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Post by Alma on May 1, 2019 0:28:59 GMT -6
  Hands Used: One Distance: Melee Damage: 1d4 (fire) Dice Effect: None
Stamina: 3 Strength: 3
Resistance: 3
Dexterity: 4
Mentality: 3 HP: 30
Special Abilities: Hardy, Swim
Moves: Climb
The pit had been dug out and covered hours before, the long trailing stems of the creeping plants that had been growing there twisted into a sturdy net with that of the other crawling plants surrounding it. Not so sturdy that it could hold even her light weight, nor so deep as to do more than drop whatever fell in more than a few feet before finding ground beneath their feet once more. The shallowness of the pit had little to do with the difficulty of digging up the earth, more due to the same reason whatever fell in would not be met with the sharpened ends of bone and wood but a cushion of leaves. It had been dug in a good place as well, the plants there sightly flatter and thinner than the rest, a naturally growing bush of some thorny and flowering plant on one side to encourage a walker to stay on course, the other side relying on the intimidating form of the fence to herd the prey onto the almost-path. Not prey though, she reminded herself, not in the usual sense or the pit would have been deeper and more treacherous, or replaced altogether with something that would cripple and maim it far better. She wanted the creature that would stumble into the pit, a soft-skin she hoped for the almost-trail suggested some manner of soft-skins wandered outside of the safety of their hive, to be scared, to lash out like a cornered beast rather than with harmless noises the city-kind were known for. Haix wanted blood to be spilled, not the worthless blood of some slave forced to die and die again until there was nothing left in them, and she would gladly shed her own and that of whatever foolish soft-skin thought itself brave enough to wander away from its hive. Said foolish soft-skin had not appeared during the digging, nor in the first hour that followed. A part of her wanted to slide down from her perch in the branches that cloaked her in green and shadow, to force her way back through the thorny plants that had scratched at her scales and caught on her loincloth and dagger and screech a challenge to whatever beasts might prowl the fences for easy meals. That part of her was ignored as as she slowly shifted her body as a gust of wing shoot the other branches, taking the change to loosen some of the stiffness settling in her limbs. Something would come, soft-skin or beast, and she would be ready.
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Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920 
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Post by Darky on May 3, 2019 8:21:34 GMT -6
Stats:
Stamina: 4
Strength: 3
Resistance: 3
Dexterity: 3
Mentality: 3
HP: 40
Special Abilities: Swim
Moves: Climb, Holy Shield (1/day)
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Hands Used: One
Distance: Melee
Damage: 1d6
Dice Effect: None |
A common phrase in use was: Stagnation is the enemy of everything. Which was in its own way, very true. But there was another enemy on that day, one far worse, something which robbed sense and space if one were to delve too deep into it and that was Contemplation.
The mammalian was stuck in one such phase, pretty deep in, when she came walking down the forest trail. It wasn't her usual haunt, usually there were things to do, a kennel to run, errands to attend to, but every now and again the buzzing of the City got a little too loud, a little too much, the people a little too many, and she found herself seeking little recluses to sort her mind and thoughts in calm, peace and quiet. These days it seemed the only places left for that were the very edges of the City itself, more forest than urban (and not even the contained forest of the Park or Gardens). A trail less traveled, and even less observed, which was why despite the calm and quiet she still walked with a sword strapped across her back in place of her usual wrist-blade - the idea was to pre-emptively make clear her ability, which the sword was bolder in proclaiming than the rather more disguised wrist-blade.
Thoughts buzzed and rattled, the birdsong ceasing some short while before but unnoticed. The kennel needs cleaning, there's a new quest, did the old one go through? Should probably visit the mines again at some point, there's some shopping to do, that's a strange colour for leaves, training, so much training still left-- Something shot through her brain, breaking the chain of thought and attempting to rewind backwards a link or two but it was already too late, the mind ended up slower than the body for the foot was already on the cushion of leaves and the weight had already transferred onto it.
The floor gave, the sphinx fell inwards, having control enough of her body to whip out a hand, slamming it against the ground beside the hole as earth dashed past and digging in her dull claws. But all it managed was to scrape and slide on loose dirt and tufts of grass, the momentum of her fall too much to cushion with a simple grab, altering the trajectory so she hit the side of the hole first, before falling to the bottom, flipped on her back.
