01-14-2020, 01:09 AM
<center><div style="width:400px; padding:30px;font-family:times;font-size:12px;line-height:14px;background:#FFFFFF;color:#000000;text-align:justify"><center><i> “She set fire to all the things that held her back,
and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was.”</center></I>
From behind her she hears footsteps, and when she spins to see who it might be she is at first flooded with relief at the sight of a familiar face. “Voro!” She exclaims with a smile, and though he does not return the gesture she is not surprised. The peryton was always so stoic, and she had grown accustomed to his ways. He was not so naturally inclined to vivid displays of emotion like she was.
But she<i> is</i> surprised at the hellish cry that rips from his throat, and the flat, almost mechanical look to his eyes. Confusion flickers across her face, and she pauses midstep, when a cool tingle of apprehension jumps erratically up her spine.
With his head lowered he charges at her head on, and though she scrambles to leap to the left, it is not enough to avoid him entirely. With a swing of his head as he passes, one of his antlers manages to snag her hip, and the dull but unforgiving point bruises to the bone. She can feel the sharp pain that shoots up her side, favoring her right hind leg for a few steps before turning to face him. Adrenaline surges through her, electric and alive, and her mind turns to static.
She does not try to piece together why he is acting like this.
She does not try to reason with him – if it’s even <i>really</i> him – but instead she feels some primal instinct click into place, one that told her to make it out of here alive at all costs.
Something twists in her gut, white hot and relentless, and she realizes that it is fury. Maybe when she leaves here she will be surprised at how quickly she had labeled a friend as an enemy; maybe she will regret letting her anger get the best of her and never pausing to ask questions.
She just knows that this time, when he comes at her again, she is ready, and this time, she does not leap out of the way.
With her nose tucked she lunges forward, ears pinned flat and her vibrant eyes narrowed. The duo clash into each other at an angle, and this time she flings her own head sideways, just enough to let the tines of her great elk antlers make direct contact with the side of his face.
Their dance continues like that, blow after blow, teeth snapping and antlers crashing. The white of her skin is smeared with blood, some marks from his antlers and others from the talons of his back feet. But he had not made it out unscathed. She was unforgiving in her attacks, landing powerful kicks when she could, but most often meeting him head on and letting her antlers do the work for her. She took advantage of each time he dared to take flight, targeting that soft underbelly.
Both of them bloodied and bruised, they collide one last time.
She had seen him lower his head, and she had done the same. Previously, she had made an effort to more or less dodge him, trying to set herself up for kicks and strikes. This time, she does not. This time, she matches the ferocity of his charge with one of her own, and the sound their antlers make when they crash is deafening. It sends a painful shock vibrating down her neck, but with a grit of her teeth she shoves forward. Their racks lock together, solid and unmoving, and even though something in the back of her mind sounds a warning – that she is now trapped against him – she does not relent. Every muscle draws taut within her, fighting back the exhaustion, refusing to let him get enough traction to knock her over. She knows that whichever one of them gives out first will lose. And she knows that she will not let it be her.
Time seems to stand still, the seconds dragging by like hours. She feels him begin to quiver, and with a sudden burst of strength she surges against him. It is enough to knock him off balance, and though she can feel him begin to go down she does not let up. She forces him to the ground, their antlers still fastened together, and the weight of his body plummeting downwards she fears will rip hers from her skull. Sweat glistens across her skin as she stands there, head lowered and sides heaving, her adrenaline refusing to wane even when she feels Voracious’ body suddenly go limp.
Not dead, but just done.
She twists her head and pulls, trying to release the antlers from each other, but it is useless. She has only seen this once before, in the depths of the wild forest; the decaying carcass of two bucks locked together in combat, but neither of them the victor.
Desperation claws inside of her chest, and almost frantically she strikes with her front legs. She doesn’t care if she accidentally lands a blow to his face, though it is not her intention. Her mark is meant to land on the tines of the antlers – either of theirs – to break off the ones that bound the two of them together.
She succeeds, but it is not pretty. Blood pours from Voro’s face where her hooves had struck, breaking off nearly the top of his left antler and several of the tines on right, along with some of her own. But they are free, and she stumbles back, gasping and exhausted. Her muscles begin to tremble with the fatigue she had not been allowing herself to feel, and with mangled antlers perched upon her head like a broken crown she stares at her defeated opponent, silent and frigid.
