View Full Version : Istas vs Mittens [Auki & KillaKittyofDoom]
Istas the Griffin (http://role-player.net/forum/showpost.php?p=416526&postcount=3)
Mittens the Numean Lion (http://role-player.net/forum/showpost.php?p=419569&postcount=5)
A large arena with rocky cliff faces for walls. The land terrian is bare dirt for the most part, with mismatched rocks scattered over it. A circular body of water with a diameter of 100 metres is the only other feature and is situated in the centre.
Istas shifted uncomfortably as he caught sight of his opponent, the vast distance between them obscuring the details of his enemy. They stood at opposite ends, their starting position at the top of the cliffs that encircled the large arena. By straining his eyes, he could make out the ground below them, a dusty plain dotted with jagged boulders at regular intervals as though lain out specially by the arena directors. The pool in the middle seemed out of place against the barren landscape but Istas was not concentrating on that; his only thoughts were how to use such things to his advantage.
He was trying his best to stay serious, to focus, despite the sunlight glaring in his eyes. His calm façade was shattered as the announcer called out his opponent’s name.
It seemed like a sick joke. Istas wanted to laugh but a second glance at the Numean Lion, strong muscles tensed for action, caused the noise to catch in his throat. He felt like a sparrow challenging an eagle but he hurriedly convinced himself it was all in his head.
He had to stay calm.
He had to keep his nerves.
A low growl rose within him as he shifted his weight forward, ready to leap as the announcer began to count down, the beginning of the match approaching. He was a Griffin, king of the sky and the land. He refused to tremble over some over-grown cat. The bell rang out. The fight was beginning.
Istas made sure to be the first to move; he was smaller and sleeker than his opponent was and at the moment, that might be all he had as an advantage. The icy air that accompanied such an altitude, as the one at which they stood, whipped his fur back as he lunged himself off the cliff edge. He skidded down the rocky wall for a few moments, talons and claws controlling the pace at which he slid before he used his powerful back legs to propel himself off and into flight.
A majestic cry, mimicking that of an eagle, came from his beak, slicing through the crowd’s silence. His wings were outstretched to their maximum as he used the wind’s current to his advantage, dipping down slightly before curving upwards, sending himself higher than his enemy at an alarming speed.
12-17-2010, 01:07 PM
The First thing Mittens noticed was the noise of the crowd, long before he saw the light of the arena at the end of the tunnel he heard the roar of the countless people amassed for the fight. He looked forward to giving them a show, as far as Mittens was concerned he was their king in waiting and was ready to become a legend in this the very first fight in the new arena.
Mittens contemplated his strategy as he approached the gate to the main fighting pit, if the opponent was strong he would come at it from above and rip out it's jugular, if they were quick mittens would smash it with his powerful limbs. Mittens could see no scenario where he could lose, then again he had thought that when he fought Hercules.
As Mittens padded into the arena, the gate to the outside world crashing down below him with a sickening crash signaling the fact that Mittens couldn't come back until the unfortunate beast on the other side was dead. Mittens was far from worried as he moved onto a rocky ledge overlooking the barren wasteland kicking lose stones over the edge of the sheer cliff face, the rocks and cliff faces of the arena bisected by a small lake in the middle of the arena.
Mittens eyed his opponent with a quizzical disdain, form this distance the griffin looked awfully small and flimsy. Mittens could picture the poor creatures wings buckling under the weight of Mittens powerful strikes. Mittens felt massively confident that his strength and power would win the day and he could go home to a big juicy Zebra leg.
The announcer began to count down and Mittens bristled with excitement playing to the crowd bristling his fur and extending his wings, the golden feathers shining in the hot sun. A cool wind blew through the noble lion's mane promising easy flight and the promise of a great fight.
Mittens' adrenaline rose to a fever pitch as the announcer signaled the start of the match. Mittens began to pound towards the edge of the cliff kicking up clouds of dust around his monstrous feet needing a huge run up to take off with his great bulk. To Mittens' surprise Istas was able to take off and rise in the air much quicker than him, his smaller size carrying easily on the wind .