A sore groan escaped from the pit, proving once again, that not quite all feline-based people are necessarily great at landing on their feet. On the scale of stumbling to being thrown off an equillion, the landing scored more towards the equillion side, which was a soreness she was all too familiar with. Admittedly, with the equillion, she kinda-sorta knew it would be coming, and neither would she have had the guard of a sword sticking between her shoulder-blades.
Well, this was embarrassing.
(1) |
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Post by Alma on May 3, 2019 18:09:07 GMT -6
((I can edit this post to simply have Haix be 'prepared to stab when Darky gets out of the hole' if you'd like to start the fight immediantly.))
The waiting was the worst part of any hunt. There was little else to do other than map the paths of the insects that fluttered by or crawled over her scales, one particularly adventurous beetle having crawled across her snout several times. The spider that followed it the most recent time scurried in sporadic bursts, and Haix could only hope it would kill the beetle soon before the insect made a return trip.
Watching the miniature hunt play out, Haix did not immediately register the crunch of plants underfoot, and the very branches and leaves that she trusted to hide her from sight failed to reveal that the very thing she had been waiting for approached. The sounds grew louder, intruding on the relative silence, and she tore her attention from the fate of the spider and beetle, her darting eyes the only part of her moving as she attempted to locate the walker.
Resisting the urge to cock her head to the side, or to move aside some of the greenery to her side for a better look, she merely listened as the creature, beast or being, approached the hidden pit. A beast perhaps, some feral thing wandering the perimeter for scraps? Perhaps, but she thought the steps too measured, no random pauses of some cautious beast to listen for the sound of predators nor snorts of something investigating the fence. The first glimpse she had confirmed her suspicions as the creature strode abruptly into sight, close enough that she could make out the fur coating what was not hidden by clothing, the bright splash of red wrapped around it's waste, the glint of something poking out from behind it's back. Trying to make out exactly what the glint was as it ducked out of sight behind the beastkin, she found herself staring at it's face, a knot of confusion forming as she recognized it, or had the feeling she should. Her claws dug into the branch, eyes narrowing as she tried to remember where she had seen this particular soft-skin before, and why she should.
Then the soft-skinned beastkin was almost at the hole, and she saw the glint had been a tiny piece of metal connected to something much larger. A sword. The beastkin was armed with a blade, one much larger than the cursed dagger that was still strapped to her waist, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to keep her frills from flaring up and revealing herself in a riot of color. The knot of confusion was forgotten, buried beneath excitement at the sight of the blade and the anticipation of what was to come. The soft-skin would fall, surprised, and she would enjoy provoking that mere surprise and annoyance into a more interesting panic.
At least that was what she expected to happen. She saw the beastkin take the final step, the ssashirk sliding down from her perch with a light thud even as the beastkin fell forward into the hole. A second later, stiff muscles protesting the sudden movement, she was stumbling her way through the thorns, the pointed edges scraping harmlessly at her scales as it tore into the softer cloth she wore with the belt.
Haix was almost to the hole when she realized the beastkin was not standing, the groan bringing her to a halt at the edge of the pit. Her frills flared now of their own accord as she saw the beastkin laying on the bottom, the sword trapped underneath it, every long-ignored instinct screaming at her to screech and lunge into the pit seeking it's throat with her teeth while clawing at the soft flesh of it's belly with her claws. Two things stopped her. The first, even as her mouth split open into what some might generously call a grin, she reminded herself that the soft-skin was not meant to be prey, that this was meant to provoke them, not kill them. The second, causing the screech building within her chest to to twist into a barking laugh, was the recognition of just who this particular soft-skin was. The scent of it, of her, and the closer look did what her first glance had failed to do.
The frills, open for mere seconds, lowered slowly as she realized that not only did she recognize the soft-skin, but it was one that had assisted her. Yes, this one had aided her years ago in the transport of the treacherous Offal-slave when she had taken him to be healed, the later theft of the same creature interrupting her attempt to reward the soft-skins who had provided some help or amusement at the time.
