He'd gotten free from Cetus, but who the hell could say how he'd ended up here? The dull-eyed bull was trotting steadily up along Tunnel G, blinking at the strange light of this place. His annoyance was already rising: it smelled rotten, like the shitty swamp. The light was irritating to his eyes. A snort, a heavy blink, a toss of his head--why was he still going forward? Who could say? He paused near the Aperture, tail lashing rapidly behind him as if in barometric indication of his temper.

Fast was angry.

He blinked slowly back the way he'd come, one ear flicking back toward the Aperture--and then he turned, staring dully as he heard... a noise.

Was--the cave entrance... moving? The rock seemed to swell, the gap narrowing, and Abaddon startled, leaping back with a loud snort. A lowing bellow of challenge escaped him, and he lowered his horns in a short bluff-charge. Anything that startled or scared him was going to be attacked, or mock-attacked, bluffed--but the cave entrance didn't run away and he came up short in a skid of dust, backing away again as he stared up at it.

He heard it coming--it was hard not to, the heavy thud of hooves on hard-packed earth, and then on rock. The snort, the mock-charge; for a moment, the Sentinel was unsure if this beast were a Lesser (perhaps some mutation of the Meadow Deer in Pegasus?) or a confused Greater Gembound.

Shadows swathed him, a cloak, a cradle, hiding him from sight. He stood quiet, his halberd held in hand, the butt rested against the floor as he observed. Was this creature dangerous? A threat to the Forge? It didn't seem intent on actually entering, as yet--but it was tossing horns at the shadows. Did it know, perhaps, of his own presence--of a guardian in the darkness? Was it looking for him--trying to force him out?

The Sentinel observed it almost idly.

When at last it stopped, staring up at the top of the Aperture, he spoke.

"For what purpose does it come here?" he asked it, his voice the rattle of wind through leaves, his magic hiding even the glow of his eyes.

The darkness--oppressive, wisping along the rock--spoke, and the startle was enough to send the bull into an immediate charge. Abaddon was, despite being a Greater, still a product of his species: a little dumb and a lot violent. His kind had evolved by goring and trampling threats to their herds, and only fleeing things that were not immediately gored or trampled. This was his first instinct--driven by startlement, by fear, more than viciousness. It was aggression, certainly, but not deliberated.

Dust plumed behind him as he launched into a charge, muscled shoulders jerking, cords visible in haunches and along his ribs as he plowed for the speaking dark. At the last instant--instinct guiding his strike--he shoved higher, head dropping down to gore whatever it might be with his horns--or, if it fell, to trample it underfoot.

Round:1/5?
Attempt: Charge (likely impact/trample or gore)
Defense: none
Injuries: none

The sudden explosion of violent motion did take the Sentinel by surprise, but his reflexes were honed and he was a skilled fighter. He had time for a brief thought--not really in words, but a reflection that perhaps Abaddon was not a thinking Greater, after all. Not that it would have mattered: a charge was an act of aggression, one that the Sentinel would punish with death, if he could.

The bull, however, was surprisingly fast--a hoof caught his leg and down he went, and he felt something like a sharp punch in his gut as a ton of angry bovine crashed over him. The wind was driven out of him and he was certain he felt a rib--maybe more than one--crack; pain shot through him, and for a moment he lay dazed, his grip even on his halberd haft loose.

Danger screamed through his mind: this beast was far more deadly than he'd imagined.

Round: 1/?
Attempt: Step to one side and stab Abaddon
Defense: none
Injuries: none

He stumbled, feeling something give underfoot. He had the briefest sense of something tall getting knocked over, the shadows blinding him, the chunk of something metal jammed against rock--not falling but striking as the Sentinel fell.

Abaddon turned--not as agile as a smaller beast--and dropped his head down, red-glowing eyes seeking out a target. Horns tossed and stabbed as he aimed to impale whoever or whatever he'd just knocked sprawling.

If he managed he could then leap clear, move away--then he'd have neutralized this threat.

