as we collide

*Isardis* · (This post was last modified: 08-25-2013, 05:08 PM by Isardis.)

And so the flag would rise, signalling from the distance upon the dismal shoulders of his opponents primary preference; wavering its frayed edges in every miserable wheeze of decayed breath, paraded so willingly by an army blissfully unaware of its futile manifestations. The angel felt so inclined to bow his head in pity, to give the gathering wolves his sympathetic acknowledgement of their poverty, their nakedness. For though they approached with such brittle confidence, one could hardly manage to take such a stippled party in seriousness, it would be almost laughable the illustration they portrayed; flocking like the wren servants of their magpie superior. Perhaps it was utterly untrue the stories he had heard; Magpie?s were said to collect shiny objects, no? The avian?s reputation had tragically let her down, for she certainly bore no more than the possession of monotonous secondaries, apparently welded of scrap brasses and dejected aluminium as opposed to brilliant silvers and golds.

How terribly disappointing.

The tongue of the dreary male was of little interest to the ghoul, managing no more than a brittle chuckle as his language was wholly disregarded. Wasn?t he a clever little pup? Using big, nasty words like that, somebody ought to award him a gold star. But ah, the youth couldn?t be blamed for his intimidation; he did, after all, resemble no more than the desiccated progeny of a sullied rabbit. Argent?s support would encourage self pride, further inflating the ego that brewed so potently beneath his skull, stretching the elegant confines of his walls. Though his little Blade seemed intent on giving this over-sized hare exactly what he pleased; jaws shuddering as she would inject the creatures bloodstream with her retaliation. The Magpie Queen herself would join in also, apparently mindlessly boosting the confidence of her opponents, ?Don?t encourage her further, little bird; for we all see her capabilities.? Cherry lips would tweak, a weak chuckle tumbling from shuddering jaws as the fiend would sway upon coral stilts, so seemingly blissful within the bemusing moment.

Upon the fiends addressing The King?s nature would begin to sway, flicking an imaginary toggle that loitered in scantily known places; her expressions were barely noted as the reminder of what he so hunted would scurry through weakened doors. Liberty, she was not of the greatest use to him, was she? At least not in her infertile age. An amused smirk creased the caverns of his mind, a mental chuckle tumbling within the containment of his skull. Though he had remained silent, a content twitch of his lips revealing a brewing plot that immediately began to simmer in the backdrop of his ruby eyes; flitting weakly like the virgin flame of a freshly lit match. But it was no longer about numbers, or his packs needs, but about his obsessions; about satisfying the throbbing ache that would claw so mercilessly at chained doors, a deadly desire that prowled shifting shadows like the attitude of a wild-cat, and oh so ready to pounce.

Once denied something The King would never forget; flattered she may be, though Liberty was not the only babe to meander hungrily within his memories. ?Champion? was of far superior significance, though he suspected the enchanting woman would boast of greater challenges. Regardless, he would obtain the little charcoal wench first. And so with the brittle conclusion an angel would emerge from the shelter of a holy encompass; pearled wings unfolding with the chiming of imaginary magnificence as the beauty would begin to sway, weight shifting continuously from left to right, seemingly trapped within a harmonious state of psychosis. Though his supernatural behaviour was not at a loss for cause, as the man would test his limbs, keeping his weight ever-light in preparation for both swift attack and swift avoidance. Pale lashes would flutter like the wings of fleeting moths, rosy gape simultaneously narrowed, pinpointing his site of attack as a rattled inhalation would secure cadaver and psyche. Extended tail would rise, falling level to the parallel notches of his spine, cherry ears flickering, zoning out of surrounding bickers as they would come to rest upon the chiselled structures of his scalp, somewhat simultaneously to the lowering of his maw; a half-hearted attempt to protect pulsing vitals. Jaws would begin to crank, slowly though jutted; readied as pink jowls would twitch in fluctuating snarls.

Only then would the albino fiend commence, indisputably rapid as he would flash from his slightly lowered position, fleeting hastily to the right of the duo-toned woman in a single, haunch-driven bound. Elbows would crank at oiled joints, allowing him the fluid landing upon his elbows, speed his main priority as the calculating ghost would attempt to throw her; a false move to her right, aiming to land a half meter in front of the left shoulder before he would duck beneath her gullet. Let her entertain herself with his sharp moves, for now he would likely have her where she was needed, attempting to avoid his movement though simultaneously find herself launching into it as he would rapidly conform, spine and haunches twisting as his weight would swiftly bounce to the opposite side of the magpie. Here he would rise adjacent to his dip, elbows straightening to thrust him upwards, rubies promptly relocating to rest upon the delicate formations of her cerulean eyes, canines bared as the pale monster would attempt to sink so effortlessly into unprotected sockets. Lids were no shields to the blades of war.

Though Isardis wouldn?t disappoint, a hopeful right fore-paw would be thrust athwart his chest, the memories of her limbs where-abouts fuelling his confidence. Coral joints would flex below his forearm, a brittle attempt to hook the woman?s right forelimb and simultaneously force her weight even further into the exposed trap of his searching jaws. She had threatened his pride, his reputation, and his success; such a thing couldn?t be taken lightly, and so The King would present with no climbing scale or accentuating measures. It was right down to business, take her eye-sight and victory could so easily be his. Many had thought him an angel, an image of undeniably purity, though lurking so surreptitiously beneath his innocent skin a devil would writhe, stretching below pallid leather, and hell- they hadn?t even caught a glimpse of it yet.

Isardis vs. chrysanthe ? round 1 of 3

defences: shifting weight in preparation to dodge (in defence to the usual ?equal weight?, let?s remember that?s more suitable for wolves readying to be hit, not readying to dodge!), narrowed eyes, aligned spine, level tail, ears back, chin lowered, throat lightly covered, jaws open and bared, loose elbow joints

attacks: chrysanthe is facing isar, so he aims a rapid false attack to the right with no warning, simply aiming to bounce by her left shoulder without contact in an attempt to send her weight in the opposite direction. Immediately after he ducks to the left (Chrys? right) and straightens his elbows quickly, re-aiming a calculated attack to the sockets of her eyes. Almost simultaneously his right forelimb will reach out to try and hook her right forelimb and send her weight more so into his jaws.

injuries: first round

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Edited to fix summary typo.

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