the Rift

Stoke the fire, let it burn [Cathun vs Gaucho]

Cathun Posts: 88
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 3 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE

Sand. Sea. A sky arching so high that the clear, clean air blackened at its zenith, a blue so deep that he thought stars must surely twinkle up there, if he stood still long enough to see. To his left, red. Dunes in a hue of crimson that was embers and jasper and scattered tsubaki petals rose and fell and rose again, the shifting expanse mirroring the sea of lapis lazuli on the right. Bright, clear, so vast that his existence shrank to something small and insignificant, a sakura leaf ship set loose without rudder to the mercy of fickle gods. The wind was strong, relentless, and with his back to it his view kept shrinking and growing as coils of curling hair whipped back and forth.

Above, a sky resounding with the cry of gulls. Below the feet, shifting sand.

Before him, a giant.

Meeting the Sultan had come as a shock. Cathun had lived under the impression that he was tall and big, had settled into the comfortable conviction that he would be just as, if not taller than everyone he met. Superior. One day he really might come to rival the Wildfire in height, size, in sheer overwhelming presence, but for the first time the colt realized that he had many years of growing to do before he could look his new lord in the eye.

He was supposed to do battle with this? How? Was it even possible? He'd sooner be able to drink the ocean dry or pluck the sun from the sky than win.... or so the quiver of his knees said, clattering away.

Ah, but while his throat was dry, his eyes tearing from the salt in the wind and while his legs ached from just a short trek through loose sand, a flutter, a spark, a tremor of excitement quivered beneath the steely skin as well. What if he did win? Wouldn't that make him invincible?!

Come at me the wind whispered as it whistled past faltering ears, echoing the meaning (if not perhaps the exact phrasing) of Gaucho's command. Cathun swallowed, took a deep breath, then bowed before the commander, the lord, the Ascended in mute acceptance of the duel - as was customary. As was proper.

Only then, unsheathing his courage like a sharpened blade Cathun unglued his feet from the ground and charged, a stumbling approach as uneven as the clamoring battle-cry that tore from his throat. Wordless tones swung high into the heavens as the smaller, slimmer, younger stallion risked life and limb (or so it felt) in an attempt to topple the mountain before him, placing all the weight and mass he possessed as he tried to tackle into the well-muscled red chest.

Braced for impact the fledgling soldier parted velvet lips more attuned to smiling than cursing, better suited for smooth talk than the sampling of blood - and struck forth his head in an attempt to bite, well, anything he could reach really. The neck seemed a good target; big and swelling and seemingly impossible to miss.

That's where he aimed, right at the exposed jugular.

That's where he believed, with all the hopeful naivety of youth, that the portal to success, fame, glory lay hidden.

Could he just part the dun-colored veil of hair and hide and let forth the torrent of crimson, until the vast ocean no longer remained the sole source of liquid within sight...

Beneath a surface of flesh, blood, ash-dyed skin and flowing hair a flame poked up from the smoldering embers, stoked by racing heartbeats. Weak and cold yet it fluttered, lapping mindlessly at the cracks in the seal - waiting. Hungering.



Dice roll thread

3 posts + closing defense
Normal timeline

Setting: Dragon's Throat coast. Mid afternoon, clear sky, a strong breeze from the south froth the waves. Lots of seagulls around.
WC: 610 Wordcounter
PC: 1/3 + closing def.

Summary: Cathun stand with his back to the wind, the sea on his right side and the desert on his left. Assuming his opponent stands before him, Cathun charges in with a battle-cry and tried to tackle Gaucho in the front of the chest. Simultaneously, attempts to bite the front of Gaucho's neck, aiming for the jugular vein.

Note: Permission to PP Gaucho's presence granted by Aud.

