|
Air is split by large russet wings, beating it into submission as the heavy drafts slammed into his large body. Slowly he descends- it is an act of control that leaves his shoulders shaking and sweat beading along his spine. The wind is intense for Tallsun, but it is arid and hot, refusing to give those affected a reprieve with even a taste of a cool breeze. It is quite like a desert storm, one that Kaj is not accustomed to from life in the Edge and the rocky mountain range of his previous home. Dark coffee legs landed heavily, gratefully, along the plateau of coarse sand. Flight was aided by such heavy winds, if one was going with it, but his home lay directly against it and struggling against it was futile. Even he, blood of Noriker beating in his veins through his father’s influence, cannot use the strength and mass of his species to fight the overbearing southwind. Small particles of sand whipped up into his face and soft azure eyes squinted against the irritating sensation, banners snapping in the wind and momentarily blinding him whenever a particular gust would end and his forelock would flop back haphazardly across his vision in a streak of alabaster and gold.
Gaze, narrowed as it was, swept over what he could see through the tiny slit of vision he had. It is not a desert by any stretch of imagination, but it is flat enough to allow the wind free reign to build up power and speed. In fact it’s rather rocky, with shelves and clumps of rocks and boulders that jutted up from the flat landscape. Everything is mostly a dark red, almost like clay, but there is a surprising amount of green in the nooks and crannies where moisture can accumulate. Still, it’s dry and almost stifling, and Kaj yearned for the cool mists of the Edge. Nerves flutter like plucked chords in his chest, vibrating and playing a song that he is not used to hearing inside. It is a day for battle, for pride- a chance to rise in the ranks; show that he has the characteristics of a rank away from the masses. This battle is not fueled by adrenaline, rage, or any need to protect a person or a homeland. That is a battle that Kaj knows well, days far back when he felled many to protect his Mage. The chorus of the heart pounding in your ears, the roaring of a lion resounding from your own chest…that is something Kaj understands. He has fallen prey to the lust of battle many times, and feels almost uncomfortable in his skin doing something like this. Fighting another without that aid, that drive. It is a discomfort he knows will go away, once the first blows have been traded, but it makes him eager to get it over with; prove himself, because he isn’t about to let this title go to another without fighting for it tooth and nail. Even so he curses his kind nature at times for also supporting those who are running against him, knowing they are just as likely to win.
The thought is enough, and he is posturing without realizing. Already hulking frame lifted skyward, large chest pushing outwards in a display that normally would have made him feel embarrassed. This wind, annoying as it was to him, may come in handy for him during the fight. His wings ache from fighting against it, yet the idea of flight makes them twitch with interest as if they are sentient. Kaj slammed one long leg down onto the ground, feeling the reverberations up his leg that remind him of the toil in the Heart with Ink and Ree. Crown tilts up and he bellows, demanding that his challenger show his face. The gold-hearted stallion is no longer there, and instead he is the warrior that fits him best. His skin does not feel uncomfortable any longer, and he remembers every lesson that had been driven into his head from birth. This is all he knows, all he will likely ever know, and he is deeply satisfied with that. His song is carried swiftly away from his mouth and across the plateau on the back of the wind, a messenger that will deliver his demand to the one who will face him on the rocky expanse of sand. Defensively he prepared, wings moving forward towards his shoulders and centering his weight by moving his legs out away from his center of balance. Shoulders hunched and head dropped from regal pose, ready for the moment his opponent would appear and decide this battle.
---
Word Count: 783
Setting: Relatively flat plateau, thick red sand that isn’t easily kicked up thus the smaller amount of particles in the air. Heavy south wind. Multiple boulders and shelves/ridges, other than that flat and almost barren. High noon, bright sun, cloudless day.
Other: 1/1, 0/4, 0/1
800 IC word limit; 4 Posts each, Defense post for Kaj
Gah I’m so nervous but good luck <3
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[complete] Sink into Reflex, Maskan
