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TORLEIK
Long is the winter of a man's soul Torleik was unhappy about this entire situation. He and Zar'roc had attended the herd meeting and indicated their intent. Who were these interlopers that had suddenly crawled out from the rotten spaces in the woodworks and felt compelled to vie for Deimos' vacant General position? In the end he supposed it didn't matter. If they didn't like the newly appointed general then they would likely challenge anyhow. Might as well get it over with now. He was pitted against some multi-spiked thing named Belial. A thing that seemed to be screeching at the moment, as he approached. Was that meant to frighten him? Belial was flesh and bone, regardless of his mental state or magical abilities. Unless he could become a barrow-wight or transform into a draugr - both requiring death - Torleik would not be shaken by a mere shriek. Was he attempting to emulate Deimos' oddity and obsession with evil and death? Or was it the other way around? He hadn't any idea who else was fighting whom - he had cared to check - but surely they couldn't be fighting anyone as...interesting...as he. Frankly he was most concerned with what sort of magic this stallion had. That was most important. Did he have a companion? That was also useful to know. The rain was falling thick from the sky and the ground was soggy from the continual outpouring of the clouds; Torleik didn't mind the rain, but Irelyn was none too thrilled. She had grown much in the past season but was still not mature. Flight was something she had recently begun to learn, and she awkwardly hurtled herself towards a low-hanging tree branch, her flight path jerky and ungainly. She made it and was much happier being sheltered by the tree above her - even if that tree was pathetic and could barely be called a real tree. Torleik supposed it only survived since the lake provided enough water in this tundra-riddled land. There were other pitiful arboreal upshoots, none he would classify as a real tree. The stallion nearby had multiple horns on his head and the Viking assumed this was Belial. Where were you when Deimos called for the herd? he grunted in his head, annoyed. "It seems you and I are slated to battle for this round of a tournament that should not be," Torleik said simply, his voice as icy as the magically frozen ground beneath his feet. Helovia was a strange and wonderful place and the Giving Tree had gifted him with a sort of passive magic that made the ground beneath his feet freeze over briefly as he moved on. When he stood in place, the ground stayed frozen. Though this magic was useful for combat, he would try to spin it to his advantage. Ice was slippery, no? But he was getting ahead of himself. This Belial did not seem interested in starting their battle...and Torleik wondered at the efficacy of sparring with no one to observe the victors and ensure fairness and honesty. "This is my only warning I am commencing our fight," he called out, sizing up his opponent and thinking back on his last battle by this lake. He had lost. He would not do so again. Belial was not a small creature by any means. A hand taller than Torleik, he was nonetheless slightly more slender. Still. There appeared to be no real size advantage Torleik could see. Their similar size meant they would likely move around the same speed...but that was all he could guess. How strong was this stallion? Torleik was a beast, but was Belial? It remained to be seen. Those four horns would be a problem. Torleik knew he needed to avoid them as much as he could, given how many opportunities Belial had to pierce his skin. 'Ireyln, stay put. I mean it.' His bonded made an avian growl in response, though she remained at her post. The elder stallion, black as the demon Belial seemed to think himself to be, began his opening attack. Starting at a trot, Torleik made his approach on the quadri-horned male’s left side. If he took to the air, his underbelly could be utterly eviscerated by a quick twitch of Belial’s head, so Torleik kept to the ground. As he drew near, the Viking aimed for his opponent’s left haunch, dropping his head and making to skewer Belial’s flesh on his dual-horned crown like one would skewer a piece of meat with a knife. Torleik made sure his approach was purely perpendicular to Belial’s body, ensuring his rabicano belly and haunches were as far away from the Demonchild’s horns as he could comfortably keep them. -------------------- @[Belial] [[WC: 783| 1/3 | No active magic]] [[OOC: I am sorry this took a while to get up. I'm going to be pretty busy these next few days, but I promise I will stay within the one week deadline. Good luck to you too! This should be interesting with my grumpy old man against your demonic horned monster boy :D]] |
![[Image: 531c0b471919e]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/531c0b471919e)
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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