07-25-2009, 08:13 PM
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Again, sorry about the delay! Apparently I’ve been going out a lot lately, heh...
We can do one more round, and then I will have Cwmfen watch him go. After you read that post, if you could PM me that would be great, and then I’ll archive it. ^=^ But yeah, they should have one in the future, maybe where she meets him in an unclaimed territory, because then she could be more friendly with him, since it would be like that enemy | friend division thingy that she does, ^=^;;
700+
The songs of war, sung by the Spear and her soul, sung, and it was a song from which she had been deprived for too long. She breathed a sigh of relief, as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her and she could breathe once more. But that breath was lost in the quiet breaths that were released into the world, accenting each move having been given. Her white orbs shone brightly now, the sooty debris within her permitted to be set aside if only for the brief moments in which she would wield a weapon of war. There was fluidity, the memory within the sinew of her form remembering a familiar art and performing it with a precision. A soft but fierce smile—or perhaps it was hidden by the snarl displayed upon those jaws—graced the woad bound maw as she moved, somehow unburdened by the weight of her womb held by the left hand having been rendered lesser. The litter within her moved as if in response, and it seemed to the woad marked female that they, too, listened to the song that rang from her heart and were delighted.
And the soft sigh of her own delight fell again to the deaf world and upon the ears of the gods as the Frenzy of Nemain rose up within her, making savage her mind. But the lust for bloods was held back as she reminded herself that she would not kill this trespassing loner for the harmlessness that she felt within him. The woad-marked fae was a warrior, not a murderer.
The yelp that cut through the air was not as satisfying as the smooth bite of the Raven Spear as the flesh was split and the blood spilt. With the voice of her snarl having faded with his sharp cry, the tranquility of her face was regained and only the intensity within her white gaze betrayed the wild song that sang through her. As the Spear’s shoe struck him, the woad warrior pushed the weapon to complete the motion before she allowed it to rest, lowering it in that position that would allow her to strike again. The black fae simply stood there, her breathing slightly labored by the added weight, although the mind that had already accepted her Fate had forgotten what it was like to move without that burden.
He must not have been accustom to pain, the black fae thought as she watched him recoil from her attack, at least not this sort of pain. He was not a warrior, that much she knew. But Cwmfen had been careful to strike him in a relatively harmless place. Had she been more aggressive and had struck his temple, warrior or not surely he would have been dead. Of course, she did not doubt that her attacks would have elicited a painful wound; he simply did not respond to her attacks in like kind, and so he must not have been a warrior. Because this light male from the North held no apparent malice within him, she did not strike or kill him as instinct bid but waited for him to respond, her stance ready and yet relaxed, for too much tension would only cause one to lock up. The white orbs observed him from a distance, calculating each subtle movement that he made as if it would grow into an attack. The white-eyed female growled in quiet warning, but no move was made that was malignant.
In response to his voice finally having spoken, the woad-marked fae simply snarled: Then get out. An aggressive command. The Raven Spear, held horizontally at her hip, ringing in agreement. And the Spear was still hungry. As he rose and turned his back to her, the snarl made itself manifest upon her face, distorting the calm features, but she was silent. And the Dahlian Warrior did not aid him in his struggle but followed closely behind, ensuring that he would leave. His path was unsteady—perhaps she had hit him harder than she thought, although she did not think so. He seemed to speak without pain, which meant that his jaw had not been broken. As the light hued male stumbled again, Cwmfen reached out to catch him under his arm before pushing him roughly over the boarders. Perhaps he would think twice before trespassing. Perhaps he would not even think to do such a thing again.
"Next time, show courtesy," the quiet melody bid, as if in farewell.
Again, sorry about the delay! Apparently I’ve been going out a lot lately, heh...
We can do one more round, and then I will have Cwmfen watch him go. After you read that post, if you could PM me that would be great, and then I’ll archive it. ^=^ But yeah, they should have one in the future, maybe where she meets him in an unclaimed territory, because then she could be more friendly with him, since it would be like that enemy | friend division thingy that she does, ^=^;;
700+
The songs of war, sung by the Spear and her soul, sung, and it was a song from which she had been deprived for too long. She breathed a sigh of relief, as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her and she could breathe once more. But that breath was lost in the quiet breaths that were released into the world, accenting each move having been given. Her white orbs shone brightly now, the sooty debris within her permitted to be set aside if only for the brief moments in which she would wield a weapon of war. There was fluidity, the memory within the sinew of her form remembering a familiar art and performing it with a precision. A soft but fierce smile—or perhaps it was hidden by the snarl displayed upon those jaws—graced the woad bound maw as she moved, somehow unburdened by the weight of her womb held by the left hand having been rendered lesser. The litter within her moved as if in response, and it seemed to the woad marked female that they, too, listened to the song that rang from her heart and were delighted.
And the soft sigh of her own delight fell again to the deaf world and upon the ears of the gods as the Frenzy of Nemain rose up within her, making savage her mind. But the lust for bloods was held back as she reminded herself that she would not kill this trespassing loner for the harmlessness that she felt within him. The woad-marked fae was a warrior, not a murderer.
The yelp that cut through the air was not as satisfying as the smooth bite of the Raven Spear as the flesh was split and the blood spilt. With the voice of her snarl having faded with his sharp cry, the tranquility of her face was regained and only the intensity within her white gaze betrayed the wild song that sang through her. As the Spear’s shoe struck him, the woad warrior pushed the weapon to complete the motion before she allowed it to rest, lowering it in that position that would allow her to strike again. The black fae simply stood there, her breathing slightly labored by the added weight, although the mind that had already accepted her Fate had forgotten what it was like to move without that burden.
He must not have been accustom to pain, the black fae thought as she watched him recoil from her attack, at least not this sort of pain. He was not a warrior, that much she knew. But Cwmfen had been careful to strike him in a relatively harmless place. Had she been more aggressive and had struck his temple, warrior or not surely he would have been dead. Of course, she did not doubt that her attacks would have elicited a painful wound; he simply did not respond to her attacks in like kind, and so he must not have been a warrior. Because this light male from the North held no apparent malice within him, she did not strike or kill him as instinct bid but waited for him to respond, her stance ready and yet relaxed, for too much tension would only cause one to lock up. The white orbs observed him from a distance, calculating each subtle movement that he made as if it would grow into an attack. The white-eyed female growled in quiet warning, but no move was made that was malignant.
In response to his voice finally having spoken, the woad-marked fae simply snarled: Then get out. An aggressive command. The Raven Spear, held horizontally at her hip, ringing in agreement. And the Spear was still hungry. As he rose and turned his back to her, the snarl made itself manifest upon her face, distorting the calm features, but she was silent. And the Dahlian Warrior did not aid him in his struggle but followed closely behind, ensuring that he would leave. His path was unsteady—perhaps she had hit him harder than she thought, although she did not think so. He seemed to speak without pain, which meant that his jaw had not been broken. As the light hued male stumbled again, Cwmfen reached out to catch him under his arm before pushing him roughly over the boarders. Perhaps he would think twice before trespassing. Perhaps he would not even think to do such a thing again.
"Next time, show courtesy," the quiet melody bid, as if in farewell.