Son of a Battlecry

Picture Credits: XX

» Magic and Violence is permitted at all times
» Please tag me!
Ascended Helovian

Gaucho The Wildfire Posts: 1,004
Deceased atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 :: 12 HP: 85 | Buff: PINNACLE
Mara :: Black Mamba Snake :: Paralyze & Vorsa :: Plain Zephyr :: Phoenix Odd
With fire to keep us warm, and tools we made from rocks and bones

Reverence was never something Gaucho wanted, especially on the battle field. He didn't want to be revered, he wanted to be tested. Since his ascension it was as if those around him were even more afraid of his bulk and his flames than ever they were before. It made little sense to the dun. Growing up, all the colts in his herd always eyed their Khal with a youthful jealousy. A yearning deep within their tiny bodies to overtake he who was strongest. Perhaps it was fueled by their bubbling testosterone as it filled the nooks and crannies of their growing bodies, but never once did any of the youths of his previous herd ever shy away from a fight. Especially not with the male who stood at the top of the totem pole. Here however, things were so much different. His warriors occasionally were up for a spar, but most of his herd shied away from any sort of physical confrontation with their Khal. While certainly the dun could understand their hesitancy - he was the most battle-trained out of all of them - he could not understand their fear.

Fear of injury was one thing. Fear of losing was another. Calm seas do not make for accomplished sailors. So why did no one dare to step into the ring with him?

With all the recent chaos of magical bridges, Confutatis and invasions, the day-to-day attention of his warriors had been left in Ampere's capable hands. So it had pleased him greatly when the young warrior had, almost as soon as he had joined the ranks, asked for a spar. As far as first impressions went, Cathun was making a good one.

The salty scent of the breeze buffeted towards Gaucho, pulling back his oddly luxurious mane and streaming it behind his skull. His steely gaze was fixated upon the young warrior, his attention given solely to the equine. It was easy to block out the cries of the gulls overhead and the crashing waves - such were the sounds of his home. The wind however was already causing his eyes to water, though the sensation pleased Gaucho: Cathun was already using the landscape to his advantage. Good.

Gaucho's pierced nose dipped downwards as he returned the grullo's bow. As his antlered skull returned to its original position, the Wildfire stood completely calmly - his wings folded easily against his sides, his head held high, and his breathing normal and relaxed. Even as a war cry left the leaner stallion's lips and his body hurtled forward, Gaucho remained stationary. If the boy wanted to tire himself out by running across the sands, that was his business. However Gaucho was sure that even with whatever arab-heritage the warrior possessed, he would still have rather conserved his energy rather than expelling it immediately.

Once Cathun was a few strides out, Gaucho allowed his well-muscled body to engage. Lifting his right foreleg, Gaucho struck the bloody sands sending a tremor outwards. War stomp was a gift he had received from Kri when he first entered her ranks as a warrior, and it was a magic that he always found useful. Hoping to knock the youngster off balance, Gaucho lunged forward and into Cathun's attack. If he wanted to feel Gaucho up close, then the dun would happily oblige. As his larger frame rocketed forwards, the dun thought he saw the glimpse of teeth out of the corner of his eye. Was the boy trying to bite him? A wry grin parted Gaucho's lips at the thought. The price of Gaucho's flesh was a bloody nose.

Without a horn to protect Cathun's face, Gaucho was free to throw his body around without fear of puncturing himself. It was a lesson in strategy he hoped Cathun would learn quickly. Gaucho's plan was to use his bulk to shove the lighter stallion back. The boy had more speed coming in, but Gaucho was larger, more experienced, and more thickly built. The Wildfire felt the sharp pain of teeth on the left side of his neck but it quickly faded: the ashen warrior had barely even left a mark.

Hoping to have shoved Cathun backwards, or at least completely halted his forward momentum, Gaucho lowered his antlered crown, hoping to use his antlers to simultaneously scrape down the left side of Cathun's neck and shoulder, and force him further backwards. The Wildfire's ever-burning wings flared from his sides and pushed forwards, hoping to create the illusion that Cathun had no where to go but backwards. Even if the boy knew that the current flames on Gaucho's wings were harmless, he had to know that Gaucho did not get the name Wildfire from illusory fire.

WC: 784

Gaucho uses war stomp to knock Cathun off of balance, and then lunges forward, basically throwing his whole weight into Cathun's attack, hopefully hurting his nose/neck. He takes a small bite to his neck, and then lowers his antlers to try and scrape down Cathun's left neck/shoulder and force him backwards.

Please tag me in every post! Magic/Force is allowed on Gaucho at any time.

