Not enough to go around.

when death stares a weakened being in the face, that creature can do nothing but stare back. immobilized by fear and legs grounded by immovable weights, they cannot turn and run or look away. they are forced to continually train their gaze upon those glowing eyes, peripheral vision dangerously aware of the tendrils of darkness swirling and toiling at their sides, creeping closer and closer as they stalked forth to claim their prey. they can do nothing but wait for it to wash over them and send them to eternal rest, whether it be to heaven or hell or none of the above.

on the other hand, when death is untimely and stares a more stubborn being in the face, the creature does nothing but resist. the being does nothing but backpedal against the weights of their feet and make an endless effort to escape their 'undeserved' death. the tendrils of darkness around them coil and hiss at the flying talons crashing around them threateningly. the swirling appendages of death slither to the side like snakes, searching for an opening but finding little to work with. they can do nothing but watch and wait for their prey to weaken.

his pads gently kissed the roots of the forest floor and leaf debris, leaving them nearly untouched. the sun beat down without mercy through every gap in the trees, no matter how minuscule. light rained down upon him through these gaps, and he shuddered at every slight change in temperature as the scorching sun drew its pure, warm fingers down his spine as he passed. it was hot in general, but it was a bit cooler in shade of the trees, and he was grateful for the relief. his nares flared in his panicked state, air blasting from them as he crept toward where he had been told the battlefeild was. where he had been told that the gravekeeper was.

his paranoia made him feel like his life was already draining away. no one had mentioned before of vomiting any sort, so now the stoic marshal had become a panicking private, desperate to hold onto his life. if he had been facing a murderer instead of a disease, he would have stubbornly stood up to the being and held his ground until the end, but fighting an enemy that he couldn't see on his own was not something he wished to do.

he had heard of the gravekeeper long ago, but had thought nothing of it. now, his search for survival was driving him to seek the being out and find him on his own accord. his frenzied pace slowed as he began to notice small piles of stones and various other relics in the distance. he drew to a halt, sides heaving and labored breath rasping from thirst and fatigue. a tremor quaked through the bones of the aged general, forcing him to remember. he was to meet ulrike here - an agreeance between two men for a friendly spar. perhaps not his best choice, given the circumstances. lifting his crown from its retired state, it would seem luck had blessed him as he was already standing within proximity to the tortugan warrior. "pl'ase, ex'use my tardiness. we shou' begin, no?" as the harshly accented words fell from a pronounced jaw, the diseased marshal fell into the wide stance of an experienced brawler; spine slightly curled, weight shifted to occupy his back stilts, neck craned inward, banner following the path of his spine while keeping level - the ever patient viper.



round zero of ???


defenses; spine curled with his weight shifted to his hinds so as to allow him a quicker lunge, neck arched inward to protect his throat, tail level with his spine for balance