06-10-2009, 02:43 PM
[html]
http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
700+
As her fist made contact, she felt that quiet satisfaction that all warriors felt at such a thing. And the song of war that had begun its overture rose up with emphasis upon that blow, though its crescendo was weak. The warrior knew, for it was her soul that sung that song, that that blow had only been the first and would not be the last. And the brute seemed unfazed, though he took a step back. The warrior shifted her position, taking up another stance. And the obsidian creature fell back into the light, the light that like magic lit up his scars. Her own scars that marked her back seemed few and insignificant to what lay across his hide. So many, the warrior thought quietly, allowing that drawn out moment to sink into her mind as the sun’s warmth through a frozen body. Her eyes openly explored those long forgotten wounds, and she wondered how many years lay upon the shoulders of that black creature that now sought to destroy her body.
His words were strange—he spoke as if he were not alive, as if he had been created for just that very purpose, and that through the difficulty of destroying him he had become an efficient entity. Of course, if what he said was true, and she did not doubt the words that had been spoken, he had indeed been created for that very purpose: Vengeance. That word rang in her mind once more, the dying echoes of that sound warning her. The white orbs flickered from his body to the shadows that danced around them, watching with mild awe at the strange vision that took place. The shadows moved with a whisper of prophecy, and yet, they fell still, returning to the stillness that bound them to the mortal bodies of the two wolves that faced each other. She was silent as he spoke, her eyes allowed to look at the strangeness of the sky above, then lowered to watch as he destroyed her shadow having leapt to life once more. Prophecy indeed. If she died here, she could not return to the other world, to the one she loved. If only for the latter, the woman could not allow the male to destroy her. And yet, it seemed as if she had brought that certain fate upon herself.
"Perhaps he failed," the quiet melody countered, "because he did not truly oppose that which you seek to do." Of course the warrior did not know the creator, HawkWind, but she knew of the darkness that lingered in every heart, in her own heart. Would not loss have invoked such a darkness? Perhaps HawkWind had known that this VoidFane should be killed, but if he had fear and hate within his heart also, VoidFane would not have been able to be destroyed. Or so the woman believed. "I am not here to destroy you," the alto melody said suddenly, "but to simply stop you." Or perhaps here, with this male, it was the same thing. But the woman differentiated the two very distinctly. And she felt that she must not fail.
He lashed out against her once, then twice. The warrior moved back, her footing light and swift. Each time she only barely avoided those deadly claws, knowing that if they caught her, she would be dead before she had the chance to do otherwise. The slower movements increased in tempo, the careless Dream world suddenly mimicking the world of the Real. The woman realized that if she did not do something, he would have her trapped against the wall of a building. With effort, the woad marked fae sought to change the direction of VoidFane’s path. In doing so, a single claw grazed her collar bone. That single, practically insignificant cut made her feel suddenly vulnerable, as if the cold were clawing its way into her through that tiny space. It was unlike anything that could happen, but she felt it. The warrior sought to shake it off before she moved it dangerously close, and she felt the danger more acutely here with that proximity where she would normally have felt more comfortable, in control. Her arms blocked both of his, seeking to knock them away before she spear-handed his solar plexus.
700+
As her fist made contact, she felt that quiet satisfaction that all warriors felt at such a thing. And the song of war that had begun its overture rose up with emphasis upon that blow, though its crescendo was weak. The warrior knew, for it was her soul that sung that song, that that blow had only been the first and would not be the last. And the brute seemed unfazed, though he took a step back. The warrior shifted her position, taking up another stance. And the obsidian creature fell back into the light, the light that like magic lit up his scars. Her own scars that marked her back seemed few and insignificant to what lay across his hide. So many, the warrior thought quietly, allowing that drawn out moment to sink into her mind as the sun’s warmth through a frozen body. Her eyes openly explored those long forgotten wounds, and she wondered how many years lay upon the shoulders of that black creature that now sought to destroy her body.
His words were strange—he spoke as if he were not alive, as if he had been created for just that very purpose, and that through the difficulty of destroying him he had become an efficient entity. Of course, if what he said was true, and she did not doubt the words that had been spoken, he had indeed been created for that very purpose: Vengeance. That word rang in her mind once more, the dying echoes of that sound warning her. The white orbs flickered from his body to the shadows that danced around them, watching with mild awe at the strange vision that took place. The shadows moved with a whisper of prophecy, and yet, they fell still, returning to the stillness that bound them to the mortal bodies of the two wolves that faced each other. She was silent as he spoke, her eyes allowed to look at the strangeness of the sky above, then lowered to watch as he destroyed her shadow having leapt to life once more. Prophecy indeed. If she died here, she could not return to the other world, to the one she loved. If only for the latter, the woman could not allow the male to destroy her. And yet, it seemed as if she had brought that certain fate upon herself.
"Perhaps he failed," the quiet melody countered, "because he did not truly oppose that which you seek to do." Of course the warrior did not know the creator, HawkWind, but she knew of the darkness that lingered in every heart, in her own heart. Would not loss have invoked such a darkness? Perhaps HawkWind had known that this VoidFane should be killed, but if he had fear and hate within his heart also, VoidFane would not have been able to be destroyed. Or so the woman believed. "I am not here to destroy you," the alto melody said suddenly, "but to simply stop you." Or perhaps here, with this male, it was the same thing. But the woman differentiated the two very distinctly. And she felt that she must not fail.
He lashed out against her once, then twice. The warrior moved back, her footing light and swift. Each time she only barely avoided those deadly claws, knowing that if they caught her, she would be dead before she had the chance to do otherwise. The slower movements increased in tempo, the careless Dream world suddenly mimicking the world of the Real. The woman realized that if she did not do something, he would have her trapped against the wall of a building. With effort, the woad marked fae sought to change the direction of VoidFane’s path. In doing so, a single claw grazed her collar bone. That single, practically insignificant cut made her feel suddenly vulnerable, as if the cold were clawing its way into her through that tiny space. It was unlike anything that could happen, but she felt it. The warrior sought to shake it off before she moved it dangerously close, and she felt the danger more acutely here with that proximity where she would normally have felt more comfortable, in control. Her arms blocked both of his, seeking to knock them away before she spear-handed his solar plexus.