Round: 2/?
Attempt: Gore Sentinel
Defense:
Injuries:

A soft wheeze escaped him as he hitched in a hard breath--hearing the clatter of heavy hooves as the bull made its turn. Still dazed, he nevertheless had the presence of mind to realize that if he stayed in place, he was dead; he turned, flipping himself for his chest in a clumsy and rushed movement, attempting to roll out of the way.

With any luck, he'd still be a little hidden in the dark--this area was shadowed--but he knew it wouldn't be complete, now that his magic had faded.

He felt the sweep of air at his back as he rolled, felt something brush his spine, and heard (and felt the vibration of!) the chunk of something heavy into rock. The snorting, heavy breathing drove him to roll a little further... just in case, his hand snatching for his halberd.

The injuries, he knew, would take their toll--he might even return to his gemstone against his will to heal them. But for now adrenaline flooded pain away, the crunch in his ribs simply disturbing rather than outright painful.

Round: 2/?
Attempt: Roll away
Defense:
Injuries: A little bit trampled...

He missed--his vision was dim and blurry on the best of days, and he couldn't see where his target had gone. Snorting heavily for air, he thrust his head down again and again, tossing it, struggling to catch whatever it had been and toss it--or impale it--on his horns. But his attack was blind; there was no telling if he'd hit a leg, a face, or nothing at all.

Round: 3/?
Attempt: Gore or toss on his horns
Defense: none
Injuries: none

He felt the sudden sense of something shoved beneath him--something hard, leveraging him up, tossing him bodily forward. For a dizzying moment he was spinning in the air, and he felt the tear of horn-points against his ribs--not impaling, but scraping as he was thrown violently forward.

The Sentinel hit the ground and rolled, though this time not of his own volition; it was a loose, helpless result of momentum. He came to a halt a little dazed, but now alarm was ringing through him. He had to turn this around, and quickly, or this stranger would likely kill him.

Master Vargas was away, he knew--he could not call for help, this time.

With a smooth movement he extended the roll, coming up into a somewhat clumsy kneel, turning as best he could toward his attacker. He jammed the butt of his halberd against the ground, angling the point for the bull: if it charged, with luck it would just impale itself.

Round: 3/?
Attempt: Impale Abaddon (if he charges)
Defense: Halberd angled forward, braced
Injuries: Trampled and thrown, cut

Abaddon did not, in fact, immediately charge: his instinct had already been to strike and then leap clear, and this he did now, a surprisingly nimble hooves-raised hop to one side. He danced away, head dropping halfway, nostrils flared and tail thrashing, as dull red eyes sought his target.

After a beat, instinct took over again, and Abaddon turned to flee. He bolted at a swift gallop, rapidly opening a gap between himself and the strange darkness (now glowing with blue spots??). Some dozen yards away he spun in a slide, nearly falling, dust and pebbles pluming up as he stared back the way he'd come.

He waited, alert, head dropping and raising as he took scent and sound, eyes prying the shadows for his enemy.

Round: 4/?
Attempt: Get a good distance
Defense:
Injuries:

Confusion wracked him, briefly--his massive attacker was fleeing? It struck him at once that if it were a greater, it'd be useful to the Forge; and if not, he should probably kill the beast. As food, but also to remove a threat.

"Is it... sentient..." he rasped, the pain in his ribs an agony with every word, even past the adrenaline. He struggled to come to his feet, though he remained wary: a ready pose, prepared to leap aside should the monster charge again.

His body slipped into familiar posture: tensed but loose, ready to react at an instant's notice, his glowing eyes trained warily (narrowed against the pain) at the bull just down the tunnel. It occurred to him that he could simply banish it to the void: but this was a temporary thing, and he was injured, and it was not. It would only prolong the fight, and not in his favor, as his wounds took their toll.

Round: 4/?
Attempt: BE PREPAAARED
Defense: ready to dodge
Injuries:trampled, tossed/bruised, cut (busted ribs)