Post by senka on Mar 20, 2010 16:03:07 GMT -5
For such a violent character Senka gets in surprisingly few duels. The fights that she does get into I usually prefer to write out like the normal rp's simply because the rules of duelling makes it hard, sometimes, for me to keep Senks in character. And I'm a complete pussycat (har har). That being said, I thought it was about time to start learning how to duel and see where it can get me.
So when Samir was looking for a fight....
Samir rests still upon the ground, emulating the very tombstone which his back rests flatly against. His very nature seems to reflect the qualities of that cold harsh stone. Unyielding, unmoving, unshakable. Black robes cling loosely to his thin, seemingly desiccated form and pool upon the ground, becoming sullied by grime. His eyes remain closed, and his breathing has slowed past the point where one might consider him dead. Yet the now ancient Avian is anything but, for as the world around him keeps still and cold, Samir's senses soak up all external stimulus. It was an art for the psionic warrior to remain so deeply enthralled within meditation while also taking note of even the most insignificant motions in the surrounding area. A talent he had learned to perfect over many years spent in hiding. A set of two swords sit equally still where they lie belted to his left hip; one on top of the other. The bottom scabbard is opulent and ornamental, with a series of screaming faces embossed into it's surface. While the top scabbard is rather plain, a flat black color, with a greater width than the one below.
You is soaking in Death. Emerged, followed, following and always drawn towards death as she has been lately, and is now, it's no wonder that she finds herself on the graveyard not too far from the place she's taken to dwell in. Eyes the colour of blood take in more then just tombstones and dirt, seeing things in dark shadows and crooks and crannies that would scare most sane two-walker moving over a graveyard all alone. But the wolf isn't particularly sane and far from a two-walker and definitely not alone. Lottie seems pleased with the place, skipping with feet that don't touch the ground and moving just in the corner of her eyes to thoroughly distract the albino at first. But the wolf has more then eyes to rely on, more then just ghosts to distract her, and it's the long ears that twitch first; catching a sound that has lately only belonged to her alone. Nostril's flare, curiously and soon her noble head is turning to take in the unmoving figure of Samir. A two-walker. Lottie giggles just as hackles rise, knowing the wolf by now, and there's amusement in those dark well known eyes of the wolf as well. It's humour that colours the deep red of her eyes just a shade darker but the kind of humour that is laced with malicious intend until the look is far more predatory then it ought to be. Senka intends to play with her food before eating, something she intends to completely enjoy. For eating has been low on her list of priorities of late and it's with force of will that she stops her stomach from rumbling hungrily as the mere sight of a meal. The albino cannot help but leave a trail of saliva though as her head lowers so that the shoulders behind them are visible, ears perking and fangs, coated with said saliva, soon shown. A growl longs to escape from the back of her throat but the Elder has lived too long to make a mistake like that, mistakes like that are adrenaline filled ones and left for the rookies. Padded paws find their way easily over the flat stones of the tombs, closer and closer to Samir until his scent is filling her mind, filling her snout and feeding her hunger. Muscles tense, lips curl and quite suddenly the beast moves with the speed she's known for. As a female it's not her strength that Senka has learned to rely on (weaker then that of the males of her kind) but her speed instead, honing it until it's all but perfected. The leap she makes then is filled with the grace of the predatory kind, toes spread and paws pushed forward while her entire body aligns into a smooth arc that is as functional as it is instinctual. The wolf means to land with her paws on the bird-two-walker's chest, fully intend on knocking the air clean out of him. Fangs will take care of the rest if she succeeds, trusting her heavy body to hold him down. Senka longs to dig her fangs into the avian's shoulder rather then throat, though she's known for her fondness of said throats. But as mentioned before she'd like to enjoy her food before she eats it and ripping Samir apart piece by piece certainly seems fun enough…
Samir catches the presence of another, their consciousness pouring over him, dampening his own silent reflections and casting his mind once more into a far more mundane reality. Such a pity, he had hoped that this seldom invaded sanctuary might sate his desire for seclusion. Rabid were this one's thoughts, the kind belonging to beasts rather than men, far closer akin to the Avian's own as of late. Samir's eyelids snap open, unveiling eyes who's nature were far more dangerous than either implement of death which he carried and could pierce deeper into the heart of any creature than steel might ever hope. Unblinking is his electric blue gaze, vigilant and steadfast as they examine this...... disgusting animal. His muscles tense, his thoughts race, yet his heartbeat remains steady, barely even agitated. The hallowed ground sinks gently beneath Senka's great paws, her claws click gently across the occasional stone, and through each telltale sound the Psionic