06-16-2009, 06:30 AM
[html]
http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Set evening of the 15th through morning of the 16th, where Onus should come in. Weather is overcast and rainy/drizzling.
700+
The warrior was frustrated, that quiet, diluted anger threatening to become something more. Brennt had fled, leaving her unable to follow. Once more the yellow-eyed predator had escaped her, and once more she was unable to pursue him. The black female felt her body give way to the wounds as she collapsed upon the concrete. The wound upon her leg was most taxing, taking blood and strength from her. The woad bands upon her fur were distorted by the tearing jaws of her opponent and darkened by her blood. It had been this that had kept her from going, that kept her from standing now. For a moment, the she-wolf simply lay her head upon the concrete, allowing the waves of pain that shot through her to subside. Brennt would not be back—she did not have much to fear in that. And the frenzy of Nemain had left her, leaving her drained of energy. She should have eaten hours ago, she should have slept. But now, it was too late. Sleep would only help her heal. At least, in lupus form, she could still walk.
At length, the warrior rose, her movements still fluid despite her wounds. The heavens, brooding and dark, thundered silently as if in calling. A single drop of water dropped upon the concrete, a dark blemish. And then another, and another. The rain was quiet and light, as if holding back. The white orbs turned up to the heavens, listening to the song of the world, for it was when it rained that the world sang most beautifully to her. A light smile graced her maw, and a soft breath escaped her. The rain washed her wounds with kind and gentle drops, her blood forming puddles about her. The wound upon her neck had begun to stiffen, disliking that she moved and disrupted the processes of healing. The woad warrior noted its protest. Dahlia, although the territory now touched Halifax, was too far now. The city was closer. Onus was closer. Perhaps she could seek him out, perhaps she could seek shelter for at least that night. Or, the woman thought, perhaps she should den in an abandoned edifice alone. If she stopped moving, the bleeding may stop.
Each step brought pain, and each step brought down the tolerance of her body and mind. Regardless, the warrior pressed on, able still to ignore the pain of her leg, or her neck, of the many wounds that had been given upon her back. The white orbs peered through the rain as she made her steady progress, her claws clicking against the concrete. When the world was raining, the city was beautiful. The sound of the rain, the song of that rain, was indescribably breathtaking. And it was with that in mind, with that simple melody filling her soul, that the woman came upon a tree. The wolf paused, recognizing it as she looked up upon its full crown. As her gaze traced down the trunk and to the concrete in which the roots had taken hold, her eyes beheld a familiar weapon. Badb. The she-wolf paused, watching the blade as it stood there, embedded within the earth. Slowly, she approached it. It was no coincidence that she had found it now.
The woad warrior paused as she stood before it, her nose reaching out to touch the hilt. The sword’s song sprung to life. The black fae felt a sudden urge to hold it, and although a shift would only open the wounds further, she took a deep breath and began to Change. The pain that ripped through her body was a blinding white, a red too intensely bright to register. As the Change completed, the woman fell back against the wet concrete, her eyes closed as she allowed the waves of pain—so like the waves of pleasure—to fall from her. Her body shook with the effort, the blood flowing renewed through her wounds. Slowly, her body relaxed and her eyes opened. And slowly, she pushed herself up. Leaning upon the tree, the woman grasped the hilt of Badb and pulled the blade from the earth, its soul cleansed and renewed.
With night falling swiftly, the rain grew cold. The woman tested her weight upon that injured leg—the cold must have numbed the pain because it could hold her. Slowly, with Badb in hand, she moved to the shelter of a nearby building, its entry halls dark and long since abandoned. It was dry in the human edifice, but it cold. For a moment, the woman leaned against the wall, her breathing slightly labored. A flash of lightning illuminated the entirety of the hall—there was someone. She pushed herself from the wall, slowly placing herself in the center of the corridor, Badb brandished low and at her side as the thunder cracked harshly through the air. "Corvus." His scent was unmistakable.
