Home
Gallery
Search
Register
Log in
by Davis 3/10/2013, 8:55 pmBut hindsight didn't exist to the petite daughter of Hermes, who struggled violently to keep her mouth and nose and general head above the water, as a long furry extremity of red pressed into the delicate skin of her chest, talons warping around her shoulders and piercing sharply between her ribs. Her lips were parted and face contorted to match her miserable groaning, funneling from her like an exhaust pipe every time the monster looming above her form crushed down, maw cracked and rancid breath steaming from its jaws, saliva oozing through discolored, jagged teeth. Gross. And it was dripping on Charlie, as she squirmed underneath and tried to hold her breath while the frigid water poured over her, soaking her to the bone. Her sweatshirt and jeans were heavy, sticking to her and failing to assist in the demigod's attempts to breathe air instead of dirty water mixed with blood, her blood, that trickled out where the beast's claw drove into her gut. The wound itself wasn't so bad, more similar to when you cut yourself shaving in the shower. The blood thins in the water, making it seem like it's spewing out profusely, like a B list horror movie death. In reality, she was still okay... sort of. It just hurt like a mofo.
One of her arms was locked under her spine in an uncomfortable position, and she hadn't the slightest clue how she'd managed to get pinned like so--she'd been grabbing for a knife on her belt when suddenly there had been a growl and a thrust, the animal barreling into her and rocking her back into the creek, where she was trapped. The other arm was locked forward, all of her strength being put into keeping the monster's snapping jaws at bay, her fingers tangled desperately within its fur. She could actually feel the muscles of what she assumed to be it's non-existent eyebrows under the thick skin of the monster, glaring red eyes staring back into her green ones. Charlie was clearly in a very muddled situation, and it had come from a simple desire to fight. To vent some steam in the forest. Summoning a manticore had seemed like a good idea at the start, especially since she had a terrain advantage and new the forest like the back of her hand, and had drank from and swam in the creek more times than she cared to remember.
However, she might've misjudged the size. And the hostility. And he claws. Ow. The beast, on all fours, from tip to tipl, easily stretched a dozen and a half feet longer, with the barbed, red tail that swooshed to and fro making for at least a quarter of the distance. The beast was unnecessarily muscular, arms and legs rippling under its sleek, dark red hyde. Charlie could've sworn she'd seen traced of a six pack when the monster had leaped. As a manticore, the beast's red body was lion shaped, with a lizard-like tail extremity that struck to kill, via toxins that pollute the blood and curdle it like milk left in the sun. In short, it was a body part best to be avoided. The head wasn't much better, although rather than toxins it would've killed you with ugly. The face of a man, a flattened nose with scarred nostrils and high cheek bones, glowering red eyes and a permanent scowl that could only be matched in horror by when the jaw opened and the beast roared. Holy sh*t. Charlie couldn't even tell if she had peed herself in fear, since her pants were already wet from the incessant, forceful dunking.
Everytime she managed to arch her torso forward and lift her head above the creek to breath, she got in half a breath and was thrust back below, scolded with a terrible screech from her monster opponent, and left to struggle in futility. It had been something of a miracle that Charlie had lasted this long with as few wounds as she had; manticores were effing dangerous. And she knew that, too, but had chosen to summon one into camp for a nice, adrenaline-pumping fight. While she drowned, she thought about scenario with bitter indignation. This could've gone better.
One of her arms was locked under her spine in an uncomfortable position, and she hadn't the slightest clue how she'd managed to get pinned like so--she'd been grabbing for a knife on her belt when suddenly there had been a growl and a thrust, the animal barreling into her and rocking her back into the creek, where she was trapped. The other arm was locked forward, all of her strength being put into keeping the monster's snapping jaws at bay, her fingers tangled desperately within its fur. She could actually feel the muscles of what she assumed to be it's non-existent eyebrows under the thick skin of the monster, glaring red eyes staring back into her green ones. Charlie was clearly in a very muddled situation, and it had come from a simple desire to fight. To vent some steam in the forest. Summoning a manticore had seemed like a good idea at the start, especially since she had a terrain advantage and new the forest like the back of her hand, and had drank from and swam in the creek more times than she cared to remember.
However, she might've misjudged the size. And the hostility. And he claws. Ow. The beast, on all fours, from tip to tipl, easily stretched a dozen and a half feet longer, with the barbed, red tail that swooshed to and fro making for at least a quarter of the distance. The beast was unnecessarily muscular, arms and legs rippling under its sleek, dark red hyde. Charlie could've sworn she'd seen traced of a six pack when the monster had leaped. As a manticore, the beast's red body was lion shaped, with a lizard-like tail extremity that struck to kill, via toxins that pollute the blood and curdle it like milk left in the sun. In short, it was a body part best to be avoided. The head wasn't much better, although rather than toxins it would've killed you with ugly. The face of a man, a flattened nose with scarred nostrils and high cheek bones, glowering red eyes and a permanent scowl that could only be matched in horror by when the jaw opened and the beast roared. Holy sh*t. Charlie couldn't even tell if she had peed herself in fear, since her pants were already wet from the incessant, forceful dunking.
Everytime she managed to arch her torso forward and lift her head above the creek to breath, she got in half a breath and was thrust back below, scolded with a terrible screech from her monster opponent, and left to struggle in futility. It had been something of a miracle that Charlie had lasted this long with as few wounds as she had; manticores were effing dangerous. And she knew that, too, but had chosen to summon one into camp for a nice, adrenaline-pumping fight. While she drowned, she thought about scenario with bitter indignation. This could've gone better.
