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♛black age of fire
Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 5

posts: 33

post log:

RAUM
#1
@Sanada

DRIVEN FROM THE CRYPT, A LINE FROM THE LINE OF UNKEMPT KINGS – STREWN IN THEIR CHAOS, DIVINED IN THEIR HELLS A HUNDRED AGONIES. BORNE TO THEIR WRATH, THEIR IRE PLAGUED; PAGAN KING UPON THE THRONE OF FILTH, A CROWN OF LIES AND VEIL OF SECRETS. HE IS HOME, SOME FAR DIMENSION FROM HIS HEART, HOME WITHIN THE SILENCE AND THE CARNAGE, SET APART FROM THE SERENITY THAT LINGERS LIKE A FOG OVER THE UNTOLD LAND. HERE IN THE FIERY TIMBERS AND THEIR SMOLDERING ASH, THE DRAGON FINDS HIS MOMENTARY PEACE – REFLECTED IN THE EMBERS OF A GNARLED GROVE. A SKULL RESIDES IN THE NICHE, ITS JAWS WIDE IN AN ETERNAL SCREAM THAT EXISTS ON A FARPLANE WONDER. ITS RIBS ARE ENTANGLED IN THE VINES, ITS LEGS TWISTED BENEATH. THE REST IS ASH – ASH AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE, THE RUINS OF WHAT HE PRESUMED TO ONCE BE A GREAT FOREST, POSSESSED NOW BY AN EERIE SILENCE HE FINDS HIS FAVOR. PITEOUS BEAST, ITS FURS SINGED AND MEAT DRIED, HANGING LIMP FROM ITS SPINE IN A MESS OF CHARCOAL GRISTLE AND FINE HAIRS. ITS WORTH WAS MET IN THE DIRT, SIFTED INTO THE MOLTEN BED BELOW. LUCENT'S INTEREST STEAD TO THIS SCULPTURE FOR LONG, ADMIRING THE RIND OF A FIRE THAT BURNED BEHIND ITS SOCKETS, THE WAY THE BREEZE SPARKED FIREFLIES FROM ITS HIDE AND CRACKLED IN THE DEEP. THE TERRITORY WAS ETHEREAL, A NIGHTMARE WITHIN A DREAM, A BED OF TREACHERY AND PERIL THAT TEEMED WITH THE SORROWS OF ITS TRAGEDY. TAKING FROM THE MORBID SCENE AT THE BORDER HE DELVED DEEPER INTO THE RED WOOD, HIS FOOTSTEPS CHURNING THE ASH FROM THE GROUND, SOME PLACES STILL ABLAZE WHILE OTHERS BOILED AND SNAPPED. HIS FOOTSTEPS FELL UPON THE HOT SOILS, RICH AND SOFT FROM THE RAINS THAT MUST HAVE DROWNED THE FIRES THAT RAGED.

HE WAS A SHADOW AMONG SHADOWS HERE WHILE DUSK LOOMED ABOVE, WHAT REMAINING SUNLIGHT CHOKED BY THE SMOG THAT GREYED THE SKY. WHAT WAS LEFT HAD SEEMED PICKED THROUGH, THE JEWELS OF THE FOREST CLUTCHED ABREAST TO THIEVES, SCAVENGERS, THOSE REAPERS WHO CAME BEFORE. THERE WAS NOTHING FOR HIM HERE BUT THE SCAPE OF ASH AND BONES, A HOSTILE DREAMLAND LEFT TO MYSTERY. WHAT SENTINELS STOOD WERE CHARRED, IF NOT STILL BURNING, RESIDING IN A HELLISH CRADLE. HE MOVED BENEATH THE POOLING SMOKE, THEIR PATHS SWAYED IN THE GENTLE BREEZE, WISPED AND WOUND ABOUT HIM IN THEIR TENDER CARESS. IT WAS A PARTICULAR PIECE THAT SECURED HIS ATTENTION IN THE DISTANCE – A GREAT TREE, SPLIT EVENLY AT ITS CORE, ONE THAT LOOKED ANCIENT BEYOND WORDS AND WHISPERS. THOUGH BLACKENED AND CHARRED, HE COULD SEE THE EMBERS WITHIN PULSING LIKE A HEARTBEAT – FANNED BY THE NORTHERN WIND. HE STOPPED JUST YARDS OF IT, OBSERVING THE GRAVES THAT SURROUNDED ITS MAJESTY.
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 2

