the Rift


[JUDGED] Hidden Desires [Oxy Challenge]

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#1

Damn. A growl rolled from the golden son’s deep throat and reverberated in the frozen air. Earth eyes still burned with gold, at remembering that pretty pained bird’s block for her warrior. He would have to see to her too one day. Snorting and kicking out a hind leg in frustration as he paces just outside the Falls. The circlet about his head clinks against his horns, and it stills the beast. Mind, all a flame and fire with the molten frustration, freezes to match his surrounds. When it moves again, it is cooler, and more calculating. The golden’s leafen star face falls back to a seriousness few rarely see. This was not what he wanted, but it was not the end. His little riddle had ben but a canon fired across that idiot bay’s bow in warning. Though he had hoped it would have been a short, quick little exchange, the gold now settled that this indeed would be a more serious affair. Looking up the gold sighs with finality. It was dark and deep, with no moon yet rising to fill the world with evening light. Snorting the gold looks back to the snow covered ground and looks to find a suitable place.

It was not that he was scared. The golden was never scared, of that he will tell you relentlessly. Nah, it facing the reality of his last struggle that caused him to drag his cloven hooves. Not a single hit had he made on the damned black beast, and the golden hip still bore gray scars, where the thick winter coat had not had a chance to grow. It had gotten him into the Throat, and for that the gold should be contented, but it had broken a part of him to loose so badly to a blind man. He could say this time would be different, and certainly he had different goals, and the circlet reminded him, different advantages, but still an unease rested on his chest. A rough hack spits rom his lips as he walks, looking like a certain pep talk. This would not work though. Even if doubt lingered in his bones, the slightest hint of that to the bay he sought would ruin his carefully woven schemes. Tassled tail twitches along the snow covered ground as a long sigh rattles through his bones, and he stops. The golden son was the master of minds, and keeper of masks. Shaking those twin horns, the golden face tucks, then re-emerges, changed.

Gold sparks in those earthen eyes, and a laughter lifts and rolls through his chest. It’s all fake but the word doesn’t know that. He has to do this, he needs what he desires, and so it must be done, win or lose. Pawing at the snow the golden can stand to be still no longer, masked or not the adrenaline has already begun pounding through his blood. Stepping off he lifts his golden limbs high above the snow in a showy two beat, lacing on the last of his light, and sassy countenance which would be as a second weapon to him in the fight. Trotting high he moves about his chosen site, a snowy meadow, clear of trees, but with a few bushes bravely poking through the snow like spectators waiting for the show. The golden would give it to them, but he could not do this alone. The moon, had begun at last to rise above the horizon and threw a dramatic bean across the snow, seeming to want to watch the action as well. With a final laughter he stops and lifts that horned head high to give out a piercing call.

Looking to the meadow around him, hoping that bay beast is nearby, he roars out across the white expanse. “You have what I desire Oxy, bring it to me, or I will take it, by force!” Another deep chuckle rolls out and he tosses into the air with its light spirit, “Can’t you see, I’m trying to help you quit for your girlfriend!?” That blue bird was far from the golden’s true thoughts though, but it should get that bay roaring out in full force. Looking about the snow covered, moon lite meadow the gold stills himself. He still has not called the circlet to the task, but it suited his style more to flash it out at the last minute. So that clever item would remain a lovely surprise. With one last heavy sigh though the gold resolves himself, and flashes another smirk about him. In the end he would win, whether he won the battle or not.


OOC :: Thran is challenging Oxy for his leather bag. This continued from Thran's attempt to steal it on the stealth board.
TAG:: @[Oxy]
WC::778
ATK::0/4 +defense
TIME:: 3 Days Between
MAGIC/COMPANIONS:: Allowed
SETTINGS:: A snow covered meadow between the Falls and Heavenly Fields at night, but the moon is rising. Snow is about a foot deep. Small bushes dot the terrain which is mostly smooth.
INJURIES:: None
SUMMARY:: Thranduil calls to Oxy teasingly, then waits in the middle of the meadow for him.

ETA:: Fixed ATK and time limits due to challenge rules.

"speech"

Yes, my teeth and ambitions are bared
Be prepared!
Image by the AMAZING Vossity

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Oxy the Addict Posts: 322
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2hh :: 9 [Tallsun] HP: 73.5 | Buff: DANCE
Unnamed :: Common Boggart :: Mayhem Sevin
#2
Darkness. It surrounds you, the moon mocking you as she refuses to rise over the frozen forest you call your home, but then… it always surrounds you, in a metaphorical sense. The blackness of your mind presses in around you, suffocating you, threatening you with memories that you’ve tried so hard to bury. Slowly, oh so slowly, they rear their head, dragging themselves from the dungeons you’ve hidden them in and the tombs you’ve buried them in. They dig and claw their way to the surface, gasping for air and room to stretch, and all the while you’re fighting them back down, shaking and sweating with the force it takes to keep them repressed. Kellian, they all whisper, reminding you of her name, daring you to remember. Snowflake, you hiss back silently, attempting to keep your grip on reality.

