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Post by dogonda on Dec 9, 2006 20:34:04 GMT -5
The wolf glares at the small bosmer, Tarnon's arm struggle from under the werewolfs great mass. Sand clings to his nimble advesarys arm, turning a almost purple color, mixed with his lifes fluid. The figure squirms, grey eyes burning into Larn's seething emerald ones, as though lit by devlish flames. So close, blood, spurt, slaughter it! the primitive mind of the wolf screams at Larn's Breton conciousness.
Snaking devilishly, Tarnon frees one hand, throwing all his muscle into a wicked gouge, trying to rip Larn's eyes from their sockets. Feeling the finger sink deep under his eye, Larn roars, throwing back his upper body from his nimble opponent. Snarling evily, Larn's paw closes around the feathered shaft of the arrow in his shoulder. Pulling it quickly from its limb, blood flows gently out from the furry scales. Gloubles of drool pour out from in between the fangs of the beast, knowing the end may be near. Throwing himself down on the Bosmer, Larn trys to jam the point of the arrow deep into his jugular. Then, Larn attempts to tear the flesh from Tarnon's face.
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Post by OGRenderence on Dec 9, 2006 23:16:39 GMT -5
"Weirdest wolf ever." Gordon said.
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