| Outcast |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 8 Buff: NOVICE |
| imi |
He was back from being lost in the white wastes of the Frostbreath Steppe and thrown straight back into the ring. He had returned just in time for a tournament, a competition to take the place that the Reaper used to fill. Shoes too big for anyone, but Descaro wasn't about to give up. Only failures gave up at the pinnacle. He had been honoured when given the rank of Corporal, now it was his chance to prove to his herd that it had been the right and good decision. That they could depend on him and he would lay down his life to protect the herd he joined all those years ago when it still lie in the bosom of the Moon. When mist instead of mountain had been their shelter, life had been cruel to the unicorns of the North, but Descaro would never give in. It wasn't in his hardened bones slicked in mahogany to give in. The stallion had no idea if he was strong enough to take the title, perhaps he was not, but after all these years of fighting and invading the brute had learnt that doubting did nothing but hinder.
He moved with purpose, finding his own clear space just a little bit away from the glittering lake. Enough to see it in the distance. Once he was ready he claimed the spot for his own, he would only be moved by one who could defeat him. His opponent, however, he knew little of. Descaro had never spoken to the one named Tolio though had surely laid eyes on him during herd meetings when his eyes wandered and skimmed the crowds. Had this stallion fought in invasions too? Did he have scars from previous battles littered across his body or was he a sheep in wolf's clothing.
Who knew, but it was time to find out. "I challenge Tolio so I can prove myself worthy of title!" He announced across the Basin, his usually suave tones changing to a shattering cry for battle into the clear night sky. He waited, his well trained muscles tense, a pleasure he'd not felt for some time.
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[W/C: 362 | 0/3
I suck at fight openings ><
Tolio may attack first if Brit wishes ^^
Setting: Clear patch of ground, slightly frosty near where the lake is.
Weather: Night time, clear.
Normal challenge rules apply using the stats system.
Good luck @[Tolio] & Brit :D exciteee]
those who live are those who fight
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| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.3hh :: 6 Years 8 Months Buff: NOVICE |
| Brit |
 | | I'M THE BLOOD FROM THE KNIFE I CUT YOUR HEART OUT WITH
</style>
He is called. From the depths of the realm of ice and cold, his name is spoken, and it is time. The position at hand is one he hardly has much care for, but when the notice had been posted that they were of odd numbers, he had volunteered to fight the stubborn bastard that so badly wanted the title. The crimson demon cared little who claimed the crown of second-in-command, but he did thirst for a fight, and he would not leave without receiving one. He thirsted for blood, for the wail of agony in his ears and the burst of copper on his tongue. Scarred flesh rippled, a wicked grin gleaming on his lips, pale face like a wraith of the snow below reflecting upon his features. Ivory dagger catches the light, glinting sharply, and he shudders almost erotically at the knowledge that he steps forward into the ring. There is no backing out now. Brother or not, Tolio will give his all, and to hell with the consequences. He has never cared for such foolish things, anyways. Breaking them was always far more fun.
Blood and snow hooves click eerily against the bare stones his challenger has chosen, slick with cold and shining in the moonlight of the all-mighty Bitch from above. He cast a smirk up at her glow. He would spill blood beneath her cool stare, and spit upon her name when he was finished. Turning he faces the brute he has been sized against, but he does not do well with peacocking. No, he would rather lunge straight into battle with fangs of vengeance and the passion of the demons that thirsted inside of him for the lifeblood pumping so uselessly in Descaro's body. Now shouldn't he be thanking Tolio, later, for ridding him of all that pesky fluid?
"Then a challenge you shall have," he growls, a sultry purr of promise. Win or lose, Tolio could care less. He wants only the bite of his muscles, the ache of his lungs, and the pain of a hit well placed or impartially received. Fools, the lot of them, for yearning for power that could only come with recognizing the abilities within your own body. He would take pleasure in at least making the big boy sore. He was smaller than Tolio, but far bulkier, and Tolio inwardly frowned. A shame, since his build was for sharp striking and speed. It would not do well to aid him, on such slick ground. Better than snow, he remembered with a sharp cackle, envisioning how he and Faelene had looked after their bout in the fluffy shit. Rather than wasting any more time, he charged, careful where he placed his hooves as he locked Descaro in his sights.
