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the Rift


With contamination comes a fever. [[Graveyard, Azzaron]]

Arlo Posts: 60
Hidden Account atk: 3.5 | def: 8 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 16hh :: 6 HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Stephy
#1
10-02-2013, 04:00 PM (This post was last modified: 10-02-2013, 04:46 PM by Arlo.)
a r l o

Finally, finally we were back in control. We had torn our way up through the depths and burst up from underneath and regained everything. We had pushed the other back down into the murky base of our cranium. We cackled in glee, causing a twisted look to appear on our maw, and our orbs to blaze a shocking cerulean. The bloodlust that had been absent for so long had returned and was cursing its way round our bloodstream, heart racing and head pounding.

The silly bastard had really thought that we were so weak that we would shrink away from the return of the sun. Though it wasn’t ideal, we were strong enough now that we could push past the harsh light and get on with what needed to be done.

We needed to fight. And none of this pansy training stuff the other had had us doing. No, a real all out battle, one that led to possible death, or at least one hell of a lot of rust spilling. Didn’t matter if it was ours or theirs. Of course, we would prefer it to be theirs. We were just longing for the smell of iron dripping onto the earth, the sounds of ivories tearing into muscled flesh, the screams of pain as someone toppled to the ground or was sliced open. We needed the thrill of the fight, we had been gone too long. There was a lot of lost time to make up for, and we intended to start RIGHT NOW.

Pistons pushed us forward, at some speed, orbs scanning the entire area for some unsuspecting piece of prey. A piercing shriek left our lips, our own form of disturbing battle cry, causing birds to scatter back into the air above and rabbits to scurry back under the cover of the foliage. We passed a few weaklings on our travels, but none were even worth slowing down for. If this was to be done, then it had to be done properly, with someone who was actually worthy.

The funny thing was, that this time, we fully intended on handing the reins back over to the other, but only after we had caused maximum havoc. It was to serve as a warning, to show just what we were capable of. They needed to be shown what would happen if we were to be kept from hunting for as long as last time..

To show that we really meant business, we had dressed up for the occasion. Our eyes were black and pupil-less, rather than the baby blues that they normally were. A half white mime mask was covering up the right side of our dial, and red berry juice covered our pistons and belly. Hopefully soon though, that would be replaced with real life blood. The thought caused us to omit a deep, rich cackle that boomed out through the trees. To top it all off, a black, long ragged cape surrounded our neck and swathed our carcass. We weren’t going for any look in particular, aside from creepy as hell..

Finally, we reached an open clearing, short grass with a slight dew upon it, for it was still relatively soon in the day. And low and behold, there stood one who was worthy of being our sacrifice. A creamy golden skyrat, alone and just prime for the taking.

We pushed ourselves hurtling from the shadows at a breakneck speed, approaching from behind, ivories bared and ready to attempt to slice at his ample rump. We slowed ourselves down to give us a chance to gain a purchase on the muscled behind. We then quickly swung ourselves round, so that we were able to run and ram his belly, neck outstretched, head barrelling forward at speed.

As did we so however the damn cape slipped round to our belly and tangled slightly in our pistons. “DRAT!” We screeched out loud, for what was the point of dressing up, if it was only to get in our way of a bloody and great victory?

We regained our composure, still circling around the winged rat, mocking;

“Come on you dodo, you great lump you.. show us what you are made of! You at least want to die with a little dignity, don’t you..?”

All of this was spat at him, as we snaked our way round him, hooves primed to dodge anything he tried to throw at us.


[[739 words. 1/3+ 0/1 final defence. Arlo flings himself at Azzarons rump, slowing himself down to try and tear a chunk out with his teeth, he then brings himself round to attempt to ram into Azzaron from the side. He cloak gets slightly tangled in his legs. His costume consists of a ragged black cape, tied round his neck, pure black contact lenses and half white mime mask across the right side of his face along with red berry juice staining his legs and belly.
WEATHER - It's a nice clear and mildly sunny birdsong day, 10am.
SETTING - A grassy field that goes fetlock high, forgiving and not too wet. Some flowers and trees are around, a creek cuts through in one area near two trees.]]
" "
Fugue
739 words.
@[Azzaron]

&CROWS WILL FLEE THE SCENE,
AS IF TO REMIND ME
HOW LONG ITS BEEN SINCE I'VE SEEN A DOVE.

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With contamination comes a fever. [[Graveyard, Azzaron]] - by Arlo - 10-02-2013, 04:00 PM

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