Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Astute and scrutinizing even beneath the bear contortions, the Sword watched as claws met fur, gashes slashed into the honey badger’s side, the ferocity, force, and vehemence sending him spiraling along the ground – a slight inward wince for the summoner’s latest upheaval. No time for any other measures – the fellow hybrid shifted once more, a form he hadn’t seen before, and the goose came sailing for him – a distinct notion of his face, his eyes, anything lacquered there as the designated target.
Naturally, since he was in no position to move quite as quickly, quite as swiftly, he ducked. Shoulders hunched, head tucked, the goose’s talons went sliding over the top of his cranium, gliding over fur, but nothing else, like a petulant breeze. A close call – and a proclamation that with Loren’s already newly-gained wounds, they should be maneuvering towards an end. A finale. A show.
Magic now? he proffered and extended, shifting back to his human figure, still colossal and mighty, but not nearly as lumbering as the bear designations. No need for the armor, the blade, or the shield at his feet however, waiting, presiding, the warning given and granted, giving the other dueler time to adjust, before a ball of fire curled in his hand. It echoed in pieces of a burnt-down guildhouse, of power and vehemence, of things he still couldn’t save, portions of legacies and lineages passed down in latter stages. His eyes glanced down at its flaming remnants, then back towards Loren, grounding himself, a breath, an inclination towards precision, before throwing it, just aiming, intending, for it to the summoner any place it could sizzle, sear, and reach.
Naturally, since he was in no position to move quite as quickly, quite as swiftly, he ducked. Shoulders hunched, head tucked, the goose’s talons went sliding over the top of his cranium, gliding over fur, but nothing else, like a petulant breeze. A close call – and a proclamation that with Loren’s already newly-gained wounds, they should be maneuvering towards an end. A finale. A show.
Magic now? he proffered and extended, shifting back to his human figure, still colossal and mighty, but not nearly as lumbering as the bear designations. No need for the armor, the blade, or the shield at his feet however, waiting, presiding, the warning given and granted, giving the other dueler time to adjust, before a ball of fire curled in his hand. It echoed in pieces of a burnt-down guildhouse, of power and vehemence, of things he still couldn’t save, portions of legacies and lineages passed down in latter stages. His eyes glanced down at its flaming remnants, then back towards Loren, grounding himself, a breath, an inclination towards precision, before throwing it, just aiming, intending, for it to the summoner any place it could sizzle, sear, and reach.
DEIMOS
