the Rift


they knew it was rough, but tough luck [rhoa spar]

Einarr Posts: 113
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 hh :: 8 years HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Time
#1
If you could flick the switch and open your third eye
You'd see that we should never be afraid to die

Many thoughts passed through the stallion’s mind when he patrolled, and early this morning with the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, there was one thought that kept pressing against him. It was the thought that Einarr needed to see Rhoa. The young stallion had helped save his daughter, after all, and had been following on his heels quite often in silence. It was obvious to Einarr, a seasoned warrior and teacher, that the boy wanted something. However, until today, Einarr had thought the boy needed to step forward and seek the help for himself. While that thought was not entirely wrong—especially in Einarr’s background, and in the background of Rhoa’s ancestors—but it did not fit here, in this situation. For Rhoa’s actions, the guardian owed him something. It did not matter if Rhoa had followed Einarr on that day out of curiousity, and helped the young filly out of benevolence of heart, no—all that mattered was that he did help, and that he did follow Einarr.

Rhoa had done more than help on that day, too. He had been hurt. Burned by the falling acid of the striped bitch, and for that, Rhoa deserved to lay marks on Einarr’s hide. It was Einarr’s fault that Rhoa—but a child those months ago—was injured. Einarr brought (even unknowingly) his herdmate into danger. The only thing that could make it worse, and did in the bloodrider’s mind, was that Rhoa was not just any herdmate. He was a prince. A khalakka. Einarr had brought the khalakka into danger. Although none of the harm brought to the smoldering prince was permanent, to Einarr’s knowledge, the bloodrider still needed to teach the khalakka how to deal with this. How do we deal with danger? Rhoa was a budding warrior, after all (all were to be warriors, despite rank duty, in Einarr’s mind), and so as a decorated soldier, the Warden had a duty.

Tipping his wing, Einarr made wide, slow circles until his cloven hooves touched the reddened sands at an easy, light trot. He landed in the southern desert of his herdland. All around him, for miles to see, was nothing. The landscape was barren, but the crashing of the ocean against the land could be heard in the distance. The ground beneath his hooves was solid and dry, and as he walked dust kicked up around him. The coolness of Orangemoon was moot here in the desert, and the midmorning sun shown down with glory, rays unhindered by clouds. The dark stallion stretched his wings out before he stretched each of his muscles. His warm-up was light and easy, trotting circles and walking circles with some deadly quick spins thrown in. Finally, turning so his back was to the sun, the dark stallion lifted his body up on rear legs and spread his wings. ”Khalakka Rhoa! Lajat anna! Nesolat!”

________________________

[WC: 483 | PC: 0/3 | Rhoa can come in swinging! <3 | Translation: Prince Rhoa! Fight me! To learn!]

if you bury me, i'll bury you
pixel by sourful

Rhoa Posts: 175
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Pegasus :: 17hh :: 3 HP: 65 | Buff: ENDURE
Odd
#2

The problem with the Throat was that there was no where to hide. Perhaps Father would have said that it was a blessing, that any who would try and shed blood on these lands would have to do so openly. But today that was unhelpful. I know very little about strategy, but I do know a few things. For instance, I know that I don't have a hope in hell of beating Einarr, but if there was at least a little cover, perhaps I could at least make him proud by using it. As it was, unless a sandstorm suddenly accompanied my arrival, he would see me coming from miles away.

No cover. No distractions. It was just he and I. The Warden and the Prince.

The winner was already obvious. Einarr was only a few inches taller than I am, but he was much more robust. It would be easy to blame my Mother's Andalusian influence and her slighter build as the reason why my frame was still so narrow, but that wasn't the entire reason. I hadn't done much by way of training. A few misguided spars here and there and my mandatory patrols. Other than that, I hadn't really done much. My days were filled by selfish missions to try and find myself a companion, but were always frustrated one way or another. Either my answers to the questions posed by the keepers of the eggs were deemed not good enough, or they were just wrong. The more I aged, the less I could use my youthful naivety and my parental absence as reasons for my failure. I was a stallion now, and my faults fell solely on my shoulders.

But maybe today could be different. Without the fear of failure (for one can't properly be said to fail when there was never the chance to succeed), there was no pressure. Einarr knew that I needed training - it was why he had offered to teach me. The rougher I started out, the more I could improve.

