Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-10197675-20170202101117/@comment-10197675-20170210173313

Arjoir chanced it as he suddenly jumped to his feet and sprinted towards the mountain range of solitude, he slipped as he avoided falling, vaulting over downed trees, darting around large rocks and leaping over dips in the marsh. But for all his effort the Khajiit was still in critical danger, for the wind was just teasing the mortal, letting him think he had a slight glimmer of hope and in a sudden instant Arjoir stopped and turned absolutely terrified, as he heard the impending doom of the winds wrath looming towards him. In a sudden prompt of power, the Khajiit was struck by a sharp gust, hitting the left side of his upper torso, thus ripping the Khajiit’s arm from its socket and sending him back through the air as the wind carried him and threw him down into damp marsh. Screams of pain erupted as Arjoir rolled around in agony blood leaking from his shoulder where his arm had been attached, the arm lay limp next to him, as the marsh turned red. Weeping the Khajiit tried to regain himself, the pain was enduring and Arjoir knew it was going to take him to his limit, however a spark of strength raged within him willing him to get up and run, willing him to survive and in a scream of anger and tremendous pain Arjoir stood up and forced himself to walk onwards knowing that the wind could strike at any moment and end it all. All the Khajiit focused on was the mountains in the distance ahead, their beauty being enough to drive the Khajiit one step further, their white glare was a beacon of safety and hope in the desolate wasteland that surrounded. The Khajiit however was too weakened as he dropped to his knees, his strength draining, he closed his eyes, tears dripping down through his mattered fur. He felt shamed by his will, as he gave into the winds strength. Agony pulsated and through his crippled body and around his frail heart. The Khajiit could hear a howling fate that was nearing… but he felt noting, a threatening voice sounded, tearing through the air a deep low pitched chant. Repeatedly it beckoned the word, “Motoa”… “Motoa”. A bright flash of lightning struck the marsh ten or so feet away from the trembling Khajiit who kneeled down in shame, Arjoir then rolled down to the ground exhausted, and his conscience lapsed… events of madness and destruction unfolded around him as a powerful and extremely large entity of wind took form above, its mighty presence unprecedented within this world of weakness... Motoa had dawned in all its glory.