[There is a room in the palace of Anor Londo, colloquially known as Ornstein's Trophy Room. Decorating its walls are the heads of drakes both great and small, dead glassy eyes and fearsome maws looming over any who visit. Some might consider them with wariness, but Ornstein himself is proud of his accomplishments. The dead creatures, with their lashing tongues and rigid scales, were fearsome in life; but the Captain of the Knights of Gwyn defeated them regardless, a testament to his own might and skill. It was proof that the time of the dragons had long passed, and that the Age of Fire would continue to burn eternal.
There are some dragons, however, that refuse to be defeated so soundly.
One such creature flies above the knight's head, green poisonous flames flitting around its maw. Its stone scales are a stark contrast to Ornstein's golden armor, the long red plume of his helmet trailing behind with each move. The attack had come unexpectedly, but he is always prepared; he stands at the defensive, wielding a spear that matches the sheen of his plating. And when the dragon swoops low, hoping to catch a nearby stranger in its claws, the man does what he thinks is necessary.
...He shoulder checks the stranger out of the way.
Air is swept out from underneath the dragon's wings, but little more than that; it missed its mark, if only barely. The knight turns to look at the man who had been very much in the way, and a scowl can be heard in his tone, if not visible on his face, obscured by his helmet.]
for arthur
There are some dragons, however, that refuse to be defeated so soundly.
One such creature flies above the knight's head, green poisonous flames flitting around its maw. Its stone scales are a stark contrast to Ornstein's golden armor, the long red plume of his helmet trailing behind with each move. The attack had come unexpectedly, but he is always prepared; he stands at the defensive, wielding a spear that matches the sheen of his plating. And when the dragon swoops low, hoping to catch a nearby stranger in its claws, the man does what he thinks is necessary.
...He shoulder checks the stranger out of the way.
Air is swept out from underneath the dragon's wings, but little more than that; it missed its mark, if only barely. The knight turns to look at the man who had been very much in the way, and a scowl can be heard in his tone, if not visible on his face, obscured by his helmet.]
You would do well to move out of the way.