the Rift


Halo's slipping down to choke you now [open]

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#1


Well, now that he'd gotten all fitted out with his new gear, he was absolutely itching to try it out, and in a good way, not the my balls are on fire kind of way. Which, was exactly the point.

Pulling his wolf cloak over his side a bit more, Öde pressed further into the falls, continually drawn to them due in part to how peculiar they were, but also for the thrilling memories he'd made here. He would have visited the other Riftian lands too, but this one being so close to home, tended to be his favorite playground. As he moved he tested out the feeling of the cotton fluff gently cradling his manhood, pleased with how soft and smooth it felt, and how it reduced the friction his exceptionally large testicles had always caused during such vigorous activities.

His cloven hooves grappled the snow easily as he traversed through the bloody lands, finding them even more beautiful this time of year compared to earlier when some browns and greens had speckled in and ruined the perfect contrast. He wasn't here for beauty though, not in the most basic sense of the word. He was here to test himself, to test his equipment and see how it would hold up under times of bigger duress. So, confidently Öde bugled out a challenge as he stood near the waterfall, lipping at bits of snow for hydration as he paced back and forth in mild impatience. He probably should have tried to find someone from the Basin to meet him here, but he was feeling a little more rough than a herd-friendly spar might allow. After all, he needed to test limits today, not play dance.



I can do teaching if desired! I'm fine with companions and magic, but if you don't want to use them then that's okay too!

Frostfall afternoon, very mild snow storm in the Blood Falls. Near the water's edge; the falls aren't frozen but the water is extremely cold. Snow on the ground isn't thick, but is covered.

A: 0/3
ÖDE
IT IS NOT A GOD'S DUTY TO BOW TO DENIZENS OF MORTAL FLESH



   Devenirr.Deviantart
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#2

i am the vanguard of your destruction
No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold,
Nothing satisfies me but your soul


It snows in hell—

—and Hell was here; snowflakes fell in heavy silence, muting the world as only snow can. Normally, Mauja thought it was serene, but the trees of the Blood Falls crowded close and dark, twisting and curling, black-boned fingers reaching for the sky as if to choke it—or the world. The whisper of the snowfall had a so much more sinister echo, the sound of it cold and heartless; blue eyes flitted restlessly between the thickly packed trunks as he traversed the land. He couldn't even remember why he had gone here in the first place. Maybe it had just been to look again at the place where the first of many Rifts had opened, to stare at the resting place of a God, and remember how the first encounter had been but a warning of what was to come: the sickly demon had threatened to tear his owl from him, but its brethren that came afterwards had done so much worse.

The sound which shattered the silence seemed to shake the world to its foundations. Mauja was brought up short, black-rimmed ears flicked forward as his gaze tore through the stark contrasts of dark trunks and pale snow. So he had not been alone in this godforsaken place, though he wondered if maybe he wouldn't have preferred to be; the memory lingering in his mind was brazen, a dare, a challenge. Uncertain, Mauja hesitated. Perhaps someone else was here. Perhaps someone else would take up the tossed gauntlet, rise to the bait, and charge foolhardily into oblivion.

And perhaps no one else was here, and it was just the two of them. Slowly, his pale neck bent, and his muzzle brushed across the smooth surface of the Moon's staff. It lay across his back, tucked in beneath one of the leather straps securing d'Artagnan's (his, they're his now—) bag. It felt cold against his sensitive nose. Foreboding. It whispered of bloodshed and fell deeds, of heathens clashing beneath a blood moon, demons and angels—

Silently Mauja pulled the unassuming weapon from its place, and leaned it against the nearest tree. His heart was racing; his jaws trembled as he touched the buckles, and one by one (—his heart had been breaking as he watched the leather slip from a blood bay's shoulder—) they came undone. And with more care than one might offer any inanimate object Mauja lifted the bags aside, nestled them in the snow and roots, leaving a piece of his heart there. His searching lips found the staff again, and he slid his muzzle along it until he found its center. It was time to face his foe.

Frosted hooves left large dents in the snow as he wove through the remaining trees. Something in the silence had grown even heavier, even darker, a subtle, insidious shift.

The trees, and the snow, parted. A tide of red crashed into a pool of the same color, and beside it stood a vaguely familiar stallion—

—his thin form spiraling through the air, flying high, crashing hard—

—with a wolf's pelt draped across his back. He was tall, sleek, handsome black, with a red-splattered forehead and a horn rising out of the blood-colored mess. But, what drew Mauja's attention the most was neither the young stallion's spectacular head markings, nor his apparent return from the dead: what drew Mauja's attention the most was the leather straps running in by his hips, heading straight for a very forbidden place. What on Earth were they? What did they lead to? Were they attached to—? Oh gods, what would happen if Mauja pulled at one of those straps?

