kiss this

The longsword’s electrified length buzzed with angry energy as his gargantuan horn heavily collided with it, the sharp ridges of his ebony length jerkily slipping against the flat of Roskuld’s blade as his entire mass came behind the hit. Navy eyes closed against the shower of sparks that erupted from their contact before the Sparklight shuffled backwards, away from him. His ivory hooves thudded heavily on the earth as he fell back to all fours, no longer supported by his partner’s stocky mass as her haunches moved rearward.

Though she did not retreat that far away, her body abruptly stopping as if hitting some invisible barrier (were remnants of the glass wall behind her?). Black rimmed ears swiveled forward, navy eyes chancing a glance beyond her to see what suddenly halted her movements. He wanted to assess her skill with this extraordinary blade, not back her against some invisible corner to wallop on her. However, his brief glance revealed nothing, and he was glad for the relief he felt to continue their spar—this scrap was one of the more amiable and fun ones he had had in a long while.

Again, he rose onto his haunches as his eyes shifted away from Ros’s haunches and towards her armed front end—though this time not quite so high. But his (perhaps unwisely) diverted attention away from the sword’s crackling blade proved an opening for its sharp point, as Roskuld’s blade carved a cut through the bottom of his chest, the black skin parting neatly. The hide and muscle around the wound twitched at the strange, electrified sensation the cold steel had against his raw flesh. It more than a skin wound, but no chunks of flesh gaped from his chest—just a thin trickle of blood and a mild annoyance to accompany him for the remainder of the spar.

A lopsided grin broadened on his muzzle, “Good, Ros!” he grunted as he continued to rise on his haunches. His navy eyes gleamed with the pained amusement and injured camaraderie that only soldiers can manage on the training grounds—though his attention was focused on the sparking hilt. However, this time his massive ivory hooves struck out rather than his monstrous horn, and they aimed for whatever hilt was sticking out of the Sparklight’s mouth.

His aim was careful (or as careful as one could be in battle with a fresh wound across his chest), as he did not want his dangerously heavy hooves to damage her ‘moneymaker.’ His purpose was to either dislodge the sword’s hilt from her mouth, or shove it against her teeth to test her grip. However, he was not ignorant to his vulnerability to its sharp length as he rose partly on his haunches, so his neck curved slightly to the side so as to hopefully be able to parry away any of her damming blows with his horn.

Though, despite the amicable nature of this scuffle, a slight worry wiggled in the back of his mind as the light was nearly fully faded from the sky. Though this spar was meant to test skill and strengthen bonds, in the low lighting with such dangerous weapons, a serious injury could easily occur… Ah well, the King mentally shrugged of the concern, for once free to be a friendly warrior rather than concern-laden King in the Sparklight’s company.


A: 2/3
D: 0/1
WC: 562
Damage Tracker: Flesh wound across bottom of chest
Summary: Ros's sword cuts a wound on his chest while he's rearing up (again) to strike at/dislodge the sword's hilt in Ros's mouth.