That was a nice way of thinking about it.

I came at him from the sky, with the sun at my back. It was the only thing I could do, really. By forcing him to look up at the sun to follow my movements, hopefully he would be blinded long enough to partially obscure my attack. Though in all honesty, I knew he wouldn't be stupid enough to just stare upwards, but it was something. My embered wings beat nearly noiselessly as I shot downwards. Pale, but barred forelegs stretched out before me as I tried to make my body as aerodynamic as possible. My goal was to come straight at him, to land a few strides out, and use my accumulated momentum to crash into his shoulder. My wings and feathers worked seamlessly to adjust my movements, as my sea-green gaze focused solely on the Warden. If he moved, I would try to as well.

Truth be told, I didn't know what to expect. Would he run? Leap at me? Did he have magic of his own? Would he just take to the air and avoid me all together? It was too late to assemble answers to these questions - I was going too fast now. I had to follow through.

I felt my hooves strike the bloody sands at an angle, so that I was running just as much as I was flying. Within a stride my body weight settled back to the earth, and my wings folded against my flanks so that they would not be injured. I tried to ram my left shoulder into his own. I could feel my breaths coming hot and fast, as the sound of blood thundered in my ears.

I sent up a silent prayer as I braced for impact, fighting the urge to close my eyes. Here goes nothing..




WC: 647
Attack: 1/3




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Einarr Posts: 113
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 hh :: 8 years HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Time
#3
If you could flick the switch and open your third eye
You'd see that we should never be afraid to die

Snorting, Einarr let his body drop back down onto the hard, solid sands. The dark stallion did not pace, did not shuffle his hooves in anticipation. He simply stood, waiting, listening. Red-brown eyes danced across his surroundings. He was only waiting minutes until he saw a flickering shadow dance across the lands. The stallion’s neck arched and his ears pinned down. Cloven hooves then danced across the blood sands, wings stretching out at his sides. Calm, even breaths left his nostrils. Einarr waited for the boy to come closer, the warrior counting down in his head. Finally, Einarr sprung forward. Dark wings thrust down and he cantered a few strides before pulling himself into the air. Powerful down strokes sent his body towards the cloudless blue sky. At his rump he felt the whoosh of the colt sliding to the ground next to where he had been standing. The stallion grit his teeth, wings still beating as he climbed into the air. Dust spilled into the air, forming a small cloud, from where he once stood.

He expected Rhoa to follow him into the air, and he gave a glance down at the young warrior-to-be. The boy turned his body and threw it to where Einarr had once been standing, and the warrior knew that if he had not taken to the air the Prince would have hit him with youthful force. Einarr tucked his legs in and straightened out his neck, quickly sticking his wings in to his side and turning in the air. The warm sun wrapped its fingers around him. Sweat already began to darken his flanks and chest. He was not hindered yet, at the beginning of his fight, for he had grown up in the desert. His body was used to the devouring warmth, the unbridled summer that perpetually gripped the lands, even in the presence of the oasis. Flicking his wings out again, the stallion leveled himself. He glanced at Rhoa once more, watching the boy lash at the memory of Einarr. The black tipped forward and used his wings to pull himself back toward the air. His massive wings devoured the wind, pulling him down with rocketing speed. Einarr moved his own front legs to straighten before him, cloven hooves aimed to hopefully smack against Rhoa’s rump. The boy’s attack, an attack that mimicked Einarr’s attack now, had not been wrong. It was right to attack from the sky, but Rhoa had not thought of where his shadow would end up in Einarr’s vision.

Quickly, the Warden pulled his wings in to his sides, protecting hollow bones and powerful muscles from the destruction of flailing hooves and blunt teeth. Cloven hooves pulled him on the hard-packed ground without slipping; his body angled in an attempt to land on Rhoa’s left. With a snaking neck, Einarr sent his next assault with speed and power. Blunt, herbivorous teeth sought to pinch dark flesh on Rhoa’s left side ribcage. Rolling thick shoulders forward, Einarr used his bigger bulk to press his body in towards the younger stallion, hoping to throw him off his balance. ”Aerial combat where we shine. Ground combat we become slow, practice make it lesser.” Einarr spoke with an even tone as he attempted to body check the smaller, younger stallion. He had called the other stallion here to teach him, after all, and teach him he would. Rhoa was smaller, by just a few inches, but his body had a youthful elegance and speed that Einarr’s lacked. Einarr held the fine tuned, refined but rugged body of a blood rider.

