08-16-2019, 07:29 PM
Every instinct was screaming at her to attack. To drive her halberd into the venom-laced meat of the wyvern while it was weak. When its energy had been spent. When it was at its easiest to hunt. To kill. When its movements were slow and more readily broadcast.
But she didn’t.
The thick rumbling of draconic left the back of her throat tingling from sounds an elezen was not truly meant to make, the sensation only exacerbated by the lack of practice she had seen recently.
The language had been a means to an end. Not a passion. And as the condescending commentary on the “limitations” of mortals split through the air in equally dusty common Yvonne found her patience for the encounter to immediately plummet.
Her other comrades could deal with the wyrm.
She had already done plenty.
Any longer and the venom veiled in her voice might have seeped through, and the icy cold calm she maintained might have been replaced with fury.
She had stayed herself because it was wise. Because she was expected to practice what she had been preaching. Because causing waves in the dynamic of the group was not desired after the strategic spots she had poked to mend the lack of cohesion.
Not because she wanted to.
The dragoon stepped unceremoniously over the twisted vines and tendrils of the massive plant they had killed, the tip of her halberd finding purchase in its body to aid her passage. The fleshy tissue squelched as it split, thick, clear liquid oozing from the wound like blood. The same liquid was presently splashed over her armor from her final assault on the creature, splattered by blows thrust by a woman possessed.
The gaping holes still showed in the plant’s body, jagged and rough. Effective. But desperate. Messy.
Despite herself, her eyes flickered to Ziyelle.
She’s up.
It was a thought that was observation mixed with relief, spawned by an abrupt recollection of what had happened just a few moments prior.
She wasn’t afraid to kill. She never was.
But that fact that she had struck a target she had not intended left her bristly and apprehensive. In her mind, her prey had been a monster. A dragonkin seeking blood and death. One that would have killed without hesitation if an opening was left.
Any dragoon would have ended a foe sprawled on the ground so that it wouldn’t come for your back the moment it was turned.
Except, in that moment it had been no foe. Not in reality.
She clenched her teeth.
Nidhogg.
The name loomed in the back of her head. She knew he had no sway here. The beast was dead, but the abilities of the “flowers” had enough similarities to the elder dragon that she felt dread looming just out of sight.
Yvonne’s immediate response was to fight. Kill. Claw her way through anything in her path. Fight for survival. Fight for her country. Fight until she couldn’t fight anymore.
Desperate.
Feral.
Driven by the instinct to be the apex predator.
It was the type of mentality the black dragon had preyed upon. The one that several of her comrades had been nearly lost to, her former commander not the least of them.
It was also the type of mentality that allowed you to survive in a conflict with beasts much larger and more powerful than most could even imagine.
But there were no enemies here. Not presently--regardless of her feelings toward the beast being nursed by Catherine.
Even so, quelling the instincts honed by years of war and conflict was a task easier said than done, and she snarled beneath her breath as she abruptly shoved her halberd into the motionless body of the plant creature beside her, spilling more of its sap onto the ground as she bisected a fleshy pod with a sudden surge of adrenaline.
She didn’t regret a thing.
Not one.
But she missed several.
She wrenched her weapon from the creature, the sudden expulsion of aggression therapeutic in its own right, and she wiped the sap on the earth before she looked back at the group heading towards the entrance to the derelict ship.
Her teeth clenched again as she followed.
But she didn’t.
The thick rumbling of draconic left the back of her throat tingling from sounds an elezen was not truly meant to make, the sensation only exacerbated by the lack of practice she had seen recently.
The language had been a means to an end. Not a passion. And as the condescending commentary on the “limitations” of mortals split through the air in equally dusty common Yvonne found her patience for the encounter to immediately plummet.
Her other comrades could deal with the wyrm.
She had already done plenty.
Any longer and the venom veiled in her voice might have seeped through, and the icy cold calm she maintained might have been replaced with fury.
She had stayed herself because it was wise. Because she was expected to practice what she had been preaching. Because causing waves in the dynamic of the group was not desired after the strategic spots she had poked to mend the lack of cohesion.
Not because she wanted to.
The dragoon stepped unceremoniously over the twisted vines and tendrils of the massive plant they had killed, the tip of her halberd finding purchase in its body to aid her passage. The fleshy tissue squelched as it split, thick, clear liquid oozing from the wound like blood. The same liquid was presently splashed over her armor from her final assault on the creature, splattered by blows thrust by a woman possessed.
The gaping holes still showed in the plant’s body, jagged and rough. Effective. But desperate. Messy.
Despite herself, her eyes flickered to Ziyelle.
She’s up.
It was a thought that was observation mixed with relief, spawned by an abrupt recollection of what had happened just a few moments prior.
She wasn’t afraid to kill. She never was.
But that fact that she had struck a target she had not intended left her bristly and apprehensive. In her mind, her prey had been a monster. A dragonkin seeking blood and death. One that would have killed without hesitation if an opening was left.
Any dragoon would have ended a foe sprawled on the ground so that it wouldn’t come for your back the moment it was turned.
Except, in that moment it had been no foe. Not in reality.
She clenched her teeth.
Nidhogg.
The name loomed in the back of her head. She knew he had no sway here. The beast was dead, but the abilities of the “flowers” had enough similarities to the elder dragon that she felt dread looming just out of sight.
Yvonne’s immediate response was to fight. Kill. Claw her way through anything in her path. Fight for survival. Fight for her country. Fight until she couldn’t fight anymore.
Desperate.
Feral.
Driven by the instinct to be the apex predator.
It was the type of mentality the black dragon had preyed upon. The one that several of her comrades had been nearly lost to, her former commander not the least of them.
It was also the type of mentality that allowed you to survive in a conflict with beasts much larger and more powerful than most could even imagine.
But there were no enemies here. Not presently--regardless of her feelings toward the beast being nursed by Catherine.
Even so, quelling the instincts honed by years of war and conflict was a task easier said than done, and she snarled beneath her breath as she abruptly shoved her halberd into the motionless body of the plant creature beside her, spilling more of its sap onto the ground as she bisected a fleshy pod with a sudden surge of adrenaline.
She didn’t regret a thing.
Not one.
But she missed several.
She wrenched her weapon from the creature, the sudden expulsion of aggression therapeutic in its own right, and she wiped the sap on the earth before she looked back at the group heading towards the entrance to the derelict ship.
Her teeth clenched again as she followed.