the Rift


[JUDGED] roll like thunder, burn like stars [mauja spar]

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#1

HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED

The night air embraces the silver soldier like an old lover as she slips across the Edge's outskirts, a ghost in the darkness. Dominus prowls beside her, his paws silent on the dew-soaked grass below, a white shadow next to a steel blur. A light fog drifts around the limbs of the duo, coming up to midway between Nyx's fetlock and knee, its icy tendrils caressing the contours of her muscles as she moves. It shrouds Dominus up to his lower chest, his pearly white frame almost invisible against it.

They don't sneak because of nefarious intentions; they do not slip like thieves through the night to inflict mischief on the sleeping Edge residents. No, they move through the land at this time of night so they can train in the conditions that the moon brings - cooler temperatures, fog, moist grass, tiredness. Nyx and her leonine companion have made it their duty to train during every possible type of weather condition, so that they will be prepared for invasion at any time. She fought Ampere in sweltering heat, Daemyn in patchy snow, Tamlin in a storm. Even if she does not engage in combat with another, she still trains through running and kicking in a multitude of other conditions, from howling wind to screaming blizzard, all in the name of preparation.

This time of night is when an invading herd may sneak through their defences and slice at them like a sword in the back; she needs to brush up on her skills in the dim light so she will be prepared to defend if the worst ever happens. The moon disappears behind clouds every few seconds, ensuring that visibility is fairly low, and the ironheart has to squint her icy eyes to see a few feet in front of her. Finding a large space between the trees she begins to warm up, stretching her lengthy legs to ensure she doesn't pull a muscle, flexing her powerful neck and practicing her paces. Beside her, her lion does his own pre-training rituals, honing his claws against a tree and stretching the glorious sinews of his back.

In the half-light the pair prepare themselves for a night of training, not expecting that they will be disturbed at this ungodly hour.

___________

@[Mauja]

Shall we have a few posts of talking first? ^^ Summary: Set in the World's Edge at night on one of the grass pastures. Bit of fog around, low visibility due to clouds. I'm good with companions and magic if you are? :D

0/3 - words


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.

Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#2
Only the wicked are up in the wolf hours.

When all light turns to cold, crisp starlight, or to the chilly shadows of late autumn, few are afoot—at least of all in this land, where a silver blanket of fog lays thick across the uneven ground, the magnificent roots of trees hidden from sight. And with the clouds slipping softly across the moon it is impossible to get any kind of night vision. One moment it could be the bright of day .. and the next, the Edge is plunged into a depthless darkness.



Mauja was a roamer; he seldom spent two nights in the same place, never returning to some exact location to close his eyes and slip away into dreams (nightmares), never standing still except to eat (and occasionally, brood)—never going anywhere, but always moving, the foam upon a wave's crest. Restless, some might say. Haunted. And in just as many ways that it was true, it was also not the reason—and yet.. it was the reason.

He shook his head to himself, sweeping like the ghost he was through the fogs of his home. His.. home. His first home in the embrace of Helovia's fickle gods, the first home he had lost, and the only he had reclaimed.

He still wasn't sure why. It had just.. happened. He'd come out of curiosity and what he had seen had been so god-damned depressing that he'd said a lot of foul shit and then Arah had been there saying Mauja for president and.. then he'd just sort of gone with it.

And now he was King, again, slipping through a foggy kingdom with a murderous moon-bitch attached to it, and the weight of his past chained to his frosty ankles.

But there were others prowling the night, it seemed—the poor lass who had seemed beside herself with err uncomfortable-ness that day by the Veins, when she had been subjected to the, err... madder sides of himself and d'Artagnan. Either she'd been faking it that time, or she'd grown up since, because there seemed to be more iron in her spine and steel in her muscles. Mauja's head tilted in the dark, recalling very well her desire to remain among the warriors. For a moment she shone in the moonlight, all sleek and deadly curves, and then the darkness veiled her again.

This—this was what he'd been trying to tell Torleik. This was what they had to master, and they would have a defense far better than any fucking wall.

"Boo," came his voice out of the dark as he sidled out of the shadows and into the clearing, brighter than her even in the dimness of the covered moon; in its light, he was a beacon, but without it, even he could hide, if he so wanted to. Again, his head tilted, long forelock sliding off his face in a shimmering cascade. "What evil is afoot in the dark?"

And in the darkness, the corner of his mouth curled up in a small, wicked smile.

[ sounds good, magic and companions are a go, I'll try to not take forever with this lol <3 @[Nyx] 0/3 sorta assuming your app for warrior means Nyx let Mau and Torleik explicitly know she wants to stay on a such ^^ ]
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#3

HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED

Not alone.

The voice in her head draws her attention firstly down to Dominus, the speaker, then upwards through squinted eyes into the fog. Her muscles tense, her vision unable to pick up what Dominus' superior sense of smell had detected, her own nostrils flaring desperately to try and drag in the scent of the other. Her ears flatten warily, wondering if this innocent training session will turn into a fight for her life, a fight for the Edge, wondering if she might get her chance to defend her home rather sooner than she'd anticipated. The lion growls, his tail swinging between his muscular thighs as he slopes forward like a ghost through the fog, towards the shadow that comes closer, closer...

