ARM YOURSELF
Because no one else here will save you and I will replace you
[OOC: Open spar to whomever wants to reply. This spar will be taking place in the Thistle Meadow during Frostfall. Time of day will be early morning. Snow is fresh on the ground. The river is thinly frozen on top. Magic and companions are allowed.
800 word limit, 4 posts each.
Also, this will be a teaching spar with me giving pointers/help to my opponent :)]
Rafe was trained in many arts and fighting was one of them, though he was untried and unseen in Helovia. The crimson robed stallion intended to make his prowess known, to challenge those who considered themselves to be warriors of this land. He longed for an opponent worthy of his skill as he reveled in the challenge of mortality, his entire existence hanging in the balance of a blood dance. Though a thrill seeker he was not, Rafe gained a certain perverse pleasure out of besting his opponents and an even greater pleasure from outwitting those who believed themselves to be great fighters. Watching their expressions and confidence fall as they realized their inadequacies was an experience he would never forget.
However, to have someone best him, to lose would be the greatest challenge of them all. He would have something to work toward; he would have a goal. He would be able to hone his skills to an even greater level of deadliness and become something greater than he was before. Both outcomes were positive, and Rafe could not lose.
The snow yielded easily from his massive, solid hooves, his prints the first to tarnish virgin snow. A quick jerk of his neck backward dislodged thick, ebony mane from his cold, emotionless blue eyes, and he flicked his tail in anticipation, arriving to the Thistle Meadow with his back facing the sun. The golden monster of morning swallowed the sky, bathing the land in harsh shadows and bright light, and a halo of aurate silhouetted his figure like an angel forced to the ground, sinful.
Hooves stopped, crunching icy grass and snow as he shifted his weight, testing his corded muscles with practiced ease. The stallion lowered his four horned brow in a menacing stretch, easing the nightly tension from the tissues and dislodging the roughness of sleep. Like a vile serpent, he twisted his spine from side to side and tucked his haunches, hearing a familiar snap as his joints settled behind his withers, and he grinned.
A sharp strike with his front right hoof and a sharp cry of his deep, loud voice indicated his desire for battle on this day, and he would do all within his power to emerge victorious. "If you consider yourself worthy on this day, face me..." he called, cold, apathetic and remarkably inhuman eyes darting from corner to corner of the massive field.
[OOC: (0/4) ]
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Coldest Blood [teaching spar/open]