warrior tracks her approach, preparing for her first undoubtedly bestial assault. As this Lycantropic huntress broaches the final divide and takes to the air, Samir unleashes his tactical strike in a flurry of robes which help to further mask his true motions. Wraith-like digits wrap in a crushing grip about the hilt of his lower sword, a bare foot is placed firmly against the tombstone in front of which he had rested, and a wall of anger proceeds the Avian as he pushes off the said rock to meet Senka halfway. A grunt of pain never leaves his lips as her body meets his own and several long fangs sink into his left shoulder, such things as pain were far beneath the Psionist. Yet it is now in their entwined proximity that Samir looses his counter assault, wrenching with a firm authority the jagged sword which he carries from it's ornamental sheath. The blade sweeps outward from his waist in a diagonal motion, hoping to catch Senka in her belly and spill the Lycan's guts among the graves of her fellow mortals. For samir did not consider himself to be among their number
You has an eerily human feel. For a beast of her proportions, for the intensity of her hunger and her absolute refusal to return to the two-walker form she has a mind that may be chaotic, violent and unstable but nevertheless is surprisingly very much human. Samir might feel he'd be dealing with a psychopath more then with a hungry beast; a feeling that would increase the closer the white one comes. She finds two-walkers as weak and disgusting as the avian finds 'mortals' and the hatred she thus feels for him matches his quite nicely, if not more so. Blood, delicious blood, rolls over her tongue and down her throat and the lycan finds herself biting down a little more viciously, a little more eagerly. Yet the albino is no pup and though she's as caught by anger and hunger as others of her race she's not nearly as blinded by it. The years of experience, the reason why she's called and Elder shows itself then, for as Samir's sword sings the beast is already moving. Paws the size of dinner plates brace themselves on the avian's chest, the beast all but ripping herself away as her fangs seem unwilling to fully release their hold. But not all the strength in the world would make that push enough for the beast to escape unscathed and the wound that runs so smoothly over her stomach is clean and not nearly as shallow as she'd like. Senka's ability to deal with pain is a natural one, rather then taught, and she's far too caught up by her hunger and anger to feel much of that wound that has her blood scattering and splattering the tombs much like her saliva has already done. Its grace, with which her body turns, arches, landing neatly on those paws that have brought her so far and prove to be so useful. Within a heartbeat the beast is pushing off again, snarling viciously and flattening her ears against her scalp. Lips curl back so that, that hideous maw is soon baring those long sharp fangs. It's Samir's side that the elder aims for then, no longer satisfied with a simple bite. She means to dig her teeth deep within his flesh and take a proper hold so that she's free to rip his flesh cleanly of his bones. The beast is more angry then hungry now, wondering who is arrogant enough to -dare- and fight back. To dare and injure her. No, Senka is quite focussed on punishing the Avian, not even realising that she's leaving her back open in doing so. Yet only for the physical wounds for should the psion dare to attack her mind he'll find, for all its chaos and insanity, that it would be very hard to do so. The psion is not the only one with the 'gift' after all…
Samir was now lost within the thrill of combat, enveloped within the familiar stench of blood on the wind, reveling in the chaotic thoughts and emotions which seep from Senka like a disease. His eyes never wander, his determination never falters and his burning rage is steeled into a weapon all it's own. Every action the Avian takes, whether insignificant or prominent is carried out with a near mechanical precision to mark him truly as a killer and a master of his trade. The wolf is quick indeed to have survived his first strike and is among an exceedingly rare breed to do so, yet if surviving his first blow was rare then surviving a second was nigh unheard of and Samir had no intention of allowing her to do so. His sword continues it's arc scattering droplets of crimson through the sky and the motion ends on high leaving the man like a statue, the pinnacle of perfection. As Senka moves to strike once more the Avian's left leg is lifted and loosed with an impressive burst of rage fueled force to drive the wolf back as his metal foot should hopefully smash into her skull. One of many battle scars, his prosthetic had served more as a weapon than a detriment and remained the only gift he had received from defeat. Even should Samir's kick miss it's mark, the forceful motion should more than serve to keep Senka's teeth from tearing through his flesh once more and the momentum of the attack sends the man into a pirouette. His right foot remains grounded as he finishes the roundhouse and from behind the cover of swirling robes another sword strike will follow to finish the job which his first slash had begun. Ripping inward from what might seem like nowhere his second slash is aimed for the Lycan huntress' shoulder and if contact is made her front paws should barely function, if at all. Such a vicious assault he would levy against her, truly unnecessary for one such as she yet Samir knew only one kind of murderous precision.
