The Bishop and the King [Someith vs Dustyn Day 7]
Nov 21, 2015 12:11:37 GMT -5
Post by Kire on Nov 21, 2015 12:11:37 GMT -5
drains and spills, soaks the pages, fills their sponges
Third Person, First Person, Says, Thinks
He walked with the beginning signs of satiation touching his insides. Finally, he had killed a tribute. All of his waving around during large fights - distraction and fear embodied - while letting others do the work for him, all of the swiping at mutts and attacking the backs of fleeing foes. Now he had true blood on his hands, albeit the blood of the last of his girls. With all three of them now dead he had no real ties to anyone. The thought was freeing.
Beretta and Dustyn still resided in the arena somewhere, but there was no draw to hunt them down and kill them - not yet anyway. He shared a grin with his crocodile, her crooked teeth gleaming almost as much as his own smile did.
His feet directed him toward the basalt columns, thinking of returning to the cabin where he had found Annora those few days ago. There was a figure on the path, and the hair was unmistakable. Dustyn. Seemingly, he hadn't had to hunt after all. There was one of his last connections, and once more he would turn on them. The grin on his face was cut short as Crocaibell let out a shrill hiss. His head snapped to his companion, seeing with interest that she was beginning to fall apart like whatever power had held her form together was now gone. A surprising disappointment clawed at him as she vanished.
The disappointment erased what satisfaction he had had after killing Annora. Now he just wanted blood, and Dustyn was the one in range. The look on his face was horrible, dark and brutal, as he stalked over to where the boy was. Without a word, he plucked a knife from his belt and tossed it.
Beretta and Dustyn still resided in the arena somewhere, but there was no draw to hunt them down and kill them - not yet anyway. He shared a grin with his crocodile, her crooked teeth gleaming almost as much as his own smile did.
His feet directed him toward the basalt columns, thinking of returning to the cabin where he had found Annora those few days ago. There was a figure on the path, and the hair was unmistakable. Dustyn. Seemingly, he hadn't had to hunt after all. There was one of his last connections, and once more he would turn on them. The grin on his face was cut short as Crocaibell let out a shrill hiss. His head snapped to his companion, seeing with interest that she was beginning to fall apart like whatever power had held her form together was now gone. A surprising disappointment clawed at him as she vanished.
The disappointment erased what satisfaction he had had after killing Annora. Now he just wanted blood, and Dustyn was the one in range. The look on his face was horrible, dark and brutal, as he stalked over to where the boy was. Without a word, he plucked a knife from his belt and tossed it.
[Attacks Dustyn | Throwing Dirks]
bsjJ5t2kthrowing knife
Shallow Cut on Hand -- 3.0 damage
bsjJ5t2kthrowing knife
Shallow Cut on Hand -- 3.0 damage