posts: 90

post log:
rusted weapon

soar
#2

sanada
fortune favours the bold

He had not seen the fire; until now, they only existed in his world as an orange glow on the horizon. He thought he could easily see the ruined forest in his mind's eye. Crumbled pillars and remnants of flora upon the ashen ground. But he knew nothing; he could not even begin to imagine the destruction it had wrought; the death it had inflicted. In his imagination, there always was a little spark of life — of hope — that indicated a quick rebirth. But here... There was nothing to signify that. There was nothing but empty ruins and ominous breathing of remaining embers.

A shiver of sorrow trembled through his heart and soul as he laid his eyes upon the splintered trunk. The Eldritch Tree; gone. He lifted his head, eyes searching the dimming sky. The sky was too bright still for stars to twinkle, but he hoped that the tree's constellation was still living on in the heavens.

Of course, it lived; but that little irrational part of him worried regardless.

He raised his paw, and halted. It hovered uncertainly over the shattered trunk as an unprecedented restraint held him back. It felt almost sacrilegious to touch the broken body; he was not of this forest and he had no ties to this great tree. Though a native to Cyrileth, he felt like an outsider in the forest and thus he had no right to breach what was not his. With muzzle wrinkling and lips twisting downward, Sanada placed his uplifted paw on the defiled ground, resigning to his interloper status. So he sat there, eyes tracing the length of the tree. Lingering on fading embers that dared to cling on the dead. As the darkness slowly descended upon them, those lights seemed to gleam brighter.

The arrival of another did not disturb his impromptu vigil; Sanada merely glanced at the ebony man, the light in his orange eyes rivalling that of embers. Both his mind and his tongue were silent.

“Sanada is speaking”


@Lucent
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 5

posts: 33

post log:

RAUM
#3
GARGOYLE GRIM; THE GRISTLE OF UNHALLOWED FLESH KNEADED IN LACQUERED MUSCLE, DONNED OF RAVENS DOWN. HE IS A PIT IN THE EMBERS, A SWELLING VOID WHO CONSUMES EACH SHADOW IN TENDRILS, EAGERLY FED. THERE IS NO REFLECTION IN THE STYGIAN RIVER, NO FLECK OR FLICKER THAT IGNITES HIS SYMPATHY FOR WHAT HAS FALLEN. HE IS A HEATHEN. HE IS THE HERETIC. A TANGLE OF WRITHING VIPERS SLEEK AND COILED IN THE NESTLE OF HIS MUSCULATURE, A CROWN OF GNARLED THORNS AMIDST THE TOUSLED INK FIBERS. ARTFUL HORROR; THE CHISEL OF HIS FEATURES IS ABSOLUTE, SHARP ANGLES THAT PORTRAY THIS FORMIDABLE DREAD, GUISED IN THE HANDSOMENESS OF A CALLOUS DEVIL. THE SMOOTH SLOPE OF HIS SKULL, HIS LONG, NARROW JAWS, CROCODILIAN AND CRUEL; ALL THAT REMAINED ANIMAL OF HIS COUNTENANCE. THE REST WAS A BEGUILING ELYSIAN TRAIL OF SHADE AND FRINGE, A SLICK DELINEATION OF FIBROUS CONTOUR. BLACK MARBLE AND TAR, WETTED IN THE SHEEN OF GASOLINE. STATUETTE, DEATHLY STILL, HIS THRALL IS CULTIVATED IN THE WAYS THE ELDRITCH'S GLOW SWELTERS AND CEASE, MOMENTARILY UNAWARE OF THE BODY ON THE OTHER SIDE. HIS AWE IS RESERVED FOR THE QUIET THAT SURROUNDS THEM, AND THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF THEIR SUPPOSED GOD. DID IT BLEED?

