Post by Avu on Jul 23, 2009 15:48:40 GMT -5
The pain in Vikoranth’s leg was nearly intolerable. The bronze wanted to shriek his agony, and resisted, a low growl grinding out from his teeth. The damage being inflicted was almost definitely enough to leave him permanently crippled (at least slightly), but that wasn’t important for the moment. And then – the audible crack of bone splintering, snapping, and white-hot pain made Vikoranth screech in a mixture of agony and hatred, and staggered as his leg was abruptly released. At any other time, he would have whipped around to face Salenth immediately – but his leg, dropped, struck the ground forcefully and he was slowed noticeably – Salenth’s leap was noted and Vikoranth jerked sideways, one of the other bronze’s claws gouging down his side; the snap at his snout was avoided as well, but the flame – Vikoranth’s head whipped backwards in a futile attempt to avoid the flame – and just as he shrieked, the flame burning face and upper neck, Idith was there; and even as he jerked his head back, unaware at first of Idith’s presence, his neck was caught by the younger bronze’s jaws.
Everything hurt – but nothing quite as bad as the burned flesh on his face, sagging hideously, and certainly nothing as horrible as the teeth clamped around his neck, not quite cutting off his breath because Idith had caught him from behind. Certainly the pain inflicted upon the rest of his body, by both Idith and Salenth, went ignored as Vikoranth’s wings both flared open silently – and then the white-hot pain proved too much and A’risen touched the bronze’s mind mentally. Words passed – and then, Vikoranth’s twisting, less practiced and more primal now, ceased – and the bronze went between.
He saw it coming. Somewhat. Still, Cr’yn flinched visibly as Vikoranth disappeared, eyes widening in panic. He didn’t have long to panic, though; the next second, K’sel’s knife caught him in the neck; both of the brownrider’s hands rose towards his throat, and he coughed, face blanching. No doubt it was exceedingly painful; blood colored his lips and as he pulled out the knife instinctively, blood stained his shirt, dripping off of the blade. For one moment, he stared blankly – and then he fell: A puppet with its strings cut. The blood pooled on the Sands, and somewhere, the keen of a dragon rang out.
Over.
It was over. Had they had reinforcements, they would have doubtlessly already come. They had not.
Rusahre eyed K’sel approvingly for a moment before he jerked his head in a nod, and then, stepping back away from the fallen Rider, the Candidate’s gaze flicked up to examine the rest of the Sands impersonally. People were hurt; people were bleeding and dragons were likewise. But he was no Healer, and he couldn’t do anything about it – and a dragon would be able to call a Healer faster than he, Rusahre, could. His gaze lingered upon R’trez’s body, and then he turned on his heel and left the Hatching Sands. It was over; he had no interest in the eggs or the people remaining there. They were all of Selenitas; nobody had made another attempt on the eggs – that was his cue to leave.
((Needed to finish before the Hatching started, so. =3))
Everything hurt – but nothing quite as bad as the burned flesh on his face, sagging hideously, and certainly nothing as horrible as the teeth clamped around his neck, not quite cutting off his breath because Idith had caught him from behind. Certainly the pain inflicted upon the rest of his body, by both Idith and Salenth, went ignored as Vikoranth’s wings both flared open silently – and then the white-hot pain proved too much and A’risen touched the bronze’s mind mentally. Words passed – and then, Vikoranth’s twisting, less practiced and more primal now, ceased – and the bronze went between.
He saw it coming. Somewhat. Still, Cr’yn flinched visibly as Vikoranth disappeared, eyes widening in panic. He didn’t have long to panic, though; the next second, K’sel’s knife caught him in the neck; both of the brownrider’s hands rose towards his throat, and he coughed, face blanching. No doubt it was exceedingly painful; blood colored his lips and as he pulled out the knife instinctively, blood stained his shirt, dripping off of the blade. For one moment, he stared blankly – and then he fell: A puppet with its strings cut. The blood pooled on the Sands, and somewhere, the keen of a dragon rang out.
Over.
It was over. Had they had reinforcements, they would have doubtlessly already come. They had not.
Rusahre eyed K’sel approvingly for a moment before he jerked his head in a nod, and then, stepping back away from the fallen Rider, the Candidate’s gaze flicked up to examine the rest of the Sands impersonally. People were hurt; people were bleeding and dragons were likewise. But he was no Healer, and he couldn’t do anything about it – and a dragon would be able to call a Healer faster than he, Rusahre, could. His gaze lingered upon R’trez’s body, and then he turned on his heel and left the Hatching Sands. It was over; he had no interest in the eggs or the people remaining there. They were all of Selenitas; nobody had made another attempt on the eggs – that was his cue to leave.
((Needed to finish before the Hatching started, so. =3))
