06-16-2009, 06:31 AM
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500+
Nemain whispered in her ear, riding upon the roar of the rain. The grip upon the blade tightened as she watched his form, the warning white of his breast giving away his position. She had not been seeking him. In this state, she could do very little against him. But she did not turn away. She did not run. She simply stood there in silent defiance. But she could feel the blackness emanating from him, pulling her, drawing her in as strongly as it had in her childhood. He hadn’t changed. He never changed. And deep within her soul where that black blemish existed, that intrigue of her father continued to flicker there—no, it was not of him. It was of the emptiness of his soul. It was the darkness of his heart. It was the blackness of his mind. It was darkness that drew upon her quiet curiosity. It was something to which the warrior was completely defenseless. She knew that it had brought her here before him now. She could not let it go—and the darkness drew her in, bidding her to submit. And yet, she could not.
"그레?" Her voice was cold. The woman responded in that language, the words rolling with only slight flaws. The alto melody was quiet, the silver tones darkened by the damp night. "내가 널 얼마나 찾았는데.... 왜 그렜어?" Nemain urged her quietly, and the woad marked warrior could feel a quiet rage within her. Why did he expect her to come and then elude her? Why had he insisted upon attacking her packmembers, upon killing Ril’o? Nemain pulled weariness from her limbs, pulled pain from her wounds. The woman shifted, testing the weight of Badb within her hand. Corvus strode forward, but the warrior did not flinch. She was felt fear, but she was not afraid. She knew that the time had come. Now was her time, and she would resist him. That was the path that had been chosen.
"I’ve come," the quiet alto responded, "but I have come to conquer you." The woman raised her blade before rushing forward, swinging it deftly within her hands. The blade was thrust forward, seeking to cut his gut before she moved in again. Most of her weight was held upon the unharmed leg, but occasionally she required the use of the other. The left hand of the warrior was left open, raised slightly to block attacks. That hand should have carried a shield, but it did not and simple bone and flesh would have to do. Most kicks and punches would be useless with her wounds. She hoped that the blade would provide some sort of advantage, that it would put her in the favor of the Fates. In the back of her mind, the Caledonian-Korean noted the futility of it all. She could not possibly win against him, not like this. But she fought him anyway. She would not turn and run. Whatever she did, the pied brute would have her. Perhaps, then, it all would end.
500+
Nemain whispered in her ear, riding upon the roar of the rain. The grip upon the blade tightened as she watched his form, the warning white of his breast giving away his position. She had not been seeking him. In this state, she could do very little against him. But she did not turn away. She did not run. She simply stood there in silent defiance. But she could feel the blackness emanating from him, pulling her, drawing her in as strongly as it had in her childhood. He hadn’t changed. He never changed. And deep within her soul where that black blemish existed, that intrigue of her father continued to flicker there—no, it was not of him. It was of the emptiness of his soul. It was the darkness of his heart. It was the blackness of his mind. It was darkness that drew upon her quiet curiosity. It was something to which the warrior was completely defenseless. She knew that it had brought her here before him now. She could not let it go—and the darkness drew her in, bidding her to submit. And yet, she could not.
"그레?" Her voice was cold. The woman responded in that language, the words rolling with only slight flaws. The alto melody was quiet, the silver tones darkened by the damp night. "내가 널 얼마나 찾았는데.... 왜 그렜어?" Nemain urged her quietly, and the woad marked warrior could feel a quiet rage within her. Why did he expect her to come and then elude her? Why had he insisted upon attacking her packmembers, upon killing Ril’o? Nemain pulled weariness from her limbs, pulled pain from her wounds. The woman shifted, testing the weight of Badb within her hand. Corvus strode forward, but the warrior did not flinch. She was felt fear, but she was not afraid. She knew that the time had come. Now was her time, and she would resist him. That was the path that had been chosen.
"I’ve come," the quiet alto responded, "but I have come to conquer you." The woman raised her blade before rushing forward, swinging it deftly within her hands. The blade was thrust forward, seeking to cut his gut before she moved in again. Most of her weight was held upon the unharmed leg, but occasionally she required the use of the other. The left hand of the warrior was left open, raised slightly to block attacks. That hand should have carried a shield, but it did not and simple bone and flesh would have to do. Most kicks and punches would be useless with her wounds. She hoped that the blade would provide some sort of advantage, that it would put her in the favor of the Fates. In the back of her mind, the Caledonian-Korean noted the futility of it all. She could not possibly win against him, not like this. But she fought him anyway. She would not turn and run. Whatever she did, the pied brute would have her. Perhaps, then, it all would end.