HIS JET BLACK EYES SNAPPED TO THE PRESENCE THAT LINGERED BEYOND THE GNARLED BOUGHS. HE REMAINED UNMOVED, UNFLINCHING, ONLY HIS GAZE STEAD ON THE SHADOW WHOSE EYES MIRRORED THE PAIN OF THE ELDRITCH. IT WAS UNCERTAIN IN THE TERRORSCAPE WHAT WAS LEFT THAT LIVED, OR EVEN IF IT WAS THE ANGUISH OF THE DEAD WHO REMAINED. TIED TO THIS HELL, DAMNED TO ITS AGONY IN A RESTLESS THROE OF WHAT GREATNESS IT HAD ONCE BEEN. HE SPARED NO PITY FOR THE DEAD. THERE WAS NO FEAR FOR THEIR GHOSTS, AND EVEN LESS FOR THEIR PATRONS. THIS ONE BREATHED. HIS CALCULATIVE GLARE SEETHED THROUGH THE SMOKE, ROVING OVER THE LAD'S FRAME AS IT SWELLED AND EXHALED CASUALLY, EXAMINED THE YOUTHFUL BRIM AND BRUSQUE OF HIS SWARTHY SILHOUETTE. AT LAST HE LIFTED HIS CHIN, NOTIONING SHARPLY TO THE SPLIT RED OAK BEFORE THEM. “Is this your god?" THE WORD ROLLED IN HIS MOUTH, BRUSHING OVER HIS TONGUE TERSELY. YET IT HELD NO INSULT, NO SARDONIC MOTION TO REPULSE THE IDEA. HE WOULDN'T JUDGE THE BOY FOR HIS WORSHIPS, NOR CONDEMN THE DEVICE OF HIS DEITIES. HIS VOICE WAS FULL, CERTAIN, AN EXOTIC ANCIENT DIALECT THAT BURIED ITS ROOTS IN THE CARPATHIAN HALLS OF OLD. DRY, ALMOST MONOTONE, IT HAD LEAPT TO BRIDGE THE GAP BETWEEN THEM, A SOLEMN NOTE FOR THE WONDER THAT RELAXED IN HIS MIND. THEY WERE WORLDS APART, HELD IN A CRADLE OF FLAME AND STONE.


@Sanada
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 2

posts: 90

post log:
rusted weapon

soar
#4

sanada
fortune favours the bold

As he sat his vigil before the pulsating tree, his worried mind extended to those afflicted by the fire; those who were unable to protect their lives, their home, and their god from the ravenous fiend. As his thoughts wandered, he was suddenly stricken by a cruel jolt of fear and despair. Although this forest was part of his home, it was not his home, in where he lived and grew up, just as the Tree was not his constellation; but should the fire happened upon his home and stars... It would ruin him; his past, present, and future all would be torn apart and his identity would be in tatters.

He despaired for the future of the survivors of this forest.

The unknown man continued to dawdle and his void eyes were still tarrying upon the youthful native and the fallen tree. Under his cold obsidian gaze, Sanada felt as if his vigil was a source of entertainment, whose sole purpose was to sate the man's curiosity. Furious disgust rolled through Sanada's seated form, settling upon his stomach as fires began to leap from the embers of his eyes.

“IS THIS YOUR GOD? the stranger asked, and his odd selection of inflection had not missed Sanada's notice. For the briefest fleeting moment, he considered not answering. But it was too late; his response was already rolling off his tongue, short and curt; “Not mine.”


“Sanada is speaking”


@Lucent
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 5

posts: 33

post log:

RAUM
#5
NOT MINE. IT SPOKE, THE SILHOUETTE OUTLINED BY FLAME – FOUNDED IN CHARRED REVERIE, AN ODD DISPLAY OF VENERATION THAT APPEARED NOTHING LESS OF WORSHIP. PERHAPS, ADMIRATION? COULD HE NOT HIMSELF, UNTIED TO THESE EXOTICS' STARRY FURNISHINGS, BE MOVED TO ADMIRE SUCH MONUMENTS, EVEN IN THEIR BEAUTIFUL DESTRUCTION? WHAT MAGNANIMOUS PHENOMENA OF THE GODS, TO ARTFULLY CEASE THAT WHICH THEY HAD CREATED – TO RELENT THEIR BRETHREN TO THEIR CHAOTIC END, AND WITH IT ALL ITS LEGACY. HE COULD NOT BLAME THE BOY FOR CHOOSING NOT TO PLACE HIS DUES IN THE HANDS OF SUCH RECKLESS GODS. LUCENT GRUNTED, CHIN CURLED OVER THE LUSH TENDRILS OF STYGIAN MANE, HIS BROW WEIGHTED IN CONTINUING CURIOSITY AS HE LOOKED OVER THE ANCIENT IDOL. not yours..." HE MUSED IDLY, ATTENTION ESTRANGED THE BOY AS IT FIXATED BACK INSTEAD ON THE EMBERS THAT LINED THE TREE LIKE FIRELIGHTS CARRIED TO THE HEAVENS. IT IS MESMERIC, THE SIGHT OF A SLOWLY DYING FIRE, MORESO TO AMUSE HIMSELF ON THE DEATH OF A PROCLAIMED GOD. OR HAD IT BEEN THEIR STARS, TRULY? THIS, THE FLESH OF A CELESTIAL WHOSE ETERNITY COULD NOT BE TOUCHED ON THEIR CORPOREAL PLANE. PROSPECTS OF DOUBT. OF LORE.

THOSE PROSPECTS, PERHAPS EVEN THE CYRILETH BOY WOULD SHARE.

LUCENT DREW CLOSER TO THE TREE, HIS LONG LIMBS UPTURNING ASH WITH THEIR TENDER GRACE; HIS HEELS FETTERED IN SMOKE. THE RAINING EMBERS FELL AS SNOW UPON HIS PELT, GREYING THE THREADS OF RAVEN SLICK FURS. HE PAID NO HEED TO THE NATIVE THAT HAD BEEN THERE BEFORE, HIS PRESENCE REMAINING COLLECTED, STOIC. THERE WAS NO WAR TO BE HAD HERE FOR HIM. NOT YET. “i hear it is, for some. or was." THE TIMBRE OF HIS VOICE ROLLED; A CASUAL DISTANT THUNDER CONFINED TO LACQUERED TONE, SMOOTH AND WICKED AS HE IS – THIS PHANTASM, THIS EMPTIED VESSEL, BREATHED WITH A LIFE FAR FROM HIS OWN. IT IS A SORT OF CHIMERIC POETRY, TO VIEW HIM, TO WATCH THE DISPASSION OF HIS EXPRESSIONS, THE GRACE OF HIS MOVEMENTS; BETRAYED BY THE SUAVE FULLNESS OF HIS GENTEEL BARITONE.

HE STOPPED FEET AWAY FROM THE ELDRITCH REMAINS, LIFTING HIS PAW FROM A BLACKENED ROOT WHICH ROLLED APART FROM THE WEBBED TANGLE. ENAMORED AS IT DISSIPATED, CRUSHED INTO THE EARTH AND FROM IT RELEASED A FLIGHT OF ASH UPON THE SOFT BREEZE. HIS EYES TRAILED BACK TO THE BOY, THE CHARRED EARTH SIFTED BENEATH HIS PAW PADS. “why?" HIS UTTERANCE IS VAGUE, AN OPEN QUESTION – RACKING THE NATIVE'S MIND SHOULD HE SO CHOOSE TO PARTAKE. THE ACTS OF THE MIND ARE FOREVER CURIOUS TO HIM. WHY – WOULD HE NOT WORSHIP WHAT ONCE MAY HAVE BEEN AN IMMACULATE MONUMENT? WOULD ANYONE WORSHIP THAT OF A TREE, AMONG MANY. AMONG THE FARES OF FLESH AND BLOOD AND PLEASURE, THEY CHOSE THIS TREE? WHY WAS HE HERE, NOW? HE WAITED PATIENTLY FOR AN ANSWER, WHATEVER IT MAY BE, COLD AND DEADENED EYES PRYING THROUGH THE SMOKE FOR THE SILHOUETTE OF HIS GUEST.