The voice that rings from the hulking figure is a familiar one, and the soldier finally relaxes. Mauja. Hurriedly composing herself in the hope he won't notice how tense his looming approach had made her - because what sort of warrior tightens up like a cat's arsehole at the first sign of the danger she's meant to conquer? - she fixes one broad blue eye on him, a smile playing at the edges of her blackened lips at his words. "Evil? I'll take that as a compliment." Their conversation comes galloping back into her head - eyeball-feasting owls, casual racism, murder. Initially the spotted stallion and his glass-horned companion had terrified her - as most things did in those days before she grew a set of metaphorical balls - and there's still something about him that unnerves her, that causes a spasm of unease to twist at her gut, something she'll likely never comprehend. She supposes it's only natural - relaxing around somebody who'd been flippantly open about slaughter certainly isn't the smartest idea.

Now he's her king.

Or queen, if what little she'd caught of Black Hottie's words were anything to go by.

The image causes amusement to momentarily dance across the surface of her eyes, but she quickly smothers it. Not the time.

"I was contemplating stabbing some folks while they slept, but changed my mind - effort," she says dryly, before her expression shifts to seriousness. Her ears flicker, one towards him and one towards the growl that's still emenating from Dominus, because giant spotted fog-stallions lurking around his bonded make him deeply concerned. And murderous. She shoots a lion a look that's meant to silence him, but the growl simply gets lower, like a storm crashing in the distance. One final lingering look is given to the feline before she returns her attention to Mauja. "I thought it wise to train in these conditions, so I am better prepared to defend the Edge if ever we're invaded by the sort of asshole that likes to warmonger at this ungodly hour." A shiver wracks her frame as the fog caresses her, because there's a sharpness in the air that indicates winter is on its way. A merciful respite from the pounding sunlight, and yet more differing conditions for the mare to fight in.

That curved brow of hers lifts quizzically as she glances at the spotted one. "And what brings you out at this time, my King?" The word tastes queer on her tongue, and she almost giggles at the delicious irony of racist Mauja ruling a herd of mixed-breeds. Some God had a twisted sense of humour.

___________

@[Mauja]

Ja that's fine to assume ^^

0/3 - words


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.

Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#4
Was she nervous, his iron-like soldier? Did his cloaked presence make her heart tick a little faster—or why else the clamped ears, and the growl rumbling in that snow-white chest? Mauja's veiled gaze fell briefly to the large animal, something like distaste unfolding in his chest. He didn't like it when companions threatened him, least of all ones crammed with so much muscle and sharp teeth as this one.

But aside from the mere physical aspects of the kittycat's displease—there was a real question lurking beneath that. Did it feed off of her emotion? Was she displeased with seeing him—distrustful—something strong enough to cause her bond-mate to growl, the sound the low roar of an engine in the back of his ears.

Who is that evil? Roskuld whispered in the back of his mind, the memory a lightning flash as Nyx repeated the word he had used—evil. All in all, it nearly had him shying away again, retreating into the fog and the shadows he knew so well.. but he stayed, something held him grounded, his gaze sweeping the steel gray of her body.

"Effort," he repeated, the word simply a breath turning into smoke in the damp air. Ah, yes. It took effort to stab those who slept (he knew all about that, waking up to blood and snow).

He was about to say something—some nonsense that fled his mind when she went on, asking him what he was doing out there—but closed his mouth again, sharp gaze falling to the still-rumbling lion and back to her. Training. Dedication. A desire to fight, to protect. Was that what ran like fire in her lion's veins? "Queen," he corrected her with an absent-minded breath, shifting on the spot, muscles and nerves firing up with life as his eyes lit up. "And I like warmongering at this ungodly hour."

For a moment he remained still, sort of trapped in a half-step, a bird trying to get somewhere but having forgotten how to fly; and then the little smirk playing on his lips grew lopsided as he loosened his hold on control (sanity).

"Catch me if you can," he dared her, turning elegantly to disappear into the fog—moving with a certain, controlled grace, knowing this terrain from memory; where the dew let his hooves slide roots shored him up.

Back in the clearing, one owl made a lonely circuit, hoping to see the steely mare tear after her Queen.

Don't give up on your challenge.

Nyx had something to prove tonight.

[ 0/3 || @[Nyx] ]
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#5

HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED

Finally Dominus' growl peters out, like an engine out of fuel, but his eyes remain riveted firmly on the spotted one, gleaming dangerously in the half-light. He is extremely protective of his bonded, and no matter how many times Nyx tells him she can take care of herself, he won't back down. That famous feline stubbornness runs rampant through him, for better or worse.

Usually worse.