But a new name, in a voice that is foreign to you, comes while you fight off the delirium tremens and remembrances. Oxy. That name, you know that name… The moon rises, throwing her beam across the ground just as you realize why. That name belongs to you. Blinking away some of the fog that hazes your mind, you awaken from your own personal darkness the way Luna has awakened the dusky forest. You don’t know what he wants, or even who he is, but you respond nevertheless, almost mechanically moving towards the voice in the shadows. Your steps are unsteady, but not as bad as they were a few days ago when Snowflake found you.

You feel almost as dead as your memories as you trudge through the snow, feathers caked with mats of the heavy, white substance. It’s only the golden’s next words that really breathe life into your hulking, damaged body. Your girlfriend? How dare he make a mockery of the relationship you two share! Your rage builds slowly at first, like a snowball just formed. It rolls, collecting snow and size, but the changes are so insignificant that in the beginning there appears to be no progress; then slowly the snowball ceases being so insignificant and its growth becomes explosive. It matures into something formidable and monstrous. Your tipping point? It occurs sometime around the moment you catch sight of the golden.

You’re not even exactly sure how it happens- at first you’re walking and then all of the sudden you’re running. Your massive hooves beat out a steady rhythm (one, two three; one, two three) in the snow as your caramel eyes follow his trotting form. You hate him, your reasons possibly irrational to the rest of the world but perfectly sensible in your own mind. Your can feel the hate in your very bones as you try to draw closer to him. Your body twitches as you run, skin writhing and shaking, but not all due to your detox anymore. You shudder with the abhorrence you feel for this man who has come here to harass you and mock the only beautiful thing in your life. He can criticize you all he likes but Snowflake is something good and special. You will not tolerate any words against her- even something as innocuous as what the golden has said.

Clumsily, as you run, you trip over one of the shrubs that has dared to peak its head out from the blanket of white that shrouds the land. Your response is instantaneous. Your magic wells up within you and you release it without any hesitation. Somehow, in the convoluted maze of your brain, you’ve managed to blame the golden for your stumble and you try to punish him for his insolence. Let him gasp for breath, let his muscles burn with the very effort it takes to remain standing, let his mind grow hazy and his heart gallop within his chest. Let him know what it feels like to die. Those seconds will be little compared to the creeping death you have known- at this point, your body would welcome the gentle embrace of the earth as you close your eyes one final time.

Yet there will be no reprieve for your suffering this moment and you have business to attend to anyway. Your hooves right themselves almost as quickly as they fell and you return to your previous charge, lowering your head and turning out your left shoulder as you think you near the golden beast. He is thick, but you are thicker; he is tall, but you are taller. You will destroy him with your might and wear his hide as a reminder to any other who might dare cross you. He’ll perish beneath your hooves just as Krieger did for being audacious enough to defile your princess. Let pain from the hit come, if it can. You’ll welcome the distraction from your detox anyways.


Words| 800
Post| 1/4
OOC| Dark x Water Magic: Able to burst red blood cells, causing reduced hemoglobin levels therefore signs of anemia and oxygen deprivation. Symptoms include muscle cramping, shortness of breath, increased heart rate, disorientation and fade after 30 seconds.
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.

Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#3

Well that did it. Golden harks flick at the sounds of crunching snow to the gold’s right. A smile flashes with a brilliant wickedness in the dark shadows of his face. A golden ear twitching back is the only sign he gives of the maelstrom within. Legs dance, as the bay’s far figure gets closer, and bigger. Shit, that had not been planned for. Whispers of the tri-horned black shadow slip into his mind like venom. No. Not now, he could not, nah, he would not let that damned beast break his mask, for this show had to be convincing to get that bay enraged enough to show his cards. So the golden steels his mind, and his body.

Closing those earthen eyes the gold seems to concentrate then whisper, “Aduial.” The circlet about his sparks at its cue in the moonlight. Shivering it extends a line, on either side of his mane, and grows, before spreading the other way, about his forehead. A collar encircles his shoulders, and layered silver metal lines his sides, capped into two shields on his hips. Body shivers against the metals cold touch, but like she who gifted it to him, it warms after a moment against his hotter coat. All grows still, and the golden eyes, now encircled in silver protection flash open with a cold ferocity. Now a tri-leveled horned head lowers to the coming beast, armed and ready. It was but another mask, but the bay didn’t know that.

Forelegs tremble with readiness, but the gold waits. Let the bay beast spend himself rushing here in the burning rage. It proves more advantageous than even he could planned. The bay beast stumbles and falls into a tumbling mass of white snow and brown. Armored head raises and a short laugh huffs out. Apparently the bay beast wasn’t quite all there. When that brute’s head whipped from the snow though, there came a glare that silenced the gold. It was dark sinister- wait.

Cold blows through the gold like a ghost and leaves him shivering, with heart racing to reissue its warmth, but is crippled as his lungs seem to lock. Damn, he can’t breathe! Nares flare and struggle in vain. Muscles lock against the growing cold and heart falters about his chest. The unease banished deep into his chest escapes and grows. Earth eyes no longer saw the charging bay, but were looking about him with wide eyes as every shadow turned into horned devils. This wasn’t where he needed to be. He needed to get away or be left crippled in the mud once more. Run, he needed to run. GO!

