01-09-2010, 10:27 AM
OOC: Ah, fair enough, my mistake then. Also, as for the prince's rationale below, I know there's a fatal flaw in it << He isn't really taking experience into account in his predictions.
The black spirit-wolf raised his arms and returned fire on Ty as the younger slashed out at his face and chest. The prince received the lacerations one after the other, and the discomfort of the pain was rivaled by the revelry of the sensation that he felt. Because of that, his own attacks were delayed, distracted. He was slashing at his opponent, but with less power and less precision. How fascinating it was to feel ripping flesh again...
A double-fisted blow to the chest pushed the larger creature backwards, and off of his stable ground. Claws skidded against the ice, but driving weight into his toes he stabilized himself. There were enough snow on the surface for it to be manageable. That was, of course, without someone else barreling into him. When Ty did so, the prince's claws lashed out, and they both fell sharply to the ice-covered earth. The black wolf was on the bottom, but he clutched the youth by his shoulders, claws sunk deep for an unyielding grip, and was savaging flesh around face and neck with his obsidian fangs. Yes...this was it, this was what it was about. In a disadvantageous position, he had sought to take Ty at a weakness early, pulling in too close to expose his throat. Still...claws at the end of versatile hands made the eyes, ears, and typically the throat ever-vulnerable targets. There was a reason that fighting as a wolf on two legs had its disadvantages...fangs were a secondary weapon once hand-claws became involved.
The prince had little awareness of that, however. It had been long, so very long since he had fought a mortal as a mortal, since he had fought with flesh and blood and tooth and claw. Ty had noticed the power he seemed to wield here, and indeed: as an old, old spirit, his control of this dreamscape, of ethereal surroundings was perhaps as potent as it would ever be. Enough so that he felt power over his surroundings wherever he went, and feared no rival spirits, though there must certainly be those whose abilities exceeded his. He had taken on the guise of night long ago, and so far none had ventured deep enough into his realm to make him afraid of any challenge. The Weaver was herself quite formidable in her fashion, though she could never rival him in what passed for battle among ghosts. Today he sought to reclaim a past long forgotten, however, and he would fight Ty as one bleeding wolf to another. Let him see if Ty's will to feel life was stronger than his own. There was no chance.
The black spirit-wolf raised his arms and returned fire on Ty as the younger slashed out at his face and chest. The prince received the lacerations one after the other, and the discomfort of the pain was rivaled by the revelry of the sensation that he felt. Because of that, his own attacks were delayed, distracted. He was slashing at his opponent, but with less power and less precision. How fascinating it was to feel ripping flesh again...
A double-fisted blow to the chest pushed the larger creature backwards, and off of his stable ground. Claws skidded against the ice, but driving weight into his toes he stabilized himself. There were enough snow on the surface for it to be manageable. That was, of course, without someone else barreling into him. When Ty did so, the prince's claws lashed out, and they both fell sharply to the ice-covered earth. The black wolf was on the bottom, but he clutched the youth by his shoulders, claws sunk deep for an unyielding grip, and was savaging flesh around face and neck with his obsidian fangs. Yes...this was it, this was what it was about. In a disadvantageous position, he had sought to take Ty at a weakness early, pulling in too close to expose his throat. Still...claws at the end of versatile hands made the eyes, ears, and typically the throat ever-vulnerable targets. There was a reason that fighting as a wolf on two legs had its disadvantages...fangs were a secondary weapon once hand-claws became involved.
The prince had little awareness of that, however. It had been long, so very long since he had fought a mortal as a mortal, since he had fought with flesh and blood and tooth and claw. Ty had noticed the power he seemed to wield here, and indeed: as an old, old spirit, his control of this dreamscape, of ethereal surroundings was perhaps as potent as it would ever be. Enough so that he felt power over his surroundings wherever he went, and feared no rival spirits, though there must certainly be those whose abilities exceeded his. He had taken on the guise of night long ago, and so far none had ventured deep enough into his realm to make him afraid of any challenge. The Weaver was herself quite formidable in her fashion, though she could never rival him in what passed for battle among ghosts. Today he sought to reclaim a past long forgotten, however, and he would fight Ty as one bleeding wolf to another. Let him see if Ty's will to feel life was stronger than his own. There was no chance.