Alora DeVeau Posted May 6, 2021 Share Posted May 6, 2021 I thought this was a wonderfully written fight scene and I love the tidbits of Tatash we see in here. There is a warning below, however. Still, a great fight scene, even if it's quite violent. ((OOC: Putting a strong Content Warning: Violence on this. It is quite bloody. Also sorry for the confusion earlier I posted an unfinished article whoops)) ((The Waiting Room)) Crunch. That was the sensation Tatash felt as he was thrown back against the wall by the almost impossibly sized Klingon. Whatever it was that just snapped in his back would have to wait as he forced himself to stand back on his feet, looking at the lumbering giant across from him. He was monstrous even for the renowned strength of a Klingon in their prime, his muscles bulging under his leather jerkin so much that Tatash could identify just about every muscle group. Tatash: Impressive. Whatever this lumbering hulk was, he had Tatash locked with his full attention. Good, the brawl with Kelemkor at least would have two against one, even if one of them was now spinning a painstick around like the galaxy's most awful marching band leader. Athaw: You shall not pass. Tatash: Then I’ll go through you. A brief moment passed between them as they sized up the distance between them and just how hard the opening volley would need to be, the last moment of calm before the beast came charging towards him with a bloodcurdling warrior cry. Something stirred in the Gorn as he did, letting his own roaring shriek out before charging forward to meet his powerful aggressor. It was an even match, probably the first even match he’d ever really experienced. It was exhilarating, pain being pushed aside by sheer bloodlust as for once the Gorn allowed himself the luxury of indulging something that he had been keeping buried deep inside for years. The spirit of a warrior clashing with the beast that he was finally allowing after so long to push through to the surface. Athaw barely responded to the blows the Gorn was dishing out, those standard punches that were the product of years of fighting lesser opponents and they were doing nothing to stop the massive pile of flesh as the Gorn found himself pressed back against a wall and smacked hard in his rib cage. Something gave way leaving a sharpness in his chest adding the sensation that breathing was starting to get a little more difficult, more laboured with each half inflation of a damaged lung. But wounds were something that occurred when the adrenaline faded, when he was allowed and permitted to feel pain. They were something to be doted over in a sickbay or hospital bed, they were not for the here and now in life and death. He grappled back, that thin veneer that was civilised behaviour starting to crack as Tatash relearned through pain what he was at his base level. What lurked under the training like a vile shape under a churning sea, the well drilled protocols, the rules of engagement one by one were falling apart as it was made clear this was an encounter that could have one definite ending. -I- will win. Tatash thought, rage bubbling up inside him, stacking like precarious mental bricks on top of each other building a terrible wall of force. -I- am Gorn. He lunged himself forward and clenched his jaw around Athaw’s shoulder and bit down, the full force of those terrible predatory teeth bearing down and pushing through the fabric and into the flesh beyond. Warmth flooded his mouth, metallic, running out over his chin. Athaw: ? Another series of punches came at him, but he was lost to himself, each one registering as a dull thud no doubt battering him but shrouded behind the insanity of brutal gratuitous combat, only letting go of Athaw to let out another fearsome roar, a shrieking hissing sound from a wide open mouth with stained teeth dripping crimson. He circled around him, waiting for Athaw to make another dash towards him. Athaw: ? And dash he did, the sheer force of the boot shoving against his chest sent the Gorn reeling backwards against a row of cabinets, Klingon documents spilling out like confetti as he impacted them sending their carefully catalogued shelves flying out across the room. His uniform tore, revealing the scarred scales underneath as it caught on the corners that were digging hard into him. Tatash: You’ll… never… win Tatash lunged forward again, propelling himself forward with his hand open, fingers curled up as he swiped down with his claws fully exposed, those talons ready to take the Klingon’s sight as he aimed to rend those sockets clean. Athaw: ? That terrible warmth of an inflicted wound washed over the Gorns hand, Athaw’s hand coming up out of reflex to cover his face as the dark talons carried out their grisly task, the base instinct to protect vision was a powerful one in any lifeform with eyes, that rarely could be overcome. But still the Klingon stood, swinging his mighty fist blindly towards the Gorn and connecting hard with his snout, the sound of something hitting the ground as he managed to shatter a couple of the Gorns terrible teeth, the remains of them clattering onto the ground. Tatash: Why… won’t… you… stop Each of those words was delivered with another swing of his own tensed mechanical fist, the artificial limb whining, before suddenly stopping as Athaw gripped it in his hand. Tatash pushed, the Klingon pushed back causing the appendage to start whining under the duress. No matter how hard Tatash struggled against it, the fist would not budge, before finally with a dull cracking sound the servomotors failed and his limb decoupled itself with a spectacular spray of sparks, hanging limply by the Gorns side. Athaw: ? The sheer predatory feeling to finish the task bubbled up without any particular thought. It was a primal, surging need. A need to survive regardless of the cost. A need to survive and protect the data that was hidden in that smoking, ruined arm. Turning his long snout to the side Tatash heaved himself forward and wrapped his jaw firmly around the Klingon’s neck, sinking his teeth into that delicate, unprotected flesh, gripping firmly, before wrenching his head back with a sickening tearing sound. The confusion on Athaw’s stained face was obvious as Tatash discarded the contents of his mouth onto the ground, the gurgling strained sound coming from his opponent echoed as he staggered backwards blinded and dazed, before slipping on his own essence that was pooling on the floor under him in a rapidly growing circle, collapsing backwards. No more roars, no more triumphant cries or bold strikes. Clutching his throat desperately to stem the flow of blood the Klingon was down but at least alive. Whether he would remain that way would depend on how quickly the other battle in the room could be resolved, whether or not Kelemkor would see reason, or continue this reckless course. He turned his gaze towards the other group, fixing his grisly visage upon Kelemkor with his pain stick. He didn’t move towards them, just outstretched his arms with his clawed fingers spread and opened his mouth once towards the telepath, hissing loudly. He wanted Kelemkor to peer into his head, he yearned for it, he -wanted- him to experience every emotion running through him. The rage, the anger, the primordial satisfaction of his ancestors from downing such a powerful beast. The pride, the sheer and point blank savagery. Because then Kelemkor would know he would be next. Kelemkor/Taybrim/DeVeau: ? --- Major Tatash Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company) Starbase 118 Ops C239108T10 Quote Link to comment
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