He keeps from attacking at her insistence, however, so simply settles for glowering irritably, lifting one paw to clean between the claw-sheaths. The silver's attention is largely focused on Mauja instead of him, however, her brow lifting a fraction as he repeats her word. Maybe, murmurs that little voice in her head that isn't Dominus, he knows all about how much effort midnight murder takes. She tries not to think about that.

Queen. Did he really just say that? The soldier looks at him with an expression of comical disbelief, and a throaty chuckle rumbles from her solid chest. "There's not many stallions I know who would freely refer to themselves as women," she observes. "You must be very confident in your manliness." Or you're Black Hottie's sex-bitch, as I thought. Again, not a train of thought she wants to go down. The mental images cannot be unseen.

Suddenly he's afire, stoic ice burning away to be replaced by movement as he disappears into the fog with the ghostly elegance of that owl of his (little does Nyx know he's acquired a second eye-pecker since they last met). For a moment she's taken aback by his show of, well, dare she call it playfulness? But she's not one to back down from a challenge, and with a hearty chortle she kicks up her heels and dives after him. The urge to truly open up, to hurl her body through the gears and eat the ground like a king's supper, almost overwhelms her, but she resists. Running at great speed over fog-laden, treacherous ground is a fast ticket to a broken leg, and even Nyx's inherent competetiveness won't make her risk that.

She does allow herself to go a little bit, though, her long limbs devouring the ground as she pounds after him. With a disgusted bellow Dominus follows, but his heavy mane and bulky weight slow him down. He soon falls behind, their mental bond thinning from a rampant river to the weakest stream, but still there, ever-present in their heads. He'll catch up, decides the mare. Now it's just her and her spotted king queen in the weak starlight and the soft caress of fog, and she savours it; she tries to draw as close behind him as she possibly can, off to his left side, cool air spiking her lungs as she inhales levelly. "You know, perhaps we could do something more productive than running," she suggests, the words pushed out of her gaping mouth as she drags in sweet oxygen.

"Would you care to spar, Queen of Spots?"

___________

@[Mauja]

You can attack next post if you want! I didn't in this one because, well, she didn't want to try and spear her king in the butt without asking first xD

0/3 - words


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.

Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#6
Disappointment.

It's like a sledgehammer to his face, to his heart, his fragile dream built upon mist-pillars and fortified with stardust; it threatens to shatter.

But he holds it together, a stubborn glue.

There was a sound chasing him in the darkness, a twin shadow to his, the iron of her muscle loosening up and the steel of her hide glimmering in the patches of starlight, butbut it was not a tribute to war, it was.. it was...

He wanted to feel her breath coming down his haunches, to feel her teeth catching his snowy skin, heck, even grabbing his tail to yank him to a halt; he wanted to feel the tip of her horn breaking skin open along his flank, spilling pearly droplets of red, to hear a siren, a banshee's scream, feel her entire body slamming into his in an effort to stop him

But she was just running next to him, elegant and deadly, but much, much too serious and distant, "You know, perhaps we could do something more productive than running," her words slipping out like little clouds of fog.

The disappointment sank deeper, and Mauja slammed on the brakes himself, sliding a little in autumn-wet grass before coming to a halt; his mane was disheveled, and his gaze burned flatly, but the voice that came out was only amused (I'm too good at lying my way through life). "Don't you know how to play? I don't think you will defeat your enemies by running with them," he said, that wistful bemusement masking the blackness beneath. "Nor by kindly asking them to spar." His head, held high, tilted in the pallid light, and he looked this way, then that, then back to Nyx. Fire up, lady. I know you can do this. I know you can loosen up and let go.

"Try again. Catch me, because I'm coming to stab those sleepy motherfuckers."

And then he was off again, in another direction, white tail streaming out behind him like a banner of war, blood racing, mind alight, and the quivering in the foundation of his empire of dreams changed note from doubt to anticipation,

and this time, he hopes that she'll rise to the challenge, and play with him in the wicked, sharp moonlight.

[ 0/3 || @[Nyx] ]
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#7

HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED

"Oh."

Ohhh.

If she could bend that way, she'd kick herself. Rookie error, Nyx. Her desire to be nice and not shish kebab her king with her horn had overriden her logic, not to mention everything screaming this is a test. A test she'd just failed. Oh balls. Had her desire to become a warrior just been crushed by her own stupidity?

Hell, no. She was going to show her spotted monarch that whilst she was not infallible, and did make mistakes, she did not make the same mistake twice. She was going to spar his perky little ass off.

Her neck arches to throw up her proud head, digging her hooves deep into the frozen ground to slide to a halt as Mauja does. "Point taken," she says, blowing slightly as shame spasms through her once again. Then he's off again, and she delves inside her mind to steel her thoughts into pillars of ice and snow. The spotted fiend running from her is not her king, he's an assassin and a monster and a devilish beast come to slaughter her friends, to place a knife in their slumbering backs. He's a shadow in the night, a threat that needs to be stopped. Her eyes - usually so alight with electricity - darken like shut windows, every line of her body hardening into a warrior protecting her herd.