You is not so much as rare breed as simply old, experienced and too stubborn to die. It's that stubbornness that keeps her on her paws still, something that has her lingering near even as that steel moves towards her head with a little more accuracy and force then she would like. For a moment, a split second, the beast imagined letting it hit and going for Samir's leg instead. But her sensitive ears tell her there is something off with that leg, something wrong with the way it's held and the swish it makes in the wind. So at the last second the albino forces herself back, all but wrenching her body backwards in a move that is quick…but not quick enough. The metal foot catches the tip of her muzzle and with a disturbing 'crack' a new source of pain lets itself known. The wolf's nose is bleeding then and unable to help it the elder whimpers in a high pitched manner of a truly injured animal. The whimper soon turns into a snarl however and black lids blink once to clear her head before the intensity of her gaze becomes almost unbearable. 'Murderous' doesn't even begin to describe what's in the wolf's stare, doesn't even begin to describe the way hatred courses through her veins, fuelling her adrenaline which in turns fuels her body until she's all instinct. Her human mind is becoming less important now, prey being the only thing on said mind until its only natural that the beast snarls and opens her maw to release a new blast of stinky breath and dripping saliva. Eyes zero in on that sword aiming for her and with a recklessness that one wouldn't expect in a creature as ancient as the elder lycan she pushes forward, towards that strike. But old she may be Senka has always been too wild, too passionate and a little too rough around the edges to truly become the dignified noble creature she could've become, had she been less insane. Her head turns, her maw opens and Samir might soon find out that her maw is big enough to make his arm, broad as she may be, disappear in it. She aims to dig her fangs just beneath his elbow, taking in a cruel hold and erasing some of the force behind the blow of his sword. Yet even if the lycan would succeed as she means to the sword nevertheless pierces the skin of her shoulder, though not nearly as deep and effective as Samir intended. After all the flesh is weak, even that of the avian kind, and though Senka's grip may be iron there would still be enough soft tissue in the skin of his arm to rip and move in said hold. Either way the albino doesn't really mean to stop him from injuring her, only stopping him from doing him serious damage. An angry snarl would escape her and the piercing pain of steel in her skin right before she'd begin to pull. The neck muscles of a wolf are strong after all, and that of a lycan doubly so. Senka would not mind ripping Samir's arm clean from his shoulder. Or not so clean, she's not picky really.
Samir can feel the reverberations of his foot colliding with Senka's face ripple throughout his entire body, and the horrified yelp of an animal in pain only spurs him on further, grants him the knowledge that this battle would soon be won. It is with that faith in his own power, that faith in his victory, that the Avian flows into his sword strike. Yet the wolf was not so easily subdued as he might have originally guessed. Before he even knew the full extent of what was happening Senka's teeth were ripping into him again, and though the steel of his blade did indeed sink into her flesh, Samir could feel that it had been mostly ineffective. He was bleeding profusely now, the Lycaness' teeth had severed the main arteries in his right arm and it was only a matter of time before his consciousness would begin to fade until death took him. Yet it was of no concern, he had more than enough time to finish this frivolous confrontation and earn himself a new pelt to keep as a trophy. Senka began to rip, began to pull, began to tear his arm out at it's very seams and for the first time in a great while Samir showed signs of pain. "You need to die now!" he roars at the wolf, his own tone nearly as vicious as Senka's snarls as the pressure she was placing on his leaking appendage forced him to relinquish a formerly firm grip upon his sword. It drops to the ground, and sinks several inches into the soft soil it finds there so as to maintain a vertical opposition to gravity. Yet even without his weapon the Psionist was not unarmed, though he might be one-less-armed in a moment if the Lycaness continued with the ferocity she was showing. Starting to show signs of desperation Samir was left with little recourse, he had not thought such a..... lesser opponent would require the use of anything beyond swordsmanship. His free hand moves swiftly and in mere mili-seconds it finds a sound resting place, palm outward upon Senka's lupine brow. The moment that his hand is lowered to her face a great surge of mental energy wells up inside the Avian, his entire being now concentrated on a singular task, causing her pain. Samir knew not the science behind what he was about to unleash, yet the technique was sound.. and deadly. All that Senka would know of such a technique would be the blinding pain she should instantly begin to feel. To one knowledgable in such things the process would seem simple, the act of molecular destruction he employed being carried out by forcing his will, his very essence, between the most fundamental building blocks of Senka's being- her atoms- and expanding them. Literally beginning to rip her apart on a microscopic level. If the Lycaness did not realize this, or chose to ignore it then her face would quite rapidly begin to deteriorate until all that remained was a pool of liquid Senka-face upon the ground. Samir hoped that she would not let go.