Armored legs begin to stumble back, but for the second time, the clinking metal awakens him. Teeth bared as his mind, slow as it may be, comes to. Magic, it whispers low and frail through the fog. A spark of gold in those earth eyes breaks through the dulled panic. Turning slightly, or rather stumbling, the silver collar flashes in the moonlight, to show two dark purple amulets tucked into engraved curls. The golden wills it and one of the amulets flashes to bright velvet, then seems to swirl with black, and return to a dormant state of pure black. It had been close, the magic nearly over, but it was done. A weary smile flashes on the golden strained face.

Victory is strengthening. Though chest still convulsed at the struggle to breathe in that sharp air, knowing the evil’s source, and winning his own battles pushed the golden through. Devil’s magic may have broken the gold’s mask momentarily, but it had not stopped the gold from seizing what he desired. Those dark whispers were once again locked away, as he looks to find the bay. Oh Shit. A thousand pound of charging draft were careening not five yards away. Though mind was returning, his body was still struggling. While he commanded its movement it answered in slow stumbles, all which labored his heart and breath further. Stumbling then over the snow the golden shifts his armored body left, but dragged by snow and weakness it’s too slow. Cold metal collar, slammed by the bay, rams into the gold’s chest. Without control of his body to brace against the impact the gold is shoved to the left, pushed into himself, leaving hinds spinning round, struggling to stay under him and rattling what little breathe he had left. But the armor held, and so did the gold. Now perpendicular to the bay’s charging path and seeing bay fly in front of him, the gold gave a weak (from still recovering from the hit and lingering effects of the magic) smirk, and horns, bone and metal came slicing down. It was high time someone else went home with a bloody rump.


OOC :: Thranduil uses a moon amulet given by the Moon Goddess as part of his quest and captures Oxy's blood bursting magic.
WC::800
ATK::1/4 +defense
INJURIES:: Lingering effects of Oxy's magic will continue into next post (~10 seconds worth)
SUMMARY:: Seeing Oxy charging Thranduil calls out his armor. The effects of Oxy's magic take hold quickly, and nearly make Thranduil forget why he's here, but as second pass, he realizes it is magic, and captures the last traces in his amulet for his quest. Unprepared for Oxy's shoulder it spins Thranduil slightly, but as he comes perpendicular to the bay's path he dips his head hoping horns will slice Oxy.

"speech"

May not win the battle,
But I've already won the war.
Still let's not given into dabble,
In putting off the gore.
Image by the AMAZING Vossity

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Oxy the Addict Posts: 322
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2hh :: 9 [Tallsun] HP: 73.5 | Buff: DANCE
Unnamed :: Common Boggart :: Mayhem Sevin
#4
So let’s back up real quick. Why exactly are you pissed off? Because he called Snowflake your girlfriend? That is the truth… Maybe you’re just quick to anger today. After all, the distinct lack of your beloved locoweed has made you rather agitated recently. Of course, there’s also the fact that all of your warriors are absent and incompetent. There’s the fact that the other Legatus is a moron. There’s the fact that you’re not even sure why you’re in this herd, except for convenience, because nothing really seems to go on. There’s those memories that keep groping at the back of your mind. Clawing, crawling, creeping, cavorting… they want you to acknowledge them. So you guess somewhere in all of that chaos, you managed to just explode all of your feelings out onto Thranduil. You guess even you have to show your feelings from time to time.

Perhaps if you weren’t feeling your emotions so acutely you might have noticed the strange circlet that sits upon the golden’s head. Perhaps you might have noticed the way he whispers and it opens into a massive sheet of armor. So then maybe, just maybe, you might have stopped your idiotic charge; but you didn’t, because you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed on the best of days and this one of the foulest of days- in a way, the armor only makes it worse.

Those memories that are scraping, scratching, and scrambling to be brought to the forefront of your mind gain some ground. This is rather like last winter, when you mauled Snowflake for reminding you of her. Now the golden is reminding you of him. At least you don’t have to remember too long. SLAM. The reason you don’t have to remember, of course, is that you rather suddenly become more bruised than you were five seconds ago. Ramming into him wasn’t a move motivated by self-preservation, but what half-crazed, detoxing addict bothers to think about self-preservation? You certainly haven’t met anyone that fits the bill.

As you canter past your repositioned enemy, you feel two things. First is the thickening and tightening of your chest muscles. The bruising there is swift and sure, pulling at your pectorals and making each extension of your forelimbs just slightly more difficult. The other thing you feel is rushing air as not one but three horns whiz past your hindquarters. Perhaps you’re too swift for the golden. More likely, you’re just lucky. Regardless, your hide is left untouched except for the brief wind that unsettles your fur. Obviously this man is no skilled warrior, you decide. It should make your job of destroying him that much easier.

Can’t he see the blood on your hooves?

You do mean that in the most literal sense. If he were to catch a glimpse of your hooves beneath the slush that you haphazardly careen through, he might notice crimson stains streaking down their walls. The blood of two now walks wherever you walk, their bodies left to rot where you slaughtered them, their souls sunk to hell where you sent them. Thranduil can make three if he wants (or even if he doesn’t)- all he needs to do is stick around. Slowing to a trot, you turn to try and face the intruder again. Eyes searching, you survey his armor, looking for weak spots along the metal. It’s not the most convenient thing to be overlaying your opponent, but you suppose you can make do with what you are given.