@Sanada
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 2

posts: 90

post log:
rusted weapon

soar
#6

sanada
fortune favours the bold

The man took his answer with careful hands, pondering on it with a slight mutter, and Sanada did not wish to engage with him any further. Though it was not his god that was struck down, he desired privacy as he mulled over his disconnected grief. Fire-touched eyes left the man, leaving a searing wake, and returned to the blackened tree, lingering on one of many ember lights. That alone should clearly convey that he wanted solitude, but the stranger was either blind or careless; the already tense silence grew pronounced when he moved forward, loitering closer to the charred trunk; “I HEAR IT IS, FOR SOME. OR WAS."

He did not like that; it felt probing. An experiment of some kind; to observe reactions of the earthen boy. So he stayed still; too still, perhaps.

“Yeah.” He replied shortly, despite not understanding vague intentions this man harboured within his dark mind and having no interest in pleasuring him by offering whatever he was seeking. Nails dug into the scorched earth as the man continued to come closer to the broken corpse of a god. Embered eyes shot to his idle face, and then his paws, which were covered in soot. Burnt fragments of tree remains. “WHY?" Slowly, Sanada rose to his paws, preparing to strike should the stranger continue to push his boundaries. As his entire body smouldered, his voice remained comfortably casual when he answered; “Why not?”

“Sanada is speaking”


@Lucent
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 5

posts: 33

post log:

RAUM
#7
the press of his wares, long wearied gaze stead in dissecting fervor – deadpan cold, withdrawn the heat from his humor. they pried, livid, exacting in their nature every slight twinge and breath; steadied patiently on this statuette figure crowned in eldritch amber. his breaths fall as smoke upon the breeze, calm and twirling, caressed over the sharp rise of his cheek as it twitches slight, threatened with a grinning menace. the boy kneels to a god he does not worship. lucent's eyes rose to the skies, scanning their deep. hear this, cyrileth knaves? then return to the earthy shadow, held to the smoldering glow of eyes that seared from behind the split limbs. they watched him with a disservice, not fear or disinterest but pure, unhinged loathing – but why? his skin prickled with the fervency of their aversion, pins and needles through the tender veins that wrapped his legs, shoulders. recoiled rage. he is not hurt by a stranger's disdain – but incensed, forever curious, finding wonder in the machinations of a mind he may never enter. of dreams he may never devour. the nightmare pursues unabashed, undeterred by the boy's passive aggressions as though he is naive to the feeling of unwant.

“why not?” lucent chuckles at the response, finding its irony. Surely, one who does not claim the god for themselves could answer that question? Or was there more, deeper secrets to the indigenous wretches that he hadn't considered? He had not lingered long to listen to their tales of prophecy, their songs of their old gods. He had been raised knowing the blood that flowed in his veins was precious, precarious, royal, otherworldly divine. The gods that he had been raised to respect were ingrained in his being. They were his marrow, his pain, his pleasure. Beyond that was spectacles of lore and foundation for gullible souls. Pride did not make him to believe in the fancies of lesser deities – but their processes were true. Death does not make a god. Respect, true veneration, one that resides deep in the stead of the fiery soul – such is what breeds gods, and such is their demise. They, and they alone, could be the only ones to explain to him the death of their gods. it was their fault, after all. Ignorance was death to celestials. was it this detachment from the eldritch that caused its end? Or were there but false prophets among them, new age heathens who strayed from the blind faith. He could find no kinship in the roots of the Eldritch. There was nothing for him there, no power that flowed from its corpse.

Yet the power he leeched from the adamant boy, yes. The energy that bounded off his tense form as he rose, steadied, his flesh teeming with hostile hesitation. The one true god, the only god lucent could behold in awe and passion, was that of WAR. a grin wrapped his otherwise cold features with an unsettling warmth, the glint of a dagger caught in the embers that singed their gleam. His nose wrinkled, fangs pressed soft to the curve of his lips as he beheld the native's sudden call to arms, the shadow of menace falling over his deep gaze. Craning his sloped skull, so that the glow outlined the chiseled features of his face, a black river of spines rose along the thin line of his back, plumes of his tail slicked from his heels. “you tell me." Fire leapt from his silver tongue, venomous grit that reaped all trace of curiosity in place of pursuit. He welcomed violence with open arms, his chivalry crushed between heavy jaws.


