the Rift


Lost to Horror Movies and Salted Popcorn [shajake - graveyard champ]

Confutatis the World Eater Posts: 179
Hidden Account atk: 5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 9 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Mongrel :: Common Kitsune :: Dark Illusions wanda
#1
How she had ended up in this outfit, she had no idea, and neither was she particularly happy about it. Whoever had chosen this particular costume, clearly wasn't sure quite what they were going for, and so had combined and created, until they came to the ugly outcome.

In slapdash fashion a witch's hat had been put on her poll, two ashen ears sticking out through holes of which had been cut roughly into the plastic. They had gotten half-way through painting the equine skeleton on her neck before appearing to change their mind; a mash of fake cuts and dust had been scrubbed into her charcoal coat, creating the effect she had suddenly grayed out in bizarre patches and also had begun bleeding for no apparent reason. Her mane had been matted with fake skulls that rattled thinly as she moved, as had her tail, and for some foolish reason they had also knotted her gray hair until it stuck upwards roguishly and overall was markedly wild. Plastic spiders clung to the spinal cord of her armour, and her entire lower body was splattered thickly with black mud, giving the appearance she had crawled from the wet earth. On her hooves thin white spider-webs had been drawn carefully and neatly, and lastly, a threadbare and artfully scratched tie was about her neck.

Gods above, what the fuck had happened to her glorious body of scars and frosty eyes and scowling lips?

The sun rose, a chilly spectator, the grass damp beneath her stout hooves. Her fetlocks were soaked, dripping with moisture, but as the sun rose the morning dew began to evaporate, leaving the footing considerably drier underneath her sturdy legs. Confutatis' ears flicked, her entire body quivering at the unfamiliar touch of cheap plastic; she was not a coward, but she was not a fool either, and she was well aware of the repercussions of sticking her muzzle into the unknown. Despite her efforts, the hat still clung stubbornly to her skull, and so she was forced to relent despite the gnawing fury of the inability to control that chewed away at her insides.

A blooming flower was crushed beneath her hoof, pollen drifting through the crisp morning air, red petals gleaming bright as blood against the emerald of the luscious grass.

Blood.

Her amber eye shifts upwards. Acid drips from her mouth, sizzling as it hits the young green life atwixt her hooves.

There is a stallion. He is thin and lithe, with a dished face that heralds to arabic ancestry, lustrous silver dappling obsidian flanks. On that rich body the sun glitters and glints, illuminating him in strands of gold, brightening his already iridescent eye of luminous green. The unnamed boy who the warlord's daughter will choose to fight is but a touch shorter than Confutatis, with all the almost feminine grace of the light breeds created for the purpose of endurance. Little scars grace his pelt- untried and untested. Will he crumble, fade, withdraw? Attack, maim, kill? Will he cry out for mercy, beg for death? Will he try to flee, hooves pounding the earth as she gains, teeth sinking and tearing, burning him, poisoning the precious molecules of flesh on his bones until they strip away from red muscle?

Today is a day to destroy.

There is no sound, just the lightest of thuds as her hooves touch the ground. She was facing him head-on, and she hopes to continue this way, lest he move. The blood roars through her veins, too loud for such a simple fight. Her hide feels bizarrely taut where it has reacted to the paints on her skin. Run. Run. Run. Destroy, destroy, destroy. She reaches out, extending into a lengthy canter verging on wild gallop, the tattoo of her hooves quickening. Closer she comes; for a moment she quavers, a facade of indecision, eyes looking at the left side of him (facing head-on, hopefully). Then she jerks to his left, opposite the direction she was looking, ivories bared into a snarl of derision and contempt, searching to scrape along his withers. As she moves by, her hooves twist up and out in a buck, lashing out towards his near left foreleg, in hopes to take out the delicate knee-joint. Confutatis' head tucks away from his hind legs in case of retaliation- perhaps her hat will tickle his hips and hind legs as she moves it.

1/3 + 0/1 Defense
WC: 737
Summary: Charges at him, facing head-on. Feints to his right, then goes to his left side (hopefully). Attempts to bite his withers (acid might drip onto his shoulders from her foamy toxic mouth as well). Bucks, tucks head away from him, aims for the joint of his left knee.

@[Shajake]

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#2
Confutatis wins by default.
No VP awarded.


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