And naturally, the one that she technically felt some obligation to was the one that had allowed itself to be caught so easily.
Though only a moment had passed, Haix felt some of her earlier enthusiasm fade, slumping forward slightly as she looked down on the beastkin. She was certain she recalled that the beastkin (Key? Was it named Key?) understood her tongue, and she decided that, soft-skin or not, she would speak in it. "[Are you injured? It was not meant to harm.]" Amusement at the situation the beastkin had fallen into was hidden behind a sincere note of apology, the ssashirk's head cocking inquisitively to one side as she sniffed the air for the coppery tang of blood. None yet.
Still, there would be no leaping upon this one, no desperate and panicked struggle of claws and teeth while it lay helpless on the floor. Regardless of what she wanted to do, she would give them she would give the beastkin that much. She crouched down beside the lip of the pit. "[If you require aid getting out, I offer to assist you.]" No, that would not be enough. One last thing, a minor warning in return for their shared history.
"[However, when you leave this pit, I intend to fight you. Please prepare yourself.]" There, the words happily chirped and her mouth twisted into what soft-skins called a smile.
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Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920
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Post by Darky on May 5, 2019 5:15:08 GMT -6
[ Sure thing, technically Haix gets to go first on attacking anyway, since of the higher dex, so story-wise it works out x3 ]
The sore groan didn't last long, enough for when the sphinx tried to sit up the first time, only to feel the stiff blade at her back both an obstacle and aching annoyance (something she'd need to remember for future reference now). Groan was replaced with a sigh, her laying down again, eyes skyward, and the thought-train pulled itself back onto rails, speeding trough several stops on this strange circumstance - She was in a hole; It was a man-made hole (the marks on the walls, the sudden depth); A man-made hole was usually meant to trap beasts; But she had also been on a path, a trail, an overgrown one, but still; A man-made hole to trap things on a person-traveled trajectory..?
The thought-train screeched on emergency breaks, her face suddenly having a deep confused frown, just seconds before something was heard beyond her predicamented pit, another screeching, of a kind, short and repetitive - A laugh. This time around the body and mind were both well on the same track and she rolled over her side and onto her feet, scanning the pit's edge where the sound had come from. It didn't take long for a face to appear to the sound, a ssashirk it seemed. Except, it was unfortunately a familiar one.
Darky's face showed mostly a slight frown of confusion, burying the unease that suddenly shot through her from outside view, but unable to banish it from the pit of her stomach. If ever a past could have come back to haunt her, this was the least likely way she could have ever anticipated.
"[ I'm fine.. ]" she replied, voice perhaps a little more careful than intended. 'Not meant to harm' had a strange sound to it, a confirmation of intent, but not intention. And when it came to all the various options of that, well.. The past was pretty brightly crimson in that.
Slowly, she stood to her height then, eyes leaving the ssashirk only long enough to take measure of her earthen semi-prison, measuring depth, angle, options. They darted right on back to her when the offer of assistance was made, the consideration and pause perhaps a little longer than comfortable as she tried to figure out what the proverbial (second) trap in that situation could be (for it all felt weirdly coincidental). "[ No need, ]" she replied after that, walking to one of the pit sides not facing the ssashrik, "[ I can manage on my own. ]" Best be safer than sorry, until she could know more what the deal here was. Hands and elbows lifted to the edge, she hoisted herself up and forward, gaining enough center of balance to bring up a foot next and get out.
The foot got halfway, pausing on the edge of the hole as the mammalian froze at the last few words. Keeping a grip on the edge, her head shot back, searching the ssashirk's face for irony, not really finding it. "[ ..Why? ]" she asked, but it was a redundant question. Because you've pissed her off once already, her own brain shot back. A brief blink, then a sudden quick motion upwards and a roll forwards brought her out of the pit and onto her feet. She spun back around to face the ssashirk, hands raised in a placated manner, "[ Whatever it is I did to insult you, it wont be worth it. You don't need to fight me. ]"
It was worth a try, even if it didn't sound all too convincing even to herself.