@Sanada
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 2

posts: 90

post log:
rusted weapon

soar
#8

sanada
fortune favours the bold

It boomed. It boomed, beat, thudded. The music of war drums; the quickening of his heart. Fire that seared in his orange eyes snaked through his body, thrumming in his veins, dancing within the river of blood until it bubbled and seethed. As this burning brightness coursed through his earthen frame, black darkness that cloaked the man fell away and the hood that hid his features slipped from his face, uncovering wildness that roiled in his gaze and a slight curl of his lips. Vicious; savage joy.

The smile of an imp who allowed himself to wade through streams of violence; allowed himself to be swayed by the wardrums.

“YOU TELL ME."

As if a veil had been ripped away from his face, Sanada saw clearly now. Ripples that trembled through the man's body, the teasing lilt to his voice, and exploratory words that fell from his ebony lips. Cruelty.

Would the grave of a god become their battleground?

Despite himself, a smile tore across his face, a jagged line of teeth splitting his black face. So be it.

Gods, watch me.

“Why should I?” He hissed his response, words laced with rough amusement. Then he sprang forward; feinting at the man's left, before ducking to barrel into his chest.

“Sanada is speaking”


@Lucent

Are three rounds okay?

ATTACK: feints before attempting to barrel into his chest.
DEFENSE: lowered head and body.
INJURES: none.
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 5

posts: 33

post log:

RAUM
#9
lucent is forever observant. his calculative nature, forever betraying his curosity with a hunger that was never sated. he pressed – he insisted, when there was give, he would shove. such was in his mind to pursue wildly, digging his fingertips deep in every nook and cranny of a stranger's brain. pick and needle in hand, scalpel at the ready. this one relented almost nothing, but he was far from vacancy – another being of cold iron just as he, his own reclusive tidings. but where lucent was smoke and mirrors, an ever shifting face of secrets veiled in a thick smog of grins and lies, the boy was a forge of cast iron and eternal flame. sharp, brooding, steady. he was searing hot; his temper broiled in silent reserve, taciturn flares that sparked and smoldered as he withheld the shadow in leering sights. the boy was not of overt cruelty as the spectre, simply a young man of little patience. and yet, he pried.

he had landed a mark, observing the grin that spread on the stranger's face. it was warm, but only in the humor of distaste, a hostile smile that lucent knew all too well. how long had it been since he endured a fair fight? the squabbles with passerby were lesser to consider anything of any consequence, no more than quick scavengers' brawls that were left to shallow bruises and scant reward. this; the tempered fury that roamed between them, coursing about the firelight – this was the mindless indulgence he craved, violence pursued for violence sake. almost surprised to have generated an aggressive response so quickly, he minded the young man's gestures for a glimpse of what was to come – for what? lucent sought only answers, yes? perhaps the natives were simply so easy to agitate. he chuckled at the low retort he was provided, his body riddled in the heat of suspense.

the ground was soft beneath him, cinders and fertile ash; the blood and flesh of their weakened god. his body is fluid – sinuous, agile; pouring curves that slip and slither in winding array – reptilian, a beast of the river soot. so he is; engaged in a flow moreso than the fascination of brutish strength, he relies on precision and sheer will, the wind that conjures the rite of flesh and the flame that runs through his veins. buoyant, aware, ever calculative, he observes and learns with every breath, every step – and so very rarely is he the first to engage. he prefers it. prefers the patience, the defense, the study of the manner in which rage manifests and releases – though its effort is seemingly lost to the dark stranger, left to his own irritability than pure, unadulterated fury. between this disappointment and the lack of viable answers, he is almost at a loss. this will have to do. he pinned his ears in the anticipation, his crown lowered even with the ridge of his spine.