Set evening of the 15th through morning of the 16th, where Onus should come in. Weather is overcast and rainy/drizzling.
700+
The warrior was frustrated, that quiet, diluted anger threatening to become something more. Brennt had fled, leaving her unable to follow. Once more the yellow-eyed predator had escaped her, and once more she was unable to pursue him. The black female felt her body give way to the wounds as she collapsed upon the concrete. The wound upon her leg was most taxing, taking blood and strength from her. The woad bands upon her fur were distorted by the tearing jaws of her opponent and darkened by her blood. It had been this that had kept her from going, that kept her from standing now. For a moment, the she-wolf simply lay her head upon the concrete, allowing the waves of pain that shot through her to subside. Brennt would not be back—she did not have much to fear in that. And the frenzy of Nemain had left her, leaving her drained of energy. She should have eaten hours ago, she should have slept. But now, it was too late. Sleep would only help her heal. At least, in lupus form, she could still walk.
At length, the warrior rose, her movements still fluid despite her wounds. The heavens, brooding and dark, thundered silently as if in calling. A single drop of water dropped upon the concrete, a dark blemish. And then another, and another. The rain was quiet and light, as if holding back. The white orbs turned up to the heavens, listening to the song of the world, for it was when it rained that the world sang most beautifully to her. A light smile graced her maw, and a soft breath escaped her. The rain washed her wounds with kind and gentle drops, her blood forming puddles about her. The wound upon her neck had begun to stiffen, disliking that she moved and disrupted the processes of healing. The woad warrior noted its protest. Dahlia, although the territory now touched Halifax, was too far now. The city was closer. Onus was closer. Perhaps she could seek him out, perhaps she could seek shelter for at least that night. Or, the woman thought, perhaps she should den in an abandoned edifice alone. If she stopped moving, the bleeding may stop.
Each step brought pain, and each step brought down the tolerance of her body and mind. Regardless, the warrior pressed on, able still to ignore the pain of her leg, or her neck, of the many wounds that had been given upon her back. The white orbs peered through the rain as she made her steady progress, her claws clicking against the concrete. When the world was raining, the city was beautiful. The sound of the rain, the song of that rain, was indescribably breathtaking. And it was with that in mind, with that simple melody filling her soul, that the woman came upon a tree. The wolf paused, recognizing it as she looked up upon its full crown. As her gaze traced down the trunk and to the concrete in which the roots had taken hold, her eyes beheld a familiar weapon. Badb. The she-wolf paused, watching the blade as it stood there, embedded within the earth. Slowly, she approached it. It was no coincidence that she had found it now.
The woad warrior paused as she stood before it, her nose reaching out to touch the hilt. The sword’s song sprung to life. The black fae felt a sudden urge to hold it, and although a shift would only open the wounds further, she took a deep breath and began to Change. The pain that ripped through her body was a blinding white, a red too intensely bright to register. As the Change completed, the woman fell back against the wet concrete, her eyes closed as she allowed the waves of pain—so like the waves of pleasure—to fall from her. Her body shook with the effort, the blood flowing renewed through her wounds. Slowly, her body relaxed and her eyes opened. And slowly, she pushed herself up. Leaning upon the tree, the woman grasped the hilt of Badb and pulled the blade from the earth, its soul cleansed and renewed.
With night falling swiftly, the rain grew cold. The woman tested her weight upon that injured leg—the cold must have numbed the pain because it could hold her. Slowly, with Badb in hand, she moved to the shelter of a nearby building, its entry halls dark and long since abandoned. It was dry in the human edifice, but it cold. For a moment, the woman leaned against the wall, her breathing slightly labored. A flash of lightning illuminated the entirety of the hall—there was someone. She pushed herself from the wall, slowly placing herself in the center of the corridor, Badb brandished low and at her side as the thunder cracked harshly through the air. "Corvus." His scent was unmistakable.