( Darky does a Climb~ )
(2)
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Post by Alma on May 5, 2019 16:53:55 GMT -6
Slow and steady were the movements of the beastkin in the pit, seeming to give lie to the claim of being 'fine'. The rejection of her offered aid was a good sign, one that spoke of some form of pride or remaining strength. Then came the question. One word, a simple question that Haix was unsure as to what to answer with. Did soft-skins understand such things here, or had they hidden behind beasts and their hive of metal and stone for so long? Or perhaps their kind never had. Then, a blink later, the problem of answering the question was gone, the blur of the beastkin's movements confirming that it's earlier claim of being well was truthful. Any worry she might have had vanished as she skipped backwards, cursed dagger slipping free of the sheath as she prepared to meet the soft-skins not so soft attack with a flare of frills and- More words. Bewildered by the lack of an attack when the beastkin had been smart enough to distract her with a question, Haix let the words be spoken without so much as a swing of her dagger. A longer string of words than she had expected too, the stance of the beastkin tense but placating. Key, no she was sure there was more to the name than that, spoke of some unknown insult, following it up in the same breath with one. There was no time to stretch her memory back to the few times she could recall encountering the beastkin, no time to feel anything more than mild amusement at the following insult that she was not worth fighting, before Key, or was it Barkey, said exactly the one thing she had expected of a soft-skin to say.
She was disappointed. Perhaps the insult was still purposeful, the beastkin somehow knowing just how little skill she had with the dagger. The still sheathed sword, the show of speed, these suggested a creature confident that their opponent was no true threat. Such an insult would have set the beginnings of the fight perfectly, if it had been intentional. But if the accidental insults of soft-skins managed to pierce her scales, she would have met her fate years ago.
"[Not a matter of insults,]" a laugh here, accepting the words in good cheer, hoping they were not merely accidental, "[though it might be one of need.]" A head tilt to one side, then the other, as if waiting for the beastkin to draw the blade before attacking. Already she had spoken for far longer than she had planned to, dagger held tightly in one hand, waiting for a hint of the too-quick movement her opponent had shown before. "[ I will strive to make it worth it.]" And as the last words hissed past her teeth, losing none of her good cheer, Haix lunged forward, stabbing downward at legs of her opponent. No more time for idle chatter, not now if she planned to make her words true.
((Lizard takes a stab at combat. Rolled a 4.))
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Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920
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Post by Darky on May 8, 2019 12:49:30 GMT -6
( *attempting to replicate the stat-speak of rolls~* )
The fact Haix hadn't made that immediate move on her the second she leapt out of the pit almost gave her hope that perhaps the whole fight talk was a bluff of some kind, to unsettle or unease or just plain trick her into.. something. Whatever madness all this was meant to be for, in any case. But what followed up, all this being a 'need', of 'worth', just left way too much to unpack in those spare few seconds she had to realize that this was for real, not a trick, and definitely not something she could just talk herself out of.
She really was going to go for her, the sphinx realized, as the dagger flashed forwards with a hungry flame trailing it.
Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps a habit born out of training more than a few dragon- or lizard-like things that more often than not wanted to bite her head off (well, those were mostly just the sarane, but the point stood), but something kicked in on autopilot in the seconds the ssashirk closed in. Her knees bent, tail extended for balance and the center of her gravity swooped itself opposite of the ssashirk's swing, sending her into a tumble and a roll along the dirt path once, coming to a stop back on her feet and staring pretty dumbfounded by default at what was now her 'foe'. It wasn't quite outside the safety of the swing, and nowhere near as advantageous as it could have been, but it was impulse that made her dodge not intent.
And impulse that suddenly made her rush forward, leg coming up to swing into the ssashirk's side, hoping to stagger her for some breathing room between them. The rational mind would have argued it made no sense to fight without a cause, but the adrenaline was already rushing and it was a split-moment decision - either punch or be punched, at least until the ssashirk still had that dagger trained on her.
Still, as much of her rational mind as could be mustered resisted grabbing for the sword just yet. Her training with the warriors of home was basic, but deep rooted. Deep enough that she wasn't going to draw blood first if she could help it.