A brilliant shriek filled the air as the great griffin took to the skies, it silenced the crowd and would intimidate a lesser foe but a far greater thunder rumbled within the throat of the Lion who punctuated his take of with a shattering roar as he took to the sky on his golden wings. The low bestial roar was so loud that it cracked the very rock that Mittens' had taken off from.
Mittens began his flight well underneath his opponent and furiously pounded the air with his wings to rise up to level of griffin. The air whipped past the face of lion as he rose, his great bulk weighing heavily on the joints of his wings flexing his claws with anticipation of the soft flesh of the griffin above.
Mittens felt the urge to attack form beneath with a jet of red hot flame but reasoned that it would be best to save his secret weapon for later in the match. As Mittens rose he looked below and saw the jagged rocks protruding like daggers from the earth itself. Mittens made a mental note that if a crash landing was necessary only the small lake was an option, a very small margin for error indeed.
Mittens let out another roar as he approached his soaring target. Istas looked much more impressive up close, the beak like a deadly axe and the lithe frame of the griffin perfect for flight and agility. This would be a closer fight than the Nemean lion had anticipated. Mittens opened his massive jaws as he closed in on his prey his teeth gleaming in the hot sun.
The roar that reverberated through the arena sent icy shivers down Istas’ back. His eyes darted feverishly between his opponent and the rock from which he took off, thick cracks webbed across it simply from the noise he had made. He could feel himself sweating; it burned at his skin with each gust of chilled air that whipped across his body. He was glad no one could notice his reaction. He had to remind himself that it was only he who could hear the blood pumping in his ears. His throat had gone dry, causing the ice-cold wind to sting as it entered his lungs.
The way in which the lion moved was different to what Istas had seen before. He would not call it to be particularly elegant nor agile. There were no fancy tricks, no unnecessary swoops or rolls mid-air. Yet with each stroke of its powerful wings, he could feel the air ripple past him, a tribute to the muscles that powered his opponent.
It was becoming apparent to Istas that his strength was out-matched. One direct hit from those paws and that might be the end of him; no more hope of fighting back than a reed might have against a hurricane. It might have sounded over-dramatic but Istas could already feel himself trembling at the thought. He was lacking the adrenaline rush he would have normally forced himself into by now. The thrill and the excitement that usually flowed through him were paling with each burst of air that washed over him, displaced by the massive beast below.
He found himself slowly circling higher, trying to remain forever out of reach from its claws as he pictured how mutilated his corpse might look after the lion had had its way.
It was a mistake to lose concentration.
Istas seemed to have underestimated the speed at which the lion was moving, shocked to find him only a couple meters away and lunging at him, mouth wide to reveal two lines of glinting teeth, easily capable of ripping him to shreds given the time. It was an instinctive reaction, fuelled by the fear mulling in his stomach, to launch himself to the left as far from the enemy as possible.
The success of his manoeuvre was limited. Although he prevented the lion from getting a hold of him, he could not fully dodge the attack, screeching as the flesh of his right thigh was ripped through. Although not deep enough to reach the muscle, the length of the wound was enough to compensate. The pain that rushed through Istas’ mind seemed to block out the section keeping him airborne. His wings went still in shock.
He lashed out at the lion with his talons as he fell past, an attempted distraction for those few seconds whilst he tried to remember how to fly.
12-18-2010, 12:35 AM
Mittens could feel the wind rushing past his wings as he flew toward Istas' soft tender underbelly, Mittens salivated in anticipation of the sweet belly meat of his target. Mittens was disappointed though when the griffin made a deft swoop to the left narrowly avoiding the fatality of Mittens' lunge. Istas had not completely avoided the Lion's mighty jaws however as Mittens mouth filled with the sweet metallic taste of his quarry's blood. He had skimmed the left thigh of the Griffin and cut a small gash but hadn't immobilized the leg.