Barely a thought is given to your boggart before she sets herself to work. Using her own magic, which she has fallen rather in love with, the boggart tries to move to Thranduil’s right side (as Thranduil’s left side is hopefully the one that is facing you). Picking up a few balls of snow, for there are no rocks to be seen under the alabaster blanket overlaying the earth, she begins flailing them towards Thranduil, trying to distract him from your advancement. All the while, you calculate your approach. Your war-trained mind analyzes the way the armor drapes over your opponent, covers him, caresses him. Even through the haze caused by your rage and forced purification, you can look for weaknesses. As you think you draw near, you prepare yourself and attempt to cause some real damage. Rearing up, you try staying near his flank to avoid his horns, your hooves hoping to assault Thranduil’s unprotected left gaskin. You wish you could try for more destruction but between the snow and your shaky body, you can’t stay in the air for more than a few moments. As you descend back towards the earth, though, your mind is already considering what new tortures it will lay upon the beast.


Words| 794
Post| 2/4
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.

Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#5


Nothing but air meets the drawn blades. Damn, why was there more air out here than in his chest. The gold’s lungs still claw inside him as sore muscles in his legs stubble to find a solid stance. This isn’t exactly going very well. His own victory won, the task of finishing the spar was looking a bit more hellish. Then, it hadn’t been something the gold had actually considered. It was supposed to be a quick skirmish. Anyone with an eye could see the gold was no warrior, despite his armor and horns. It was all a show of pride, something which was running dry lately. Feeling some solidness return to his body the gold looks ahead. There is nothing but open meadow, and soon a forest would surely hide him away. The stumble before proved that bay could not keep up. He got what he came for, why they hell should he keep making snow angels here with the bay?

Coward. Oh, that word stings every nerve. It was proof that even in the golden, words sting sharper than any action. Its blinding you see, that sweet elixir of vanity that drips in that golden man’s blood. It blinds him to common sense, (after all he could have just asked for the magic), and to his true self. Twisting, manipulating, cunning, and cold, is that pride which he does not rule, it rules him. Worse, when it’s cornered, beaten, and limping along, is when it’s the most dangerous. So as low as that pride was, that armored golden head turned away from the open meadow, to find that bay hide.

The golden always said he hated pets. If he had known what was about to come from that damnable race he would have given up and joined Ampere in her quests to eternally separate them. Of course, his methods would be a little bloodier than hers, but that was a small matter. Turning his hanging head the gold looking from under the silver armor for the bay’s thick hide. That dangerously low pride ragging with more blood lust and vengeance than before. It was only able to catch a glimpse of that blundering bay slowing to turn before the first snowball. It came hard and fast, hitting first the gold’s armored back. With a quick viciousness, the horned head spins around and bares teeth at this intruder in his fight. The gold may not have much sense of honor, but there was a dishonor broken in intruding in another’s fight. It was a deadly sin. That is, if someone was there to kill. No one appeared in the moonlit meadow. Golden harks lift from their permanent place, but there is nothing except a rustling but that was-oh fuck yeah the charging brute. But as the gold tries to turn back another snowball hits his neck. Bared teeth flash back to his right, as another hits the gold square on the face. But still, no form showed itself. Whatever unfortunate soul was throwing them, even if the moon Goddess was getting her kicks with it, they’d regret interfering. Wicked smile rises on the gold’s lips, he would get the bay, then get whoever hid in the night.

Snow slid up and sprayed against the gold’s cold legs. Like a knock at the door in a horror film the gold with regret spins his head around, and doesn’t have to look far to see the blurred form of bay rising up. Earth eyes burn with a returning flame as the gold moves to slip from in front of him by turning parallel. As emboldened as his returning health was it was too little too late. A flying hoof met the golden flesh just below his shield in a solid hit. Though the sheets on his back were flexible the shields were not, so as the gold stumbles from the hit away from the hooves, they worsen the fall, and the gold finds his hinds crumbling. The hard unforgiving edges of those shields slam into the already tender flesh as the gold falls slightly sideways, and it was only sheer determination that kept his front from falling at the pain of the cruel master less metal hitting the already tender flesh. The gold, even as aching pain reverberated about his hind leans to the left, and with turned head those horns seek the landing bay low. This wouldn’t be a scrape, but a stabbing. The gold would have blood in this fight damnit. Angling his head up to take advantage of his low position, and pulling with his shoulders to call along his hinds for momentum, the golden waited for the sweet crimson. It was a risky move, but then when had that golden son ever taken the safe route.


OOC ::
WC::799
ATK::2/4
INJURIES:: Sore left knee (will stiffen)
SUMMARY:: Rejecting running off, Thranduil is distracted by the snowballs, leaving him unprepared for Oxy's charge. Though the magic has worn off, and he can move faster its still too late, and one solid hoof hits its target, sending Thranduil's hips toppling over. Seeking to at last bring some blood to bear in this spar, Thranduil curves left and hopefully back into Oxy with his horns low around his shoulder or barrel.