(3)
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Post by Alma on May 8, 2019 15:09:29 GMT -6
(Just going to copy you.) For all her speed, the beastkin was faster, rolling to safety as Haix brought down the cursed dagger into nothing more substantial than air. She struggled to catch herself, to thwart her own momentum so as to keep facing the beastkin. She was still turning when she saw the beastkin lash out with it's heel, what little practice she had done earlier enough to make her try to step out of the way.
It was not enough. The heel of the beastkin solidly smacked into her scaled side, the ssashirk staggering back a pace from the force of the strike as her breath escaped from her in a whumph. Surprised, a quick wheeze to draw the lost air back into her lungs, she froze for a heartbeat as she stared at the beastkin with wide eyes. She ran her free hand over her side, the scales almost seeming to throb under her claws. In the span of a second there was shock, surprise that she had finally gotten her fight, the reminder of pain. Then nothing but fierce joy, the pain receding from her mind as barking laughter tore its way free of her throat. "[Good!]" she screeched through a sharp-toothed grin, bending her knees into almost a crouch as she screeched "[Again!]".
She wanted to see exactly why the soft-skin was so confident that it would not even draw it's blade against her. And she wanted just the slightest taste of it's blood before it showed her.
Flaring her frills in a riot of color, she sprang at the beastkin with the knife, both seeking to quench it's burning blade in any part of the soft-skin she could reach as to entice Barkey to draw it's own blade. She was not sure which outcome she longed for more at that moment, nor did she care.
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Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920
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Post by Darky on May 9, 2019 14:08:06 GMT -6
( *whoops, forgot to write in damage type on attack in that first post, not that it matters so much this fight* x3; )
On the scale of things going as intended, this was reaching rock bottom. She'd gotten her spare few seconds of breathing room as hoped, as the ssashirk staggered and seemed almost as surprised about the hit as she was, but then things got weirder. What Darky had hoped would be a hit to keep Haix back, perhaps make her reconsider the fight, turned into riotous glee and something that could at best be called a frenzy. She stared wider as the ssashirk seemed to bolster, frills flashing out and jaw all grins and teeth. How was this a good thing?!
Then the seconds of respite won were suddenly up and that blade was coming right at her again, her mind tumbling over reaction and contemplation of what even was going on. She should have been moving a solid second before she did, going into her own crouch to dodge aside again, a roll in the grass further away from the pit. There was a sudden sense of pressure somewhere on her lower side, towards the back, and then as she finished the roll on her feet, twisting around to face her opponent again, her expression suddenly grimaced from the motion, a pained gasp escaping as red-hot pain lanced through. Pain and a sensation she had never known personally, but had a few times felt through another by way of empathy - Burning. Her eyes flicked from ssashirk to the dagger, to the pale red wisps coming off of it. A fire dagger.
Gods damned.
A grit of teeth, a set of her jaw and the grimace was pushed down, replaced by a new sense of determination. One hand on her side, held over the part of her jacket charred and seeping darker by the second, she took a breath, then suddenly rushed in again, the foot opposite of the wound coming up, ready to strike but this time aiming much higher than before, looking to clock the head. Hit or miss, when the maneuver was done she quickly backed up a few steps, free hand reaching over and behind her, a metallic sound ringing through the air as she drew the scimitar.
Blade on blade it was, then.
(4)
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Post by Alma on May 9, 2019 18:50:06 GMT -6
The blade sinks into something firmer than thin air for but a moment, and it's all Haix can do to keep the blade from being torn from her hand as the beastkin rolls from the strike. There is no bright spray of blood in the air, but she can smell it, see it bubbling and blackeningon the burning edge of the dagger as it hungrily consumed it. The dagger is raised, held above her open jaws as a few drops of the steaming blood drips off it's edge, and her eyes focus somewhere off in the distance as the warm coppery taste floods her mouth. "[Thank you.]" she murmurs, sparing the injured 'Barkey' only a momentary glance, the pained gasp ignored.
Perhaps not the best decision to forget one's foes in the middle of a fight, certainly not one she would have made in the youth she was remembering.