Calculating mind held no emotion as he fought against the boy. He hesitated none, even knowing this boy was a prince, son of his khal. Einarr did not care—he knew Gaucho’s mind. Warriors were all on equal ground, no matter the prestige of their breeding. If anything, the khal’s son should be treated harder than the others, put on a pedestal with higher expectations. Rhoa had large hooves to fill, and Einarr would help him get there.




[WC: 676 | PC: 1/3]


if you bury me, i'll bury you
pixel by sourful

Rhoa Posts: 175
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Pegasus :: 17hh :: 3 HP: 65 | Buff: ENDURE
Odd
#4

It's like slow motion. I can see his wings jut from his flanks and his muscles coil - the tell tale signs are all there. He is taking to the air, but I am powerless to stop. My shoulder flings into empty space, and I feel the ligaments and muscles strain. Pain radiates outwards, and I feel myself stumble. I had expected to hit a wall, for Einarr's body was only just short of sheer concrete I'm sure. I had expected him to hold me up, in this spar as in life, and without him I am tumbling forward. A colt lacking direction, a prince without a king, a boy without a father.

A sound of pain warbles from my lips as my left front leg finally finds purchase. My muscles painfully scream their criticisms, like pawns on a chess board who have been carelessly sacrificed. It doesn't hurt much, but then again I am a novice when it comes to pain. It isn't quite the same as the emotional duress I have felt all of my life, but it is just as blinding. Perhaps I am a child still, for everything feels like a big deal to me.

But this is a big deal, isn't it? I have already let Einarr down. He doesn't even humour me by taking the hit. His evasion shows just how completely misguided my attack really was.

I almost didn't want to look up into the air to track his movements. Instead, my mind was trying to figure out a way of escaping this mad attempt at proving myself. Could I tell him my shoulder hurt more than it did? I really should rest it, don't you think? I'll be good tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow... Or perhaps instead of showing weakness, I could show forgetfulness? Oh I've just remembered, Mother needs help collecting herbs ... so silly of me to forget ... I suppose we'll have to postpone! Darn! Before I have the chance to figure out a decent lie, Einarr removes the possibility all together.

Having cast my eyes upwards, I now see him hurtling towards me, hooves outstretched. My panic outweighs the embarrassment that I know will inevitably follow as I scramble forwards and to the right. I am quick on these sands, having grown up on them, and I just manage to ghost under Einarr's hooves. Shame floods me with a freezing hold as I spin around. I watch Einarr's battle landing. His teeth reach out to snap at air, as his bulky body leans in towards nothing. For a moment I wonder what he's doing, until he speaks.

...Ground combat we become slow....

Now I understand. He's mocking me. His body thrust itself into an empty space the way mine recently had. Was he trying to prove how incredibly foolish I looked? Or how his body was somehow trained to not turn on itself should an attack miss? Anger swamps the shame I was previously feeling, and I turn my thoughts away from whatever motives Einarr might have had.

I just wanted a little help. Some guidance. Perhaps foolishly I expected to come out of this feeling better about myself, not worse.

I try to steel myself against my wounded pride, and focus on the task before me. I wish I had magic like Father did, as Einarr proved himself to both be a ghost as well as a brick wall. He was stronger and larger, and although I had thought my speed would have been superior, so far it had only succeeded in helping me run away.

I didn't have the upper hand against Einarr.

I didn't have anything.

Gritting my teeth, I suddenly ran forward. I didn't have a plan really, it was my childish instincts taking over. When we were younger, Ivezho and I used to play a game of leap frog, where we would run and jump over each other, and use our wings to aid with the height.

Einarr did say we were better in the air.

I let my embered wings fall slightly from my flanks and extend. When I was a stride or so out, I pushed down with my feathers, and jumped upwards, as I tried to jump/fly over Einarr. I had try to come at his side, but I was fairly certain he would move anyways. My hind legs trailed slightly, and then kicked outwards to try and strike at any part I might be in reach of.


WC: 743
Attack: 2/3



Image Credits

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

Helovia Hard Mode


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