You throws her entire body into each pull, paws braced effectively by rough pads and sharp nails. The lycan already feels triumphant, unknowingly feeling much like her opponent had before, because she can feel Samir's body tearing beneath her touch, parting beneath her fangs and his blood is eagerly swallowed. Had there been any room for anything other then pain the spell blade might even feel that rough tongue lapping at the skin so firmly lodged between her teeth. His words are met with another snarl that ends into a deep rumbling growl that is soon emphasized by the rough jerk that is empowered by her entire body leaning back. Not quite as easily responded to, not quite as easily forgotten, is that deceptively gentle touch upon her brow then. The beast does not like to be touched. In fact, it'd be safe to say that she's downright paranoid about being touched when not openly hostile and so the albino's entire body stiffens before there even is any pain. If Samir has the presence of mind to note it he'll feel that the white coat beneath his fingers is surprisingly soft, surprisingly pleasant for such a foul beast so it's no wonder that he too is already thinking of her pelt in his living room. Suddenly there's pain, everywhere, exploding into Senka's mind until another whimper is torn from her throat. Instinctively she bites down a little deeper on the avian's arm, trying to brace herself against the pain slowly building inside of her mind. Yet though she's able to ignore the pain of transformation, though she is used to wounds, though she has shrugged off most of the wounds that have left scars over her entire body she finds that this is a pain quite unlike what she has experienced. So piercing so sharp is that pain that finally the elder gives up with a sudden high yelp, blood covered fangs releasing his arm as smoothly as they have sunk in it. Shaking her head roughly, quickly Senka finds herself backing away from Samir with a sudden rush of fear she doesn't experience often. Several paces later and the wolf is at a safe distance, bringing up one paw to rub it over her aching head and bleeding snout as if she can somehow brush the pain away. Finally black lids, that have pressed together tightly in her pain, open to take in the sight before her. Bleeding as the avian may be the elder knows to be on her guard now and rather then blindly lunge again she lowers her head instead. Ears press against her scalp and a tensed growl escapes from the back of her throat again while paws separate a little more, bracing her a little better. The white one thinks it's quite prudent to wait and see this time before blindly lunging again. There are still spots dancing in front of her vision, after all and something tells her that this headache won't disappear quite so readily. Lottie, ever watching Lottie, is not giggling anymore.
You eyes the bird-man suspiciously as he seems unable to fight her anymore. With eyes still faintly throbbing with leftover pain she watches as he slumps, defeated. A restless snort escapes her and droplets of blood from said abused nose with it, some of her own aches and pain of her wounds beginning to truly annoy her even if the fact of her victory begins to dawn upon her. Arrogantly she raises her head, ears perking and her head tilting until she can look all but down her snout at the man, even if said snout is a bloody one. With that annoying superiority of wolves, already forgetting about her own close calls, she draws just a little closer to properly stare at Samir. She considers killing him; deepening the wound she’s inflicted and perhaps add more but the malicious part of her soul wins it from her hunger. Let him despair and die from his wounds in a fashion far more slow and painful then she could give him should she stay. The wolf is not known for her patience, after all and the fact that the avian may live doesn’t even dawn upon her. Nor does she bother to acknowledge the fact that Samir has gotten her weary of him, unnerved by the close calls he –could- land on her flesh despite her speed and experience so that she’s happier to draw away, go ‘home’ then to stay and risk another headache. And so she snorts, arrogantly, before turning with a swish of her tail. There’s a new bounce in her old paws, a new kind of energy despite the blood drops she leaves behind, dripping steadily from that wound on her belly. The thrill of victory hasn’t gone stale through the years and so the wolf is as happy as a pup as she patiently makes her way to lick her wounds while no one is watching. No need for people to know just how much her snout is hurting her…Lottie smiles, serenely, as she floats along without a backwards glance. There are better places to be, now.