Her ears swing backwards into the storm-tossed strands of her mane and she throws herself forwards, kicking up her heels and paying no heed to the icy conditions underfoot, not this time. This time, he is a threat that needs to be eliminated, and she'll be damned if a little bit of snow is going to stop her fufilling her duty. She is the herd's protector, and it is her job to ensure the safety of her sleeping compatriots. If she trips and shatters a leg on the uneven ground whilst chasing down her enemy, at least she will die knowing she did her duty for King and country. No longer is this a gentle canter under moonlight with her leader - now it's life or death, fight or flight, kill or be killed.

Loosen up and let go? Hell yes.

Their last run was a warm-up, to loosen her muscles and allow her stride to open as she churns through the gears. Dominus gives a bellow of disgust as he has to alter his path and run in the opposite direction; headlong gallops aren't his strong point, however, with his thick mane and bulky posture. He won't catch either unicorn and will only tire himself out if he continues his pursuit. Instead the mare lets him play to his strengths as a carnivore, by using her brain as well as her brawn to protect her herd, as Mauja would want. How did lions hunt? They ambushed, the men lurking in the shrub as the women chased the prey towards them, and Dominus dives into a nearby snow-covered bush, a hidden weapon waiting to be deployed.

Now it's up to the lioness to corral the prey.

Countless generations of her mongrel blood lend her speed, and she aims to pull close behind Mauja but just off to his left, to try and avoid getting a double-barrelled punch from those back legs. Closer and closer she tries to pound, her legs a blur beneath her as her hooves use instinct and prayer to land on the least slippery parts of the iced ground. Her lips peel and her head lunges forwards as she attempts to bite him, hard, on his left flank. Her blunt teeth cannot hope to rip into flesh as Dominus' razor fangs would, but she hopes the sudden pinch if she hits will cause him to veer right, taking that firm little butt of his with him...but no, it's not the handsome rear end of her king, it's the blood-soaked and sweat-laden flanks of a murderer, it's the muscles and the heaving flesh of a man she has to stop, or die trying...

Simultaneously, the front-right edge of her right shoulder tries to press to the right as well, hoping to jam into spotted enemy's upper left hindleg, to try and push against him and upset his balance. He's almost two damn hands bigger than her, so she cannot hope to barge him over with brute force alone, but she hopes a firm, insistent pressure will disrupt his stride and push him right, always right, where Dominus prowls through the bushes like a white nighmare. Maybe her shoulder will ache against his pulsing hindlegs, cause one errant hoof to hit a patch of black ice, send him tumbling down to the hard ground where she can end him with one joust of her blood-hungry black horn...

Because this is war.

___________

@[Mauja]

1/3 - 798 words


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.

Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#8
[ Snow, ice? Dx It was "dew-laden grass" at first ... xD /deals with it ]

Death's winter chill had come for them. The darkness drove them straight into its own heart—a cold and cruel place where the spears of starlight turned the dew into pristine crystals, and the shadows hoarded autumn's first snow. Wet grass turned into wet snow; one treacherous thing turned into another as the white King thundered on, his precarious balance kept by momentum and experience.

Though, he would not deny that the first time his hooves came down hard on the slick, forming ice his heart had flown straight into his throat. He hadn't expected this kind of footing this early, but what sort of soldier would he be if he called this off just because it had been a while since he last ice-skated?

White air had blown out of his mouth in a snort, and he'd gone on, trying to keep some attention on where he put his feet.

He still wasn't sure if her heart was in it—her chase re-ignited the smoldering coals in his spirit, a faint breath blown and causing the fire to flare, and the starlight grows clearer, every edge, every line, more perfect and sharp. Step by step the dark flood erased his uncertainty, and step by step the wicked grin spread across his black lips.

She was coming. His iron titan was coming.

He saw her coming, a steely shadow flashing after him, the tip of her black horn a threat just a breath away from his haunches; he saw their chase, the offhand glints of determination in her moon-grayed eyes. She was coming and her breath was hot and harsh and her teeth demanded his blood—

A white lion prowls the shadows,

—a thought like a soft snowfall, a hum across the aether of his soul. Irma, tracking the beast.

Diego, tracking the chase.

She comes, he whispered, just as Nyx's black maw came his way.

Come. Take it. Take it.

Teeth closed on the white skin of his flank, pinching flesh and nerves and breaking blood vessels beneath—a scream went through his nervous system, fire flaring up, feeding the flame of his creeping madness. "Yes," he breathed, unaware of it, the feeling of the pain and the thrill of being hunted blacking out his senses to all but that all-encompassing sensation—

Large hooves skidded on night-ice, fumbling for purchase and denied; gracelessly the white beast stumbled sideways, to the right, not falling but flailing and losing all momentum.

Bitch, the darkness in his mind spat. No muscles pulled, but the hunt spoiled, and, without thinking, he turned flawlessly in her direction—knowing where she was because his eyes had wings.

