The circled crowd holds its breath, as does the arena, as does the whole of Solterra. The soldier watches Andras with a discerning eye, as he bows his dark head and squares his shoulders. Andras is not a soldier. Andras is an animal, a savage one, that likes blood and bruises and bleeding teeth and does not care if it is his.
He is wondering, the warden knows, how Delumine, how Oriens, came to this decision - even if Zayir were not so out of time it might beg the question. Why does their god breathe thunder and fire in the core of him? Why does their god preach peace and give birth to this bottomless rage?
Andras smiles because Andras knows. Oriens did not give this beast to him. Oriens only let it out.
He takes another breath in, then out. Andras tries to stay calm, wrestling all his joy and his rage so that it simmers below the surface. He thinks cold thoughts, he thinks blue thoughts. He thinks of the clean sand of the arena and the man that bows in return before lunging forward, spurring the crowd to cheer for the battle's beginning.
Andras is not far behind the motion, a stride or two at most; he surges ahead with his wings spread for balance, trying to breathe though he is filling with tension and bliss all in one. He manages one more--a quick, running breath--before Zayir is upon him, and Andras follows the way he darts like a dog chasing prey.
Only, Zayir is faster, and his feet touch and then pivot, diving left like a snake in the sand; only because the feint baits him does Andras feel the elbow of his wing between Zayir's teeth instead of the wrist--because they are so close they make contact immediately, and the warden feels it like a bolt of hot light that streaks from the elbow to the shoulder and down through his chest. He makes a sound half between shrieking and laughter as he rolls, folding his wing only by an instinct that screams not to land on it.
The scenery goes white wings, blue sky, gray crowd, yellow sand at a dizzying speed, and Andras is trying to fight through the sharp ache of his appendage to focus as he searches for Zayir's face and neck with both front legs; a spark that flashes like white lightning and cracks like thunder roars out of one just as he braces for it. Andras feels it all the way in his ribs, like the booming of fireworks. He is glad for sand, and not hard ground, though it is a weak blast.
It is bright (so bright), and it is loud (so, so loud), but it is more percussive force and sparks than anything else, like a particularly thick balloon popping against the skin. Andras gives himself over to its momentum, too, rolling away now that the blast has--Oriens willing--distracted Zayir long enough that the Warden can scramble back to his feet.
He is not breathing deep, anymore. He is a cloud of frantic lightning, laughing along with his heart, which starts keening like an unbridled thing. Perhaps it is.
i am being perfectly fucking civil
Summary: Andras puts literally as much effort into staying focused as he can. He charges forward to meet Zayir, falls for his feint, and is attacked. Because Zayir is so close he gets hold of the elbow of Andras' wing and rolls him down. It hurts and absolutely pulls a muscle if not spraining the wing. Because he was able to focus, once he's on his back Andras aims a weak explosion at Zayir's face in an attempt to shock him with the light and sound as well as hit him, though the force isn't more than a medium-strength punch worst case scenario. Having Zayir distracted, Andras rolls to his feet to prepare for the next attack. He completely forgets how to focus.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: 0
Response Deadline: June 15
Tags: @Zayir, @Sid, @inkbone, @nestle, @