he is a will-o-wisp – a reverent, through and through, phantasmagoria defined in whimsical fibrous flow; rises and rests in shadow, flexing flame. lucent bears no shield, no heavy broadsword he wields with the tangle of mammothian muscle... he is the archer, dagger at the hip. the feathered fletching caressed between deft, careful fingers. as his opponent pursues through the frenzy of ash and embers that frame his swift silhouette, the deival releases his disheveled tidings, shirking his arrogance and vanity for the rush of war. it is futile to brace himself, to invite the rolling tide upon him in a clamor of armor and mettle – dexterity serves him best with clarity when the time bids his move. as sanada lunges for the rind of his left humerus he attempts to evade forward, angling a bit northeast in his hermesian footwork, wisping tendrils swift to break from the menace of grasping teeth – alas! unaware of his foe's artful duplicity as sanada spun on his heel, he is struck and bruised at the broad cleft of his shoulder, the wind knocked from rasping lungs.

his mind is quick, sharp – aided in the cruel givings of a vengeful god – he is blown aside but sifts in the ashes to find his grip and counter. snarling backlash of hungering fangs, restless boiling blood rose to jeer and awe, the pulsing of his shoulder is lost to the rush of adrenaline. he twists, pivoting, diving low in an effort to snatch the boy's right hind leg and charge it back – a mindlessly swift act to knock him off his feet. if successful, his grip is far less than merciful. he has the bear vice of a metal jaw, grinding teeth that gnaw like rows of sharks' fangs. there is no honor, no sympathy in the devil's treachery. he prays to the deity pain, only.

SPAR POST 1 OF 3
Defense: Ears flat, head low, balanced weight. **Post Sanada's attack: body lowered. Seeing Sanada charging his left shoulder, he lunges at an angle to the right in an attempt to leave nothing but air for his foe to grip but is blown in the side of his left shoulder as Sanada feints to attack head-on.
Attack: Bulldozed to the right, he regains his grip quickly and turns on a pivot to charge Sanada's right hind leg. His attempt is not only to knock Sanada's balance awry, but also to gnaw into the flesh of his hind leg (or anything that he grips) if succesful.
Injuries: harsh bruising on left shoulder.



@Sanada FINALLY i'm so sorry
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Loner

rank:

gender: Male

age: 2

posts: 90

post log:
rusted weapon

soar
#10

sanada
fortune favours the bold

The shade was quick, but so easily fooled.

Serpentine movements of his form attempted to evade the wood beast's fangs, but he was not so quick to avoid falling for Sanada's brutal trickery. The boy's head collided his left shoulder and ache screamed through his head, crying amidst his unravelling thoughts.

Had he had remaining coherent thoughts, he would chide himself for retaliating with a kamikaze attack. But anger had pulsed through his body, robbing him of his rational thoughts and rendering him to a mindless beast.

Well, now a beast with a headache.

He wanted nothing more than to stop and wait for the dizziness to cease but Lucent would not allow this respite. So he endured it, barrelling through the throbbing ache, and was ready to pull back to unleash another — hopefully, not so stupid — attack when the second punishment for the foolishness of his initial attack came.

Lucent had lunged forward, taking his hind leg with his teeth, chomping as he pulled it along with him. A rare cry was ripped from the boy's throat but it was quickly cut off as he twisted, persisting through the crying pain of his trapped leg and strained muscles. But his balance was faltering fast.

And then he fell; dust billowing as he collapsed to the ground. Keeping the tender areas of his neck and belly hidden from the shade's unforgiving fangs.

Headache was throbbing but it was but a speck of pulsating light amidst the cloud of red that fell across his eyes. Stop. He twisted his head around to find him.

Stop.

If he moved now, Lucent would fall upon him, a predator to Sanada's prey.

Stop. And he stopped. And watched Lucent through the agony, bracing through the grind of his teeth on his leg. Despite the tears that were welling up in his eyes, the unceasing stream of pain in his leg, he waited for Lucent's next move.

But he could not. The pain was too great; it was even beginning to slither from his lips. A thin low cry.

So he violently kicked his entrapped leg out, into Lucent's mouth. If it staggered the man, Sanada would then take this opportunity push himself off the ground and stumble away from him, putting some distance between them.

Then he would wait.


“Sanada is speaking”


@Lucent

ATTACK: on the ground, and kicked out with his trapped leg into Lucent's mouth
DEFENCE: put some distance between him and Lucent if his attack was successful
INJURIES: a headache and a mauled leg.
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