Opinions/hints/tips would be very much appreciated. I like to learn and, hopefully, improve.
So when Samir was looking for a fight....
Samir rests still upon the ground, emulating the very tombstone which his back rests flatly against. His very nature seems to reflect the qualities of that cold harsh stone. Unyielding, unmoving, unshakable. Black robes cling loosely to his thin, seemingly desiccated form and pool upon the ground, becoming sullied by grime. His eyes remain closed, and his breathing has slowed past the point where one might consider him dead. Yet the now ancient Avian is anything but, for as the world around him keeps still and cold, Samir's senses soak up all external stimulus. It was an art for the psionic warrior to remain so deeply enthralled within meditation while also taking note of even the most insignificant motions in the surrounding area. A talent he had learned to perfect over many years spent in hiding. A set of two swords sit equally still where they lie belted to his left hip; one on top of the other. The bottom scabbard is opulent and ornamental, with a series of screaming faces embossed into it's surface. While the top scabbard is rather plain, a flat black color, with a greater width than the one below.
You is soaking in Death. Emerged, followed, following and always drawn towards death as she has been lately, and is now, it's no wonder that she finds herself on the graveyard not too far from the place she's taken to dwell in. Eyes the colour of blood take in more then just tombstones and dirt, seeing things in dark shadows and crooks and crannies that would scare most sane two-walker moving over a graveyard all alone. But the wolf isn't particularly sane and far from a two-walker and definitely not alone. Lottie seems pleased with the place, skipping with feet that don't touch the ground and moving just in the corner of her eyes to thoroughly distract the albino at first. But the wolf has more then eyes to rely on, more then just ghosts to distract her, and it's the long ears that twitch first; catching a sound that has lately only belonged to her alone. Nostril's flare, curiously and soon her noble head is turning to take in the unmoving figure of Samir. A two-walker. Lottie giggles just as hackles rise, knowing the wolf by now, and there's amusement in those dark well known eyes of the wolf as well. It's humour that colours the deep red of her eyes just a shade darker but the kind of humour that is laced with malicious intend until the look is far more predatory then it ought to be. Senka intends to play with her food before eating, something she intends to completely enjoy. For eating has been low on her list of priorities of late and it's with force of will that she stops her stomach from rumbling hungrily as the mere sight of a meal. The albino cannot help but leave a trail of saliva though as her head lowers so that the shoulders behind them are visible, ears perking and fangs, coated with said saliva, soon shown. A growl longs to escape from the back of her throat but the Elder has lived too long to make a mistake like that, mistakes like that are adrenaline filled ones and left for the rookies. Padded paws find their way easily over the flat stones of the tombs, closer and closer to Samir until his scent is filling her mind, filling her snout and feeding her hunger. Muscles tense, lips curl and quite suddenly the beast moves with the speed she's known for. As a female it's not her strength that Senka has learned to rely on (weaker then that of the males of her kind) but her speed instead, honing it until it's all but perfected. The leap she makes then is filled with the grace of the predatory kind, toes spread and paws pushed forward while her entire body aligns into a smooth arc that is as functional as it is instinctual. The wolf means to land with her paws on the bird-two-walker's chest, fully intend on knocking the air clean out of him. Fangs will take care of the rest if she succeeds, trusting her heavy body to hold him down. Senka longs to dig her fangs into the avian's shoulder rather then throat, though she's known for her fondness of said throats. But as mentioned before she'd like to enjoy her food before she eats it and ripping Samir apart piece by piece certainly seems fun enough…
Samir catches the presence of another, their consciousness pouring over him, dampening his own silent reflections and casting his mind once more into a far more mundane reality. Such a pity, he had hoped that this seldom invaded sanctuary might sate his desire for seclusion. Rabid were this one's thoughts, the kind belonging to beasts rather than men, far closer akin to the Avian's own as of late. Samir's eyelids snap open, unveiling eyes who's nature were far more dangerous than either implement of death which he carried and could pierce deeper into the heart of any creature than steel might ever hope. Unblinking is his electric blue gaze, vigilant and steadfast as they examine this...... disgusting animal. His muscles tense, his thoughts race, yet his heartbeat remains steady, barely even agitated. The hallowed ground sinks gently beneath Senka's great paws, her claws click gently across the occasional stone, and through each telltale sound the Psionic warrior tracks her approach, preparing for her first undoubtedly bestial assault. As this Lycantropic huntress broaches the final divide and takes to the air, Samir unleashes