Mitten's joy was short lived as the taste of his opponents blood and the sweet elation it brought was replaced with a burning pain on his back as the Istas had struck back at Mittens before going into free fall. The talons rent a meter across the skin on his back leaving long bleeding wounds across the hide of the Lion that would leave scars, marring Mittens' otherwise flawless coat.
The crowed had roared a ferocious cheer with both strikes, clearly interested in nothing more than the blood of the two combatants. Mittens was filled with rage and a desire to give them their wish as the cold air whipped past his face stinging his eyes, his powerful wing beats thumping the air as he kept himself airbourne.
Mittens roared in pain and anger as the talons rent through the flesh on his back before wheeling around to chase Istas and inflict as much pain as possible on the creature that dared sully his coat.
Mittens pounded his wings furiously as he tried to gain speed to catch up with the falling Griffin eager to end the fight before more damage was done to his coat and pride. Mittens had however learned the listen to avoid the razor sharp talons on Istas' fore leg as they were just as keen as his own wickedly sharp claws.
Mittens surveyed the area below the two combatants, is was the table top of the cliff that Istas had launched from. From the height of the two combatants Mittens judged the distance as non fatal. Mittens began to maneuver himself above the falling Griffin before tucking his wings behind his rippling mane and began to torpedo towards the falling Griffin hoping to take the fight to the ground where Mittens strength would become a great advantage.
The world spun beneath him at a dizzying rate, crashing towards him uncontrollably. He tried his best to keep calm but his heart was in his mouth. How long until they realised he was not diving, but falling? It would be a dent to his pride he would never live down. Griffins were the masters of the sky. He didn’t even notice his blood-dipped talons nor the thundering roar of the lion above him as he spiralled down, attempting to jump-start his brain.
It happened every time he saw blood for the first time in a battle. His nerves would snap and his mind would go blank. Normally, he could regain his focus after a few moments of panic but the seconds were passing and his thoughts were becoming no more coherent. He thought the air slapping against his face might wake his brain up but it seemed to disorientate him even more. The crowd was doing nothing to help.
They screamed their excitement from all sides as he struggled to catch his bearings. The searing pain of his thigh refused to let up, the wind aggravating it with each whip of icy air it threw his way. The flat rock from which Istas had begun the fight lay directly below him, the cliff edge that dropped into the rest of the arena metres to his left. He tried to angle himself that way but the wind was blowing fiercely in the opposite direction. In blind panic, his muscles began to move involuntarily, drawing upon an innate knowledge he was unaware of himself.
There was no option of trying to stop or slow himself, the lion behind him quickly gaining the distance between and seeming ready to happily crush his bones. The only other option he had was impossible - He would never be able to pull out of the nose dive unharmed this close to the ground. That didn’t stop his body making the attempt, trying to drag itself parallel to the ground that was rapidly closing in.
Given an extra few metres, Istas may have survived unscathed. He was not so lucky however.
His legs scraped across the ground as he pulled up, throwing him off balance. His right wing buckled as an unseen boulder clipped its edge and he soon found himself rolling across the ground, clouds of dusts being kicked up at each impact with the dirt. Although he had managed to fold his wings in at his side in time to prevent them being broken, his entire body felt heavily bruised. An attempt to stand brought an agonised cry when he tried to put weight upon his damaged hind leg.
If there was one thing he was certain of, he needed to get back in the air as quickly as possible. He could see the cliff edge from where he was, only a couple dozen metres away. He began to gallop towards it as quickly as he was able, limping heavily on his right. It was perhaps a naïve wish he held that he might reach the edge before the lion managed to land.
12-18-2010, 12:58 PM
Mittens' mighty jaws began to salivate as the ground and his prey rushed towards him, his wings were bent at his sides to maximize the speed and force of his free fall. Mittens went within himself to a plane of instinct and innate hunting skills from the untold millennia of hunting that the Nemean line had to it's name. Mittens' family were born killers, they had feasted on Krakens, fought gods and plucked furys clean from the air with a swipe of thier vicious claws, the Griffin would be just another in a long line to be crushed under the king of beasts tremendous weight.