The night was clear, no pesky wind to whip his face like when he had fought Faelene, so Descaro was a clear target beneath the glow of Her Bitchiness. He approached head-on, assuming Descaro did not move to intercept him differently while he charged towards him. The bloody demon lowered his horn and arched his neck for impact, not wanting to snap his own neck on fat boy's muscled physique. How dull. As he approached he gathered his hindquarters beneath him, lunging forward in a rather risky move with the ground below them, forelegs poised to crash down on Descaro's left cannon bone. If he was lucky, his horn would distract the lug and hide his planned attack until the last moment. If not, he'd just use his momentum to slice the tip through Descaro's left side, from behind his shoulder to his left flank.
Snickering, his eyes flashed with a wild glee, the thrum of battle hot in his veins.
---
@[Descaro]
Word Count: 622
Post: 1/3
Sorry for the lateness caused by my absence, darling! And good luck in return!
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Image Credits
| Outcast |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: 8 Buff: NOVICE |
| imi |
![[Image: lDiRaE7.png]](http://i.imgur.com/lDiRaE7.png)
His opponent came, answering his call with what looked like a burning taste for battle and Descaro swallowed a shudder as excitement built up through his body. How long had it been since he'd charged forwards, ploughing his way to flesh and bone, drawing blood to stain the ground. Far too long. It almost made him nervous at the prospect of being rusty, one wrong move in a fierce battle could be fatal and the Corporal wasn't above acknowledging that. He'd been around this block a few times to know that fear could be both costly and wise, it was when to acknowledge fear that was important. For a moment he closed his eyes and swallowed, embraced his uncertainty with his knowledge of combat, before putting it behind him. Eyelids snapped open and he tasted the cool air; time to fight.
Tolio was bright and early, wasting no time in spurring himself into a charge, his fiery body easy to spot in the moons judging gaze. On inspection the boy was much taller than Descaro, it was quite impressive really, he lacked bulk, but would surely make up for it in speed. An even match on appearance, they completed each other's weaknesses and on a battlefield where one fought side by side, they'd probably make quite a good team. Alas! Today was not the day for comradely and his opponent had already jumped the gun, if he wasn't careful he was going to get skewered in under thirty seconds. Not cool.
He engaged his well-oiled machine into action, Descaro had no frilly magic to rely on, just his own brawn. The soldier had already noted his surface, if one was not careful, then they might find themselves face first on the ground, as good as dead. Yet, he did not fear the Aurora Basin's terrain, hesitate on this and you really were in for a slide. Tolio neared and formed an attack that looked like a slice from his well sharpened horn. Descaro backs up and begins to form a rear, wincing as his attempted rise away from the horn didn't fully work because of Tolio's sheer height, the horn grazing cleanly across his barrel area instead, drawing blood and making the mahogany stud grunt. Eyes widened briefly in surprise as he barely misses the brunt of the well aimed cannon shot from his initial back up, his rivals hoof brushing against it making Descaro wince even more as even that force was enough to make it sting, like someone throwing a small rock.
It hurt, even if it was just a graze, even if it was just a small bruise, but by the Gods it hurt. Descaro took deep breaths as his hooves returned to the ground, gritting his teeth to the pain and suddenly wished he really did have magic. Some miracle healing magic would be lovely right now. There was no time for wishful thinking and whimsical dreaming, however, as the brute bounced forwards. Using his Andalusian blood to the maximum, taking advantage of his great agility to quickly turn back and head for where he thought Tolio was. Attempting to take his left shoulder to Tolio's right in a rough barging display, teeth flashing from angered lips that tried to viscously grab at the left side of his rival's neck. There was no point going for the ears, he was much too tall.
In the heat of the moment Descaro was annoyed with himself, irritation reflected throughout his body as he berated himself for falling behind so early. He felt no guilt for the killing instinct that had risen up in the wake of his anger.
