Fallenreaper — Roleplayer Guild

Roc Mission

At the sound of Arcadius’s voice, the Roc paused in the middle of her meal and twisted her head to glimpse the source. A lithe, bare skeleton had started to walk quietly toward the tree line. She flicked her head to the side in curiosity then slowly released what remained of her meal. Her golden eyes narrowed on the creature and deep inside her mind, she wondered if he was able to be devoured. Interested, the Roc chirped softly. Though what sounded soft to her had screeched across the scenery and made most creatures within the area flinch. She danced on her claw tips then darted her head out.

Her first strike wasn’t intended to grab the skeleton. Rather it would, if he didn’t dodge it, knock the bony fellow down into the dirt. Whether she managed to hit or not, the Roc readjusted her aim then flicked out again. This time her mouth was open and intended to snatch the skull into her beak.
Samson

The woods blurred all around him as he ran flat out. His hooves thundered upon the soft earth, his sharp toes clawed at the dirt tossing clots and pushed him farther along. His muscles glistened in sweat and power, each one budged with veins feeding his body in its plight. At first it was easy. The trees near the edge had started off widely apart for him to plow past without notice. His body seemed to pour more agility and speed then seemed possible for his thick, heavy built frame should’ve been able to muster.

Samson’s nostrils wisped thick heavy mist with each inhale and exhale, his barrel chest took in the air like needed nutrients then burned it just as fast. Slowly, he started to realize his error in darting into the woods. Unlike the other horse, whose frame was slightly smaller and better built to plow, Samson’s wasn’t. He had been a war horse in his young. Among those experiences, his flank held faded scars where a few minor battles had left their mark. Closer the trees became until a few scrapped against his flank making it waiver until the trees became too tight for him to race by. They appeared like cage bar from nature and his head jerked about, his hooves stuttered in their rhythm only to recover in a moment. His body had slowed slight in his turn. His trace whipped out far enough for Annabeth to skim it with her fingers before it evaded her grasp’s attempt should she’ve made one. In a few seconds he skirted about her position and darted back the way he came.

Again he smacked his shoulder into the nearest tree, his eyes covered at the side by blinds, which caused it to ooze slight with blood. It slickened down his flank and covered his skin, but his gallop never ceased in speed. Instead he only seemed to push himself harder. So lost in fear and unease, Samson didn’t see the small, blue object in his way: Aramir.

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