Mittens prepared to land, square on top of where Istas would crash down, the foolish Griffin trying to pull out of the death spiral that would bring him to his doom. Mittens however had miscalculated the flying skill of his opponent thinking of his capabilities as parallel to his own, This arrogant underestimation of his prey proved costly to the great lion as to his surprise Istas was able to swoop to slightly left of where Mittens had anticipated landing in an awkward roll and scrabbling to the cliff edge to take off again where his agility would prevail over Mittens' strength.
Mittens tried to adjust his fall to the left to compensate for Istas' movement in a last ditch attempt to end the fight with this flying tackle before feasting on his prey but it was to no avail. Mittens was to heavy and traveling to fast to pull himself towards the fleeing Griffin. The Momentum of Mittens' free fall left him only one outcome, a crash landing. If Mittens was able to calm down and think rationally he would have pulled up and come to a land before chasing after Istas on foot. Mitten's however was in the realm of bestial instinct, intent only revenge for his back and meat for his belly so he attempted to move after the Griffin giving his wings one final beat to the left.
The first thing Mittens felt was a sickening crunch and a sharp pain on his left side as he fell with his full weight upon his mighty wing snapping the bone and rendering him crippled and unable to fly. Mittens lay with a cloud of dust kicked into the air by the landing of the great lion settling all about him, blood was seeping from small cuts along his left side.
Mittens eager to save face picked himself onto four legs, his wing crumpled in a mess tucked up to his left side in an attempt to save any further damage to the great limb that would heal in time, provided the lion could survive the rest of the fight. Mittens looked dead at the griffin opening its jaws and bellowing a great roar and challenge to Istas. Mittens goading Istas into settling the fight on the ground would be his only hope now with only one good wing fit only to be used as a clubbing appendage without its crippled twin.
Mittens still had one weapon he could rely on to settle the fight, if only he could get the griffin within range.
It was an agonising run towards the edge that Istas faced, each step sending pain blazing down his hind legs. He was still young at heart and fighting through agony was not something he was used to. A small part of him wanted to curl up behind a rock and hope for the best. He could feel the shadow of his enemy over him, like a mouse before it got swept away by the hawk. He could almost hear the squeak of panic bubbling in his throat.
The pain he anticipated never came however. Instead, his ears were met with a crunch that reverberated across the cliff top, so loud Istas felt himself wincing at it. Curiosity made the griffin turn around to see what had happened. His reaction to the sight that met him was a mixture of shock and relief. Surprise that the lion had suffered himself such a dire injury and gratitude that he had not been killed in those last few minutes like he had been expecting.
Istas sniffed at the air tentatively, flinching at the metallic scent of blood that wafted his way. He paced to the left cautiously, sharp eyes catching the minute details of each injury with infallible precision but even as his fear abated, he was left with circumspection; an unsureness of how to proceed given the shift of the battle. If he got to the sky, his advantage would be of an immense amount. He might even have a chance of winning without taking another hit if he could keep his agility at its peak.
His hind paws kicked up stones as he took a few steps backwards, his eyes locked on his opponent’s every move. His retreat towards the cliff edge was short lived however as the crowd screamed their disapproval. They wanted a brawl, a test of strength. He could clearly make out the insults thrown his way, pointing out his cowardice, goading him forward. The lion’s roar, causing the ground beneath his feet to tremble, was yet another taunt to irk Istas. He was always told to ignore such things but it was easy to say such things when you weren’t in the heat of the moment, your pride balancing on the edge of a knife.
The audience’s provocation grew in volume and he silenced them with an infuriated cry. His irritation was causing his breath to come in pants, his legs now quivering in anger instead of fear.
“I’m not scared of you!” Istas found himself growling, leaping smoothly onto a nearby boulder and looking down at his opponent. His hackles had risen uncontrollably, amber eyes glinting fiercely in the strong sunlight. He gave no other warning as he lunged towards the lion, paws thumping loudly against the rocky surface as he galloped forward. Adrenaline rushed through his blood, over-riding the agony his bruised body screamed at him to notice. The limp caused by his wound was still noticeable but for the next few minutes the pain was blocked by indignation.