Only one way to find out. Mauja paused at the edge of the trees, heart thundering out anticipation; it was a long, long time since he had fought like this, a solid shaft trapped in balance between his jaws.

Still, like Öde, he kept his secrets hidden.

Well I am Death, none can excel,
I'll open the door to heaven or hell


[ 0/3 || 656 words || @Öde ]
[ MUHAHAHA. :D Teaching? Yeah, if you don't mind taking the extra time to offer some feedback, I've never fought with a scythe before so it'd be good to get some opinions on what worked and what didn't! ^^ Question about his magic, though - is it a constant, passive effect, or does he need to activate it? Aaaand Mauja hasn't yet summoned the scythe blade, so it just looks like a crystal staff. ^^ ]
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Öde Posts: 145
Aurora Basin Disciple atk: 5 | def: 10 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hh :: 4.5 HP: 64.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Blu
#3


The opponent that came was not an assuming one. He arrived, as if from the snow itself, with a quietness that seemed to bespeak neutrality, if not even peace. Öde blinked, a flutter of black against red, as he watched the white stallion draw near, and nearer still. He might have discounted the presence, a pale shadow (an angel? a winter's reaper with his staff?) cast upon paler ground, except there was something more.

Mauja wore himself like war. He came with purpose, and he left evidence of it in the practiced prints he carved into the snow, in the play of shadow and light along the blue iris of his weathered gaze, it was even there in the cologne that wafted off his skin; ready, capable, wanting. Öde tensed when he realized this, and slowly a cocky smile fitted itself against his features, dashing away the perplexity with tailored strength. Not an angelic reaper, he thought sneeringly, feeding himself with compliments torn from the flesh of his foe. No, he's a damn cheerleader with a baton and a sparkly skirt. Does he think he can best me? Does he think he can survive me?
I am Öde.
I am the god of the mortals.
I am DEATH!


As if initiated by silent drums of war the devil's wolf picked up his feet and lead a fantastic charge towards his murderer. There'd be no ice spikes to fell Öde today though, not when Öde was the only divine being to fight; his sheer presence would force Mauja to remember his sickening mortality, such was the might of Öde's magic, smothering that of others. Mauja still had one spike though (more, if Öde was paying any attention to the staff that he had not government over), but Öde had three of his own (more, if his dick counted), and he lowered them now with a promise that they would strike with the same brutality Mauja had shown him once.

Of course, Öde did not know the historical tie that bound them together, but it certainly made for nice background music.

So Öde bore down on Mauja through the snow, his cloven hooves spreading against the iced loam, holding firm where other hooves might slide. He was used to this terrain, because hell was not an eternal flame, it was a cold pit and he lived in it, was born into it- just another demon set loose.
What was Mauja? The Frozen Light - suspended in time, lost to the ice; he was nothing.

Öde feinted to his left, trying to throw Mauja's defenses there while he ducked back to his right (Mauja's left). Agile and two-toed as he was, snow was a bitch and the move cost him some of his momentum. His lion's tail thrashed, spurring his ass forward; the muscles bunched and shoved him ahead, his triple crown hungry as its spires reached to tear into Mauja's neck. Öde thrust his head back for extra assurance. The central horn was longer and needed an extra push to delve deep, while the small, straight prongs that protruded from the base of it were but simple daggers, more likely to cut, but with shallow reach. It was why Öde did not slow, intending to rip himself through the alabaster hide to maximize damage, even if it lacked the pleasurable intimacy of a close kept stab where heartfelt whispers could be exchanged.

His jock strap cradled his balls nicely, even as his cloak strayed to one side, the dead flesh of the unfortunate animal fluttering gaily behind him.
Limits he reminded himself, abruptly stopping. He needed to see how well this thing really worked.
His forehand jarred as his front legs locked and bounced against the frost hardened ground. The brash stop forced his momentum up in a partial rear, but he surged downwards purposefully, head rolling with energy, testicles flouncing happily. As he landed he twisted to his right, shifted onto his forehand and fired out with his back hooves towards Mauja's left flank. Only a stride or two after his sword play, he guessed Mauja was still close, not quicker than he given the freckled fuck's height and bulk, so surely he was incapable of leaving already.

Öde's breath stormed out like a dragon's as the heat slammed against the cold with visible display. It billowed excessively as he brayed a challenging bellow, the sound thundering from his scarred chest as he dared Mauja to keep this up.
Ever a showman, Öde needed his opponent, and the rest of the world, to know when he was winning. Maybe that meant his victory wasn't obvious enough, maybe it just meant he fucked like he fought, loud and successful.



