Coup-de-Grace (Nasrin)

[AevumEternity]

The massive, six-legged warhorse pulled itself and rider up the slope of one of the great foothills beneath the hulking mountains of Northern Serendipity. The white-silver armor shown fully in the early morning light, though the unmistakeable colors of emerald and ebony stood out starkly against the grey-brown of the landscape.
The rider hunched slightly, even the massive armor making it difficult to bare the slicing winds of coming winter. The helm and heavy layers made it nearly impossible to determine the sex of the figure, even as they wearily slid off the beast, nearly collapsing to their knees. It was clear they had just survived a battle of the ages, blood and mud staining the armoring of both steed and rider nearly black.

The great horse's head dropped in fatigue, the knight slinging the great shield over their back and moving about to gently embrace the beast's head against their chest.

" Hush now, Purgatorio- we will cross the mountains back to home when we have the strength enough, dear friend." Hakon rasped to the monster of a charger. Purgatorio's white ears angling toward his master, as if acknowledging this before slowly sinking to a lying down position, the armor shrieking slightly in the stillness of the air as the knight follows suite, still cradling the steed's great face in their arms.

[joylss]

The frays of war shall warrant no pity in the justice of knights, and bloods of kinfolk spilled relentlessly before the flaring red sun. rivers of red shall run through against the thrift of mountains and tarnished blade, graced senselessly by pity from the welkin of yore. Let the gods ordain a moment of truce between Seredian and Connlaothians, and be rendered hushed by cruel winds brought fought by the just of warfare. Atrocious shall be the sin of humans who waged wars against their own, for the cause and means of matters hardly worth the legion of ichor within flesh and skin.


Hardly is he fond of such moment of despair, as one whose melancholy lies with the hearts of fell brethens and foregone kinfolks. No role does he play in the making of such cause, and none shall he honour in future that would soon come to pass, but if only, the men and women of Connlaoth may share his ideals in similar light pertaining to the coveting of peace. Sparingly will they judge the use of magic and sorcery and enforce of unjust law, yet, such task is unlikely to prove challenging, to sway the mind of an entire country by the strength of words alone; in fact, were a debacle to emerge a forgone conclusion, then, such conduct may only prove nigh to become a tedious ploy.


On hindsight, bloodshed, in reality, promotes a libretto past the dispute of sorrow. Already has blood been spilled this day, moreso a rider and its animal should offer its life in the spoils of war. Gently but kindly, with the pivot of the wrist, Nasrine lifts his sleeve past ankle, the back of his hand seeking repose to the living pulse of both knight and steed.

[AevumEternity]

The knight's helm rested against the broad, flat face plate of the steed's. Shoulders trembling beneath heavy pauldrons - sucking in the stifling air that slid through the grating of the thick steel. Lady Hakon Kilandre's eyes flutter shut in exhaustion.

The heartbeats seemed to sink into unison. Both steed and rider seemed to simply be falling into a warm unconciousness known only to those who fought for their lives, won- but left the gore scathed in a way more deeply then any physical object could pierce. Obliterated mentally, physically and emotionally... Until they awoke to continue the grand, wonderful dance of war. The great and terrible beauty.

[joylss]

ebbing pulses may prove a tedious affair, professing naught but elucidates the waning zest of one knight and then another! High, does the shrewd winds bellowed above their heads, in a gasping manner as if to deplore unheralded means of ill-omens. The doctor beholds propriety when ghosting childe palm above besmirched foreheads and sweaty skin that smelled of rust and blood yet to be identified as neither that of their beholder or of the enemy's.


Rising from sole and feet, permitting violet iries to glide across the snow he shall. Soothingly, a twelvemonth it had been since he graced the Northern Serendipity in like manner a peasant would rove aimlessly the paved roads of his hometown. Let not a fair complexion and equitable-faced of feminal pretense discharge your unfounded notion of a worthy man under baggy apparels. For widely is his name known throughout the province of Falliel, transcending even that of his noble, highly-cultured father's. Therefore, should he fail to restore the health of both honorable knight and steed, then, years of dwelling within the healing arts shalt then prove his eternal chagrin!!