He ran straight at the lion, attempting to duck to the left at the last moment and dig his beak into his opponent’s weakened side, talons ready to secure the already-broken wing from damaging him.
12-20-2010, 12:35 PM
Mittens was surprised as the smaller griffin chose not to flee but instead wheeled around, brought to a simmering rage by the crowd and Mittens' challenging roar. Istas uttered a few choice words in the guttural, undignified language of the humans before letting out a piercing shriek.
The griffin began to pelt his way towards the Nemean Lion, perhaps thinking it had been his neck that had broken as opposed to just a wing as Mittens could not think of any other reason for Istas' audacious charge. Mittens chuckled as the Griffin charged head first towards what Mittens could only conceive as his inevitable death.
Mittens' head was clouding over with the pain of his broken wing and his vision had become slightly blurred, Mittens regained his composure and pushed the pain to the very back of his mind. Mittens focused on the roar of the crowd, eager for blood and amassed in their barbaric hordes to see beings infinitely more wondrous than themselves fight to their deaths. The sound of the crowd was broken by the near silent scuffling of his opponents talons scrabbling on the rock as he belted towards him at nearly incomparable speed. The air had the heavy metallic scent of blood in the air, the blood of a Nemean, Mittens felt his anger stoking within him filling his limbs with the renewed strength and vigor to destroy whatever opposed his will.
Istas was bearing down fast on Mittens and in his impetuousness was miscalculating the reflexes of the lion, Mittens was bulky and strong but he was still able to react in a split second to any threat. Mittens braced himself and judged Istas' breakneck paced run towards him and shifted his weight to turn the situation to his advantage.
Istas was upon Mittens within seconds and was fainting to the left, his agility and speed nearly imperceptible to the naked eye but Mittens was anticipating the attack to his weakened side, the sign of a fighter who wanted the match over quickly, a fighter scared of his opponent.
Mittens ducked his head down in the opposite direction to the way that the Istas' mighty beak was arching, at the same time he brought up his mighty paw and brought it down attempting a devastating slam against the side of the griffins' head.
The paw slammed against his head with a force great enough to cause black spots to dance in front of his vision. The world flickered black. Had he heard his skull crunch from the impact or was that his imagination? With injuries, bruises, blood loss and his natural bulkiness, he had never anticipated the lion would be able to move that quickly. It was a supernatural feat in Istas’ eyes.
He allowed the hit to take him off his feet, letting the power behind the swipe throw him back and away from the lion, using it in an attempt to avoid any attacks his opponent might make while Istas was disorientated. The rough ground scraped at his skin and tore some of the feathers from his back as he rolled across the floor, leaving bloody holes in their wake. An intense pain rent across his face as his head smacked against the dusty plain and it took all his willpower not to shriek from the agony.
This time, instead of scaring him, the scent of his own blood spiked rage through the depths of his mind. By the end of his tumble, he managed to catch himself on his feet. He could not stand steadily, partly due to disorientation and partly due to the unleashed anger burning inside of him, but he did not allow himself to fall again. The world spun in a sickening manner but the nausea fluttering in his stomach was swiftly dampened by the adrenaline streaking through his system.
Something was wrong though; he could feel it the minute his head began to clear. He kept his distance from the lion, stumbling backwards whenever it advanced as his brain attempted to figure it out. It was only when he bashed his shoulder into a large boulder on his left that the realisation dawned on him.
The boulder had escaped his peripheral vision, something that was highly advanced in his species, and it had only been upon looking at it directly that he had been able to see it. His front foot stroked across the left side of his face, smearing his toes in the blood that oozed from what had once been his eye. Now, it was deformed, bashed in by the rocky surface beneath him as he rolled. Try as he might to look to his left, it was impossible without the turning of his head. In his inexperience, he could not fathom whether the damage was a permanent feature – The situation seemed unreal.