his tactical strike in a flurry of robes which help to further mask his true motions. Wraith-like digits wrap in a crushing grip about the hilt of his lower sword, a bare foot is placed firmly against the tombstone in front of which he had rested, and a wall of anger proceeds the Avian as he pushes off the said rock to meet Senka halfway. A grunt of pain never leaves his lips as her body meets his own and several long fangs sink into his left shoulder, such things as pain were far beneath the Psionist. Yet it is now in their entwined proximity that Samir looses his counter assault, wrenching with a firm authority the jagged sword which he carries from it's ornamental sheath. The blade sweeps outward from his waist in a diagonal motion, hoping to catch Senka in her belly and spill the Lycan's guts among the graves of her fellow mortals. For samir did not consider himself to be among their number
You has an eerily human feel. For a beast of her proportions, for the intensity of her hunger and her absolute refusal to return to the two-walker form she has a mind that may be chaotic, violent and unstable but nevertheless is surprisingly very much human. Samir might feel he'd be dealing with a psychopath more then with a hungry beast; a feeling that would increase the closer the white one comes. She finds two-walkers as weak and disgusting as the avian finds 'mortals' and the hatred she thus feels for him matches his quite nicely, if not more so. Blood, delicious blood, rolls over her tongue and down her throat and the lycan finds herself biting down a little more viciously, a little more eagerly. Yet the albino is no pup and though she's as caught by anger and hunger as others of her race she's not nearly as blinded by it. The years of experience, the reason why she's called and Elder shows itself then, for as Samir's sword sings the beast is already moving. Paws the size of dinner plates brace themselves on the avian's chest, the beast all but ripping herself away as her fangs seem unwilling to fully release their hold. But not all the strength in the world would make that push enough for the beast to escape unscathed and the wound that runs so smoothly over her stomach is clean and not nearly as shallow as she'd like. Senka's ability to deal with pain is a natural one, rather then taught, and she's far too caught up by her hunger and anger to feel much of that wound that has her blood scattering and splattering the tombs much like her saliva has already done. Its grace, with which her body turns, arches, landing neatly on those paws that have brought her so far and prove to be so useful. Within a heartbeat the beast is pushing off again, snarling viciously and flattening her ears against her scalp. Lips curl back so that, that hideous maw is soon baring those long sharp fangs. It's Samir's side that the elder aims for then, no longer satisfied with a simple bite. She means to dig her teeth deep within his flesh and take a proper hold so that she's free to rip his flesh cleanly of his bones. The beast is more angry then hungry now, wondering who is arrogant enough to -dare- and fight back. To dare and injure her. No, Senka is quite focussed on punishing the Avian, not even realising that she's leaving her back open in doing so. Yet only for the physical wounds for should the psion dare to attack her mind he'll find, for all its chaos and insanity, that it would be very hard to do so. The psion is not the only one with the 'gift' after all…
Samir was now lost within the thrill of combat, enveloped within the familiar stench of blood on the wind, reveling in the chaotic thoughts and emotions which seep from Senka like a disease. His eyes never wander, his determination never falters and his burning rage is steeled into a weapon all it's own. Every action the Avian takes, whether insignificant or prominent is carried out with a near mechanical precision to mark him truly as a killer and a master of his trade. The wolf is quick indeed to have survived his first strike and is among an exceedingly rare breed to do so, yet if surviving his first blow was rare then surviving a second was nigh unheard of and Samir had no intention of allowing her to do so. His sword continues it's arc scattering droplets of crimson through the sky and the motion ends on high leaving the man like a statue, the pinnacle of perfection. As Senka moves to strike once more the Avian's left leg is lifted and loosed with an impressive burst of rage fueled force to drive the wolf back as his metal foot should hopefully smash into her skull. One of many battle scars, his prosthetic had served more as a weapon than a detriment and remained the only gift he had received from defeat. Even should Samir's kick miss it's mark, the forceful motion should more than serve to keep Senka's teeth from tearing through his flesh once more and the momentum of the attack sends the man into a pirouette. His right foot remains grounded as he finishes the roundhouse and from behind the cover of swirling robes another sword strike will follow to finish the job which his first slash had begun. Ripping inward from what might seem like nowhere his second slash is aimed for the Lycan huntress' shoulder and if contact is made her front paws should barely function, if at all. Such a vicious assault he would levy against her, truly unnecessary for one such as she yet Samir knew only one kind of murderous precision.
