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Post by moralhazard on Mar 9, 2019 20:19:16 GMT
The cockatrice crowed with pleasure at the strike, panting and shaking, half-burnt. It would watch Citrine fall, her wings slowing her speed somewhat and strike the ground. It straightened its wings and charged at Citrine, sharp beak opening wide.
The ringleader was sprinting towards them, and came to an abrupt stop as Citrine hit the ground. "STOP!" Citrine would hear the words aloud, but they must have been a command, for the cockatrice pulled back, hovering in air above her head, shedding burnt feathers on the ground around her.
"If you're dead," The ringleader sneered at Citrine, "then how will you perform for me?" His eyes were wild and crazy. "I'll need a new star, since you set my couatl free," he spat on the ground, hands clenching into fists.
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 9, 2019 20:22:32 GMT
Gonna make the last con save, then write the whole post from there
xsZFHvIp1d20+31d20+3
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Citrine
Approved
6 Wild Blooded Sorcerer+ 1 Celestial Warlock
Posts: 328
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Post by Citrine on Mar 9, 2019 23:42:28 GMT
The elegance of her dodging carried her through to a final twist for her third shot - but something went wrong. She felt it as she curled her spine around from one final loop, the counterweight of her tail flicking to the side to balance out her spin, the unintended -pop- of her wing socket as she lined up the fire bolt - only for it to shoot wide, spitting useless into the ground. The added weight she'd had of putting the coil of rope around her like a sash as she'd investigated the couatl threw her off. This is why she didn't wear armor. This is why she rarely carried anything of her own. Even the smallest of weight added to her required a recalculation of balance. But there had been something else that threw off her aim. She hadn't felt it when it hit right away, but looking at her extended arm? Fresh blood. The shit of a cockatrice had gotten her as she'd tried to maintain her distance between them.
And it went downhill from there.
Swearing at the wide shot of the firebolt Citrine looked up from her hovered position and saw, eyes widening, the cockatrice slam into her - beak and talons cutting into her torso as if her mage armor was nonexistent. She could hear the snapping of her own bones, hollow and fragile, under the weight of the chicken -she was done thinking of it as its proper creature title-
The shock to her system, gaping breath and the struggle to remain in the air caused a momentary lapse in her fortitude against the stinging and heavy-weight of its claws. Her feet felt heavy, her wings felt heavy. Even her hair felt heavy as she felt her head lull back as a certain kind of dumbness began taking over. A darkness she'd never experienced before. It was the impossible sensation of being turned to stone.
Flipping herself over the phoenix just let herself go into a freefall, angling her wings enough to at least not hit head first into the ground. Falling with style - least that's how she'd recount the story later. If she had a later. The bolt in her shoulder was burning, the claw marks from the cockatrice heavy, and the numbness she felt as stone began to freeze more and more of her, starting from the toes and moving upward, made it so she barely felt the ground when she slammed into it.
The impact lodged the bolt further into the muscle of her arm, pushing some of the point through to the other side. -STOP- Someone shouted above her head, but at this point? The firebird could only twitch and kree in defiance of a near-death scream as she lost sensation of more and more of her body.
"If you're dead, then how will you perform for me? I'll need a new star, since you set my couatl free." Citrine began chuckling, darkly, content in the knowledge Hopebringer had gotten free. She'd get out of this. She always did. She'd survived through worse - this ringleader was no Lady Maeve.
It was the last thought she had before the stone effect filled in over her eyes and suffocated the fire out of the phoenix statue on the ground, crumpled, wings crooked, but with a self-satisfied smile knowing she hadn't gone down willingly, or been anywhere near broken.
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