His balance was thrown off by the change; on the ground, he was at too much of a disadvantage. It didn’t take him long to realise his only hope was to attack from the air. Within a split second of the thought entering his mind, he found himself sprinting full pelt toward the cliff edge, the pain of his right hind leg dulled by the sense of urgency pounding through his head.
03-29-2011, 10:00 AM
Mitten's head swam as the blood pumping form his back kept flowing unabated, he could feel his limbs getting heavy and the fire going out of his crystal blue eyes. Mittens cursed his weakness and impatience, this was not the way it would end for the great Nemean line, brought down by glorified sparrow. The Nemean lions were the kings of the beasts they were above pain and above fear.
Mittens tried to snap back into focus and remember the last moment where his vision was clear and his mind lucid, he had clubbed the griffin in the head with his paw that had sent the beast scrabbling away towards the edge of the cliff to take to the sky once more, a place mittens could no longer follow him too. Mittens thundered towards the edge of the cliff and tried to beat his majestic wings and roar through the pain, alas it was too much and Mittens veered away from the cliff edge at the last moment catching only a glimpse of his rising adversary and a sharp stabbing pain in his wing as reward.
Mittens felt his mighty frame sway slightly as he padded the edge of the cliff face trying to think of a way to stop the griffin from picking him off from above where he was an easy target. Mittens thought back across all of the battles and fights of the past and an idea formed and crystallized in the mind of the mighty cat. Mittens stepped back the edge of the cliff calculating his trajectory. Mitten's reasoned in his mind that he would have to take the air from Istas and bring him back down to land.
As Mittens reached the furthest point from the ledge he slowly unfurled his broken wing, wincing through the pain testing the limb, it couldn't beat but flight was not his intent. Mittens let out a deafening roar, as loud as that of his first take off as he thundered towards the ledge his mighty paws making deep prints in the sandy surface of the tabletop.
At the edge of the cliff Mittens leaped from the ledge generating as much thrust as he could muster from his legs before spreading his wings. The pain in his broken wing nearly threw his mind from focus and sent him tumbling to his death on the spiky rocks below but Mittens was able to gather himself and continue his gliding decent down to the bottom of the arena.
As Mittens neared the floor of the battle ground the big blue pool began to grow beneath him until he reached the very bottom and it stretched away from him in a perfect one hundred meter circle. Mittens felt this would be more than enough water for his purpose. The lion looked up to the sky and saw the griffin circling and watching intently from above, no doubt looking for an opportunity to strike from above.
Mittens broke his gaze from the griffin and focused on the lake, the water was cool and clear yet devoid of life. In the sealed dome of the arena his plan would work perfectly, hopefully in a matter of moments the fight would brought down to his level and become just what he envisaged.
Mittens focused on the lake and felt the anger and ferocity welling up inside of him, he felt every blow he had ever taken, every night he had ever gone hungry and every slight of The Gods towards him and his species.
The Gods scorned fire and labeled it evil knowledge, to powerful corrupt for creatures lesser than themselves to posses. The Titan Prometheus had stolen the knowledge of fire and risked his life bringing it to the humans, the rebel titan was of course caught and punished but not before as one final thumb to the gods he took the original fire, the first flame and imbued it into the nemean line, a trait that had run in all great lions since, for use only on the darkest day.
Mittens felt the profane knowledge course through him and give physical form to his feelings as the temperature began to rise in the back of his throat. Mittens opened his mouth as if to roar but no sound came forth from the mighty jaws of the nemean lion, instead a molten stream of white hot air spewed forth from his jaws, invisible but for the sake of a slight shimmer in the the but impossibly hot. Mittens focused the stream of air on the lake as his tongue coated itself with a tough second skin to withstand the onslaught of the fire.
With a faint sizzle steam began to rise from the lake and drift upwards filling the dome and decimating visibility. Mittens padded in the fog and waited for his pray to land.
He panted. Hard.
What had always come so naturally to him required all his attention, the earth thrown off balance in one whip of cruel fate. He felt mocked; there was no other way to describe it. Even a beast, battered and bruised, could slap him away like a pest. Was his speed and agility only sub-par? It had always been his trump card until now. Perhaps it was true; he was not ready to fight real monsters after all.