So the kick, though it should have been expected, surprises her yet again, her body swaying to avoid the strike even as it smashed her jaws shut with a loud click of teeth and sent her reeling into the thorny bushes, head and body twisting from the force of it. It is only the press of the bushes that keeps her upright, her body swaying as her eyes rapidly blink in an attempt to focus. A shake of the head in a final attempt to clear her daze, a swallow of blood that no longer was only the beastkins as the pain in her tongue told her, was all she had time for before a sound cut through her dazed state, a rasping noise that warned and excited her equally.
Her balance still unsure, her eyes nevertheless found the beastkin's. "[Finally,]" she chirped out with a laugh, launching herself with the dagger held high in hopes of drawing a little more of the beastkin's blood before her own was spilled.
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Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920
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Post by Darky on May 10, 2019 9:15:27 GMT -6
As she drew back, sword out, there was a face, an expression that flittered across her determined hard stare for but a moment, that could have simply been summed up as 'oh, ew'. Really? Blood? Was that what this was about? Cathàn she could understand, he was a primal beast with not exactly the most shining degree of intelligence (but more than made up with his sheer sense of relentless determination to the point of his own detriment).. but a humanoid acting as wild uneased her. The expression passed when another surge of pain reminded her the wound was still very much there and definitely in need of attention if she ever made it out of this.
[ You're welcome, ] the sphinx replied, dead-flat, her face a stoic mask hiding the rest of her thoughts. It was nothing short of sarcastic, in truth, but perhaps a fair bit ironic in the post-jaw-smash-with-foot maneuver. Still, all the hits to side and head, the ssashirk wasn't giving up and already she looked dead-ready to pounce again.
Darky stood her ground this time, watched, waited, and steadied her uneven breathing into a measured pace, eyes never leaving the opponent. Slowly the pain receded in her mind, pushed back, shoved even, to a part labelled "not right now", as the adrenaline full and truly kicked in. When the dagger came down at her, her free hand came up, releasing the wound, and caught the blade itself. Fire sizzled her fur and skin, a honed edge digging deeply into the palm as crimson began seeping out, but her face merely had a small twitch of the mouth escape as the two were dead-locked. Then, a sudden rush into and under the ssashirk's guard, dagger blade released in the same moment the scimitar came up to slash across her foe's front in her passing, ending with breaking free and backing off a few steps. The free hand's elbow awkwardly held against the side, trying to keep the side wound closed, but the palm's bleeding didn't seem to bother nearly as much. The scimitar, however, remained raised between them.
(5)
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Post by Alma on May 10, 2019 15:32:46 GMT -6
The sarcasm was lost on Haix, and any reaction she might have had to them was lost in the next instant as the dagger cut down through the air, down at the beastkin's unprotected body, and then-
It caught the dagger. The beastkin had caught the cursed dagger!
Eyes wide with disbelief met those of the beastkin, the scent of burning fur and flesh wafting through the air as the first tug of the dagger failed to free it. The second try saw the ssashirk yanking on the blade with as much strength as she could muster and sent her falling backwards into the throns as the blade was released. She did not see the much larger blade flicked out at her at the same time, did not feel it as it cut into her chest and sliced a neat, bloody furrow. What she felt first was the warmth, free hand reaching to press against the wound, then to be held up to her face as if to inspect it.
Then the pain came, all the sharper for having been denied. The blood lust faded, frills no longer fully erect as she remembered what was to come next was no more playing, no more dancing around with blades and pain. She took a shuddering breath, and the other pains came to her, the pounding of her jaw as if it was fighting to free itself from her head, burning patches on her legs where the lucky thorns had dug into the scales, the dull throb of her side intensifying with the sawing pain racing against her chest as she inhaled. And laughed, her stance relaxed despite the myriad pains parading across her body. "[Impressive,]" she chirped, gesturing with her dagger to the beastkin's injured hand, the other hand running down her own throat to rest at the seeping wound. A hint where to strike next if the beastkin needed it, though she would not be so crass as to suggest it aloud. "[The cut less so. Do better.]"
