For a moment they all seemed to freeze as the tension danced in-between the two hostile groups. The heart throbbed faithfully against her ribcage and she knew she would not falter here and now when it was her family and clan she was fighting for. The soft tones of her twin sword lingered in her sensitive ears and she let her ruby eyes close for just a moment as she took a last full breath. Her dazzling orbs opened almost lazily as she focused on the largest wolf in the group, the one dressed in a mixture of black, white and orange. She squinted at the lowly being and let her brilliantly white canines flash in a quiet challenge before she moved lightly on strong limbs, swinging the glorious katana as if it weighted no more than a feather. In truth it did not – it was a part of her as much as every part of her body did. They were inseparable, and she was eager to learn exactly how hard it would be to cut the large Dahlian to bits. A tranquil smile danced on her pretty face, anticipating honour and glory.
She hoped she would never learn this man’s name, for her victims did not need more than faces to hunt her dreams successfully. This would be her first true battle and instead of focusing utterly on the moment, Halo’s thoughts swivelled back to a lonely tree surrounded by dancing snow flakes. She had known peace then. Just for a while.
Devotion
|
03-22-2010, 09:38 AM
[html]
--
03-22-2010, 03:31 PM
[html]
Larkspur did not know war, but he knew battle as well as he knew his faith. Since his birth, the man had fought to survive—and he had done so and prospered. Lowering his center of gravity, elbows bending, the wolf held his ground. The coyotes began to move, and Lark watched as the girl with the sword approached him. Every step she took intensified the whispering voice from the can tah, and the D’Angelo listened. His eyes turned hazy, but they never left the coyote as she neared him. Her smile spoke to him more loudly then the singing sword, and it was only then he moved. Without a sound, the large wolf ran at her. He opened his mouth and snapped, but his throw was wide and did not aim for her in any particular fashion. Rather, as he passed, he used his weight and slammed into her lithe legs, seeking to throw her off balance. That sword was the most dangerous part of the girl, and Larkspur had no intention of facing it head on. He passed her, turned, and once more dropped to an almost playful bow. There was no noise, no snarl, only the orange Jack-O-Lantern eyes and a toothy grin. [/html]
03-25-2010, 08:11 AM
[html]
300+
03-25-2010, 11:57 AM
[html]
He was not fighting for his life; he was not fighting for the woman and her child. Larkspur did not believe he belonged to his pack, and for this reason, he put no value into this combat. For this reason, the D’Angelo was playing a game—a dangerous one, no doubt, but a game none the less. From between his teeth a pink tongue was exposed, tasting the toiled dirt and the steel in the air. Orange eyes narrowed, focusing on the shining blade as she moved it. There was no direct action from the girl yet, for she circled him. Larkspur mimicked the movement, his head low, white tipped tail a flag behind him. In battle, the can tah did not whisper. It screamed. Yet he was silent. Larkspur’s muscles tightened, reading her body language. Her motions were trained, fluid, as lithe as a hunting cat. Then, suddenly, he rushed forward again. Lark feigned once again for her side, and sought to throw his weight into her legs. [/html]
03-26-2010, 09:09 AM
[html]
--
03-30-2010, 10:57 AM
[html]
They were dancing here, one of them more experienced but ugly, and the other beautiful and merely trained. Initiation into the world of battle would be given through blood, and she would need to earn her right in the world. Larkspur did not believe that this girl was a killer—she did not reek of the same darkness that surrounded Haku or himself. She was no monster. Larkspur saw her, but he did not comprehend her yet. Through battle he could learn more about the girl, a girl who was young enough to be his daughter. She had expected his movement. A foot swung up at him and struck his side. He barely felt it. The girl was smaller then the wolves of the Khalif, and her blow was nothing to him. Four years of abuse had ruined his perception of pain. Sometimes it was as if he could not feel at all. It was the sword that he feared, and as it fell at him the wolf pulled back. He was not fast enough, and felt metal cut his face—a single downward swipe that drew blood. The scent rushed into his nose and filled his world with a red haze. Then, and only then, did a growl rip out of his throat. It was deep and wolfish, terrible and filled with unfocused hate. Lips pulled back and ivory teeth opened wide. The wolf snapped for her arm, still at his level, his own blood staining his white fur red. .larkspur-b02 p {padding:5px 0px; text-indent:25px; margin:0px;} .larkspur-b02 b {color:#C96812; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:11px; font-weight:normal;} .larkspur-b02-text {margin:0px 8px 24px 176px; padding:2px; width:262px; } .larkspur-b02 {width:450px; margin:0 auto; background-color:#000000; background-image:url(http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a329/ ... arksie.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#4E4844; word-spacing:.2px; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.1px; text-align:justify; border:1px solid #000000; min-height:293px;} </style> [/html]
04-12-2010, 01:45 PM
[html]
300+
04-15-2010, 11:51 AM
[html]
She can get him once more in the face for the scar, and then maybe we can play as if Kaena calls the retreat? There had been countless battles in Larkspur’s four years on earth. Had his mother not been blinded by love, he would have died as a child. She had kept him alive because she loved him, despite his sin. Until he had been able to fend for himself, she had cared for him. Then there had been an abrupt but not surprising turn. Every single person who lived in the Khalif’s mountains knew that Larkspur D’Angelo was the embodiment of evil and was meant to burn. So Larkspur had known fear as he had known hatred and repulsion. He understood conflict because there had been constant conflict in his life. He was the enemy, and the enemy had to be destroyed. He applied this thought process to every battle since then; he had killed for his aunt-mother, but he would not kill for Haku Soul. If he was to kill this girl, it would be for himself and himself alone. She was fast, and with his bulk, Larkspur could not avoid her. While his teeth grazed her arm she still struck him, forcing his head sideways. A blow landed in his chest, managing to push him back only slightly, but it was enough that the sword narrowly missed his legs. If he could get that away from her she would be ended, this was for certain. He retreated a step, circled, and then came for her again. .larkspur-b02 p {padding:5px 0px; text-indent:25px; margin:0px;} .larkspur-b02 b {color:#C96812; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:11px; font-weight:normal;} .larkspur-b02-text {margin:0px 8px 24px 176px; padding:2px; width:262px; } .larkspur-b02 {width:450px; margin:0 auto; background-color:#000000; background-image:url(http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a329/ ... arksie.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#4E4844; word-spacing:.2px; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.1px; text-align:justify; border:1px solid #000000; min-height:293px;} </style> [/html]
05-02-2010, 04:17 AM
[html]
--
|