 A I S L I N N do not go gentle into that good night. rage, rage against the dying of the light.
All she could see was the color red — the color of the blood broiling like dragon's breath in her veins, the color of the war-paint dripping down the long planes of her face. Deep crimson and rage. Heartbroken and agony. Her heart cleaved into pieces; a shredded, shriveled thing. She had taken the scraps of her emotions and woven them together, sewing them and crafting them into a plated armor. No, the stormsinger would not bow to her negative emotions.. but embrace them, hone them. Her mother, Freya, would be proud to say the least. She stood proud in the center of the Steppe, her arrogant call blissfully answered as her ears caught the sounds of rustling leaves. An approaching taker, it seemed, as ice-blue orbs watched a stranger of speckled silver and blue appear out of the shadows. Her eyes flashed at the sight of his wings, nostrils flaring in anticipation. The air hummed as her muscles twitched. With a slow dip of her crown to her opponent, the stormsinger smiled, something wicked toying with her lips. "Let's play." Not more than a moment had passed before the neutral wall between them had dropped. Now, they were two warriors in the heat of battle. She braced herself, digging her hooves deep into the earth as the man rushed at her from her left side. Her ears rung with his thundering hooves, barely noticing his slower pace as he neared her; no, she was focused on tucking her wings close to her body in an attempt to keep his reach away from her body. Thoughts of possible blocks raced through her as with each step, every shimmer of the stars above them — their only audience besides the gods. He was upon her then, and it was too late; his rear had her buckling, having made the mistake of locking her knees as hooves connected with the flesh of her spine. A cry of rage burst from something deep and untamed in her throat. With a booming swoosh, Aislinn spun swiftly, her wings snapping open to their full wing span as she attempted to smack him in the weak point of his back legs.. hopefully, possibly trying to knock her opponent into the ground. And oh, her fury was the color red, as she panted hot air through her burning lungs and blood dripped from the scrap between her outstretched wings. Crimson and scarlet and impractical rage. @ "Aislinn speech." |
Summary: As Aislinn tries to think of ways to block Ulric, she takes a hit and his hooves open up a scrape on her back. Frustrated and furious (and not thinking clearly), she quickly spins and stretches out her wings, attempting to use the force of them to knock him down.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 7 September
Tags: @
