[Endless Night] Green Wrath

the Rift

[OPEN] [Endless Night] Green Wrath

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527

Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB

Heather

#12

07-26-2013, 05:16 PM

Corrosive battlements shaped the foundation of their savage siege as Deimos watched from a distance. His piercing stare captured the flames of the action, witnessed the scattering of frames twisting and turning against the monster, a strange formation of souls that would otherwise be grinding enemies, unleashing friction and demolition upon each other instead of a mountainous beast. In another moment, another time, they’d have tormented one another, fed by war, by discord, by anarchy and animosity. Some creatures he recognized, like the Edge’s Lace, but he ultimately ignored the Glazier, for the moment had nothing to do with him, or the unleashed barbs they’d wound upon each other for liberation, for oubliettes, and fixated attention upon the assaults driven. Flying beasts cast into the skies, fluttering and floating about the behemoth’s head (at least they served a purpose), and so the Reaper pondered over how he would unveil his next act of violence. It was protection and disorder consuming, fortifying, swallowing him until he merely wanted naught more than the harsh, capricious innards of battle, the clawing chaos and the menacing mayhem. The rounds of deadly magic, contorting and fueling his veins, had weakened the foe, but he craved the contortions, the upheaval, the fervent tirades, the toxic relish, and the seditious gleam of his sword cutting into flesh. As his movements were prompted, two things erupted into his machinations, interrupting his calculated steps. Another stag of the sky uttered invoking stanzas, concocting a rubble, a quake, beneath his feet, and he ceased all motions, struggled to balance his footing, stared as the ogre had difficulty doing the same. Then, Lace, foolish and inane, seemingly flared, became an explosion of vibrant fuel and flame, unleashing and surrounding foe and temporary allies (had he no brain matter lodged between his ears?). The left foreleg of the massive infidel spurted an overflowing geyser, and that certainly couldn’t be without its hazards.

Cold, devious scheming brewed within his mind, and as the quakes ceased, he loomed again, an arduous, slinking requiem of satanic decree, nefarious foundations, and brutal, barbaric contortions. He drew across the field, towards the right hind leg, and summoned the intertwining, entangling, snaring, beguiling toils of his trade, felt them pulse beneath the vibrancy of his dangerous actions, kindled, incensed, eager to ravish and ravage. Tracing closer to the rocky beast, he sought to lacerate the edges of soil and pebble with the long, length of his horn, stab, mutilate, carve and mold, while embracing the rapt sinew of his necromancy. Like venomous thorns, they joined the fray again, laced and raveled within the plunging knife of his sword – perhaps his attack would not only draw blood, but make the beast fester, make it cry, make it writhe and wither.

[Attempting to stay away from the foreleg gushing water and Lace’s explosion of fire, Deimos goes toward the monster’s right hind leg. He lowers his horn and attempts to stab at the limb, while fueling his horn with his deadly magic (hoping that some of the magic could enter the beast’s bloodstream).]

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