[Center][H3][colour=2F4F4F][b]Gentle[/b][/colour][/h3][/Center][hr]

Attack, he thought as he watched the trolls charge, Minotaurs are built for attack. Charge and gore, it was why Minoas gave them big bloody horns. But he wasn't Minoas's first son anymore. He hadn't been for a long time. He was as much a follower of Apollokeos as he was a worshiper of the Horned-Father. Base born instinct warred with long hammered-in lessons of piety and pacifism, but in the end they reached a stalemate. Gentle might as well have stood there with his big thumb up his arse. 

He stood, racked by indecision, as the two trolls tore across the hills towards them, gory flesh and grey fog sloughing from their bodies like drippings from a roast, though a damn sight less delicious smelling. As they closed and he got a better look at them he realised that they stood even taller than he did. Well that was fucking peachy. One of the monstrosities - two headed, so twice as ugly - made a beeline for the little Aasimir. Shame, Gentle hadn't gotten to know him very well, didn't seem like he'd get the chance now. That problem quickly receded to the back of his mind when he realised the second beast was aiming for him, and suddenly all his indecion melted from him like winter snow. 

Nothing like actual bodily peril to put a theological crisis into perspective. 

He threw up his staff to block the trolls razor-sharp claws, but hadn't readied himself for the sheer power of the creature and lost his weapon in the process. A lifetime lived in the center of bloody melee flooded back to him in less than a fly's heartbeat, his hands moving without him needing to tell them to. He attempted to clamp both of the trolls wrists to keep it from swinging anymore at him, then readied himself to headbutt it into the dirt. He was willing to bet that as hideous as this thing was, its skull wasn't as thick as a full-grown 'taurs.