06-13-2009, 01:33 AM
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Sorry about that! OnO She could have used a swing kick (I’m not sure what the American name would be) or she could have used a narrowly executed roundhouse or hook, ^=^;;
And yes, that could be used to crush the windpipe, though instead of holding your hand vertically, you’d probably want to hold it horizontally—but I think that’s what happened anyway, ^=^ But yeah, those can be dangerous, o__o
I made it so that she returned with the coming of that tide-roar, but if you wanted to continue, send me a PM ^=^
500+
Blood spurted, making slick the blade and colouring the dull landscape with its brightness. In her mind, the blood should have been black, and so she was almost surprised by the vibrancy of that shade. It spattered her coat and darkened the woad that it touched. The blade bit his neck and took the flesh with it—all of it. The power of the blade was greater than she had expected it to be, and she fell heavier than she intended to upon the blade as its point made contact with the earth. Obsidon was satisfied, his humming flowing strongly through her, and yet the song was subdued by the blade’s satisfaction. A soft breath was released from that woad bound maw as the white eyes beheld the severed head—those eyes still seemed to hold something within them. Of course, she told herself, he would die—he was mortal, just as she was. The mind could not survive without the body....
The woman lifted her head, straitening her posture but feeling a weariness that seemed to transcend the mere physical—Dawn must have been approaching in that world of the Real. The woad bound ears pricked forward—there was a roar in the distance, and it was familiar. Her recollection of that meeting with HawkWind had already grown dull, and it was as if it had never happened at all. Somewhere, she felt that it was time to go. The white orbs looked down for the last time at the head with eyes dulled by Death. She thought of HawkWind, and she hoped that this were truly the end, that she had not failed him. And though she had only met him for that brief memory, she felt that somehow she owed that much to him, as if what had happened here were more important than herself. And to the woad warrior, it had been. She had been willing to die and perish in these lands, to be spiritually destroyed, for this mere dance between symbols and ideas, between strength and weakness. The corpse at her feet was the epitome of evil, but HawkWind had been good. With a brief bow, she left the Wraith Wolf behind, ascending the hill.
She did not know where this place was or how to return to that place in which she had entered this Dream. It was dangerously close to dawn, and she could feel it in her gut. She struggled to recall the places and names of that Real world, and, as the seconds crawled by, she was beginning to forget herself. The black, woad marked warrior stood at the pinnacle of the hill, her white gaze looking out over this strange marsh. Obsiden hummed in her hand, and she looked down, remembering it suddenly. Thrusting it into the earth, she relinquished her ownership of that black blade. Her ears grew deaf in the roar of that tide, and though she could not see it, she could feel it. Raising her maw, the warrior let out a low howl, her song of dark tones rising slowly in the air. It was upon that song that she returned, her eyes lifting to see the rising sun.
Sorry about that! OnO She could have used a swing kick (I’m not sure what the American name would be) or she could have used a narrowly executed roundhouse or hook, ^=^;;
And yes, that could be used to crush the windpipe, though instead of holding your hand vertically, you’d probably want to hold it horizontally—but I think that’s what happened anyway, ^=^ But yeah, those can be dangerous, o__o
I made it so that she returned with the coming of that tide-roar, but if you wanted to continue, send me a PM ^=^
500+
Blood spurted, making slick the blade and colouring the dull landscape with its brightness. In her mind, the blood should have been black, and so she was almost surprised by the vibrancy of that shade. It spattered her coat and darkened the woad that it touched. The blade bit his neck and took the flesh with it—all of it. The power of the blade was greater than she had expected it to be, and she fell heavier than she intended to upon the blade as its point made contact with the earth. Obsidon was satisfied, his humming flowing strongly through her, and yet the song was subdued by the blade’s satisfaction. A soft breath was released from that woad bound maw as the white eyes beheld the severed head—those eyes still seemed to hold something within them. Of course, she told herself, he would die—he was mortal, just as she was. The mind could not survive without the body....
The woman lifted her head, straitening her posture but feeling a weariness that seemed to transcend the mere physical—Dawn must have been approaching in that world of the Real. The woad bound ears pricked forward—there was a roar in the distance, and it was familiar. Her recollection of that meeting with HawkWind had already grown dull, and it was as if it had never happened at all. Somewhere, she felt that it was time to go. The white orbs looked down for the last time at the head with eyes dulled by Death. She thought of HawkWind, and she hoped that this were truly the end, that she had not failed him. And though she had only met him for that brief memory, she felt that somehow she owed that much to him, as if what had happened here were more important than herself. And to the woad warrior, it had been. She had been willing to die and perish in these lands, to be spiritually destroyed, for this mere dance between symbols and ideas, between strength and weakness. The corpse at her feet was the epitome of evil, but HawkWind had been good. With a brief bow, she left the Wraith Wolf behind, ascending the hill.
She did not know where this place was or how to return to that place in which she had entered this Dream. It was dangerously close to dawn, and she could feel it in her gut. She struggled to recall the places and names of that Real world, and, as the seconds crawled by, she was beginning to forget herself. The black, woad marked warrior stood at the pinnacle of the hill, her white gaze looking out over this strange marsh. Obsiden hummed in her hand, and she looked down, remembering it suddenly. Thrusting it into the earth, she relinquished her ownership of that black blade. Her ears grew deaf in the roar of that tide, and though she could not see it, she could feel it. Raising her maw, the warrior let out a low howl, her song of dark tones rising slowly in the air. It was upon that song that she returned, her eyes lifting to see the rising sun.