10-14-2012, 10:05 AM
OOC: PP Approved
IC:
The grizzled grey male crouched, unmoving, in the undergrowth of the mountains. Once again he had left the confines of Anathema’s land to learn the territories surrounding it. The doe had come crashing up the slopes, making enough noise that Einarr had been able to drop into the undergrowth without fear of being heard. Now, tired and scared, the creature stopped, ears twitching and nostrils flaring, taking in great lungfuls of air, but the wind was moving between the two, so Einarr was unable to scent it, and it was unable to scent him. Transfixed the tactician watched the pulsing of blood in the doe’s throat, the quivering of her muscles and the sheen of sweat upon her light brown body. She began to walk again, her legs wobbling slightly, as those of a newly born fawn, her trajectory bringing her tantalisingly close.
The day was a glorious one, sunshine dappling the forest floor and casting wavering shadows as the trees swayed gently in the breeze, into which a chill had crept, promising the tightening of winter’s inexorable grip. The breeze seemed to fall though, time slowing with the doe’s heartbeat. Another small stumble, a changing swirling gust, another lungful of air, and a turn of her head. For an endless moment the two stared into each other’s eyes, the connection between them undeniable. Einarr could see it then, see the muscles preparing, see the blood beginning to pulse once more, it all seemed to happen so slowly.
With a snap reality came crashing back, the doe turned, but too slowly, Einarr’s almost seven foot optime form exploded from the bush in a graceful, the speed and reactions trained from many conflicts. A moment suspended, but knowing that his trajectory was perfect, and he was upon the creature, his jaws falling towards the throat…Pain exploded in his shoulder, and he grunted in surprise, the doe being swept off its feet as the two were lurched sideways by the blow. With reflexes honed, and perhaps better suited to a cat, Einarr grabbed the weapon which had struck him, still unable to see his assailant, there was a tug and the weapon came away in his hands. The grizzled and scarred optime rolled, adjusted the wooden staff, assessing its weight, and coming back to his feet, in such a smooth motion, it might have been a wonderfully choreographed dance.
His attacker was a blended mix of shades of dark grey, in optime form and with an expression Einarr did not bother to register as it was unimportant. In the time it takes to take a breath, the old tactician had assessed his target and looked straight into the other’s startlingly blue eyes, then he struck, like a viper. Although he had always preferred his claws and teeth, Einarr was no stranger to the staff and swept a fast and low blow at the others legs, intending to take the other’s feet out from under him, and then finish the job with a swift blow to the skull.
IC:
The grizzled grey male crouched, unmoving, in the undergrowth of the mountains. Once again he had left the confines of Anathema’s land to learn the territories surrounding it. The doe had come crashing up the slopes, making enough noise that Einarr had been able to drop into the undergrowth without fear of being heard. Now, tired and scared, the creature stopped, ears twitching and nostrils flaring, taking in great lungfuls of air, but the wind was moving between the two, so Einarr was unable to scent it, and it was unable to scent him. Transfixed the tactician watched the pulsing of blood in the doe’s throat, the quivering of her muscles and the sheen of sweat upon her light brown body. She began to walk again, her legs wobbling slightly, as those of a newly born fawn, her trajectory bringing her tantalisingly close.
The day was a glorious one, sunshine dappling the forest floor and casting wavering shadows as the trees swayed gently in the breeze, into which a chill had crept, promising the tightening of winter’s inexorable grip. The breeze seemed to fall though, time slowing with the doe’s heartbeat. Another small stumble, a changing swirling gust, another lungful of air, and a turn of her head. For an endless moment the two stared into each other’s eyes, the connection between them undeniable. Einarr could see it then, see the muscles preparing, see the blood beginning to pulse once more, it all seemed to happen so slowly.
With a snap reality came crashing back, the doe turned, but too slowly, Einarr’s almost seven foot optime form exploded from the bush in a graceful, the speed and reactions trained from many conflicts. A moment suspended, but knowing that his trajectory was perfect, and he was upon the creature, his jaws falling towards the throat…Pain exploded in his shoulder, and he grunted in surprise, the doe being swept off its feet as the two were lurched sideways by the blow. With reflexes honed, and perhaps better suited to a cat, Einarr grabbed the weapon which had struck him, still unable to see his assailant, there was a tug and the weapon came away in his hands. The grizzled and scarred optime rolled, adjusted the wooden staff, assessing its weight, and coming back to his feet, in such a smooth motion, it might have been a wonderfully choreographed dance.
His attacker was a blended mix of shades of dark grey, in optime form and with an expression Einarr did not bother to register as it was unimportant. In the time it takes to take a breath, the old tactician had assessed his target and looked straight into the other’s startlingly blue eyes, then he struck, like a viper. Although he had always preferred his claws and teeth, Einarr was no stranger to the staff and swept a fast and low blow at the others legs, intending to take the other’s feet out from under him, and then finish the job with a swift blow to the skull.