The entrance of Mazikeen was no secret, though he knows nothing of the beast that flies boldly across the wind-scrubbed skies of the Pampas, her heavy wing beats pulsing like thunder across the emptiness of the long grasses and the newly blossomed spring flowers. The long stalks quiver in the intensity of her movement, shuddering as Skandar’s narrowed orange gaze follows the behemoth form that thuds to the ground with sickening strength. She is a shape he has never seen - wings that spread out far from a tawny and glowing body, with sharp and menacing talons at the fore (ready to tear and shred, devilish and piercing) and eyes that shine with rage against the feathers that crest her head and neck.
Skandar is not surprised to find such a creature prowling amongst the Pampas, anger, and rage fueling her every step. It is what causes him to continue to watch her curiously, studying that foreign form and feeling the fabric of his skin itching as it flutters across each inch of his star-strewn body. It is only when realizes the target that the studious stallion suddenly became more intrigued rather than curious. He is sure that Aela would feel the heightening of his own emotions from nearby as he watches the griffin lumber towards her, quickly realizing the heat of battle that now hangs heavily across the wildflower-dotted field.
There was no time for practicing.
At the sound of the griffin’s roar, Skandar gives in to the itching of his flesh as he propels himself forward with ferocity. The flickering flays of skin click into feathers and talons and a sharp, protruding orange beak. The colors are off (he has no time to think of what color he should be, only the important parts) but he focuses instead on the talons and the beak, the sheer size, and the wings that now instinctually pull him into the air. The shifting into this skin is simultaneous with the flames that erupt from Aela’s hooves as he attempts to mimic the large griffin that roars before her fire.
The shape he wears now shrieks in response, the haunting sound of his now raptor voice piercing the air as his wings allow him to glide (albeit clumsily) into a position that puts him in between Mazikeen and Aela, behind her wall of flame. Skandar leaps through the fire without hesitation (not before a loose aura of flame tightly wraps around him for protection through it), his now-clawed forelegs grasping for anything that he might find before he lands on the other side. He hopes that the shock of fighting another griffin would give him the upper hand for the moment (and bring the attention away from Aela).
There is no telling how long he can hold such a difficult shape, after all; though it is surprisingly easier for the mimic when the specimen is right before him. He does, however, have other tricks up his sleeve if the skin he wears begins to fail him - it is seen in the brilliant bright red of his glowing eyes.
Aela has done so much for him in the few years they had known each other. It had been near overdue for Skandar to return the favor.
Skandar is not surprised to find such a creature prowling amongst the Pampas, anger, and rage fueling her every step. It is what causes him to continue to watch her curiously, studying that foreign form and feeling the fabric of his skin itching as it flutters across each inch of his star-strewn body. It is only when realizes the target that the studious stallion suddenly became more intrigued rather than curious. He is sure that Aela would feel the heightening of his own emotions from nearby as he watches the griffin lumber towards her, quickly realizing the heat of battle that now hangs heavily across the wildflower-dotted field.
There was no time for practicing.
At the sound of the griffin’s roar, Skandar gives in to the itching of his flesh as he propels himself forward with ferocity. The flickering flays of skin click into feathers and talons and a sharp, protruding orange beak. The colors are off (he has no time to think of what color he should be, only the important parts) but he focuses instead on the talons and the beak, the sheer size, and the wings that now instinctually pull him into the air. The shifting into this skin is simultaneous with the flames that erupt from Aela’s hooves as he attempts to mimic the large griffin that roars before her fire.
The shape he wears now shrieks in response, the haunting sound of his now raptor voice piercing the air as his wings allow him to glide (albeit clumsily) into a position that puts him in between Mazikeen and Aela, behind her wall of flame. Skandar leaps through the fire without hesitation (not before a loose aura of flame tightly wraps around him for protection through it), his now-clawed forelegs grasping for anything that he might find before he lands on the other side. He hopes that the shock of fighting another griffin would give him the upper hand for the moment (and bring the attention away from Aela).
There is no telling how long he can hold such a difficult shape, after all; though it is surprisingly easier for the mimic when the specimen is right before him. He does, however, have other tricks up his sleeve if the skin he wears begins to fail him - it is seen in the brilliant bright red of his glowing eyes.
Aela has done so much for him in the few years they had known each other. It had been near overdue for Skandar to return the favor.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Mazikeen
@Aela