and I charge towards her across the red sand, a faint trail of black, curdled blood leaking from the frost bitten wound. While my gallop occasionally stammers with the stiff pain of the arrow, I let my anger fuel me, my mind numbing itself to the very minor ache I now feel, in comparison to the devastation that is about to befall her.
The second arrow flies past me, expected; did she really think I would just let her assault me, standing still as stone to wait for the rest of her arrows? While I see her lips move in the formation of words, I don’t really hear what she says; I see only the earth colored burgundy beneath her, the thrum of my blood drumming hard in my ears.
My magic is drawn from within me as I charge, the electrical spark of mental agony that will sever the bonds between her thought and her own muscles. A third arrow grazes the flesh of my shoulder, an instantaneously cauterized wound burning as the hot air kisses it. Racing ahead of me, my hooves slowing to allow my focus to be placed more firmly on wresting her will from her, the Spark seeks to drive into her tiny, pathetic body.
She’s shouting at me to go, and I’m laughing, a dark, horrible sound that makes the bond between my cerndyr and I shudder with contempt, and fear.
"You should have let me go, then," I snarl at her, golden eyes narrow and savage, "because I will hurt you, and I can. You think being a self-righteous idiot spares you from pain? That I won’t kill you here and now because you are ever so sad and pompously sure of yourself?"
She can’t escape me on hoof, too broken by her own foolish actions to be of much use on the ground. It only makes sense, then, to disable her ability to fly. Driving towards her with hope that she’s caught in the throes of my secondary magic, I angle myself towards her nearest side, the rush of the assault flooding my veins with intoxicating levels of adrenaline. Striking down (as she’s a diminutive twat) with my golden rapier at the general region of where her wing meets her body, I hope for the squeal of pain I’ve come to associate with these sort of wounds. I follow the motion with the rest of my much larger-than-hers figure in a body-slam, hoping to knock her off her hooves, and to the ground (where worms like her belong).
"Beg to your Gods that I don’t fucking kill you!" comes in savage bouts of gravely rage, my body flowing however it must to continue to try and trap her here, on the earth with me, the monster she’s poked in the fucking ass with a frosty arrow, "you think I am afraid of you?! You can’t even walk properly, you fucking brainless mutant! Even if I am a brat, it doesn’t change what you are either, Erthë! A child, crying because the world isn’t like her fairytales. A child, throwing tantrums, still too fucking dumb to understand that wanting something to be so is not how the world works!"
I want to stab her until her screams become wet gurgles. My whole body is shaking, itching to keep pummeling her for daring to strike me at all. I’m stronger than she is, faster, better; I’ve trained to become a weapon in every sense of the word, and she’s just some naïve girl with more luck than she deserves. To think I’d actually been trying to goddamn listen to her bemoaning in the first place!
"You need to learn to live in reality before you go threatening dangerous people with your self-righteousness and easily taken away magical trinkets!" I ferociously continue, poking my horn at her in an obtrusive way, eager to use it again if she gives me a good reason, "your mother is dead because you act like you can’t die, you idiot! She’d have not been there at all if you didn’t continuously choose to tempt fate without a thought to the consequences!"
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sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.
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Image by TheArtlex@DA
Wishlist - Plots
Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).
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