[It's a small clearing, but still enough space for him to get the measure of this new sword; larger than what he would usually choose, but still comfortably within the range of blades with which he might called him practiced. Too cumbersome to be wielded with one hand, except when borne by erratic momentum, but easily handled with two. It's been well crafted, keenly honed and finely balanced. It'll be a pleasure to work with this, and he already has a perfect bloody christening prepared.
They have taken his particular sight from him, these gamemakers. He can not track, can not feel as others feel, and the disappointment of that might have had him distracted still had they not seen fit to gift him this horned spitfire as his teammate. The little man had attacked him first! Armed only with spirit and rage, and what use were those against him? Even with bare fists Thane had soon brought the man low before him, and might very well have killed him right there were it not indeed for those horns. Black as pitch and cool as bone to the touch, and if pried just so, as if to separate them by force from the skull... how the goat had bleated then! Sounds that clawed from the back of the throat, the sort that Thane thinks will draw frenzied spittle to this little man's lips if he goes at it with a blade and removes them good and proper and completely. He'd resolved then to do just that, and searched for weaponry ever since.
The goat had proven selfishly uncooperative toward the task, but that's been fun too. It's taken only the occasional blow to keep him sufficiently staggered, reeling and glassy-eyed - Thane fears not resistance but an attempt at escape. He's never been one for the chase so much as the result.
But finally they've succeeded, the one and singular success they will share as a team. Along with the sword, buried deep in the rotten hollow of an unpleasantly decaying tree trunk, Thane has uncovered some sort of ration packs, and a pouch containing a fine knuckleduster. The pouch he ties at his belt, both ration sets crammed tightly within. The brass knuckles adorn his right hand, a few practice swings gladly revealing that they won't impede his swordsmanship. It's time enough now, and he lifts his chin, grin vicious and bright as he opens his mouth to speak.
And then stops, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. ... There, yes. He did hear something. Thane hefts the blade across one shoulder and strides the negligible distance between himself and his ill-fated pet, catching hold a firm handful of fine dark hair and yanking the man's head to match the curious tilt of his own. He's grinning again, eyes shining, his voice a low enthused whisper.]
Do you hear that? I'm starting to think these gamemakers favour me, goat. Listen, it's getting closer. What do you think it will be? Get lower; [He commands it, drawing them down to a half-crouch with another sharp yank of that hair.] Let's see. If you'd been a good little boy daddy would have let you help kill it. But you weren't good, were you?
[With no more warning he slams his teammate down into the earth in one smooth hard motion, jamming his heel to the back of the other man's neck.]
Daddy doesn't like sharing anyway. Now shush, quiet now, little goatling...
[Thane watches the woodland and waits, bright-eyed and brilliant with anticipation.]
ENCOUNTER: TEAM SEVEN & TEAM SEVENTEEN
They have taken his particular sight from him, these gamemakers. He can not track, can not feel as others feel, and the disappointment of that might have had him distracted still had they not seen fit to gift him this horned spitfire as his teammate. The little man had attacked him first! Armed only with spirit and rage, and what use were those against him? Even with bare fists Thane had soon brought the man low before him, and might very well have killed him right there were it not indeed for those horns. Black as pitch and cool as bone to the touch, and if pried just so, as if to separate them by force from the skull... how the goat had bleated then! Sounds that clawed from the back of the throat, the sort that Thane thinks will draw frenzied spittle to this little man's lips if he goes at it with a blade and removes them good and proper and completely. He'd resolved then to do just that, and searched for weaponry ever since.
The goat had proven selfishly uncooperative toward the task, but that's been fun too. It's taken only the occasional blow to keep him sufficiently staggered, reeling and glassy-eyed - Thane fears not resistance but an attempt at escape. He's never been one for the chase so much as the result.
But finally they've succeeded, the one and singular success they will share as a team. Along with the sword, buried deep in the rotten hollow of an unpleasantly decaying tree trunk, Thane has uncovered some sort of ration packs, and a pouch containing a fine knuckleduster. The pouch he ties at his belt, both ration sets crammed tightly within. The brass knuckles adorn his right hand, a few practice swings gladly revealing that they won't impede his swordsmanship. It's time enough now, and he lifts his chin, grin vicious and bright as he opens his mouth to speak.
And then stops, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. ... There, yes. He did hear something. Thane hefts the blade across one shoulder and strides the negligible distance between himself and his ill-fated pet, catching hold a firm handful of fine dark hair and yanking the man's head to match the curious tilt of his own. He's grinning again, eyes shining, his voice a low enthused whisper.]
Do you hear that? I'm starting to think these gamemakers favour me, goat. Listen, it's getting closer. What do you think it will be? Get lower; [He commands it, drawing them down to a half-crouch with another sharp yank of that hair.] Let's see. If you'd been a good little boy daddy would have let you help kill it. But you weren't good, were you?
[With no more warning he slams his teammate down into the earth in one smooth hard motion, jamming his heel to the back of the other man's neck.]
Daddy doesn't like sharing anyway. Now shush, quiet now, little goatling...
[Thane watches the woodland and waits, bright-eyed and brilliant with anticipation.]