You is not so much as rare breed as simply old, experienced and too stubborn to die. It's that stubbornness that keeps her on her paws still, something that has her lingering near even as that steel moves towards her head with a little more accuracy and force then she would like. For a moment, a split second, the beast imagined letting it hit and going for Samir's leg instead. But her sensitive ears tell her there is something off with that leg, something wrong with the way it's held and the swish it makes in the wind. So at the last second the albino forces herself back, all but wrenching her body backwards in a move that is quick…but not quick enough. The metal foot catches the tip of her muzzle and with a disturbing 'crack' a new source of pain lets itself known. The wolf's nose is bleeding then and unable to help it the elder whimpers in a high pitched manner of a truly injured animal. The whimper soon turns into a snarl however and black lids blink once to clear her head before the intensity of her gaze becomes almost unbearable. 'Murderous' doesn't even begin to describe what's in the wolf's stare, doesn't even begin to describe the way hatred courses through her veins, fuelling her adrenaline which in turns fuels her body until she's all instinct. Her human mind is becoming less important now, prey being the only thing on said mind until its only natural that the beast snarls and opens her maw to release a new blast of stinky breath and dripping saliva. Eyes zero in on that sword aiming for her and with a recklessness that one wouldn't expect in a creature as ancient as the elder lycan she pushes forward, towards that strike. But old she may be Senka has always been too wild, too passionate and a little too rough around the edges to truly become the dignified noble creature she could've become, had she been less insane. Her head turns, her maw opens and Samir might soon find out that her maw is big enough to make his arm, broad as she may be, disappear in it. She aims to dig her fangs just beneath his elbow, taking in a cruel hold and erasing some of the force behind the blow of his sword. Yet even if the lycan would succeed as she means to the sword nevertheless pierces the skin of her shoulder, though not nearly as deep and effective as Samir intended. After all the flesh is weak, even that of the avian kind, and though Senka's grip may be iron there would still be enough soft tissue in the skin of his arm to rip and move in said hold. Either way the albino doesn't really mean to stop him from injuring her, only stopping him from doing him serious damage. An angry snarl would escape her and the piercing pain of steel in her skin right before she'd begin to pull. The neck muscles of a wolf are strong after all, and that of a lycan doubly so. Senka would not mind ripping Samir's arm clean from his shoulder. Or not so clean, she's not picky really.
Samir can feel the reverberations of his foot colliding with Senka's face ripple throughout his entire body, and the horrified yelp of an animal in pain only spurs him on further, grants him the knowledge that this battle would soon be won. It is with that faith in his own power, that faith in his victory, that the Avian flows into his sword strike. Yet the wolf was not so easily subdued as he might have originally guessed. Before he even knew the full extent of what was happening Senka's teeth were ripping into him again, and though the steel of his blade did indeed sink into her flesh, Samir could feel that it had been mostly ineffective. He was bleeding profusely now, the Lycaness' teeth had severed the main arteries in his right arm and it was only a matter of time before his consciousness would begin to fade until death took him. Yet it was of no concern, he had more than enough time to finish this frivolous confrontation and earn himself a new pelt to keep as a trophy. Senka began to rip, began to pull, began to tear his arm out at it's very seams and for the first time in a great while Samir showed signs of pain. "You need to die now!" he roars at the wolf, his own tone nearly as vicious as Senka's snarls as the pressure she was placing on his leaking appendage forced him to relinquish a formerly firm grip upon his sword. It drops to the ground, and sinks several inches into the soft soil it finds there so as to maintain a vertical opposition to gravity. Yet even without his weapon the Psionist was not unarmed, though he might be one-less-armed in a moment if the Lycaness continued with the ferocity she was showing. Starting to show signs of desperation Samir was left with little recourse, he had not thought such a..... lesser opponent would require the use of anything beyond swordsmanship. His free hand moves swiftly and in mere mili-seconds it finds a sound resting place, palm outward upon Senka's lupine brow. The moment that his hand is lowered to her face a great surge of mental energy wells up inside the Avian, his entire being now concentrated on a singular task, causing her pain. Samir knew not the science behind what he was about to unleash, yet the technique was sound.. and deadly. All that Senka would know of such a technique would be the blinding pain she should instantly begin to feel. To one knowledgable in such things the process would seem simple, the act of molecular destruction he employed being carried out by forcing his will, his very essence, between the most fundamental building blocks of Senka's being- her atoms- and expanding them. Literally beginning to rip her apart on a microscopic level. If the Lycaness did not realize this, or chose to ignore it then her face would quite rapidly begin to deteriorate until all that remained was a pool of liquid Senka-face upon the ground. Samir hoped that she would not let go.