When he realised he would be ruling the sky alone this battle, the adrenaline started to abate, granting him the chance to catch his breath. He glided, circling a particular updraft that allowed him to remain a constant height without much thought. Still more thought than he would have needed a few moments ago, he couldn’t help but note. Vision was a funny thing it seemed and not one that Istas was learned in. Aside from half the world plunged into darkness, it did not seem to have made much difference. At least, that’s what he thought until he tried to land upon the rocky cliff face. His beak bore a scratch from the attempt and his talons a few extra bruises. Now he was in the air, depth seemed obvious. The lion was on the ground in the distance; any idiot could see that. His fore-paw however…
Waving it in front his face, he struggled to tell how far it was from touching him. It was a slight hindrance but significant enough to have an effect. He moved it closer and found himself touching his beak half an inch sooner than he’d expected. Inside his head, something alike to nervous laughter sounded. It couldn’t be permanent. He wouldn’t allow it.
This was a test, nothing more. If life wanted to unnerve him, they would need more than an overgrown feline and a few well-placed war scars.
“Burn in hell,” he screeched, “You can’t have me!” He felt dizzy, his thigh throbbed, but the rush of battle was returning. With a golden one-eyed blink, it occurred to him that his opponent hadn’t been sitting idle through his revelations. The ground seemed to have disappeared in white. He ducked down a few metres. The air felt damp, humid. The griffin began to feel heavier as the steaming water vapour clung to his feathers.
His landing was silent, he was sure of it. The steam seemed to muffle any sound he might have otherwise caused. He couldn’t see anything – His fear spiked momentarily and his muscles turned weak but he managed to regain control. He folded his wings in tightly at his side and trod forward, keeping near to the cliff wall as he squinted through the mist, trying to catch the whispers of a shadow.
01-09-2012, 03:14 AM
Mittens paced and padded in the fog, the griffin had surely landed by now. The lion kept his ears pricked and ready for the slightest indication of his foe's movement, the scratch of talons on rock, the skittering of kicked stones but there was nothing, for all he knew Mittens was alone in the fog.
Mittens could feel the moisture clinging to his fur, weighing him down as the dank cold of his fog set in. Mittens lapped some water up from the remains of the lake, drawing some renewed vigor from the crystal clear waters.
Mittens began to calculate, so far Istas had not been able to resist a challenge and the little bird was skittish too. Mittens reasoned if he could not raise the griffins ire into revealing himself he could break his mind. Mittens began to pace, not silently but with dull thuds as his paws slammed down on the ground. The lion circled the arena and stalked the area within, he gave low rumbling growls every now and then as he hunted. Mittens beat his wings into his side and carved gashes into rock, sharpening his obsidian claws while leaving tokens of his legendary but rapidly diminishing strength for the griffin to see.
"Little bird, little bird, lost in the fog. Will you fly away to the nest? Or come face your death at the hands of your better? I'll find you little bird, I will find you and I will break your bones." Mittens mocked the griffin but the bravado was a ploy, his back still bled and his broken wing was heavy and leaden. Mittens knew the fight had to end soon or he would succumb to the blackness at the back of his mind.
"Come out now and I promise I wont cook you before I feast." Mittens rage at his pain punctuated his threat with a plume of flame, orange and red, a beacon in the fog and a challenge to Istas.
His body was not designed to walk along the ground. He could run with ease, and fly with a magnificence that outmatched any avian creature. Walking, however… pacing with such a slow demeanour… his talons caught in the dirt needlessly and his wrists bent at angles he barely noticed when sprinting full speed. It was awkward for the griffin and he felt no more assured with his feet against the dirt than he had soaring blindly through the sky. His sense of balance was long destroyed, with a leg gouged and an eye tattered to mark its ruin.
