[html] 
OOC here.
Word Count → 000
This was the first time Angel had visited the Shattered Coast. But it was nothing compared to Inferni's waterside. As usual he went without clothing, the cold was nothing to him he was mountain born after all. It was really only Ana that had suffered as a child, her coat was suited to the warmer climate and a cloak had been necessary before the moved to the capital. It was something his brother's and her mocked her over. In a twist of irony David, Menor's eldest son, shared the same flaw. When she had lashed back at him about it he'd only pursed his lips and sat back as the family, including his mate, smirked at him.
Splashing water over his head and flicking the water off of his ears, he stood, bringing the cross up to kiss in thanks for the nature he used daily. The journey would have been easier with a horse but it was the hard muscle working that he was after. He'd return to the coyote lands soon, he had no real wish to stray too far away but the lands were too small for him, the man who'd seen almost everything. Wincing as his ankle twitched, he looked around ignoring the small amount of strain. Perhaps a rest would be best.
<style type="text/css">
.angelona b {font-weight:bold; color:#214030; letter-spacing:1px; font-size:13px;}
.angelona p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 13px; margin:0px;}
.angelona {margin:0px auto; width:500px; background-color:#648373; background-image:url( http://i.imgur.com/xs34B.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #214030; padding: 0px 0px 520px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#a3bd94; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;}
.angelona .wordcount {color:#214030; letter-spacing:0px; font-size:11px; font-weight:bold; border-top:1px dashed #a3bd94; text-align:right; padding:0px 5px; text-transform:uppercase; margin:0px 15px 15px 15px;}
.angelona .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px;}
</style>[/html]
[html]
<style type="text/css">
.Helotes {padding:10px; background:#749d52; color:#000; opacity: 1; filter: alpha(opacity = 80); line-height:120%;}
.Helotes b{color:#8c461e; text-shadow:1px 1px 0px #000; font-weight:bold;}
.HelotesFooter {background-image:url('http://i42.tinypic.com/110zjtv.png'); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:right;padding:120px 0px 0px 0px}</style>
Whereas usually the man had on him only one weapon, for the moment he had two. The youth, a month away from being two years old, had most commonly only used a bow. But recently he had been taught in the art of battle. He was no expert, far from even intermediate in his training, but he was getting somewhere. The young man practised every day, beating sticks against mock-opponents and practising the weight of his new weapon in his hands. He had yet to strike the short-sword against anything, as he was only just get accustomed to the weight, but he would do eventually.
The shattered coast was a place he had been too often, and he'd met many a traveller by its sea. For once, he came not on horseback, but on foot. A cloak swung around his back and a hood enclosed his face, he appeared as a mere traveller, mysterious at that. The cloak was buttoned and he had no other clothing beneath it other than a brown shirt; and the bandana and multiple necklaces that swung from his neck. He fingered the charms precociously and then sniffed the air, lifting his charred muzzle to the sky. Soon he was on the track of another, his bow and quiver on his shoulder, short-sword swinging by his side. His green eyes soon locked on the man whom he sought. A lone male among the sands. 'Ey up! he called out, making his pace quicker. He soon slid to a halt by Angel, and gave a friendly grin. Checkmate! Fancy some sparring, my friend? this was something he'd asked multiple strangers along the way of his travels. He was used to asking it now, and asked it freely. Whether it was working on attack or defence, he would be up for it. With whatever weapon; practising with his sword or simply brawling, he was there. Determined to be as strong as everyone else was.
.
[/html]
[html]
too lazy to add the upside down question mark
Word Count → 000
Angel had sat down at the waters edge, considering what life was like back in Catalunya now. He assumed David, who would have been approaching his first shift by now, would turn into a tall, strapping lad like most of the men in the Fabregas line. And Carme, little darling Carme. Angel supposed she would have inherited all the beauty of her Grandmother, Aunt and Mother. Even Angel, who steered clear of pretty women since Maria, had to secretly admit that Cristina was a very handsome woman. He often wondered if the other's had produced any nieces and nephews. Ana had reported that their had been no new additions to the family since she left, but Ana had been absent for nearly as long as Angel himself had been.
The Spaniard's ear's flickered as he was addressed by a strange voice. He stood but did not turn around immediately 'Que?' he asked when he spun around slowly. The English finally sunk in. Sparring? he thought, sniggering. 'Okay then' The Catalonian replied, 'Hand to hand or with knives?' he asked. He was equally skilled with both, due to his strength and surprising agility. No one expected the agility.
