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03-11-2017, 12:22 PM
The mad one rolls her eyes at the wounded child and Yr’s Weaver, looking away with shaking crown and bumbling giggles back towards the caverns, for which she yearns. If the boy does not understand trust, Beloved does not know why her most recent catch decides to teach him. His offerings are nothing but an obviously soft heart, but meager scraps to the white witch, who would have laughed in the face of his naivety, and wounded pride.
Many were those who did not trust for the sake of its name, the child would learn. Beloved certainly was among those who killed first, and questioned motive later; she never wondered as to the spiritual value of those she crushed…
They had none.
Her thoughts are drawn back to the present from her wandering dreams by the roar and raucous of the bear’s arrival. Dancing about to face the beast, her eyes narrow in contempt, her giggles stifled in the wet grasp of a snarl. So close, the monstrous beast was already upon one of their own, and the dainty, pale witch squeals with disgust and fear at the sight of its saliva lacquered fangs. Baring her own teeth, she lowers her crown in anticipation of battle, observing the motions of her comrades, first, to find the place to strike which was least detrimental to she (first and foremost, of course), and the others.
The General charges towards the bear, his sword extended before him, eager as her own, and Weaver places herself between the danger and the as of yet unnamed victim. That sight makes the wicked one literally balk, her laughter growing swift, high in pitch, her ears fluttering back to forward in confusion. Why would you do that?!
Even she, undying, perfect Beloved, does not taunt that which would maim and maul her; with her giggles like streaming banners, she hopes to place herself behind the bear, away from claw and fang, not at all the sort to sacrifice her own body for that of others, as those she ventures with. Lunging as she closes the distance, her ivory rapier seeks to drive into the beast’s meaty flesh, her hooves slamming down on the ground, her mind willing the tremble of the earth beneath her. Not thinking about the others (she rarely does) as she utilizes the power, the motion is more to ensure her own strikes are true, and to keep the monster from wheeling about, and smiting her in the process of her assault.
[ Summary: Beloved attempts to move behind the bear. She then stabs at it with her horn, and attempts to use her rank magic to throw it off balance. ]
Many were those who did not trust for the sake of its name, the child would learn. Beloved certainly was among those who killed first, and questioned motive later; she never wondered as to the spiritual value of those she crushed…
They had none.
Her thoughts are drawn back to the present from her wandering dreams by the roar and raucous of the bear’s arrival. Dancing about to face the beast, her eyes narrow in contempt, her giggles stifled in the wet grasp of a snarl. So close, the monstrous beast was already upon one of their own, and the dainty, pale witch squeals with disgust and fear at the sight of its saliva lacquered fangs. Baring her own teeth, she lowers her crown in anticipation of battle, observing the motions of her comrades, first, to find the place to strike which was least detrimental to she (first and foremost, of course), and the others.
The General charges towards the bear, his sword extended before him, eager as her own, and Weaver places herself between the danger and the as of yet unnamed victim. That sight makes the wicked one literally balk, her laughter growing swift, high in pitch, her ears fluttering back to forward in confusion. Why would you do that?!
Even she, undying, perfect Beloved, does not taunt that which would maim and maul her; with her giggles like streaming banners, she hopes to place herself behind the bear, away from claw and fang, not at all the sort to sacrifice her own body for that of others, as those she ventures with. Lunging as she closes the distance, her ivory rapier seeks to drive into the beast’s meaty flesh, her hooves slamming down on the ground, her mind willing the tremble of the earth beneath her. Not thinking about the others (she rarely does) as she utilizes the power, the motion is more to ensure her own strikes are true, and to keep the monster from wheeling about, and smiting her in the process of her assault.
[ Summary: Beloved attempts to move behind the bear. She then stabs at it with her horn, and attempts to use her rank magic to throw it off balance. ]
you've lost your demon.
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