The hand dropped, and Haix sprang at the beastkin again, some grace lost as she nearly tripped on a thorny branch, but no less eager despite the blade it held out between them. Perhaps more so because of it. |
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Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920
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Post by Darky on May 10, 2019 16:42:00 GMT -6
There was a certain degree of internal rejoice on seeing the ssashirk's baffled face when she grabbed the dagger, perhaps enough to have pushed the pain away from her mind. But it was all right back to it again when the other recovered, stumbling but still standing and no less worse for morale. Worse so, whatever it was she was doing was only bolstering the ssashirk's resolve. It seemed impossible to get under her skin, to even crack that frenzy much less breaking it. More and more this was beginning to look like a very single-solution ending..
It was true, the maneuver was executed with well practiced measure, but the cut itself had been sloppy. Blame it on her wounds, blame it on the swirling thoughts still trying to make sense of this situation inside her noggin, or blame it on the fact this was the first time she had ever cut a living thing in her life.. One was more likely a culprit than the other.
While Haix spoke, the sphinx was all the more glad there was ample distraction for her in inspecting the wounds, because the initial rush of adrenaline was beginning to fade and sooner or later the cost of palming the dagger would come around to ask its searing due. Why even do that? That wasn't something she ever trained to do! It was stupid, not tactical at all! The 'lung would give her an earful later.. She could have done better, true, but then..
The ssashirk came at her again, but this time the blade was ready and waiting, coming up flat to quickly catch the dagger's swing and deflect it away from herself with a bit of a wrist-worked flourish. "[ It's true. The cut wasn't the best, ]" Darky admitted, talking so as to distract herself from the adrenaline crash that was retaking her system with pain again. This time the palm did begin to hurt like a monster. "[ But neither was yours. If I'm to do better, so should you. ]"
A definitive part of her was asking all manner of questions along the lines of 'what the ever gods-loving do you think you're doing' and 'your plan is to make her more eager to kill us?'. Truth was she was heavily improvising, trying to poke and prod proverbially as well as literally, and hope to not have to deal with that single-solution option. "[ What do the junglefolk have to show of skill? Show me! ]" and she made a short leap forwards, scimitar swinging left, down and cutting through the air upwards to the right.
(6)
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Post by Alma on May 10, 2019 18:18:52 GMT -6
The strike deflected, Haix recoils with the dagger in hand. The vibration of blade on blade shoots up her arm, nearly causing her to drop the cursed blade, but she can't drop it yet. The words of the beastkin hang in the air a moment, from admittance of the poor quality of the cut to Haix's own lack of skill. Which she could not dispute, not with how the beastkin still stood before her.
The second set of words she had no chance to answer before the blade carved into her, dragging upward until it scraped across her ribs and ripped out of her hide, just short of the first cut.
"[Not. Not jungle.]" A grin, or a twitching attempt at one. "[And never. Never. Never skilled. At fight.]" A laugh turned into a wheeze followed the clipped words, the gasped breaths between them give lie to the easy smile she struggles to maintain. Her free hand presses over the torn flesh of her belly, mind fighting to keep her body straight as it tries to curl in on itself. Her gut is burning as if the cursed dagger had been plunged into it, and she has to look carefully at her hand to make sure the weapon is still held away from her body. It's almost funny that for all the warm blood spilling from her now, for the heat shimmering in the air from the dagger, that she feels so cold now. At least her gut could keep her warm with the fire burning there.
Shaking her head, trying to force her disjointed thoughts back in order, the smile flickers. Is it enough? With all of her strength seeping from her to the ground in a puddle, taunted by a soft-skin? No. She is still standing, so she must still fight. Slowly, painfully, she forces her body to straighten, dagger held tightly though she is not sure she can feel it in her grasp anymore. Her frills raise, and she lunges for what she is sure will be the last time, flailing wildly with the dagger.
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Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920
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Post by Darky on May 12, 2019 6:46:47 GMT -6
Just give up, the sphinx thought to herself, staring the ssashirk down as the inevitable solution loomed ever closer and closer like a dark, smothering shadow, Just let us stop this, enough is enough. But it wasn't, not by the ssashirk's standards, not by whatever elusive reason had brought them together on this day that Haix continued to allude to, but refused to say outright. There was reason to the madness, unless the reason itself was madness - the ssashirk knew, Darky realized with a morbid understanding, she understood that her chances in this battle weren't good, and yet she initiated it and refused to give in. Completely illogical, unless..