Cathun Posts: 88
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 3 HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE

One moment he charged headlong against a living mountain. The next, the ground wasn't where he had expected, but lower than planned. His feet, as though in slow motion, stretched to make contact with the sand - and the earth came rushing back up towards him, pressing into the soles like it wished to launch him skywards.

It was unexpected, and he was not experienced enough to compensate for lost traction, not knowledgeable enough to expect the earth to rebel beneath his feet.

Cathun stumbled and sidestepped in a desperate effort to maintain his balance, but in doing so he also lost momentum. What he had intended as a rattling impact of flesh against flesh was reduced to a mere shoulder bump, a blow that with the added power of Gaucho's shove made the colt bounce back with ringing ears and the shock of impact echoing through his left shoulder. He couldn't even say whether it hurt or not yet, his mind felt numb, incapable of processing just what was going on. The shock only grew when his snapping teeth actually clamped down around flesh, red between chomping ivories, so unexpected that the colt forgot to hang on and actually let go immediately.

It wasn't consideration towards the bitten stallion, for sure, because somewhere beneath the overwhelmed fog in his head Cathun felt pride stir and grow, feeding the smoldering flame. No, it was something closer to fright, though it would take a long time and plenty of reluctance before he was able to admit it. Compared to letting go, the consequences of holding on and remaining so close to the big, brutish ruler... would surely be terrifying.

His current situation wasn't much better, however. Much like Gaucho had planned all the momentum of the grullo was gone, absorbed by earth and wind and red muscles. Even as he sucked in a breath of air Cathun registered the reality of it, absorbed the positions of himself and the opponent, strained to find a solution to the problem. Trapped, caught in a clincher between descending antlers and wings of fire. Pain was sure to greet him regardless of what option he chose - pain of blunt bone scraping down his skin, pain of searing heat lapping against the face, pain of lost pride if he turned on his heels and ran.

The latter was not even an option.

Even though he was inexperienced, the son of the Silverthorn had a few things going for him. He had confidence, a belief that he would make it even in a situation where every turn was new to him, he was not afraid of pain, and in one thing the Ascended had miscalculated. Cathun did not recoil in the face of fire; he was fire!

Black hooves dug deep into the sand and gained traction, halting his movement in any direction but forward. While the momentum gained was gone, he was still fresh on his feet, still strong and agile enough to provide the power needed. Gathering the strength of long, springy hind-quarters Cathun launched himself forward in a buck, straight towards the burning wing that blocked his path, hoping to barrel into it and press it downwards. Even as he moved through the air he felt the ghost of intent whisper over him, followed by the blunt bite of decorative crowns into the let side of his chest. They scraped down the side, bounced over the ribs and left a trail of ice cold heat in their wake, a jagged scrape that would surely bruise and bother him for days. Ah, but. If that was the only injury he sustained after this spar, Cathun would still count himself lucky. He could, no would endure!

As his front legs regained contact with the ground Cathun forced his rear legs up in a blind kick, hoping to hit something at least. Then he tried a twisting motion of the barrel, hoping to swing his rear end to the right and away from any biting teeth or scraping hooves. Assuming he had pushed himself right into the crook of Gaucho's wing the colt sought to place another bite, this time aimed at the joint where the wing protruded from the red shoulder.

Excitement rose within him as he aimed and struck, a quivering, trembling joy laced with the red-hot flame of passion. This was fun! This was incredible. He was straining and sweating and hurting to the point where he had forgotten all about the landscape around them, but even so Cathun had never felt more alive. It was as though the day had grown twice as bright, twice as hot, as though he might drown in the drumming of his own heart.

He didn't want it to end.
PC: 2/3
WC: 791

Summary: Cathun stumbles and smack into Gaucho's shoulder with reduced force, is pushed back and a step to the right from the collision. Instead of backing he launches himself forward into Gaucho's left wing in a buck (leap, land front, kick), then tries to swing the backside around until he stands with head facing Gaucho's left side. He takes damage from the antlers on the left side of his chest, over the ribs, while bucking. He then aim a bite towards the joint where wing and chest meet.


