And shaped and molded it would be.

The beat of wings entered his drums, echoing their appearance through the slice of winds, through the whistle of their strength. He looked to the sky, scanning for the owner of those appendages, the owner of the power and freedom that they offered. Miseal always wanted to soar; he was a soul seeking for freedom--even if it was temporary. There was just something about the aurora of freedom, which lured him. Taunting and beckoning him to let it all go, to forget his responsibilities and live as a gypsy among the lands. He couldn't be scorned for it, everyone wanted freedom, but the difference was that the chromed accepted his desire and knew that he couldn't cave in to the siren's call.

The golden boy landed from the skies and Miseal instantly looked him over. Miseal searched with hungry eyes, seeping into the golden and porcelain skin of the combatant. The low light of the night didn't do Miseal any favors, but he saw enough of the painted stallion that he remembered as Cera. The two had worked together to build Maren's church ages ago, before Miseal had become who he was now, before he was a father and before he was a man.

Cera was shorter then him, and his frame did not carry the bulk of Miseal's own draft lines, but Miseal matched with a pair of wings and a companion. Miseal had never sparred with a companion before, and did not know if Cera would use it to his advantage or not. He also had little experience with wings, but was well aware of their delicacy; the endangerment that would come to him would be from the heights that they could take Cera. Even if he was outmatched, Miseal had a trinket of his own, the jade dragon he had stolen from Outlik curled around his horn. He kept the jade dragon upon his horns for last minute measures, but had no true intent to use it in this "friendly" spar of skill.

If you can keep it so His mind echoed to him, reminding him of times he had lost himself, falling to the hand of the monster that clawed and cried to be released inside of him. How fearful it was, to know that you, the body of you, can be taken over by something you think of as monster, but really truly is you. A certain antlered woman and her fallen child came to mind as he thought about a time he had let the animalistic side of him roam free. Miseal was dangerous and he wouldn't let that loose today, nor tomorrow, or ever, the world did not need another disaster on golden hooves .

He wished the thoughts away that surged forward in these moments of analyzing and silence. He had to focus on the events at hand, plunging into the depths and wells of his mind would do the chromed no good. With a deep breath, he reminded himself why he was here and whom he was fighting for. He let the determination rise up in his bones, his body and mind prepared for the spar that started with an "I accept" and a rush of flying sands into the dark skies.

Cera jumped into the skies, the throat sands swirled and danced underneath his bright white wings. Miseal knew he had to eliminate the further threat of those wings; there was no surprise that Cera would use those first. All too quickly, Cera is upon him, and Miseal shifted to the left, dodging most of the attack, but still managing to feel the weight and pain of Cera's hooves scraping into his skin. A thin line of blood that marked the beginning of battle appeared, but most of his pain centered on the bruising that Cera's hooves had caused.

With a grimace, the workings of his counter-attack started. Miseal spun his body to the left with as much speed as possible, taking care to avoid using his right leg. Initiating the power in his hindquarters, Miseal quickly turned 180 degrees around so that he and Cera would both be facing the same way. The grit of wind-tossed sand stung his lungs, and he could feel the slightest hints of soreness from his spar with Moose, but his determination kept him fast and focused. With his teeth bared, the chromed reached out for Cera's right wing joint, the wing's glow illuminated the night and made it easier to see Miseal’s target. The chromed hoped to latch on and tear at the wing so that the spar would remain earth bound.


"Talk"

WC: 786
Attack: 1/3
Damage Tracker: Cut on right shoulder
Setting: Dragon's throat, just outside of the borders. It's on sand and slightly chilly as well as windy. The moon and stars are pretty bright, but the overall setting is semi-dark.

MISAEL