[ — the metal creature goes down hard, limbs shrieking and weaponized shaft of light spitting out of its single eye. A radiant burst of energy that melts rock and spirals off into the sky like a warning beacon, perhaps to attract more of its kind to the site of its demise. Anything to crush the slight, dark figure of the elf standing astride its crumbling corpse — Drizzt's hood is drawn low over his face, his mouth barely visible below the edge. Drawn into a humorless, flat slash across his face, he's oddly poised and inanimate, as if his attention has been drawn into this single moment of slaughter.
Two metal limbs lay discarded, ripped from their root by a combination of cutting blows and force, and the thrumming engine of the inanimate Guardian finally dwindles and dies. Only then does Drizzt's predatory stance begin to lighten, his shoulders coming out of their drawn hunch, his blades withdrawing from where they had been thrust deep into the tough carapace of the entity. He doesn't understand what they are, of course, just that they're aiming to kill and thus, need to be killed; they aren't the first difficult beast he's fought, nor the first one that was difficult to kill by blade. He's adjusted his fighting style through the years to account for armor and hide, to use his blades as more than just cutting tools.
Slowly, he lifts his head, as if only just picking up on the nearness of another — below the edge of his hood, the pale lavender of his irises are moon-bright and pupil-less. Painfully constricted against the glow of the sunlight around. ]
— Link? [ He croaks, hoarse and hopeful. He'd seen the Hylian calling from the top of the ruins, and made his way immediately for him, only to be beset by all sorts of monsters. They'd all perished, the same as goblins and armies and dragons and elementals and demons and humans had all also perished by his lethal hand. Now, his vision swims with something edged with instinct, some pained desperation — please, be real he begs silently. Please, I cannot be trusted alone. ] My friend, have I finally reached you?
wildcardy wildcard!
Two metal limbs lay discarded, ripped from their root by a combination of cutting blows and force, and the thrumming engine of the inanimate Guardian finally dwindles and dies. Only then does Drizzt's predatory stance begin to lighten, his shoulders coming out of their drawn hunch, his blades withdrawing from where they had been thrust deep into the tough carapace of the entity. He doesn't understand what they are, of course, just that they're aiming to kill and thus, need to be killed; they aren't the first difficult beast he's fought, nor the first one that was difficult to kill by blade. He's adjusted his fighting style through the years to account for armor and hide, to use his blades as more than just cutting tools.
Slowly, he lifts his head, as if only just picking up on the nearness of another — below the edge of his hood, the pale lavender of his irises are moon-bright and pupil-less. Painfully constricted against the glow of the sunlight around. ]
— Link? [ He croaks, hoarse and hopeful. He'd seen the Hylian calling from the top of the ruins, and made his way immediately for him, only to be beset by all sorts of monsters. They'd all perished, the same as goblins and armies and dragons and elementals and demons and humans had all also perished by his lethal hand. Now, his vision swims with something edged with instinct, some pained desperation — please, be real he begs silently. Please, I cannot be trusted alone. ] My friend, have I finally reached you?