"Come closer," he whispered, his voice odd and harsh, the mission of his role forgotten. "It's cold, isn't it?" His breath turned white, his warm body smoking, his eyes like blue fire.

It's cold, isn't it, because I'm loading your veins up with ice.

Small, sharp crystals.. heading straight for her warm, beating heart.

[ 1/3 || 496 words || @[Nyx] ]
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#9

HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED

The low-hanging fog hides a multitude of sins. Dew turns to black ice, moist grass turns to a glimmering booby-trap just waiting to ensnare the hooves of passing horses. Perhaps it's just an assumption that there's snow beneath the glimmering white blanket that coats their legs - perhaps nothing more dangerous than hard ground lurks beneath the fog. But Nyx chooses to assume the worst, because it's better to be safe than sorry.

He slaloms to the right, as intended, and in the bushes a pair of livid blue eyes gleam like murderous sapphires in the starlight. Prey nears. Nyx's hooves ram hard into the slippery ground, searching for purchase as she arrests her momentum; she, too, stumbles slightly, but it matters not because her plan is working.

Then he's talking, and his voice is like wine laden with poison, ice tinted with fire. Her ears are invisible, plastered against her skull like slathered turrets of steel, and her storm-eyes roll in her head; his voice is the voice of the intruder she sees him as, the beast that's invaded her home and will take a knife to the backs of her sleeping comrades if she doesn't stop him. She's landed one blow, now she needs to press her advantage, to break him.

But he breaks her first.

There's pain - sudden, blinding agony that rips a shriek from her windpipe. White-hot ice tears through her veins, leaving only devastation in its wake. Needles, razor-blades; she forgets everything, only the beasts eating her from the inside out. One errant, flailing hoof smashes into a hidden patch of ice - or is it blood? Is she bleeding? - and she's down, her forelegs bending and crashing into the ground. She skins her knees, and only a display of herculean effort, of storm-hardened steel, prevents her falling fully. She staggers back to all fours, still alive with electric pain, still a hulking ball of oblivion. Make it end. By Cinnoru's horn, let it end. Ice touches her heart and she gasps, breath catching in her throat, muscles spasming, contracting, slowly suffocating her...

There's a savage roar, and she slips from her body and into Dominus'. They are as close as two minds can be, and this trauma pushes the grey's consciousness away from the burning sack of meat that is her skin, into the warm, waiting embrace of her lion. She sees through sharp predator's eyes, she feels the ground beneath padded paws as they lunge from the undergrowth. They care nothing about hiding and ambushing, not now they can see grey-fur-mind-partner standing stock still, bloodied legs braced, twitching slightly. They can see the pain etched into every contour of her face, her neck arched like a lover's spine, her horn pointed like a javelin at the ground. They see her knees crying crimson tears, and they see her eyes rolled back into her head, only the whites visible. They feel her pain, too, but it's faint, muffled, like shouting against snow. But even though the agony is only second-hand, they know that they need to break the stallion's spell over her, or die trying - because there's no guarantee the ice shards will melt before they destroy her. She's immobilized, but they are a beast unleashed.

They aim for the spotted-bad-man's right hindleg, lips peeled from slavering fangs and eyes glowing with menace. They bunch their thick rear muscles and lunge forwards and up, aiming to bite hard into the meat of Mauja's right hindleg just above the hock, approaching from the side in the hope of avoiding hard-ice-hooves. They lift their white forepaws, their claws erupting from dew-tinted sheaths. They aim to wrap their arms around the same spotted-back-leg, and they attempt to dig their talons hard into the tender flesh on the inside of the limb. They hope to draw blood by every means possible, to try and distract bad-spots-wicked-mind and make him release silver-soul-partner from his frozen grip; only their back paws remain on the ground, anchoring their balance. Their tail swings behind, like a rudder, a fifth limb to steer and support them. They have a predator's rage and a companion's fierce protectiveness; they are hunters, not prey. He is an intruder, and they are the sentinels that guard the Edge. They will end him; they will do their duty.

His eyes have wings? Theirs have teeth.

___________

@[Mauja]

Is it wrong that giving unimaginable agony to Nyx is a huge muse-booster? >.>

2/3 - 725 words


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.


Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Blu
#10
+96 hours (4 days) for downtime as of timestamp of this post.
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode
Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#11
Bite—

Bite my little friends, bite bite bite bite

He was Death's pale horse: cold and cruel, a sharp-fanged hunter in the darkness. His breath was fire and his gaze was ice, liquid darkness thrumming through his veins. He was Everything, judge and jury, executioner—

God.

(Power-drunk.)

He could do anything to her; she was almost on her knees, the echo of her shriek the memory of music in his ears. The cold starlight touched her scabbed knees, blood leaking out. The night smelled of it, salt and iron, the physical embodiment of his grief—

She staggered up again, eyes as white as the moon—his mouth was half-open, breathing ragged, something wild and hot making his gut tighten and skin tingle—

He had wanted her to chase him, to ravage him, to make him scream through the dark trees, but in a single moment the roles had reversed—and she was the one who had screamed, at his mercy. She had given him everything. She was his.