He walked, alert as ever, even with his hearing dulled and his sight half-shadowed by the incessant darkness that it was only used to in his sleep. He could hear something thudding through the mist but he recognised the sound of footfalls and knew better than to charge in thoughtlessly. With each thump of the lion’s paw striking the dirt, he felt his heart clench in anticipation. They would meet whether Istas searched him out or not.
"Little bird, little bird, lost in the fog. Will you fly away to the nest? Or come face you death at the hands of your better? I'll find you little bird, I will find you and I will break your bones."
The griffin flinched, his blood turning cold in terror. The world felt like it was spinning around him but there was no real way to tell. Up, down, left and right, his amber eyes were met with the same steamy white of the mist’s caress.
"Come out now and I promise I won’t cook you before I feast."
There was a light from behind, an orange glow that illuminated the eerie scene. Istas’ courage was not baited but, instead, shied away. With trembling muscles, he backed away from the very place he knew the beast to be, not letting his eyes leave the spot that the thudding steps originated from. He would… he would…
Nothing came to mind; not a soul of a plan.
He would have given anything to be anywhere but there.
Suddenly, his hind legs were taken from beneath him, plunged into the iciness of the central pool. He yelped unwillingly as his rear submerged into the depths of the water, clawing at the bank with his talons in an attempt to drag himself from its grasp.
01-15-2012, 05:18 AM
Mittens padded through the fog, his head throbbed while his legs felt leaden and weak. His stomach complained with hunger as his flayed back continued to burn and pulse with a greater pain than any the beast had ever imagined. The fight needed to end before the great lion collapsed from the wounds his foe had inflicted and the ravenous hunger that had begun to consume his thoughts. Even now his once sleek and purposeful strut was replaced with a limping stagger as he hunted his prey in the misty shroud.
Mittens tried in vein to beat his wings to shoo away the shroud of mist but to no avail, his broken wing would no longer move from tight at his side, sticky with the blood from his back. Mittens mind began to whir and formulate a plan but nothing came into focus, all he could feel was the pounding in his head and the pulse of wet blood flowing from his back, thought and logic had given way to primal instinct and rage.
The firebolt he had attempted to draw his quarry out with had pushed him ever closer to the point of exhaustion, the fire in his belly replaced with a cold hunger. Istas had been shrewd enough to avoid his taunts and stay hidden, Mittens could feel him in every shadow, just waiting for an opening to fly in and pick him off. Mittens for the first time felt the growing shadow of fear begin to envelope his heart, he quickly shook himself free, Nemians know no fear and to admit otherwise was shameful to the great beast.
Mittens focus was broken as he heard a distant splash, he spun on his heels as the noise continued. The fool had gone for a swim, Mittens mouth moistened and his muscles tightened at the prospect of salvation. The great lion quickly began to run the shore of the diminished lake, his muscles filled with temporarily renewed vigor. He was loud as he ran, his whole weight pounding to on the sandy floor but he cared not, if he took enough time to conceal his approach he would collapse from his wounds. Better the griffin face a lion charging proudly into battle than stumble across the corpse of a cat who had died stalking in the fog.
In the distance saw a shambling form in the shadow, his vision was too blurred to be sure if it was the griffin from this distance but none the less the fires of hope shone bright in the wounded lion's eyes. As he neared the shadow in the fog mittens leapt with all the strength he could muster, ready to tackle Istas and rip out his throat from above.
With the speed of a hare, the lion attacked, catching Istas off-guard. Jaws clamped down on his beak; the sound of cracking filled the air. He recoiled but he could not avoid the pain that exploded across his face.
His cries were agonised, pleading, as he thrashed, desperately trying to throw the beast from its catch. The water could not come quickly enough. Its liquid arms embraced his tortured form, holding him close and cocooning him in a soothing chill. Icy tendrils stung at his wounds, but did so in a piquant fashion, numbing the pain that had ravaged him for so long. He did not move. His eyes remained shut because, for that second, he wished to forget the monster that shared the battlefield with him.
Powered by vBulletin® Version 4.2.0 Copyright © 2013 vBulletin Solutions, Inc. All rights reserved.