Noam finds himself deep in the colosseum. The boom and calls of the crowds shake into his bones, and rattle against his chest. With each breath, the dust filters into his nostrils with the air – of sand and the remnants of fighters past. The dead, the living, the victorious and the glorified.
Is this what you desire?
Noam prays to Solis. His thoughts call out into the emptiness in his head – ire at the edges.
The warriors come prepared, wielding spears and knives, bearing armor and striking out with magic. Some are blessed with bondeds, who share in the blood sport.
Noam has never thought himself blessed or lucky – has always thought himself as a common man. Less of a man – a shadow, a creature of habit – he is a thing that wanders the earth in old familiar paths.
He starts by removing the leather armor he initially brought. Hesitates, when he sets the bow and quiver down on a bench. Regards the weapon with a fondness meant for living things, the fondness for a sibling. They have killed far too many to think any less of each other; they are equals to this game of life – tools that cannot bear the capacity beyond their design.
I will learn – he promises to his god. These violent delights.
Noam fears returning to the grave, in the sense that he must wade through it again – that he cannot return to the earth like they have. And is cursed to go on living. He fears the delight of blood at his lips, and the smell of copper filling his lungs. And the peace that comes with praising Solis – engrained into a boy who forfeited his birthright for approval.
Today is different. Today is not a war – the stage is an altar.
With heavy breath Noam departs the antechamber. Arrives naked in the stark light that greets him. He jogs along the outer edges of the perimeter, just as the announcer voices his opponent.
A chorus of disapproval precedes the bull.
Feathered appendages loosen at Noam’s sides, rolling once forward and stretching wide to graze the wall of stone. Craving the ether.
A dark shadow, limber and taller than he – glistens gold under the sun. A steady gaze, a flat stare follows with oblivion in his eyes.
El Rey – the undertaker, boasts whispers of his mastery. The art of killing and torture poise behind the devil’s eyes, focusing entirely on Noam. The sparrow canters, finishes his loop and stops abruptly to face the man said to have no soul. Perhaps El Rey is merely a reflection – a thing, crafted for a singular purpose.
“A-and his opponent, Noam of Solterra!”
He can’t tell if they cheer for him – the noise is empty in the space between them. Besides the size difference, they are similar in build. Muscle and sinew crafted for mobility in harsh terrain, and the control of momentum that comes with the recoil and release of power. There is the crown of thorns that glint ahead, and the lack of wings at the bull’s sides. Curled, gilded ears add to the impression of a demon.
The gap spans approximately two horse lengths - give or take a foot.
Noam dips his head to the stranger. Forfeits words for the tension that hangs in the air. Begins his worship song, not unlike the war songs that had lay heavy in his heart as a child – recoiling from his haunches, and lunging ahead into a canter – gaining speed. Noam’s wings have been pressed back into his sides, neck arched as he watches for signs. The pre-warnings of muscle twitches, and haunches propelling…
He darts to the right in a half jump, in a means to avoid a head on collision. Simultaneously punching out his wings in a snap like motion that bring them back to his body – feathers aimed to hide what lay below them as he passes. And may very well suffer a wound in the process.
As soon as his forelimbs touch the ground, Noam aims a buck at the beast’s ribs. Gathers his limbs underneath as fast as possible. His mind bracing for the inevitable – the relentless and unyielding labors ahead as he attempts to face his opponent.
Noam expects no holes or hesitations from the ‘executioner’.
Summary: Does a lap around the colosseum. Faces El Rey. Dips his head, and moves toward at a canter. Darts to the right in a half jump, darting out his wings as a distraction, and aims to buck at El Rey's ribs (his left side). Lands and attempts to face him.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used:
Response Deadline: June 25
Tags: @El Rey, @Sid, @inkbone, @nestle, @