.. unless it never was about winning. About walking away.
The sphinx's expression changed at those words, so rather than a steely determination trying to hide pain, it softened into one of compassion, of seeing the ssashirk's staggering attempt to keep going and mourning it. It probably was never about her to begin with, the encounter perhaps a lot more coincidence than her own fear-riddled mind had allowed her to realize.
When the dagger came at her, it's arc was slow and angle wouldn't have likely hit her regardless, the scimitar rising to more brush it aside than to strike at it. The bleeding hand was held closed to put at least some pressure onto the wound and her side had more or less gone numb (a blessing even if it probably wasn't a good sign overall). "[ I don't think I understand, ]" Darky began, lowering the scimitar to just be at her side, "[ I may never. But I told you once already - this isn't the desert. ]" Her right foot moved behind her, front body lowering an inch or two for the build-up as mournful eyes searched and tried to stay on Haix's gaze, "[ And I am not your butcher. ]" Then, her body twisted, leg coming up to send a kick into the middle of the body.
(7)
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Post by Alma on May 12, 2019 13:27:02 GMT -6
Something changes. It is hard for her to notice it, but something about the beastkin's look seems to shift as she watches, as the dagger is deflected almost absently. The first she notices of it is when the larger blade is lowered, the final strike she has been waited for denied. Barely standing, she nevertheless prepares for another stumbling lunge, to force the beastkin to raise the blade in defense if nothing else as it speaks. The words mean nothing, less than nothing to her. She does not need it to understand. She does not care if it does, but she will make it understand that it has to finish the fight, that there is only one outcome. Then the last sentence is spoken.
All pretense at good nature fled from her in an instant at the beastkin's final words, the wide-eyed look, the jaws slightly parted as the ssashirk visibly recoils, head tucking back on her neck, was not one of surprise or joy but absolute horror. There is a moment she might have debased herself, might have, for the first time in her life, begged a soft-skin for something as if she were little more than a newly-hatched slave, but she is saved from it by the kick that slams into her.
It hits with the sound of branch falling on boggy ground, of a stone swung into already wet flesh, nearly the same spot as her belly wound. There are no thoughts at first, nothing but the boiling pain of her gut as she falls backwards into the thorns, her body breaking the shrub's branches as it's stronger thorns tore away at her scales. The pain does not recede, but she surfaces above it, words and images, memories and thoughts fighting for recognition. The first is that this has to be enough, that she cannot even bring her limbs to obey her, a convulsion crushing more of the branches the best she can manage as she tries to stand. The second is that the dagger is gone from her claws, she knows not when she lost it, that she can only hope it has fallen far enough that it will not feed on her. The third is the same as the first, that this has to be enough, that, despite the words of the beastkin, it has finished it's part.
She can't croak out the proper prayers, struggles to choke out word as pain rips through her belly as if the soft-skin had changed it's mind. She has no words for it whether or not it has. "Ya'sog. Ctliaasyu. Jotl." The last word of the chant is spat out with a mix of pain and spite, Haix unable to suppress the shudder passing through her body. Tries to keep her eyes open as the white-darkness crawls over them, realizes they are open. Did the soft-skin change it's mind? She can't feel her hands, can't draw the appropriate runes with her blood. Would the insects still find her and colonize her bones, spiral through her heart as they must? Would it be enough? "Ya'sog," she softly cries one more time as her limbs seem to dissolve unfeelingly into numb nothingness, then, addled with pain and fear, speaks a few recognizable words in Saakash, not so much an appeal as those before it but a call. "Ka'in" is first, which could literally be taken to mean 'female-owned', a meaning at odds with the tenderness with which she hisses it. A breath, a near giggle, one last inhale as her body curls around the belly wound, pain already seeming so distant. "[Mud-gill]" she amends with her last wheeze, unable to hold onto her thoughts any longer, sinking into the light-dark before her. Enough. Let it be enough.
((If you'd like to consider this the end of the roleplay, let me know.)) |
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