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10-15-2016, 08:50 PM
Set a fire deep in my soul; One I can't contain, one I won't control.
With his hooves slipping on the thickly pine needled floor, Rohan does not evade the Elephant’s attack. Even the King, though he has called this fight to test his Sergeant’s dormant battle skills, inwardly winces as the spear’s sharp edge carves into the Warlander’s flesh and slightly clips against bone. His teeth tighten, creaking against the glass’s smooth handle, as the blade drags through meaty muscle and thick fascia. Black-rimmed ears pin against flush with his neck, feeling a warning crackle from the glass against his mouth as it begins to give from the strain of battle.
Navy eyes darken as he watches Rohan pull away from his spearhead. Large ivory hooves land, sinking into the carpet of blood-drenched needles. He allows the Sergeant to move away, not seeking to chase him in another attack, because (truthfully) his injured right haunch could use a few breaths of respite from attacking. His pounding heart pushes blood from the wound as his navy gaze follows the flap of skin hanging from Rohan’s back with a combination of morbid interest (the glass spears were effective) and regret. He did not mean to injure Rohan that badly.
“Sorry, my friend,” his deep voice attempts to sound around the spear he clutches between his teeth. Slowly, he begins to shift to face his opponent in his new position, but he is forced to favor his right hind leg in the process. And so, with his attention distracted by the wound’s ache, it is nearly too late that he sees the flash of glass through the forest’s green-filtered light.
With a grunt and an instinctive duck of his massive skull, the sharp crack of glass against glass slip the air. Somehow, the Elephant King moves quickly enough to block Rohan’s airborne spear with his own, sending it sailing to the left of his head, rather than impaling his skull. However, another contributor to the loud cracking noise is his own spear. He did not heed its warnings, and so the shaft breaks where his teeth tightly hold it, sending splinters of glass into his gums and a jagged edge of glass into the roof of his mouth.
Spitting the broken glass spear out from his mouth, blood follows the gleaming splinters. Sharp pain pierces through his mucosa as his tongue swipes over his hard palate, feeling the small slice of flesh and tasting the metallic iron in his blood. It is not a deep cut, but the injuries of the mouth are felt so much more acutely than other wounds. Gingerly holding his mouth slightly open, both from the discomfort and to allow the bloody saliva to stream from his thick black lips, he slightly shakes his head.
And then he looks to his opponent, navy eyes assessing the bleeding Sergeant. Part of him wishes to stand down—Rohan was his friend. But a soldier would not see a pity-forfeit as a favor. No, it would be shameful; embarrassing, even. So the King, still limping on his hind right limb, approaches his friend, attempting to come head-on with the antlered man. His navy eyes briefly seek to meet bright greens, before he barrels forward in an attack, falteringly leaping over the now-forgotten glass spears (they have done enough damage). He aims to crash is massive, heavy, thickly spiraled horn against the forward-sweeping tines of Rohan’s antler.s
His body is heavy, drenched in sweat and blood. This battle is bloodier than the King had anticipated. But he is glad to be testing his Sergeant. They both need to know he is still fit for this job—and he most assuredly is.
A: 3/3
WC: 612
Damage tracker: Deep flesh wound above right stifle; sliced mouth from
Summary: Tembo apologizes, deflects Rohan's hurled spear with his own spear which splinters in his mouth, cutting it. He then rears (again) and attempts to bring his horn down on Rohan's antlers.
Navy eyes darken as he watches Rohan pull away from his spearhead. Large ivory hooves land, sinking into the carpet of blood-drenched needles. He allows the Sergeant to move away, not seeking to chase him in another attack, because (truthfully) his injured right haunch could use a few breaths of respite from attacking. His pounding heart pushes blood from the wound as his navy gaze follows the flap of skin hanging from Rohan’s back with a combination of morbid interest (the glass spears were effective) and regret. He did not mean to injure Rohan that badly.
“Sorry, my friend,” his deep voice attempts to sound around the spear he clutches between his teeth. Slowly, he begins to shift to face his opponent in his new position, but he is forced to favor his right hind leg in the process. And so, with his attention distracted by the wound’s ache, it is nearly too late that he sees the flash of glass through the forest’s green-filtered light.
With a grunt and an instinctive duck of his massive skull, the sharp crack of glass against glass slip the air. Somehow, the Elephant King moves quickly enough to block Rohan’s airborne spear with his own, sending it sailing to the left of his head, rather than impaling his skull. However, another contributor to the loud cracking noise is his own spear. He did not heed its warnings, and so the shaft breaks where his teeth tightly hold it, sending splinters of glass into his gums and a jagged edge of glass into the roof of his mouth.
Spitting the broken glass spear out from his mouth, blood follows the gleaming splinters. Sharp pain pierces through his mucosa as his tongue swipes over his hard palate, feeling the small slice of flesh and tasting the metallic iron in his blood. It is not a deep cut, but the injuries of the mouth are felt so much more acutely than other wounds. Gingerly holding his mouth slightly open, both from the discomfort and to allow the bloody saliva to stream from his thick black lips, he slightly shakes his head.
And then he looks to his opponent, navy eyes assessing the bleeding Sergeant. Part of him wishes to stand down—Rohan was his friend. But a soldier would not see a pity-forfeit as a favor. No, it would be shameful; embarrassing, even. So the King, still limping on his hind right limb, approaches his friend, attempting to come head-on with the antlered man. His navy eyes briefly seek to meet bright greens, before he barrels forward in an attack, falteringly leaping over the now-forgotten glass spears (they have done enough damage). He aims to crash is massive, heavy, thickly spiraled horn against the forward-sweeping tines of Rohan’s antler.s
His body is heavy, drenched in sweat and blood. This battle is bloodier than the King had anticipated. But he is glad to be testing his Sergeant. They both need to know he is still fit for this job—and he most assuredly is.
A: 3/3
WC: 612
Damage tracker: Deep flesh wound above right stifle; sliced mouth from
Summary: Tembo apologizes, deflects Rohan's hurled spear with his own spear which splinters in his mouth, cutting it. He then rears (again) and attempts to bring his horn down on Rohan's antlers.
@Rohan
Please tag Tembovu.