The darkness in his veins thrummed a little faster, its cold, cold voice whispering take it all.

(But the sun always has to rise.)

Only a few seconds had passed.

"Nyx?" he breathed, and the pulse in his flank turned from maddened joy to sickening worry, guilt and shame, the throb of his pinched skin spelling out the nauseating dread as he let go of the magic. "Oh god, Nyx, pl—FUCK!"

The roar tore itself out of his throat as the owls spied the streak of white; the beast crashed out of the bushes, anger blazing in his eyes, and Mauja didn't have the time to think.

With a grunt he threw himself on his forehand, hind legs shooting out right in the direction of the oncoming assailant; the power of Dominus met the power of Mauja's hindquarters, claws raking up red lines in the white perfection (shit shit shit) but the angles were all wrong, his teeth scrabbling at the skin of his cannons but finding little purchase. The ribbon-pattern of red tore at his fraying mind, the sharp heat no longer charged with exhilaration—he just felt sick, with all of it, of all of it, the memory pounding sharply in his brain—

this is why I don't fight friendlies

—because all he knows is how to kill.

Large hind feet returned to earth, skidding on the treacherous footing as he scampered a few steps away—the moon gave the blood a silver edge that did nothing to soothe fire raging through his flesh.

I fucking hate pain.

I fucking hate everything.

The battle had lost its romantic air, and Mauja's ears fled, uncertainly, into the white mess of his mane. What was he supposed to do now? Keep battering Nyx? It seemed.. wrong, somehow, so with his head high and eyes blazing he waited for them to act.

[ 2/3 || @Nyx || 480 words ]
No it's a perfectly normal RP trait... xD
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#12

HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED

They are euphoric.

Their teeth hit their mark, etching bloody furrows into innocent white flesh; they taste the blood of the condemned. Their bloodlust drives them, lends their tired bones strength, and white-fur-black-mind's hooves whistle past their ears as they dart to the left and out of the way.

But then they are not them anymore. They become she and he as their consciousnesses part and Nyx's mind slips out of the warm haven of her lion's head, back into the sizzling cesspit of her own. 

She wishes it hadn't. She is still agony incarnate, living fire haunted by ice, but it slowly, painfully, begins to fade. She is alive, her knees skinned and ruined and her veins tingling like electricity, and her relief is palpable. The rawness in her throat and the ringing in her ears make her realise she was screaming, and God, that is embarassing. But her memory from Dominus' mind tells her that Mauja was not entirely unaffected either - did he say her name, a benediction on his lips, or is that her imagination? Does he care? Is there a beating heart beneath all that ice?

But fuck him. She can reassure him that she's alright later. The fight is still on, and she is still in-character. He is still the enemy, and now he's the enemy that erupted living ice in her veins, the bastard. Her eyes flash as she forces herself to channel her anger, as she lets that anger own her. If this was a real fight, she would not drop to her knees and submit like a dog kicked by its master - iron does not bend. If this was real, her pain would only spur her on, drive her to destroy the intruder at whatever cost. Protect the Edge, or die trying.

So she unfurls her bloody knees and readies her battered soul for one final assault. Through frothing lips she drags in heaving breaths, her sides sweaty and heaving despite the frigid air. There he is, standing uncertain, his ears lost in his mane - uncertainty kills. Nyx does not allow herself to hesitate, does not allow herself to relent. When all this is said and done, when their wounds are healed and their apologies said, she wants Mauja to be proud of her for not giving in. He wanted her to let herself go, and she has. Let him know she is a warrior to be relied on. "Don't stop," she hisses, her eyes wild, her head thrown back like a rapturous lover. "We're not finished."

Dominus retreats to the bushes, hissing and gleaming crimson in the weak moonlight, tense and tight and feral. His part is done; she bids him to hide away, so she will be able to focus fully on this final charge without worrying for his welfare. Her heaving frame lunges forwards,  and she wants to gallop, but she can't - her knees won't bend properly, and each movement makes fresh blood pour from the cuts. She settles for a collected canter, conserving what little energy she has left; her strides are short, because they hurt less. Her stormy gaze locks on her nemesis, the enemy, him with the owls and the ice and the menace, and she aims to approach him head-on, face-to-face, sword to sword. What better way to try and show him that she isn't scared? Even though she is.

Now it's time for him to suffer her magic. At the last moment before they would surely collide, she throws her weight to the right, her feet slipping and slaloming on dew and frost alike as she thrusts out her left shoulder. She reaches down, caresses the nub of magic within her, and draws a thin sheet of ice across her entire body. See? I have it, too. Electricity sizzles across the ice that encases her like an insect's carapace, and she aims to slam her left shoulder blade into the outside-front of Mauja's left shoulder. She attempts to crush her fizzing body against his own, so close they could be lovers, to try to cause a colossal bruise on his shoulder whilst also hopefully causing him to get shocked by her ice. Perhaps shards of charged ice will break off and stab into his tender spotted flesh - perhaps he will bleed for her.