"speech"

Image by the AMAZING Vossity

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Oxy the Addict Posts: 322
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2hh :: 9 [Tallsun] HP: 73.5 | Buff: DANCE
Unnamed :: Common Boggart :: Mayhem Sevin
#6
For a moment you are able to forget about the shakes that plague you, the pain that makes your vision poor even without the darkness, and the glare of the moon that worsens your headache. You are able to forget you are ‘Oxy, recovering addict’ and see yourself as ‘Oxy, fearful warrior, noble defender of Snowflake.’ Of course, you’re not really noble so much as an underhanded bastard since you’ve sent your minion out to do half of your dirty work. Still, sometimes assholes like the golden need a good sucker punch from time to time to set them straight.

Luckily, your cowardly plan works, the distraction providing you enough time to assault his gaskin. Eagerly, almost hopefully, your eyes search for blood. It’s one of your ticks- addictions, even. To spill the blood of your enemy is to spill his life force. It is to spill his heart and soul upon the ground. The blood fades but the ground never forgets. Grasses and trees grow from the organic material, making new life out of death. It’s all rather circular, a wheel of life that you’re an essential part of, and you hope to continue here. Unfortunately you see no blood, but you don’t get upset yet. There’s many more beatings to pass out and you’re happy with what you’ve done so far. In fact, you’re in such a good mood that you even dare to pay your companion a compliment.

Perhaps you should have skipped that last part, though. It’s so rare that your companion hears positive words from you that her emotions are almost overwhelming. Her joy mixes with your rage, her elation mixes with your abhorrence, and the resulting concoction of emotion is so overpowering that your single-minded brain is distracted. Your hooves land back in the snow but you can barely keep your stance upright as they slide in the slush. Panic is added to the already chaotic melting pot that is your brain and you have a hard time focusing on anything. The result is a series of poorly executed, poorly planned maneuvers.

Barely managing to gather your hooves beneath you before the golden turns to lunge your way, you’re caught in an instant of indecision. Your brain demands to be allowed to berate your companion, blame her for your slipping, and teach her to never dare to show such excitement again. Concurrently, your body begs for movement, to evade the menacing trio of horns that are turning your way. In the end, the deadlock between brain and body cannot be reconciled and you end up doing a little bit of both.

Reprimanding your companion just seconds after complimenting her, you simultaneously and haphazardly lunge forward and to your right. Unfortunately, a job done with only 50% focus leaves you wanting for better results. You had dreamed of spilling his blood but it is yours that first dots the field as two of his horns scrape across your left side. It is a wonder the horns do not cut to your very bone, considering how skinny you are, but your body does not care if your bone is exposed or not. Skin and muscle scream at the daggers that assault them, your lungs giving voice to their silent cries. They seem to drag across your flesh forever, though the injury in reality is only a pair of open lines about a foot long. Blood flows freely from the wounds at first, coagulating in the cold more quickly than it would in the heat. Still, the slush turns crimson beneath your body, a twisted sort of snow cone left for an unlucky animal to ingest.

Without thinking too much about it, your hazy mind forgetting that Thranduil has armor almost as quickly as you first realized he had it, you lunge forward another step and then prepare to buck out. At the same time, your boggart is also spurred into motion, driven by her previous failure and hoping to once again hear complements instead of criticism. She tries to move in front of Thranduil’s face, morphing for a second or two into the nightmares he dreams of in his sleep, to prevent him from running forward. All the while, your muscles are bunching, your side screeching to stop this movement. You ignore their cries. More ready for the slippery footing this time, you dig your front hooves into the frozen ground and lift your hind end. The metal shoes on your rear hooves glint in the moonlight while kicking out, aiming for Thranduil’s left side if he has not moved out of range. Even without his armor, this maneuver would not likely spill blood, but you are willing to accept that shortcoming for the moment. Pain first- there is time yet for his blood.


Words| 798
Post| 3/4
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.

Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#7


This was new. As those bone horns scraped against the winter coat then broke and dug deeper it vibrated the golden’s skull, sending chills down his spin. It had been so long, the feeling of breaking flesh, of that escape of heat, and wave of bitter, copper smelling blood was like new. Even the stiff back hock, feeling like creaky old door, could be lost and ignored in this bloody sensation of renewed blood lust. His heart pounded away hard in his chest for it, and body was jealous that only those horns wore the blood of pride. How dare that bay beast move off when his bloody end was just beginning? Mind, recovering now fully from the drag of that wicked fog of magic, is quick to reprimand the instincts of the gold, hissing at him, you’re not here for that. Snorting, like a charger being reined in, the gold pulls that horned head back, shaking with frustration. His dying pride had fed upon that rich dark blood split upon the snow, and now, stronger, it moved with a more containable cold calculation. Though that deep hit of magic had ripped away the gold’s mask, the spilt blood had vanished whatever insecurity lay in his chest.