<div align=right><font color=B6385F><b>aislyn.</b></font></div></center>
Idk how to do battle posts in a quest setting so here you go.
and from the ashes she stepped into who she always was.”</center></I>
From behind her she hears footsteps, and when she spins to see who it might be she is at first flooded with relief at the sight of a familiar face. “Voro!” She exclaims with a smile, and though he does not return the gesture she is not surprised. The peryton was always so stoic, and she had grown accustomed to his ways. He was not so naturally inclined to vivid displays of emotion like she was.
But she<i> is</i> surprised at the hellish cry that rips from his throat, and the flat, almost mechanical look to his eyes. Confusion flickers across her face, and she pauses midstep, when a cool tingle of apprehension jumps erratically up her spine.
With his head lowered he charges at her head on, and though she scrambles to leap to the left, it is not enough to avoid him entirely. With a swing of his head as he passes, one of his antlers manages to snag her hip, and the dull but unforgiving point bruises to the bone. She can feel the sharp pain that shoots up her side, favoring her right hind leg for a few steps before turning to face him. Adrenaline surges through her, electric and alive, and her mind turns to static.
She does not try to piece together why he is acting like this.
She does not try to reason with him – if it’s even <i>really</i> him – but instead she feels some primal instinct click into place, one that told her to make it out of here alive at all costs.
Something twists in her gut, white hot and relentless, and she realizes that it is fury. Maybe when she leaves here she will be surprised at how quickly she had labeled a friend as an enemy; maybe she will regret letting her anger get the best of her and never pausing to ask questions.
She just knows that this time, when he comes at her again, she is ready, and this time, she does not leap out of the way.
With her nose tucked she lunges forward, ears pinned flat and her vibrant eyes narrowed. The duo clash into each other at an angle, and this time she flings her own head sideways, just enough to let the tines of her great elk antlers make direct contact with the side of his face.
Their dance continues like that, blow after blow, teeth snapping and antlers crashing. The white of her skin is smeared with blood, some marks from his antlers and others from the talons of his back feet. But he had not made it out unscathed. She was unforgiving in her attacks, landing powerful kicks when she could, but most often meeting him head on and letting her antlers do the work for her. She took advantage of each time he dared to take flight, targeting that soft underbelly.
Both of them bloodied and bruised, they collide one last time.
She had seen him lower his head, and she had done the same. Previously, she had made an effort to more or less dodge him, trying to set herself up for kicks and strikes. This time, she does not. This time, she matches the ferocity of his charge with one of her own, and the sound their antlers make when they crash is deafening. It sends a painful shock vibrating down her neck, but with a grit of her teeth she shoves forward. Their racks lock together, solid and unmoving, and even though something in the back of her mind sounds a warning – that she is now trapped against him – she does not relent. Every muscle draws taut within her, fighting back the exhaustion, refusing to let him get enough traction to knock her over. She knows that whichever one of them gives out first will lose. And she knows that she will not let it be her.
Time seems to stand still, the seconds dragging by like hours. She feels him begin to quiver, and with a sudden burst of strength she surges against him. It is enough to knock him off balance, and though she can feel him begin to go down she does not let up. She forces him to the ground, their antlers still fastened together, and the weight of his body plummeting downwards she fears will rip hers from her skull. Sweat glistens across her skin as she stands there, head lowered and sides heaving, her adrenaline refusing to wane even when she feels Voracious’ body suddenly go limp.
Not dead, but just done.
She twists her head and pulls, trying to release the antlers from each other, but it is useless. She has only seen this once before, in the depths of the wild forest; the decaying carcass of two bucks locked together in combat, but neither of them the victor.
Desperation claws inside of her chest, and almost frantically she strikes with her front legs. She doesn’t care if she accidentally lands a blow to his face, though it is not her intention. Her mark is meant to land on the tines of the antlers – either of theirs – to break off the ones that bound the two of them together.
She succeeds, but it is not pretty. Blood pours from Voro’s face where her hooves had struck, breaking off nearly the top of his left antler and several of the tines on right, along with some of her own. But they are free, and she stumbles back, gasping and exhausted. Her muscles begin to tremble with the fatigue she had not been allowing herself to feel, and with mangled antlers perched upon her head like a broken crown she stares at her defeated opponent, silent and frigid.
<div align=right><font color=B6385F><b>aislyn.</b></font></div></center>
Idk how to do battle posts in a quest setting so here you go.