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07-20-2016, 12:15 PM
The Clovenheart was closer than he had thought. He feels his hooves strike flesh and a glance cast over his shoulder suprises him- he sees the white rolling eyes and wonders if perhaps he misinterpreted the question. Certainly the hit was hard, but was it really so shocking? He hesitates as his hooves splash back to the ground and he takes a few quick steps, curving around a near tree trunk to try and come back around to face the other stallion. This is a queer and awkward way to fight.
He doesn't like it.
Between the closeness of the trees and the fact that his heart isn't truly in the spar, there is something wrong about this. His body is still weary and twitchy from flailing and panic of earlier. This is not a playful bout on an open, sunny field. This is not some kind of primal, heated combat. It is just..... something. It feels almost like a farce. He is not, truly, comitted.
He flinches back from the dark mist, eyes narrowed and concerned. The great heart within his chest already pounds with the adrenaline of battle (even one he doesn't really believe in) but as the mist begins to curl the muscle jumps. Wind explosively leaves his lungs as his heart leaps like a wild thing against his ribs, as though he has been fleeing for his life from something.
He draws in his breath and the next time he exhales it's a sharp, angry snort. He charges through the ashen drops of rain, hooves sliding and scrambling in the mud. He breathes hard, head low as he fights through it to bear down on the painted stallion. The muscles in his chest sieze and he does not lash out with his teeth as he normally would, too busy trying to breathe and steady his wildly racing heart. Instead he curves his head to the side and tries to thrust his shoulder at the small stallion's face, recalling a moment of another stormy battle in which he chose to close.
Attempting to close the distance between them, he strikes down with his hooves hard, striking to skin down the cannon bones as he's done once before. He does not try and foul himself by aiming for the injured leg- he is not actually trying to do damage and leave the other crippled, but he is not unfamiliar with magic now and he knows his body well enough to think that perhaps this is something of the kind.
There is a cold finger of fear now, icy up his spine. He has seen horses die when their hearts burst. Blood pouring from nostrils and eyes and ears. It is a painful fate that he knows could be his and he strikes for the Clovenheart to break the grip of his magic.
He does not like that another could control his body. His lips curl in an ugly grimace and whatever humor and mischief had been present in his expression is gone.
OOC://
Words: 514
Attacks 2/3 Defense 0/1
Oookay. So... I have no idea what Lochan was trying to do with his magic? I'm not really sure I took damage/what not appropriately, buuut yeah. Dealing with magic is still sort of a struggle for me XD
He doesn't like it.
Between the closeness of the trees and the fact that his heart isn't truly in the spar, there is something wrong about this. His body is still weary and twitchy from flailing and panic of earlier. This is not a playful bout on an open, sunny field. This is not some kind of primal, heated combat. It is just..... something. It feels almost like a farce. He is not, truly, comitted.
He flinches back from the dark mist, eyes narrowed and concerned. The great heart within his chest already pounds with the adrenaline of battle (even one he doesn't really believe in) but as the mist begins to curl the muscle jumps. Wind explosively leaves his lungs as his heart leaps like a wild thing against his ribs, as though he has been fleeing for his life from something.
He draws in his breath and the next time he exhales it's a sharp, angry snort. He charges through the ashen drops of rain, hooves sliding and scrambling in the mud. He breathes hard, head low as he fights through it to bear down on the painted stallion. The muscles in his chest sieze and he does not lash out with his teeth as he normally would, too busy trying to breathe and steady his wildly racing heart. Instead he curves his head to the side and tries to thrust his shoulder at the small stallion's face, recalling a moment of another stormy battle in which he chose to close.
Attempting to close the distance between them, he strikes down with his hooves hard, striking to skin down the cannon bones as he's done once before. He does not try and foul himself by aiming for the injured leg- he is not actually trying to do damage and leave the other crippled, but he is not unfamiliar with magic now and he knows his body well enough to think that perhaps this is something of the kind.
There is a cold finger of fear now, icy up his spine. He has seen horses die when their hearts burst. Blood pouring from nostrils and eyes and ears. It is a painful fate that he knows could be his and he strikes for the Clovenheart to break the grip of his magic.
He does not like that another could control his body. His lips curl in an ugly grimace and whatever humor and mischief had been present in his expression is gone.
OOC://
Words: 514
Attacks 2/3 Defense 0/1
Oookay. So... I have no idea what Lochan was trying to do with his magic? I'm not really sure I took damage/what not appropriately, buuut yeah. Dealing with magic is still sort of a struggle for me XD
All interactions are go, short of death and permanent crippling.