The golden son has no fears, no nightmares, or so he would tell you. For his darkest fears are not of this world, and known to none here, which made the bay pet’s trick all the crueler. Where there had been a bay, there now flashed falling gold, right before the horned head. Body jerks backwards at this interruption and anger flares at yet another intrusion into this spar. Earth eyes roll down to catch what had fallen before him, ready to crush it and move on. Instead, it crushed him without even touching him. There upon the snow, under a thin film of red, lay a small golden body with white marks like those of our fighter. It was new, and on the verge of a vigorous life, but it was stone cold, and death corrupted its precious features. The dead foal of gold was the hardest blow any opponent could level. For this fear was darker, deeper, and sharper than even those shadows which had haunted him before like a murder compared to a small spider, because it was a murder. Mouth hung open, and heart (which was getting quite a work out emotion wise today), fluttered about its walls of flesh. Spanish head began to dip towards the small fallen creature when in a flash it vanished, replaced by ironed missiles.

A sharp cry, harsh and pained roared from the golden’s open maw, and instinct took over the addled mind, trapped as it still was in the webs of that image. Front half rose that body up and to the right to escape, but it is, once more, too late. The bay’s right hind hoof hits solidly on the soft flesh of the gold’s neck just above his collar. Reinforced as the hit was with iron, the breath of the gold fails for a moment and his legs fall back to earth, stumbling to the side from the hit. A small cut, barely visible stings in the mud like slush that the hoof left, and the gold’s stomach twists in knots at the continued pounding the swelling of blood brings. But that pain only serves to bring him back quicker. Cold, cruel glare rises up in those earth eyes and look for that bay coat. The hit was hard and harsh, that is certain, but the bay (which the golden believed responsible for this in a second form of magic) had committed a worse crime. How dare he reach inside the gold’s mind and use it against him! It was despicable, and broke every honorable code (well the few that were in this world for the gold). How dare that son of a bitch!

Body lifted and moved forward, cloven hooves gripping in the slush the two had created. The soothing his pride had gained from the spilt blood, and the simmering rage such a hit below the belt had caused combined, in a dangerous chemical reaction. Oh how much the golden man had changed since the start. A few rough hits he had been ready for, but the emotional attacks had caught him completely off guard, a rare occurrence. So as the golden raced to that bay hide he brought with him loaded guns. Left hock strained, and his chest protests but the gold could not let the low hit go without answer. Shoulder struck out, hoping that metaled bone would slam into the bay, and while doing so those deadly array of horns lower towards where the bay should be, ready to steal yet more blood in retaliation.



OOC ::
WC::800
ATK::3/4
INJURIES:: Sore and stiff left hock -- sore chest just above is collar
SUMMARY:: Feeling empowered by the drawing of blood, Thranduil moves to go after Oxy, but is stopped by the boggart which takes the form of a dead foal that looks suspiciously like the golden. Thinking it was more of Oxy's magic (because he knows nothing of boggarts) the gold is enraged that Oxy would first invade his memories, and second take such a low hit. Caught off guard then when Oxy bucks, he is caught on the underside of his throat by his collar with the right hoof. Pissed, but in control more than usual, he charges after Oxy and lowers his head, hoping to draw more blood or at least run into him with his armor (didn't know where Oxy would be, so please feel free Sevin to dictate that).

"speech"

Image by the AMAZING Vossity

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Oxy the Addict Posts: 322
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2hh :: 9 [Tallsun] HP: 73.5 | Buff: DANCE
Unnamed :: Common Boggart :: Mayhem Sevin
#8
You don’t pay attention to your companion and don’t notice or care to know Thranduil’s fears. You will be his fear. You will be the reason he wakes in the middle of the night screaming. You will be the reason he looks around every corner he approaches. You will be the reason he regrets this day he challenged you and mocked your relationship with Snowflake. You hope he is afraid now- he should be- but even more so you hope he is afraid later. When he tends his wounds he should be on the move, afraid you might show up at any moment. When he looks to his scars, he should remember who gave them to him. When he winces at night as he tries to lie on the ground, let him know that it’s not the ground that pains him, but your soul chasing him into eternity. Let him know that terror… because you’re not in the fucking mood.

A scream, shrill in the night, pierces into your ears. For a moment you’re confused, trying to figure out whose mouth the sound is coming from. Yours, from the pain of the aching wound on your side and the tensed muscles in your chest? Or his, from the destruction you have tried to rain upon him? Finally, your peripheral nerves catch up to your brain. You recognize that one of your hooves has hit its mark, pressing against flesh. Physics dictate that one or the other (your hoof or his flesh) must give in this situation. Today metal wins the victory, destroying blood vessels beneath flesh, letting blood pool beneath the surface, creating a bruise that you hope will stay with him for some time. So now your own voice sings out, creating a chorus in the air, a rumble of pleasure from your lips that you have hurt him the way you are trying to prevent him from hurting you.

Perhaps, in the deepest sense of the idea, ‘hurt’ is what this really is all about. You rage at him for calling you out about Snowflake because you do not want him to know your heart. You endure this pain because you are not willing to let him know your mind and soul. To let someone know you is to let them destroy you. Piece by piece they can tear you down, rip you open, and kill you even while your heart still beats. He can destroy your body all he likes- he is not the first, nor will he be the last, to do so; however, to let him destroy your soul is to let him ruin everything that you have tried to protect since you have arrived here in Helovia. Only Snowflake can destroy you that way now- only she can be the Delilah to your Samson, the Kryptonite to your Superman, the Video to your Radio Star.

