10-24-2019, 06:05 PM
Maleficar leans his head forward, eyes wide and nervous as he observes the expression sour across Ruinam’s face once the nettle venom sets in. The tall witch steps gingerly forward, still uneager to take a broad stride with his injured shoulder or place much weight on it. The muscle isn’t shredded, of course, but the pain is enough to deter him all the same. He continues to follow his opponent’s circling, sidestepping with his forelegs in awkward hopping steps so his weight rests mostly on his hindlegs as he pivots. Overall, he remains in roughly the same place.
“<I>I suppose not. Would you prefer I remain quiet, then?</i>” he asks, head lifted high as he tries to keep his line of sight on Ruinam even with the trees occasionally blocking his view. His tone is sincere, though a bit embarrassed. Was he really being overly chatty? But again, he’s letting his mind wander rather than focusing on the task at hand. Maleficar hesitates, shying backward with little shuffling steps and his ears perked forward as the white stallion’s muscles begin to tremble. His tail flicks nervously. Perhaps it had been too much poison after all?
“<I>Oh, I don’t follow Vulgaris, really. The people of Tephra are kind and good. I want to protect them,</i>” he explains, still watching Ruinam closely. Maleficar spooks a bit as his opponent begins another charge despite his state, causing him to half-rear a bit in surprise. The wound at his shoulder burns in protest and he winces visibly, regretting the poor choice. The muscle group this motion relied on used exactly the ones he had been babying only seconds ago, he realizes much too late.
With only that ten feet between them, however, the witch has little time to react. His front hooves land on the jungle floor and he has only enough time to turn his right shoulder to take the brunt of Ruinam’s weight as it tumbles into him. Mal is knocked into the mud and detritus, one of his ribs on his left side managing to find a root protruding from the ground. With his great weight, it is not broken but almost certainly bruised, he realizes when he inhales sharply at the pain. His hips only ache a little in comparison while the wound in his shoulder burns anew, thanks to the mud rubbed into it.
Now, still crumpled into the mud with Ruinam just before him, he pulls back his right hindleg and gives a sharp kick. He can’t lift his head enough to properly see his opponent so he’s not entirely sure where the blow might land, if at all. Maleficar almost hopes to give him a good hit to the rib so they can wheeze together for a moment. The witch takes as deep a breath as he can, given his tender rib, and rolls onto his belly. His body aches in protest but he plants his forelegs and then hoists himself up, grunting as his shoulder reminds him of its woes.
“<I>Sunshine, roses, a bit of mud… I don’t know, just clean his blood,</i>” he mutters, tossing his head in Ruinam’s direction as he begins to step only a few feet away from him. Each step has become more of a hop, with his right foreleg somewhat dragging rather than holding much weight at all, but he manages to keep his head high just the same. The initial pain of his rib has subsided to a dull ache, allowing him to breathe mostly normally at least.
“<I>I suppose not. Would you prefer I remain quiet, then?</i>” he asks, head lifted high as he tries to keep his line of sight on Ruinam even with the trees occasionally blocking his view. His tone is sincere, though a bit embarrassed. Was he really being overly chatty? But again, he’s letting his mind wander rather than focusing on the task at hand. Maleficar hesitates, shying backward with little shuffling steps and his ears perked forward as the white stallion’s muscles begin to tremble. His tail flicks nervously. Perhaps it had been too much poison after all?
“<I>Oh, I don’t follow Vulgaris, really. The people of Tephra are kind and good. I want to protect them,</i>” he explains, still watching Ruinam closely. Maleficar spooks a bit as his opponent begins another charge despite his state, causing him to half-rear a bit in surprise. The wound at his shoulder burns in protest and he winces visibly, regretting the poor choice. The muscle group this motion relied on used exactly the ones he had been babying only seconds ago, he realizes much too late.
With only that ten feet between them, however, the witch has little time to react. His front hooves land on the jungle floor and he has only enough time to turn his right shoulder to take the brunt of Ruinam’s weight as it tumbles into him. Mal is knocked into the mud and detritus, one of his ribs on his left side managing to find a root protruding from the ground. With his great weight, it is not broken but almost certainly bruised, he realizes when he inhales sharply at the pain. His hips only ache a little in comparison while the wound in his shoulder burns anew, thanks to the mud rubbed into it.
Now, still crumpled into the mud with Ruinam just before him, he pulls back his right hindleg and gives a sharp kick. He can’t lift his head enough to properly see his opponent so he’s not entirely sure where the blow might land, if at all. Maleficar almost hopes to give him a good hit to the rib so they can wheeze together for a moment. The witch takes as deep a breath as he can, given his tender rib, and rolls onto his belly. His body aches in protest but he plants his forelegs and then hoists himself up, grunting as his shoulder reminds him of its woes.
“<I>Sunshine, roses, a bit of mud… I don’t know, just clean his blood,</i>” he mutters, tossing his head in Ruinam’s direction as he begins to step only a few feet away from him. Each step has become more of a hop, with his right foreleg somewhat dragging rather than holding much weight at all, but he manages to keep his head high just the same. The initial pain of his rib has subsided to a dull ache, allowing him to breathe mostly normally at least.