[color=a0410d]	Like lightning, the revenant was back on its feet - surprising even placid-faced Ifor with its apparent tolerance for pain. It lunged, STREAKING across the moonlit beach...before abruptly faceplanting itself onto......was that the 'Captain's' sword? Ifor blinked his eyes in confusion; though sputtering and scrambling at first entry into the fray, the boy recovered quickly, keeping his blade aimed true at the recoiling monstrosity as he shouted:[/color] "[color=8dc73f]Get behind... get behind me![/color]"

[color=a0410d]...Well, it was a nice moment while it lasted.

	Plagued by the inexperience of youth, Chapt'n Thomus made the sudden mistake of taking his focus *off of the task at hand, and instead misplaced it on...something in the distance; Ifor didn't really know, and he didn't particularly care to know right now - instead planting his feet firmly apart and w i n d i n g up his left in preparation for the inevitable. Like clockwork, the beast lunged again, seeking the favor of opportunity...and once more, failed to find her: With a stout "BHOOM" Ifor's knuckles cannonballed face-first into their game, sending its momentum rippling off along the shifting white as it tumbled once...twice...before growling even more rancorously than before. [b]Again[/b] it rose...- to the rhythm of fists as their host tagged the bloodied monster's eyesocket, nose and jaw with a quick 1-2-3 combo. It lurched forward blindly, but Ifor pressed his advantage; with a quick backstep he pulled himself out of its path and, following this up in time with its speed, yanked it by the arm into the humiliating embrace of the sands below. Even so, the man had to wince at his current victory - the slightest scrape of the beast's claws against his forearm bespeckled the arena floor with a hail of scintillating crimson...and with sudden realization, Ifor understood just how outmatched he was in going toe-to-toe against this slate-faced menace.

	Wheezing and snarling, it spit grit and scrambled madly towards its now singular focus, gnashing shark's-teeth and clawing the shallow dunes under a brooding scowl; yet even now it found no success, hurling hoarse screams at its slippery prey. 

...That was, unless "Success" could be defined as "An aggravating game of ring-around-the-rosie..."


......[/color]



"...pockett, full-uh-posies..."