You throws her entire body into each pull, paws braced effectively by rough pads and sharp nails. The lycan already feels triumphant, unknowingly feeling much like her opponent had before, because she can feel Samir's body tearing beneath her touch, parting beneath her fangs and his blood is eagerly swallowed. Had there been any room for anything other then pain the spell blade might even feel that rough tongue lapping at the skin so firmly lodged between her teeth. His words are met with another snarl that ends into a deep rumbling growl that is soon emphasized by the rough jerk that is empowered by her entire body leaning back. Not quite as easily responded to, not quite as easily forgotten, is that deceptively gentle touch upon her brow then. The beast does not like to be touched. In fact, it'd be safe to say that she's downright paranoid about being touched when not openly hostile and so the albino's entire body stiffens before there even is any pain. If Samir has the presence of mind to note it he'll feel that the white coat beneath his fingers is surprisingly soft, surprisingly pleasant for such a foul beast so it's no wonder that he too is already thinking of her pelt in his living room. Suddenly there's pain, everywhere, exploding into Senka's mind until another whimper is torn from her throat. Instinctively she bites down a little deeper on the avian's arm, trying to brace herself against the pain slowly building inside of her mind. Yet though she's able to ignore the pain of transformation, though she is used to wounds, though she has shrugged off most of the wounds that have left scars over her entire body she finds that this is a pain quite unlike what she has experienced. So piercing so sharp is that pain that finally the elder gives up with a sudden high yelp, blood covered fangs releasing his arm as smoothly as they have sunk in it. Shaking her head roughly, quickly Senka finds herself backing away from Samir with a sudden rush of fear she doesn't experience often. Several paces later and the wolf is at a safe distance, bringing up one paw to rub it over her aching head and bleeding snout as if she can somehow brush the pain away. Finally black lids, that have pressed together tightly in her pain, open to take in the sight before her. Bleeding as the avian may be the elder knows to be on her guard now and rather then blindly lunge again she lowers her head instead. Ears press against her scalp and a tensed growl escapes from the back of her throat again while paws separate a little more, bracing her a little better. The white one thinks it's quite prudent to wait and see this time before blindly lunging again. There are still spots dancing in front of her vision, after all and something tells her that this headache won't disappear quite so readily. Lottie, ever watching Lottie, is not giggling anymore.
You eyes the bird-man suspiciously as he seems unable to fight her anymore. With eyes still faintly throbbing with leftover pain she watches as he slumps, defeated. A restless snort escapes her and droplets of blood from said abused nose with it, some of her own aches and pain of her wounds beginning to truly annoy her even if the fact of her victory begins to dawn upon her. Arrogantly she raises her head, ears perking and her head tilting until she can look all but down her snout at the man, even if said snout is a bloody one. With that annoying superiority of wolves, already forgetting about her own close calls, she draws just a little closer to properly stare at Samir. She considers killing him; deepening the wound she’s inflicted and perhaps add more but the malicious part of her soul wins it from her hunger. Let him despair and die from his wounds in a fashion far more slow and painful then she could give him should she stay. The wolf is not known for her patience, after all and the fact that the avian may live doesn’t even dawn upon her. Nor does she bother to acknowledge the fact that Samir has gotten her weary of him, unnerved by the close calls he –could- land on her flesh despite her speed and experience so that she’s happier to draw away, go ‘home’ then to stay and risk another headache. And so she snorts, arrogantly, before turning with a swish of her tail. There’s a new bounce in her old paws, a new kind of energy despite the blood drops she leaves behind, dripping steadily from that wound on her belly. The thrill of victory hasn’t gone stale through the years and so the wolf is as happy as a pup as she patiently makes her way to lick her wounds while no one is watching. No need for people to know just how much her snout is hurting her…Lottie smiles, serenely, as she floats along without a backwards glance. There are better places to be, now.
Opinions/hints/tips would be very much appreciated. I like to learn and, hopefully, improve.