M A X E N C E UNEASY LIES THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN
Was that a smile that slowly clawed its way onto the commander's face? It was. A dashing crooked smile had found it's way to the boxer, furrowed brows cast into the sky as he smirked in Illiad's shadow. Like a fly he had swatted him from the sky only to watch him fumble, tumble and skid (and of course screech and hoot) in a pile of earth and dust away from the slightly frivolous warrior. He'd lost any care in the world for this spar, and truly he no longer cared who won or lost - it was the silver shadow's tactics that caused Maxence to roll his eyes and question everything he knew about fighting and the Delumine. "Flower-picker!" Maxence chortled, watching the colt rise from the dust once again and take to his feet; hopefully this one's last attempt at an attack. "You're pretty when you fight" the sovereign laughed, stomping his hoof with character and energy, beckoning and urging the silver beast to charge with all he had. The glinting fox seemed to have eluded hi this time, and as the fellow verged right, Maxence had fallen into his trap— and it was not a complex master plan of any sort, but rather the oldest trick in the book. How Commander Maxence had fallen for it was quite beyond him, but as those gilded prongs scraped upon his whither to leave a nasty inch-deep and inch-wide cut upon his back, he knew he would have to up his game for next time. No cry left the commanders mouth, not even as his coat turned red, but still his teeth would grit and his eyes grew tight against the beating of pain— the perfect way to end a spar, even if it had been quite ridiculous to him. As he began to wade through the grass inthe direction of home, whither too damaged for flight, he recalled what the bard had spoke upon that last fateful attack (the one with 'heart') as he exited the battlefield. "Heart? Of course. Skill? Not in the slightest" |
