10-10-2021, 08:05 AM
It is all a tangle of claws and feathers, pulling at skin almost blindly in attempts to rip the other open. Skandar is not an experienced warrior when it came to his skin-walking, clumsy and brutish in his attacks and defenses. The gryffen is a difficult shape to keep during such a scene and there are moments when his skin flickers cautiously as if his flesh could not hold the shape without his intense concentration. It’s almost a blessing that the white beast changes shape, giving him the opportunity to give in to the trembling of his skin. He cannot keep the previous shape as well and when a dragon bores down upon him (though he has never seen one, so there is a genuine surprise in the stallion’s fierce orange gaze), he gives in to instincts.
His wings attempt to drop the feathers, becoming leathery and sharp while scales shiver across his muscled body - scales were easy for Skandar, a practice that he has done quite a few times - and they click over him in a myriad of indigo, violet, and orange. He roars upon collision with the other, jaws snapping and clawed fingers gripping at her forelegs and chest, attempting to keep her a distance away from him as well as in hopes to find purchase with the fangs that have now replaced his once sharp beak.
Despite his inexperience with such fantastical shapes, Skandar holds his ground. The other makes a little movement towards Aela, using the power he mimics from Mazikeen to keep her at bay. He is weakening, however, already his scales fading in and out - which is where her claws slice brutally, unprotected by the armored scales that continue to waver across his skin, disappearing and reappearing. Skandar doesn’t know to reach for the soft underbelly but instead uses the weight of his heavy wings to flap clumsily at her face in their battle, despite the way her teeth will easily shred through the supple skin in between the bones.
He is losing, his mind unable to reshape the pieces of the dragon he attempts to copy. He begins to fall back into stallion subtly - his dragon’s scales only plate his sharp reptilian face and shoulders - and his ombre mane begins to fall across the slender slope of his snake-like neck, replacing the horns that had once sprouted dangerously from it. The other is nearly on top of him as she sets her gaze back to Aela - he is not her main focus, merely a distraction - her claws digging deep into the unscaled parts of his skin. He roars in pain and frustration, snapping at her neck that is just above him.
Everything is burning - the grasses around them, each part of Skandar’s body that had been spliced by the shapeshifter he fights - and so he focuses on something he doesn’t have to mimic; he reaches for his own power, fed through his own flame, arising in the irises of the dragon that is slowly changing back into a stallion. It hums and buzzes, a sinister and foreign sound amongst the sound of raging fire and screams, nearly inaudible as her demand vibrates through the smoke-filled air.
The girl, Sickle, comes when Aela calls her. Skandar does not turn his gaze from the dragon that holds him down, even when her attention is fixated on both Aela and her supposed daughter.
Glowing a vibrant red, his gaze sweeps over her dragon’s wings, hoping to cut them straight from where they sprout from her shoulders as her clawed talons grip tighter and tighter into his throat. If his lasers were to hit anything else (her chest, throat, forelegs) - it would only sear the tough dragon scales - he would need to repeat the cut over and over in order to deepen the wound. But perhaps at the first sign of his quite literal burning gaze, the dragon would leap from his chest. If he misses, he would only be adding to the fire that burns with rage around them. Maybe then he will set his sights on the phoenix instead.
His wings attempt to drop the feathers, becoming leathery and sharp while scales shiver across his muscled body - scales were easy for Skandar, a practice that he has done quite a few times - and they click over him in a myriad of indigo, violet, and orange. He roars upon collision with the other, jaws snapping and clawed fingers gripping at her forelegs and chest, attempting to keep her a distance away from him as well as in hopes to find purchase with the fangs that have now replaced his once sharp beak.
Despite his inexperience with such fantastical shapes, Skandar holds his ground. The other makes a little movement towards Aela, using the power he mimics from Mazikeen to keep her at bay. He is weakening, however, already his scales fading in and out - which is where her claws slice brutally, unprotected by the armored scales that continue to waver across his skin, disappearing and reappearing. Skandar doesn’t know to reach for the soft underbelly but instead uses the weight of his heavy wings to flap clumsily at her face in their battle, despite the way her teeth will easily shred through the supple skin in between the bones.
He is losing, his mind unable to reshape the pieces of the dragon he attempts to copy. He begins to fall back into stallion subtly - his dragon’s scales only plate his sharp reptilian face and shoulders - and his ombre mane begins to fall across the slender slope of his snake-like neck, replacing the horns that had once sprouted dangerously from it. The other is nearly on top of him as she sets her gaze back to Aela - he is not her main focus, merely a distraction - her claws digging deep into the unscaled parts of his skin. He roars in pain and frustration, snapping at her neck that is just above him.
Everything is burning - the grasses around them, each part of Skandar’s body that had been spliced by the shapeshifter he fights - and so he focuses on something he doesn’t have to mimic; he reaches for his own power, fed through his own flame, arising in the irises of the dragon that is slowly changing back into a stallion. It hums and buzzes, a sinister and foreign sound amongst the sound of raging fire and screams, nearly inaudible as her demand vibrates through the smoke-filled air.
The girl, Sickle, comes when Aela calls her. Skandar does not turn his gaze from the dragon that holds him down, even when her attention is fixated on both Aela and her supposed daughter.
Glowing a vibrant red, his gaze sweeps over her dragon’s wings, hoping to cut them straight from where they sprout from her shoulders as her clawed talons grip tighter and tighter into his throat. If his lasers were to hit anything else (her chest, throat, forelegs) - it would only sear the tough dragon scales - he would need to repeat the cut over and over in order to deepen the wound. But perhaps at the first sign of his quite literal burning gaze, the dragon would leap from his chest. If he misses, he would only be adding to the fire that burns with rage around them. Maybe then he will set his sights on the phoenix instead.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Aela
@Mazikeen