Night had fallen, the blazing heat giving way to unforgiving frigid cold. And yet, to Orrin, the sensation was the more bearable of the two, reminding him of his distant home. He emerged from his desert hovel, lance in hand.
It would be several paces from the offset that he would finally find his quarry. He grimaced visibly at the throbbing, writhing grizzly flesh of the sandworm. Its circular jaw lined with teeth, its myriad crawlers clawing about the sand in its reach, all entirely unawares of the cloaked Dragoon. His icy eyes peered from beneath his cowl, judging, gauging the foul vilekin. He then shifted his weight and in one quick motion he leaped.
The worm must have sensed something, perhaps its blind eyes sensing the sudden cool upon its body when his shadow crossed over its back, for it suddenly jutted its "head" upwards to meet Orrin's lance, the blade descending deep before the hooks and wings started to dig into what he would consider its face. His feet would soon follow, landing upon the worm. He is quick to slip down, straddling the worm, digging into the body with the blades upon his armored calves. It began to buck violently, clearly not all to enthused by its current situation.Â
Orrin lifts the lance once more to drive it down hard, this time hitting his mark of where he assumed the brain or its equivalent would be. Skewering right through the pulsating flesh till the head of the Gae Bolg surfaced on the other side, wings and all. One final, quivering, twitching spasm and the worm fell limp and Orrin rolled off into the sand onto his back.Â
He'd be quick to stand, drawing a knife into his armored palms he began to carve up his kill. He cut slices into the white meat, avoiding what he thought were organs to avoid the chance of consuming something he shouldn't. The rubbery muscle seemed to twitch still, as though it had yet to get the message that it was dead. His knife then tears into something, it looked like the guts of the creature and the smell was something else. He was so used to the gore of his homeland, of burning fat and flesh within armor that the vilekin's rend corpse nearly made him gag. He stuffed what meat he could into the bag and stood up to leave the rest for the vultures.Â
It had to be better than goobue flesh, right?
It would be several paces from the offset that he would finally find his quarry. He grimaced visibly at the throbbing, writhing grizzly flesh of the sandworm. Its circular jaw lined with teeth, its myriad crawlers clawing about the sand in its reach, all entirely unawares of the cloaked Dragoon. His icy eyes peered from beneath his cowl, judging, gauging the foul vilekin. He then shifted his weight and in one quick motion he leaped.
The worm must have sensed something, perhaps its blind eyes sensing the sudden cool upon its body when his shadow crossed over its back, for it suddenly jutted its "head" upwards to meet Orrin's lance, the blade descending deep before the hooks and wings started to dig into what he would consider its face. His feet would soon follow, landing upon the worm. He is quick to slip down, straddling the worm, digging into the body with the blades upon his armored calves. It began to buck violently, clearly not all to enthused by its current situation.Â
Orrin lifts the lance once more to drive it down hard, this time hitting his mark of where he assumed the brain or its equivalent would be. Skewering right through the pulsating flesh till the head of the Gae Bolg surfaced on the other side, wings and all. One final, quivering, twitching spasm and the worm fell limp and Orrin rolled off into the sand onto his back.Â
He'd be quick to stand, drawing a knife into his armored palms he began to carve up his kill. He cut slices into the white meat, avoiding what he thought were organs to avoid the chance of consuming something he shouldn't. The rubbery muscle seemed to twitch still, as though it had yet to get the message that it was dead. His knife then tears into something, it looked like the guts of the creature and the smell was something else. He was so used to the gore of his homeland, of burning fat and flesh within armor that the vilekin's rend corpse nearly made him gag. He stuffed what meat he could into the bag and stood up to leave the rest for the vultures.Â
It had to be better than goobue flesh, right?
RPC wiki! Leave rumors! https://wiki.ffxiv-roleplayers.com/pages/Orrin_Halgren
