06-10-2009, 03:03 PM
Martial arts! Nice touch with the 'dead in this world dead back home' idea.
Its attacks came faster now, its body still entertaining the feel of someone out for a walk or on their way to visit a friend, a nonchalance toward death that hinted at a long running practice. The creature had done it for a long time. At the time of its death, it had been fifteen. Many of those years the constructed consciousness had been on its quest, and hundreds had paid in blood for its duty. His legend had grown with time, but had never followed him to his final resting place. The Wraith Wolf's path of destruction had stopped abruptly before reaching Bleeding Souls. Before its creator had finally managed to find a modicum of peace.
The warrior wove deftly within the giant's guard, deflecting his more powerful arms, and driving a blow into the center-point of his torso, doubling the beast over as the organs within jolted with the impact. Nonetheless, it had sustained great pain through its years; it had been beaten, clawed, had its flesh slashed desperately by the dying, been impaled by the brave sword of Malros...the pain of a hundred lifetimes was scrawled across its flesh. It was terrible in its simplicity. It did not care. It had learned the limits of this body--expansive as they were--long ago, and pushed the body to those limits readily. Death was its quest, forever, ceaseless, because it knew now that lycanthropes were too many and too far-flung for it to ever dispatch entirely. It would carry out its function until the body fell apart. And that was all. He hung his massive head, nightmarish in visage, toward her, and even as his body reacted to her blow, his jaws opened to take her face and from that holding point, kill her. That, however, was not to be. The scene froze, even as the beast lurched forward, bringing its long, inescapable arms to engulf the woad-warrior, and a quiet, saddened voice spoke, as if from someone who stood between the two.
"Why do you oppose him? Why risk yourself for those who are already dead? This dream...it's my misery, my memory...that father and his daughters, they aren't dreamers like you, they can't truly die, not again...not here. He will resume his attack, you must flee him!"
Its attacks came faster now, its body still entertaining the feel of someone out for a walk or on their way to visit a friend, a nonchalance toward death that hinted at a long running practice. The creature had done it for a long time. At the time of its death, it had been fifteen. Many of those years the constructed consciousness had been on its quest, and hundreds had paid in blood for its duty. His legend had grown with time, but had never followed him to his final resting place. The Wraith Wolf's path of destruction had stopped abruptly before reaching Bleeding Souls. Before its creator had finally managed to find a modicum of peace.
The warrior wove deftly within the giant's guard, deflecting his more powerful arms, and driving a blow into the center-point of his torso, doubling the beast over as the organs within jolted with the impact. Nonetheless, it had sustained great pain through its years; it had been beaten, clawed, had its flesh slashed desperately by the dying, been impaled by the brave sword of Malros...the pain of a hundred lifetimes was scrawled across its flesh. It was terrible in its simplicity. It did not care. It had learned the limits of this body--expansive as they were--long ago, and pushed the body to those limits readily. Death was its quest, forever, ceaseless, because it knew now that lycanthropes were too many and too far-flung for it to ever dispatch entirely. It would carry out its function until the body fell apart. And that was all. He hung his massive head, nightmarish in visage, toward her, and even as his body reacted to her blow, his jaws opened to take her face and from that holding point, kill her. That, however, was not to be. The scene froze, even as the beast lurched forward, bringing its long, inescapable arms to engulf the woad-warrior, and a quiet, saddened voice spoke, as if from someone who stood between the two.
"Why do you oppose him? Why risk yourself for those who are already dead? This dream...it's my misery, my memory...that father and his daughters, they aren't dreamers like you, they can't truly die, not again...not here. He will resume his attack, you must flee him!"