Son of a Battlecry

Picture Credits: XX

» Magic and Violence is permitted at all times
» Please tag me!
Ascended Helovian

Gaucho The Wildfire Posts: 1,004
Deceased atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 :: 12 HP: 85 | Buff: PINNACLE
Mara :: Black Mamba Snake :: Paralyze & Vorsa :: Plain Zephyr :: Phoenix Odd
With fire to keep us warm, and tools we made from rocks and bones

Pain was something that needed to be felt, internalized, and endured. One could not react to pain, and as contrary as it might sound for one as animalistic and primitive as Gaucho, he would not let his primal responses drive his reactions. Not when it came to pain. To flinch and recoil was to give up precious seconds and inches that could make all the difference in a battle. So as Cathun's body shot towards and pressed against Gaucho's left wing, the dun grit his teeth bearing the pain. He allowed his appendage to rotate backwards, and blocked the instinct to tense his wing muscles. The force of Cathun's shove felt as though it stretched one of his ligaments. It wasn't so much the direction of the shove, for Cathun had done nothing more than close his wing against his side, but the force had been enough to send waves of pain into Gaucho's shoulder, and the muscles and ligaments that controlled his wing.

All of this he endured, through grit teeth and forced breathing, because the Wildfire knew what he would do next - and having Cathun as close as possible was his goal.

Gaucho had not moved any farther forward than Cathun's shoulder, and so as the colt bucked outwards his hooves struck only the air. As his ashen body twisted in the air, Gaucho allowed himself to pivot as well. The dun's shoulders followed the colt's hindquarters as Gaucho's own hind legs danced lightly to the right, pivoting so that instead of allowing Cathun to position himself perpendicular, Gaucho tried to force the boy's head into his chest or shoulder. The dun expected another bite - and as he felt Cathun's teeth sink into the deep blue stripes of his left shoulder, Gaucho's mind mentally sighed into the pain. The tingly burn in his left wing, and the bite to his left shoulder were well worth the sacrifice to have the boy so close.

You should be afraid of fire.

Although pain screamed through Gaucho's left wing joint, the dun nevertheless rapidly extended it, only to force it forward. His right wing - which had remained open the entire time - beat slightly faster, but the effect was still the same. From his already burning feathers came the red-hot heat of real flames. The arc of fire that Gaucho expelled from his wings would radiate outwards 30 meters before dissipating, but unless Cathun had some clever ability to instantly disappear, Gaucho didn't think the full range of his ability would be needed. Throwing his antlered skull upwards to avoid the heat which was released, Gaucho tried to burn the ashen boy, who stupidly placed himself right in the center of Gaucho's pyre.

Through the heat of his flames, Gaucho couldn't tell if Cathun had released his hold on Gaucho's breast. With his ears pinned against his skull, Gaucho rapidly backed up a few paces and quickly lowered his antlers. If Cathun wanted to lunge forward again, he would have to do so carefully. From the sidelines, for the phoenix was still too young to participate in such games, Vorsa trilled happily - her voice obviously applauding her bonded's use of fire.

The Wildfire hastily folded his wings against his flanks. While his front was defended, his flanks certainly weren't. The last thing he wanted was some headstrong colt tearing out his feathers, or straining his ligaments even more than they already had been. Assault against his body he could endure - but his wings needed to remain in peak condition. He needed to be able to patrol once this little dance was over with.

A grin parted Gaucho's dark lips as they dipped towards his chest. Pressing a small button in the center of his leather collar caused spikes to protrude about two inches all around his shoulders. He might be able to endure more bites from Cathun, but that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to make it easy for the boy.

"Again?" He asked, his voice deep and rich, hinting at none of the pain that reverberated through his shoulder. The boy's two bites were nearly forgotten, but a lingering discomfort persisted in Gaucho's left wing joint. It was meant to be difficult to tell if Gaucho's again? was meant to entice Cathun to attack again, or whether Gaucho was merely offering to burn him again.

The choice was Cathun's.

WC: 728

Gaucho's left wing is injured by the force of Cathun's shove. As Cathun bucks and twists Gaucho pivots with him, taking his bite to his chest. With Cathun close, Gaucho uses his arc-fire magic trying to burn Cathun. He then backs up, lowers his antlers, folds his wings, and extends the spikes on his collar.

Please tag me in every post! Magic/Force is allowed on Gaucho at any time.

Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Cathun defaults to Gaucho. Gaucho earns 0.5 VP.
 HP: 1100

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