As your hooves land back on the snow ground, you prepare yourself for the poor footing and try to predict the way your metal shoes will slide against the slick ground. But try as you might, even on your best days you have a difficult time keeping control of your footwear on anything but the driest and firmest of ground. Your right hind slips out away from you, sharply pulling at the muscles on the inside of the limb, drawing a hissing sound from your lips. Before you can pull the limb back inward, the gold has retaliated, coming after you, throwing his shoulder into your right rib cage. Your hind limbs spread out even further, now pulling at muscles on both left and right limbs. Nearly in synchrony, as though he hasn’t made enough of a mockery of you, his horns again assault you, one of them catching your right shoulder and drawing a new line of blood. You suppose you should have seen this all coming and not been so reckless with your wild attack but your emotions overrode your training, your body driven through passion instead of intelligence. The head may be smarter, but in many ways the heart can be stronger.

This time, fighting through the fog of rage and the murk of your detox, you try to let your head do the work. Thranduil’s moving, right? You think he is… so you try to give him time to move forward, fighting to pull your hind limbs back together, daring not move far for fear that action will further aggravate the destruction that the golden applied to them. Then, when you think the moment is right, you swing your head to the side, holding it low and then thrashing it upwards, trying to rake your horns against his flesh. You have ached for blood that is not your own… let it come to you now.


Words| 800
Post| 4/4
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.

Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post

Thranduil the Laurelin Posts: 598
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 11 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hh :: Eight HP: 77 | Buff: ENDURE
Haldir :: Common Cerndyr :: Dark Mist Hawk
#9

It was a train wreck of flesh, horns, and egos. Metal armor clanks into the bay’s ribs, while pushing back on the gold, but he was giving no ground. Horned head slices down, and at least one the gold can feel scrapes into the other’s coat. Again, the copper smell slips into the air those hungry lungs claw for, and even for his warnings the gold can’t help but lift his lips in a twisted grin. Oh how good it felt to at last have revenge in his grasp for once, to make another pay for their insolence in pain. He calls it revenge, but in truth it had been a move, on the boggart’s part, that was an eye for an eye, to repeat a saying which had been going around Helovia a lot lately. The gold had taken the same low hit upon Oxy, and his precious snowflake. Of course, the golden would tell you that was a completely separate matter, and had been a necessary evil.

As head swung back out to come straight again and armored shoulder slid out of his ribs, things began to happen very quickly, but to the gold it seemed like ages. All of the gold’s body was feeling the strain. Even in this cold night under the contact of the metal a lathered sweat had arisen, and legs began to feel strained from manipulating his body through the mix of melted snow and mud. The gold was tough though, or so he would lead you to believe. Still, this battle could not go on forever.

A dark shape moved in front of him swinging up. Body jerked back and away, but not before the horns met his metal coat. Horns rattled down against the metal, clinking as it went over the ridges. Ha! Not a scratch hit his golden coat. Wicked grin now turned wild, and though his mind tried to rein in the wave of adrenaline that began pumping through him, it could not be stopped. The entire spar he had been fighting to keep control, having remembered so painfully his loss. But now, with his own personal battle won, symbolized by that black amulet, and successfully making that bay pay for his atrocity of reaching into the gold’s mind, well, that loss seemed more and more like a fleck of a memory.

So, worn and weary as he was, and possibly loosing this battle as he was in our eyes, the gold was, in his mind, ready to send the final blow. Armored legs, having trotted up just past the bay now picked up high and slowed the gold’s gait. The adrenaline that had flood his veins and was pounded through every muscle dampering some of the harsher wounds. His stiff hock, though each muscle complained of their continued use, hopped and skipped along to power his wishes. Bared teeth were not really due to the presence of the bay but the gold’s own frustration with his injured hind slowing him as he turned in front of the bay. The lump pressing against his chest did thin his breath, but so was the sharp cold air and consistent struggling in the snow. So it did slow him as well, again not to his liking, but the gold was on a mission. He was not as completely reckless as before, but there was a new edge to the golden son’s threats.

Coming up on the left of the bay the gold turns his horns away. Cloven hooves danced in the mud and snow slush, it was dangerous, but the gold was blind to the lesson the bay had learned about tricky footing. The gold with renewed trust in his armor to protect him from the bay now seems to dance sideways, his rear coming to turn towards the bay, if he had stood still. Prancing along the side of the gold in a quick step the gold was lucky not to slip in the muck, but his luck wouldn’t last for long. With suddenness the gold’s hooves planted and his head drops. Hind hooves, now aimed, hopefully at the bay’s side or hip, came flying out with tremendous force, even his stiff hock springs out with considerable power. Oh but that golden would once again have to learn harder lessons of battle. Front hooves slip away from each other at holding the gold’s full weight and muscles in his forelegs and chest seize. It holds him but sends pain shooting up his legs, hitting the lump in his chest like an anvil and hammer. Rough hack shoots through his lips, but he was too proud and determined to let it collapse him. So jaw grips tight and weariness like a gong announces to the gold he can go no more.