(OOC: I really suck in writing actions, but presumably, Nasrin was looking for a hut/shelter/cave, anywhere shady, to nurse Hakon and Purgatorio. :) )

[AevumEternity]

(OOC: that's actually an interesting problem xP hmmm... Well if it makes you more comfortable to state the actions OOCly you are more then welcome to! But if I may suggest something- be theatrical as you are but add it to body movement :P whether that be a simple blink of the eyes or whatnot. I often find it more helpful to detail every tiny twitch of the muscle in order to convey the most accurate portrait of a movement)

The knight nor massive six-legged beast did not move as the man approached, though both seemed acutely aware of his presence. Only when he seemed to draw closer did the helm rise slowly and turn toward him threateningly. At 10 feet from the pair, there would be a terrible aura of pure... Soul sucking, power absorbing density that made their presence nigh suffocating. Such was the blessing of Adharaism, a more powerful version of the Mordecai blessing but known only to females.

The landscape alas, seemed all but windswept, as if the sky had flattened the ground against the hills and only the mountains themselves held it back from crushing upon the plains once more. They were very much alone and exposed.

[joylss]

(OOC: Well this worked out better than I expected, haha! Narsin has already turned a hut into their temporary hiding place :D )

Whereas, the conduct of mitigating magic above wounded stooges fails to manifest the means it ought to conjure, demeaning is Nasrin to denude only one conclusion from this outcome-----wrought annihilation upon the world do these Connlaothians does and shamelessly proclaims their blunder aloud. Drive the detrimental prick into ceding heart, and grimace his conscience in woeful snivel, for is he not undeserving of the loftiest doctrine should he forsake both warhorse and woman amid cold winds to endure Winter's wrath?


On par, Connlaothians have deemed the worth of Seredipitians diminishing were circumstances concede an interchange of roles. Rightfully, he professes no obligation to mend the wounds of a dying enemy, yet, such comportment was not a dictum of Nasrin's, nor of the people of the Doriathim; in fact, begrudgingly, Nasrin would come to find his conscience winning. For ere the the immerse of the sun, already has he dispensed shelter to the woman and horse, in the shady platform of a forsaken hut settled upon the foothills of Northern Seredipity.

[AevumEternity]

(Even if you place the action in an OOC statement, try and put it into RP as well :P be as clear as possible, it helps because this is writing and unless every detail is made clear, it is difficult to image what is in your companion's mind, no? lol :P)

The small hut slowly formed about both Theocog and Knight, Hakon still embracing the beast's head in her lap protectively as she watched the sun slowly being blotted out, what little light it gave. Perhaps this was indeed the end, exhausted and utterly immovable in her massive armor. She did not even know what her potential killed looked like.

Ironic, she always imagined being devoured by some demonic giant or cooked in her own armor in battle with some pyromancer of incredible power. But no, to be struck down in the darkness of a magically erected shell by an assailant she couldn't even see? Hah, how... Terrible, weakly she moved her arm back, slowly unsheathing the sword at her hip, resting the hip against the armored neck of her steed in exhaustion but defensively. No- she would fight.

[joylss]

The rising sun did not stir to its astral wake, it's harbinger of fulsome light that merely glistens in foreboding manner for the doctor. Even when seated atop stoic plank and condoned to dubious faith, the state of his sacrilegious patient had been espoused kindly to his hands. Not once did Nasrin condemn a man or woman to an eternal chagrin, nor relay them a transgression of virtuous ethics, for while this ghastly women takes form of a slayer of shaman innocents, Nasrin shall not debase himself by extrapolating their wrongs without the privy insights of god.

As iries are contemplated with genuine unease, a dainty finger would come to claim its locus on her wrists for ebbing pulse. He would do well to stash his preternatural occult within his own acknowledgement, while she was in her wake.

"It is not my wish to harm you, my Lady, but Faith have it deemed that I would tread upon your demise just as your horse fell. The inscriptions of medical content have surmised that you are disenthralled from what harmful conclusion that might be denuded - for now, you need only rest." The doctor provides profound reassurance, for when cast within the ceding moment to opt between conscience and just, Nasrin is seldom one to relinquish the propriety of doctorate vows.