Her head aims to flick to the left, trying to slide her horn up the skin just behind his left foreleg. She doesn't attempt to go too deep - although the temptation is there, the tantalising urge to cut and ruin - but she does hope to leave a stinging rebuke etched into him, a memento, a trophy.

Don't play with lightning, Ice King.

___________

NYX USES VOLT TACKLE

3/3 - 781 words


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.

Ascended Helovian

Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER
Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize & Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage Neo
#13
[ I'm a slow tuuurd~ ]

The night air kissed his stinging wounds—there was no tremor through his hind legs to further test the skin's broken edges, no jar in his bones to tell of two primordial forces clashing (but it's all the wrong order, predators and prey don't mix, so why is he attacking—). It was just the air, all his power bleeding into its cold emptiness. The lion was gone, having left his gift of blood and seeping agony.

It was hardly surprising, though. He had lashed out with little aim, but it still left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth—as if he had been robbed of something, something that should've been his, some moment of.. unspeakable glory? Of testing his mettle against a fucking lion?

He should be glad the thing was off in the shadows again, slinking away as Nyx staggered upright in the face of Mauja's guilt: she hissed at him, and he shifted his weight to prepare.

There was an ache in his left hock that had nothing to do with lions.

(Must've slipped more than he thought at first, low enough to bang it against the ground.)

The facts were cataloged, stashed away, reducing the pain to dull echoes and brief pangs. He knew, and that had to be enough. (Had to, as if he had any say in what his nerves screamed about. Laughable.)

He could smell his own blood.

And for the first time in his life, he hated it.

I'm not who I used to be, am I?

"We're not finished."

"Okay," he said before he knew it, the blunt word slipping gracelessly into the quiet night. Can't we be? his heart asked, but he crushed that voice. He had felt the thrill of being hunted—of hunting—of hurting. He had felt the sickening blood-lust, the exhilaration in his blood, the need to cause more pain—

—he had felt the pain—

—and he was done. He didn't want this anymore. He didn't want violence and bloodshed and pain and gore, he didn't—

Fuck.

She was charging him, head-on, bravery plastered over the iron of her face.

(How do you do it, Nyx? How do you go on?)

They weren't done, but he wanted to stop.

Eyes closed. Ears flattened. Neck arched protectively, head angled to the right. (I don't want to hurt you again.) Still she came on—he could hear her. Feel her, like a shuddering breath in the ground, traveling up tired bones. Teasing his cuts to weep their red—his heart to keep on beating, so that more of it could fall like ruby stains in the night.

He didn't even think to move out of the way, locked up in the prison of his mind.

Stop—

Please, stop—


Irma cried out in the darkness, once, a mournful, questioning note.

And then there was contact: rock-hard, ice cold, shocking. For a split second the impact traveled without analysis, simply shifting the scales and the balance; the ripple went through nerves in every direction, pain and bitter blood mingling down his leg as he began to shift to the right.

Then everything else came. Little nubs of ice like a cruel hail grinding into the fine pelt of his shoulder, its touch like death's breath coming down his neck; the flaming, sudden bloom of pain where nerves were ground and blood vessels broke from the pressure—and at last, a jolt that strangled his breath into a gurgle and ended with his left hindleg shooting out. Behind his eyelids, his eyes had rolled back, but then there was space between them and the tip of her obsidian horn whispered past the curve of his barrel, leaving just a tingle and a fine red line.

He hadn't expected that.

Then again, he had let her charge him with his eyes closed.

Fucking idiot.

She had said they weren't done and he had been ready to beg her to be done. (I'm not strong enough to hold the pain at bay anymore—)

And it wasn't even that bad. He hadn't been burned, for fuck's sake. Everything was better than being on fire.

He threw a sour glance at her as two lonely birds of flame, elegant and thin, swallow-like, soared out from the thin air by his flank and towards her. It was petty, but maybe it would give her some fancy scars.

Maybe she would like that.

[ 3/3 || @Nyx || 738 words. ]
I don't want to look at the rolls for this *shakes fist* cursed fight
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Nyx Posts: 292
Deceased atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 11 HP: 72 | Buff: SWIFT
Dominus :: White Lion :: None Snow
#14

HER SMILE'S BOTH PLEASURE AND PAIN, AND HER GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED

Is it her, or does his enthusiasm seem to have waned? When they started he was like the moon, glowing like a frost-light in the sky - now he is but the faintest of glows, barely enough to illuminate the sweat on her body.