OOC ::
WC::800
ATK::4/4
INJURIES:: Sore and stiff left hock (worsening) -- Sore chest just above is collar -- Pulled muscles in his front legs
SUMMARY:: Oxy's horns meet Thranduil's armor, and so the gold goes unharmed forward. Feeling empowered to overcome the growing weariness for a moment the gold turns and comes up Oxy's left, but does so sideways, turned away. When he stops and bucks towards the bay's hips or side, but Thranduil's hooves slip and he too pulls muscles in his chest aggravating the hit in his chest.


"speech"


Image by the AMAZING Vossity

[Image: 5381546acbe33]
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.

Oxy the Addict Posts: 322
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2hh :: 9 [Tallsun] HP: 73.5 | Buff: DANCE
Unnamed :: Common Boggart :: Mayhem Sevin
#10
Pissed does not even begin to describe the way you feel when your horns naught but dance over metal armor, clinking and clanking but not daring to break flesh. You want blood. You want his life seeping onto the floor, into the ground, all around you. Perhaps not for death- you have seen enough death recently- but to at least teach him a lesson. He should not threaten you, should not dance about you with foolishness in his heart and hope to walk away unscathed. Unfortunately, it seems most of your injuries to him have been blunt. Another time, you think to yourself somehow, distantly, in some far-away mind that is not the crazed and frenzied one that leads you through this battle. You know your body’s limits, and you know that on this moonlit night you are reaching them.

However, the moonlight that dances down from the sky proves to be somewhat of a distraction. The bright light flashes in your eyes for a moment and you lose sight of the golden beast until it is too late to really defend yourself. He appears suddenly behind you and you try to dance forward, away from him, to safety, but this is not your time. His hooves fly through the air, lashing out at you, assaulting your left ribcage, beating against bone, the hollow thud echoing all around. You grunt, air rushing out of your lungs, and your forward motion is stopped as you are suddenly reminded of the terrible pain in both of your hind limbs. You should not have jumped forward so quickly.

As one particular rib starts to bruise, you consider trying to trot away from this idiocy, back to the safety of your home, but you shall not on this day give in to fools who think they are better than you. You may be too pained to move this moment, but this pain will not last forever. “Get out,” you hiss at him, your voice sharp and demanding, but also infiltrated by gasping breaths that betray the weariness in your body. “And stay the fuck away from her,” you follow up with, trying your best to glare at him. Against your side, your bag seems to grow heavier with naught but air. There should be drugs in there to numb the pain, to wash away the pulsations, to damping your memories of this moment. There are none there. Just emptiness… a metaphor.


Words| 407
Post| Defense
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.

Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#11
By my verdict: OXY is the winner!

OXY (because he attacked first)
Realism [+3]
Thranduil rolled a 1 against Oxy, but in your post 2/4, I did not see you take any damage? Was there a scratch? You didn’t include a summary, so I couldn’t double check. Otherwise, the realism with Oxy’s battle was excellent. You included the footing very well, especially in comparison to his size. I would have liked to have seen more height/weight comparison from Oxy with regards to his thoughts on Thranduil, but otherwise, I was impressed.

Emotion [+2]
For a brick wall of a character, Oxy can certainly be emotional. I enjoyed how you quickly turned his fear into anger and how he was so easily riled and took offense to the mention of Elsa (I assume?). I like that the emotion felt very serious and real, consistently. Even when he realized he was being over-reactive, the protective anger was still in the background. Everything flowed from one post to the next and there were not sharp jumps from emotion to emotion, and I think that is what made it so palpable.

Prose [+4]
“Your can feel the hate in your very bones”
A few issues here and there, but overall very clearly written. I rarely had to double check what you were writing.


Readability [+2.5]
Very easy to read!

Finally tally: 30.5 + (11.5*2) = 53.5 HP

*******************************************

THRANDUIL
Realism [+3.5]
I get what you are trying to say in your third post about ramming his shoulder into Oxy, but saying the shoulder struck out makes me wonder how the shoulder itself could move independently. I think that was the only time where I ever got “confused” with what you were saying with attacks and defenses. What I was really impressed with was how you actually used your armor in battle as a reason for deflection, but I would also love to read about how it could hinder movement with weight or the attachments!

Emotion [+1.5]
I really liked the emotion I was feeling from Thranduil, but it felt a little disjointed. For example, you spoke quite a bit about his pride and how it was faltering, but then it seemed to vacillate in the rest of your posts. Pride is a really interesting emotion that can be played out very cleverly in battle. However, I could definitely feel what Thranduil was feeling throughout the fight!

Prose [+3]
A few dropped commas here and there, and I felt that in places, the posts were a little disjointed. The flow moving from attack to defense was not as clear in a few places. For example, in your post ¾, you didn’t really write that he had moved or gone somewhere to observe this dying foal, but then Oxy’s attack came, so I had no idea of position.
:: sending chills down his spin. | post ¾

Readability [+2.5]
Very easy read!

Finally tally: 24 + (10.5*2) = 45 HP


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