like having your throat cut,
just that fast
just that fast
Glory hums in her veins like an angelic trumpet as she waits beneath the arches of the Colosseum. She lets it sink into her marrow, and sinew, and into each black space between her feathers. It fills her as much as it settles something cracked and tremulous underneath her skin. And when she takes her first step onto the blood-soaked sands her magic rises higher and coats her skin in a flush of golden dew-light.
The roar of the crowd echoes louder than the steady drum of her own heart in her ears. Today the crowd seems full of lions instead of horses, each snarling with their jagged teeth and their empty bellies. Amaunet imagines herself as queen of them all.
Here there are no nobles or street-rats. There is only blood (on the sand, on their skin, and between their teeth like seeds instead of iron). There is only dominance and submission.
Furious instinct settles deep into her muscle when she spots the bay waiting in the center of the sands. A memory races across her mind like spider lighting, there and gone faster than she can hold it. She does not bother to try to find it again, not with the trumpet bellowing in her blood and the gluttony for violence reminding her that her stomach is empty (painfully so). All she gives him is a smile on the side of feral and full of teeth. It is the only warning he will get from her.
With a snap of her wings, loud enough to leave the crowd choking on their inhales, Amaunet explodes into the madness of her wrath.
Only her magic can hear the roar of the crowd and the harsh beat of their hooves on the stone as they chant and bellow for blood, and blood, and blood. It devours their urgency and lights embers beneath each inch of muscle and between every hollow bone in her wings. Her skin glows softly as a dawn sun as she races towards him in a strange mix and flight and charge. The shine of her magic on her skin is barely visible in the hot furious sun. Perhaps it is both a blessing and a curse for the bay stallion to see only a mare racing at him instead of something golden and holy.
Dust billows up from the tips of her hooves as she races across the sand. Her lips pull back from her teeth as she snarls in a sound that is more predator than horse (more monster than mortal). The curl of his neck, where it begins from the point of his withers, becomes her sole focus as every drop of her violence narrows onto that point of his form. She throws every ounce of her weight into the contact as she tries to bury her teeth into the hard bone and sinew there. The sound her wings make is more growl than birdsong as she pushes herself forward with them.
No part of her knows how to relent or go gently. Not now, not with the hunger coiling snake like in her belly. And every line of her form as she tries to devour him seems to sing: submit until your knees start to bleed.
The crowd starts to rise as they descend into a feverish fury (encouraged perhaps by the pure savageness of her brutality). Amaunet pushes harder against him, her magic eating the blood lust and turning it to rage.
@Dune
The roar of the crowd echoes louder than the steady drum of her own heart in her ears. Today the crowd seems full of lions instead of horses, each snarling with their jagged teeth and their empty bellies. Amaunet imagines herself as queen of them all.
Here there are no nobles or street-rats. There is only blood (on the sand, on their skin, and between their teeth like seeds instead of iron). There is only dominance and submission.
Furious instinct settles deep into her muscle when she spots the bay waiting in the center of the sands. A memory races across her mind like spider lighting, there and gone faster than she can hold it. She does not bother to try to find it again, not with the trumpet bellowing in her blood and the gluttony for violence reminding her that her stomach is empty (painfully so). All she gives him is a smile on the side of feral and full of teeth. It is the only warning he will get from her.
With a snap of her wings, loud enough to leave the crowd choking on their inhales, Amaunet explodes into the madness of her wrath.
Only her magic can hear the roar of the crowd and the harsh beat of their hooves on the stone as they chant and bellow for blood, and blood, and blood. It devours their urgency and lights embers beneath each inch of muscle and between every hollow bone in her wings. Her skin glows softly as a dawn sun as she races towards him in a strange mix and flight and charge. The shine of her magic on her skin is barely visible in the hot furious sun. Perhaps it is both a blessing and a curse for the bay stallion to see only a mare racing at him instead of something golden and holy.
Dust billows up from the tips of her hooves as she races across the sand. Her lips pull back from her teeth as she snarls in a sound that is more predator than horse (more monster than mortal). The curl of his neck, where it begins from the point of his withers, becomes her sole focus as every drop of her violence narrows onto that point of his form. She throws every ounce of her weight into the contact as she tries to bury her teeth into the hard bone and sinew there. The sound her wings make is more growl than birdsong as she pushes herself forward with them.
No part of her knows how to relent or go gently. Not now, not with the hunger coiling snake like in her belly. And every line of her form as she tries to devour him seems to sing: submit until your knees start to bleed.
The crowd starts to rise as they descend into a feverish fury (encouraged perhaps by the pure savageness of her brutality). Amaunet pushes harder against him, her magic eating the blood lust and turning it to rage.
@
Summary: Amaunet thinks that maybe Dune looks a little familiar. She then she realizes it doesn't really matter and she stops trying to figure out who he is. All she gives him is a smile before she half flies and half charges towards him. Her intent is to latch on this withers and push him to his knees (using her magic which is charged by the crowd's brutal energy) to make her attack a bit more powerful.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0 (UPD
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: Her chaos magic.
Response Deadline: 6/13
Tags: @