<style type="text/css">
.totsunits b {font-weight:bold; color:#fefefe; letter-spacing:1px;}
.totsunits p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 13px; margin:0px;}
.totsunits {margin:0px auto; width:500px; background-color:#010101; background-image:url( http://i.imgur.com/YDo6A.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #000000; padding: 300px 0px 3px 0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#c00304; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;}
.totsunits .wordcount {letter-spacing:0px; font-size:11px; font-weight:bold; border-top:1px dashed #fefefe; text-align:right; padding:0px 5px; text-transform:uppercase; margin:0px 15px 15px 15px; }
.totsunits .ooc {font-style:italic; font-size:11px;}
.totsunits p b:before { content: open-quote; }
.totsunits p b:after {content: close-quote; }
</style>[/html]
[html]
<style type="text/css">
.Helotes {padding:10px; background:#749d52; color:#000; opacity: 1; filter: alpha(opacity = 80); line-height:120%;}
.Helotes b{color:#8c461e; text-shadow:1px 1px 0px #000; font-weight:bold;}
.HelotesFooter {background-image:url('http://i42.tinypic.com/110zjtv.png'); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:right;padding:120px 0px 0px 0px}</style>
The weird word used put Frodo a little on edge, but he pursed his lips defiantly and managed to understand the next string of words directed at him. When the other wolf sniggered, Frodo merely shrugged his narrow shoulders as if he didn't care. It did make him wonder what Angel was sniggering at, however he made no comment whatsoever. Because of his lack of experience, he wasn't really sure what the term hand-to-hand meant, and he had no use of knives... too deadly for his taste. His aim was to disarm, disable and maybe knock out an opponent, but would never kill. With his short sword it meant he could "fence", or sword fight with another, before removing their weapon and pointing the sword at them. But he'd never strike another dead.
Uh.. he pondered for a moment, wondering how to answer. With sticks! he finally declared. They could thwack and wack each other to their hearts content, without much danger of death, just bruising. He flashed a knowing smile and then tottered off to the shore, bringing back two firm sticks. He placed the longer of the sticks in Angel's hand, as Angel was much more suited, and in his own he had a more lightweight, smaller stick. But it would still be useful, he declared. Enguard! Frodo joked, falling into a half-crouch and pointing the stick outward. Then he shook his head and straightened up, all-serious now. Hit me, flopsy's cottontail!! he suggested.
.
[/html]
[html]
ooc: small amount of pp
Angel took up the stick, inspecting it closely. It was a gnarled thing, but solid, the branch had been still live when it had been cut off so it was springy too. Sticks? Surely this was too easy to be true. Pulling a few lumps of bark away from one end of the stick, Angel made himself a handle, something that would scrape against his hand like the bark would. He swung it around a few times, attempting to get a feel of the 'weapon'. This would be an easy game, he'd used spears and the like many times before, especially when he'd learnt to spear fish. Which included standing in the shallows, shaded by a tree and obviously speared the fish. It wasn't a skill he used very often at least recently, but he prized it for it's usefulness in Southern America. And over all it was a skill that may one day be called on again at to Angel that was what was important in the grand scheme of things.
The Catalonian picked up on the insult, his large black ears zoning in onto the words, deciphering them in seconds. Without warning, he struck. Swinging the top of the stick up towards his face and when he raised his own staff to protect his face, Angel swept the stick into the side of his legs, knocking him down. Stepping back, Angel smiled. He hadn't even used full force, if he did he'd break the boy's bones.
<style>
.angelSie {
width:389px;padding:1px;border:1px solid black;background-color:#000000;margin:0 auto;
}
.angelSie .inner {
width:387px;
border:1px solid black;background-image:url( http://i910.photobucket.com/albums/ac30 ... 65c1f7.jpg);background-color:#000000; }
.angelSie .text { text-align:justify;
margin:10px;
font-family:
Verdana;
color:#8EA0A5;
font-size:10px;
height:250px;
overflow:auto;
background-image:url( http://sleepyglow.net/souls/75pct_black.png);
padding:5px; }
</style>[/html]
[html]
<style type="text/css">
.Helotes {padding:10px; background:#749d52; color:#000; opacity: 1; filter: alpha(opacity = 80); line-height:120%;}
.Helotes b{color:#8c461e; text-shadow:1px 1px 0px #000; font-weight:bold;}
.HelotesFooter {background-image:url('http://i42.tinypic.com/110zjtv.png'); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:right;padding:120px 0px 0px 0px}</style>
He saw the slight confusion in the man's eyes when he suggested they fight with sticks. The boy smiled a little, knowing that any weapon could be useful and dangerous in the right hands, but said nothing of it as it seemed Angel was going to agree to it anyway. He watched the man take some bark off the stick and looked down at his own stick; he didn't really see anything he could do so just left his stick as it was.
Flopsy's cottontail hadn't intended to be an insult. It was just a little quirk, another gimmick that Frodo added onto the end of his words. However he knew as soon as the name left his mouth that his opponent had seen it as an insult. Oh dear read Frodo's body language, wondering if he'd angered Angel much. And then the man struck. His feet were whipped out from beneath him and he lay sprawled on the ground, two fresh, long bruises on his calves. A long drawn breath blew out from his maw and he quickly and nimbly jumped back to his feet once more. That the way you wanna plays it, huh stranger? he grinned, and then he ducked and attempted a jab at Angel's ribs. Stick 'em with the pointy end! he whooped, dancing around lightly to avoid any counter-attacks.
[/html]
|