They collide, and she feels a stab of pain at the impact point of her left shoulder. Until today, she had never used her magic for offensive purposes before, only defensive; she usually uses it to block attacks, not to create them. The ice-sheet that covered her has folded backwards with the force of their bodies slamming together, and a shard of her own making has jabbed into her shoulder to create a thin cut. A bruise from the slam blossoms beneath her flesh, and she silently notes for future use that rugby tackling her opponents whilst dressed in ice and lightning is not without its perils. Fortunately, the shard is not buried deeply and it soon dislodges itself, falling harmlessly to the ground to melt away.

She slams on her brakes, arresting her momentum. Somehow, she thinks her brazen attacking of him will jerk him into action; he will not let her go unpunished if he has any sort of life in his body. Fire alights in her soul at the thought of one final clash of swords, of ice and steel and determination, and her neck flips with savage - if exhausted - delight. Froth flecks her lips and her breath comes in ragged gasps, as she knows she cannot summon another attack. All she can do is defend, and she cannot let her concentration slip now.

Suddenly his birds burst from him - they are not his owls of feather and bone, but demons made of flame, of passion and anger and holy shit they're coming at me. The silver shies to the right, eyes rolling in her head at the sight of fire, because it scares the living shit out of her. It burns, it kills, it decimates, and she wants it nowhere near her tender skin. Scars from horns are all well and good, but she cannot abide burns, and the unique brand of agony they bring. With her ears slicked and her neck flung high, her movement to the right prevents one bird from hitting her, but not the other. One persistent little bastard grazes the outside of her upper left side, just where it joins her left foreleg; its touch is like a lover's caress, delicate and almost beautiful, until it isn't. "Fuck," she bellows, as the flesh the bird touches begins to shrivel and blacken. A small hairless welt is left where she and the phoenix-like apparition made contact, and although it is only minor, it still hurts. It might scar, it might not, but out of all her wounds it is the one she loathes the most, and the one she silently berates herself for taking - such a painful wound at the end of a fight could sign her death warrant, if Mauja was truly intent on killing her.

Thankfully, despite what she had coaxed her mind to believe during the heat of the battle, this is just a spar. She can afford to swear and bellow bloody murder without worrying about a knife between her ribs. With a heave of effort, she dips her head in acknowledgement to her foe, a silent tribute to a fight well fought. He had been a worthy opponent - she had expected no less!

___________

Fab fight Neo! :D

Closing defence - 563 words


Other characters have permission to use magic/violence against Nyx at any time.


Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#15
By my verdict: TIE is the winner!

NYX
Realism [+3.5]
Your experience as a fighter is apparent with how well you describe your attacks, defenses, timing, and positioning. I enjoyed seeing how you incorporated sustained injuries from a post into the next one, though they never really seemed to affect you, they were just touched upon. On that same line, you took too much damage in your second post for a dice roll of 3. There was no real mention of breed differences - some stat was brought up in post 1. Excellent use of scenery though with all the slipping.


Emotion [+2]
You were consistently good at describing Nyx’s feelings, though at times there was a lot of wording to describe action, so amid a post you would have a few strong lines of emotion, but then the rest was very mechanical and the feelings sort of fell away and left me wanting more.


Prose [+4]
Your posts were always enjoyable to read and had excellent composition, flow, and wording. I really loved some of your descriptions and your punchlines! I really loved your connection with your companion as well.

“They feel her pain, too, but it's faint, muffled, like shouting against snow.”

“His eyes have wings? Theirs have teeth.”


Readability [+3]
Easy to understand and read all throughout with no errors.


Finally tally: 38.5(12.5*2)= 63.5 HP

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

MAUJA
Realism [+2.5]
You do an excellent job with correct attacks, defenses, timing and positioning, but you seemed to struggle with taking proper damage amounts. In your first post you don’t sustain enough damage for a dice roll of 5, and it’s also not entirely clear if Nyx’s shove into Mauja worked or not - I assume this is why he slipped, but again it wasn’t as clear as I would like. Then in your second post you seem to take too much damage for a dice roll of 1. In your third post you do not take enough damage for your critical miss which was a dice roll of 5 - but your damage is good for Nyx’s attack and a dice roll of 4.

Similarly you may mention injuries sustained throughout the fight, but don’t really show how they affect you. You also don’t mention breed or stat differences, but did well at incorporating the surroundings on several occasions with all the slipping.


Emotion [+2.5]
Strong emotion all throughout, especially in your third post. I really liked seeing how Mauja progressed in feelings as the fight went on and after his magical attack on Nyx in your first post.


Prose [+5]
Really consistently beautiful writing that made your posts enjoyable to read. They flowed effortlessly and held such great imagery and vocabulary and style.

“The cold starlight touched her scabbed knees, blood leaking out. The night smelled of it, salt and iron, the physical embodiment of his grief—”

“He didn't even think to move out of the way, locked up in the prison of his mind.
Stop—
Please, stop—
Irma cried out in the darkness, once, a mournful, questioning note.”


Readability [+3]
Easy to understand and read all throughout with no errors.


Finally tally: 37.5(13*2)= 63.5 HP


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