Ehvar felt everything drop away. It felt as though the color had all but left his face for a moment. His fingers felt numb, but they soon clenched with anger. It caused the spikes to drop down. It wasn’t what he intended. It was just the rage that fueled him in his next actions. Just like when the woman, Synerva, first hurt Mere and he was in shock -- when he struck down at her face as hard as he could manage when he did not want to go that far so quickly. Desmond nudged that balance and it did more than go off kilter. It collapsed all together.
It was with that anger-- a blind rage that he launched himself forward. The force with which he used was not held back and each blow he surged forward was meant to do more than just taunt -- more than just hurt. And even though the advance was not as planned, the moves were still calculated. Years of training guaranteed that. The same training that had been done to control his emotions, however, did have its limits. Not everyone knew of his weak spot for the creature. Those that did knew not to tread on it.
Now that he was on the attack, he did not just focus on his prized fists that were his trademark in the murders. His legs too were used in an effort to break the man down a foot or two if the swings had not done that already. He would attempt to deliver a kick into Desmond’s shin to bring him down a notch. Gods willing, he would make good on his promise to rip that tongue from his gaping mouth soon enough.
It was with that anger-- a blind rage that he launched himself forward. The force with which he used was not held back and each blow he surged forward was meant to do more than just taunt -- more than just hurt. And even though the advance was not as planned, the moves were still calculated. Years of training guaranteed that. The same training that had been done to control his emotions, however, did have its limits. Not everyone knew of his weak spot for the creature. Those that did knew not to tread on it.
Now that he was on the attack, he did not just focus on his prized fists that were his trademark in the murders. His legs too were used in an effort to break the man down a foot or two if the swings had not done that already. He would attempt to deliver a kick into Desmond’s shin to bring him down a notch. Gods willing, he would make good on his promise to rip that tongue from his gaping mouth soon enough.