(W/C: 610 | 1/3)
I'm misery's best friend dead beat on a dead end
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@[Tolio]
| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.3hh :: 6 Years 8 Months Buff: NOVICE |
| Brit |
| | I'M THE BLOOD FROM THE KNIFE I CUT YOUR HEART OUT WITH
</style>
They are even scales, weighing in where the other is at loss, but Tolio takes none of this data into account. He is no schemer, no plan-maker. No, the crimson boy was a hunter, a soldier. All he saw in Descaro's form was another foe to conquer. If anything it made him blind to everything but his own advantages, caring less about the perks of his opponent. Nothing would distract him from the will of dragging his teeth across the canvas of flesh he so desired to bruise and bloody. It drives him forward like a bullet from a gun, manic in his desire to begin.
Whether he takes his opponent by surprise or not he doesn't know, doesn't care truly. All he sees is the widening of pupils, the flicker of ears and the shift of weight. This is something he can calculate. This is something he knows better than the scent that rides his own flesh. Height is on his side as Descaro sits back and begins to rise, and the jerk of his head is dull and aching when his horn digs into the meat of his foe's right barrel. Their hooves connect, reverberating painfully up Tolio's right leg, making him wrench his head away to the left and away from the shock of it. Tolio is helpless to stop his own momentum, gangly legs sliding on slick stone and gravel that he had propelled himself forward on. He has less weight to center himself, and Descaro's shove lands square against his ribs. Lean muscle of his breed does nothing to spare him now, as it might have his opponent. Air leaves him in a grunt, and he is left silently gasping as his already unsteady hold on the earth is rotated. He slides with the blow instead of against it, refusing to fall. To fall would mean death.
The cold of the air blows back like half-tangible mist into his face, which had whiplashed towards the brute to his right with the blow of his shoulder. Though it had righted his vision from where he'd turned away at their glancing of walkers, it couples with the mist of his breath and he is left unable to defend from an attack he cannot see. Teeth grip onto his shoulder, lower than the intended neck with his forward- and then forcefully sideways- momentum. His leg aches as he digs his hooves into the earth, wishing he had the mass of his opponent in that moment if only to work things in his favor. A guttural, enraged scream echoes from his throat like a battlecry of the wounded as flesh is ripped, tearing and glancing off in spurts from behind his right shoulderblade to halfway down his stomach. It bleeds, fresh on the snow, thick like the darkening crimson on his horn. It aches, and his height is further to his disadvantage as the arrow upon Descaro's brow pierces the meat of his right hindquarter in passing as his teeth are finally freed from Tolio's skin. It goes through clean and relatively short, but the depth makes his entire right side ache even worse than before. He is dazed by the raw pain of it, and he can't get his bearings. He wants to explode, to rip into his opponent, but he has no magic- only strength of will and body. But he vows his revenge during this match. His skidding has stopped, and he leans heavily on his left side, eyes darkening in rage and agony. Blood drips down his side, hot and sticky, a cruel mockery of his coloring.
There's no blow he will not avenge, however, and now the beast is no longer playing nice. Swinging his hindquarters to the left, using the leftover momentum of Descaro's shove, he spins towards the right- Quarter blood blessing him with maneuverability- and leans more on his left leg as he gives a short lunge forward to regain his footing. Chasing after Descaro, for the fellow is sure to have moved with Tolio's sliding, it will hopefully be easier for him with his long legs to be at Descaro's side. Using his towering height he rears up, ears pinned and forelegs targeting Descaro's right side of his spine. It reminds him of the invasion with the fat brute from before, the bellow he'd let loose at a similar blow. It is a vital place, but he manages to not aim for the spine itself, for as much as he wishes it to be, this is not a death match. Cold air is sharp in his lungs and thickly clouded in his eyes, but he is warm with the movement and the blood that seeps onto his coat. It is time for revenge for what he has spilt.
---
Word Count: 798
Post: 2/3
@[Descaro]
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Image Credits
| Administrator |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
| Official |
Default win to Tolio. Tolio receives 0.5VP.
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