the Rift


Desert Princes[Rhoa spar]

Rhoa Posts: 175
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Pegasus :: 17hh :: 3 HP: 65 | Buff: ENDURE
Odd
#2
Rhoa
Like ships in the night

I don't know why I agreed to this.

Well that's not entirely true, because of course I know why - I just don't know the why to that why.

Let me explain.

After ... after whatever happened in the Woods, I was going to try my hand at crafting. Because as I lay in those woods - covered in blood and rain and sweat, nearly dead and half crazy - I still wanted more. Something inside of me had snapped, and my mind had given into it. I fell into a pit of never ending hunger and darkness, and part of me liked it. And the part of me that was still me, the part watching this horror show, knew that I would always like it. I was a fiend, an addict. The bloodlust would never go away, not once I opened that door.

So I vowed to never open those doors.

But when Bucephalus asked me to this spar, how could I refuse? As our former Chancellor and now our lead spy, who was I to refuse him? If anything, being a Prince of the Throat restricts my freedoms rather than grants it, for I have Father and Mother and the herd to think about. I can't just think about me, I have to think about them.

So I had agreed.

Now perhaps you can see my dilemma. I can't say no to Bucephalus, but I also can't do this. I can't spar him - I can't open the door.

But I have to.

As Bucephalus began to take his armor off, I swallow down a hard lump that had formed in my throat. The lump was a composition of blood-lust and glee. Put it back on.. I silently begged as the darker part of me continued to whittle away at my self-discipline, hungrily looking at the places now exposed on Bucephalus' body.

I try to force a smile and a weak nod as Buce comments on having fought my Father, but in truth I barely hear him. I'm just focused on remaining calm. If I can just avoid him ... If I can be faster than him, I can keep myself distracted... I know his build and his time spent on our sands and in this arena will make him a formidable opponent, but I am not without training.

I thought maybe we were going to chat as we stood facing one another - for Bucephalus was normally so talkative - until his muscles tensed and his body shot towards mine.

(Kill him)
(Run away)

The angel and the devil on my shoulders, only as the dark and gold was brought nearer and nearer by thundering hooves, in that moment I didn't know who I wanted to listen to. I knew who I should, but part of me wanted...part of me (blood on his face, aim for the gold spots. Make him regret taking his armor off) wanted it..

Angel or devil, if Bucephalus thought I was just going to stand there, he was mistaken. Einarr had told me that our wings and the air were our greatest strengths (Is Einarr here? Is he watching? Will he be proud?), so I heed his advice. I begin to move forwards as well, although immediately my coal-burning wings spread from my flanks and began to beat. Just as Bucephalus begins to halt, I lean back and launch myself into the air. I mean to clear him, but I hadn't expected him to buck. I feel his hooves strike my back right gaskin, and my body is thrown askew. I can feel pain flare through my right side as my hindquarters are pushed left. My wings beat harder and my muscles strain to try and keep me airborne, but it's no use. I barely had the speed to clear him without interference. I land roughly, like an ungraceful colt (Einarr will be so disappointed) and turn to see sand being thrown my way.

Part of me wants to give in, to disregard the abrasive sands and (tear out his throat) charge at him. But I resist. Again I take to the air, ignoring the pang of resistance from my back right leg. I aim to fly high enough as to avoid the most concentrated portion of his sand-cloud, but low enough that I am still in range to attack. I mean to fly over him - and slightly to the right. When I gauge I am at his shoulder, I'll kick out with my back left leg (for my right is still throbbing slightly), and aim for his shoulder or wing. I assume he'll move somewhat, so I allow my long legs to fully extend in my kick, hoping to make contact with something.






WC: 784
Attack:1/3




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Messages In This Thread
Desert Princes[Rhoa spar] - by Bucephalus - 05-28-2015, 11:20 AM
RE: Desert Princes[Rhoa spar] - by Rhoa - 05-30-2015, 12:16 PM
RE: Desert Princes[Rhoa spar] - by Blu - 06-21-2015, 12:16 PM

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