A: 1/3
D: 0/1
W: 787/800

YAY NEO FIGHT
Sure! I'll start the teaching after your first attack post :D His magic is constant, but doesn't affect passive magic.
ÖDE
IT IS NOT A GOD'S DUTY TO BOW TO DENIZENS OF MORTAL FLESH



   Devenirr.Deviantart
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, including death - no decapitating.
Be aware active magic doesn't work in his vicinity due to his magic!


62.5/62.5 HP
Helovia Hard Mode
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#4

i am the vanguard of your destruction
He wondered why he did this to himself.

The heart thundering in his chest faltered, slowed; grew doubtful, uncertain. This was not what he wanted—to clash and heave and rise and fall, to feel the pain of nerves and blood vessels breaking—

war paint in the blood of your enemies, the slow tickling as it pools around the base of your horn

But it was too late to back down now. The one baptized in blood had already turned to face him, had already seen him, and had already marked him for destruction. They would dance. When he walked out into the clearing, to the backdrop of the red spray from the waterfall, he had sealed his fate. He had taken up the challenge, and now, he had chosen not to run.

So he steeled himself, tongue playing against the cold crystal, head swaying.

He had been here once before, and now, snow covered the rocks. He was off-balance with a fucking staff weighing on his jaw and crippling the mobility of his untrained neck. He had made himself a prime target: a fine, fat, spotted sitting duck. A fine, fat, spotted sitting unenthusiastic duck to boot. He could already see it in his mind, Öde's vicious courage like a wildfire in the night compared to the drab, dreary passionless movements of Mauja.

Vicious courage would win, as a forest gave way beneath the onslaught of flames; adrenaline gave the upper hand. Fire and ice. He felt cold. Drained. Old.

His foe was running, charging. Blue eyes flitted down to dark hooves thundering into newfallen snow; cloven. Of course. He could lodge against rocks, grip the terrain, in a way Mauja couldn't. Mauja wanted to burn—to burn the spaces between them, to sear his own skin, to—well, anything, to get his pulse thrumming with fury and anticipation again, but nothing—nothing—happened. He'd thought he'd had the whole fire-bird thing down.

And then it was too late to think: too late to do anything, because the unfairly sleek and handsome stallion was practically in his face.

Öde was going right, and Mauja's neck bent, tracking him, the staff held level in his mouth; and then Öde was going left, and Mauja's neck and body bent, but he had a whole damn-long weight to balance in his jaws and the quick bitch made it past his defense, fortunately sweeping his head above the staff and failing to knock it out of Mauja's mouth. But that was about the only positive thing as he scrambled to the right in the snow—black horn tip slicing into pristine white skin, a siren going off in his mind—but he stumbled against a rock and dipped down, nostrils widening in a pained exhale as the tip of the horn slid free of his neck and into his mane. Blood trickled out, ruby red, a vertical line drawn across his neck. At least the pain spiked his system with adrenaline.

He needed to disengage, get away—get the fuck away, from this fucking madness he'd thrust himself into—gods he hated it, hated it, hated it, and he was starting forward as the hooves came out. One smacked him solidly in the haunch, the other struck the back of his thigh and slid off rather harmlessly.

And the little cretin bellowed, like he was some oh so cool warrior—the sound an affront to Mauja's ears, causing them to try and delve deeper into his thick neck. Well fuck you too, he thought, managing to complete his stride forward: his leg bore weight but complained like someone had started a fire in it, and his neck stung. The cut wasn't that deep, but long enough, filling his nose with the metallic tang of blood.

You're useless, Diego told him cheerfully, and he was inclined to agree. He had come here to swing his scythe around, but what was he doing? Taking all the shit Öde shoved down his throat without complaining.

Screw that.

As fast as he could he swung himself to the left and attempted to close on Öde's right side. Mauja swung his head to the left. Blood pressed out of the wound in his neck. The staff swung too, a low arc rising, its trajectory heading for the underside of Öde's barrel; he hoped to steer it clear of the hellion's front-legs and send it straight into his belly.

In a cold hush the scythe's blade flickered into life.

At the end of his swing Mauja threw his head up and back, hoping to angle the blade so it would slide into the other's body with minimum effort and cut him open.

Mauja was a savage: a frigid, silent savage, with a complete disregard for the fact that it was rude to attempt to kill strangers.

[ 1/3 || @Öde || 797 words. ]
Not entirely sure what the weather is like, could you perhaps find some picture of how much you imagining it snowing, blowing etc? ^^ So we're in the same boat!
First draft of this was 996 words. Grrrr. This post is so butchered it's not even funny. :/
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#5
Ode defaults to Mauja.
Mauja earns 0.5 VP.


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