the Rift

Desert Princes[Rhoa spar]

Bucephalus the Morningstar Posts: 292
Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.1 :: 6 || Tallsun HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Azeeza :: Orange-breasted Falcon :: None Tribs
The Morningstar

The walls of the arena never really felt intimidating or at all normally, but one's perspective tended to change when it came to fighting in the Arena. Sand shifted underhoof, and Buce idly pawed it, testing the give of the orange sand, golden eyes looking towards the younger stallion that followed him, an excited gleam in his eyes. "This will be fun." He grinned, striding towards the thorned wall, waiting for Azeeza to coast down from the sky above. Carefully he stripped, removing his bag, dagger and sheath, and finally the pendant that hid his armor, draping the items on one of the metal perch-trees. The flaming falcon that haunted his steps remained beside Azeeza, the pair watching his actions with eyes of fire and gold, the firebird's gaze impassive as usual, Azeeza's orange brows pulled down in a worried frown. She had been too small, too young to aid her bondmate in the fight against the draft mare, and while she was no full adult, she was strong enough to help. Yet he did not allow her to, no, she was still too fragile in his eyes for such things. So he did not meet her gaze, instead turning away once he had everything put away.'Keep them safe Zee.' He asked before returning to the middle of the Arena.

Rhoa had no weapons nor armor(or at least none the black could see), so Buce would not fight with weapons and armor. This was a fun spar, for holy-shits n pained giggles, not a challenge or Gaucho spar. Buce rolled his shoulders, cracking another grin at Rhoa as he spread out his wings to their full extent. "I've fought your father, have the scars. Let's see if his son will give new ones, eh?" The Morningstar was in good humor, excited about this. This would be a far more even spar than the others he had before; with one victory-not-victory under his belt, and more defeats than he'd prefer, this would be... well, good. Good for practice, good for building up his strength and getting him to a point where a fight with him would make someone hesitate. He was Sleuth now, a thief, and thieves were challenged for their actions should things go wrong.

Wings spread, Buce waited for Rhoa to take a stance or give a sign that he was ready(Wasn't he just so polite?), ears pricked sharply towards the younger stallion, nostrils flaring as excitement swelled within his breast. Blood began pumping faster, anticipation trembling the muscles of his long legs, and his primaries flared, stretching.

Azeeza's scream tore the air asunder, and the Morningstar attacked.

He charged, something he usually never did, sand flying behind him as he rushed Rhoa, seemingly intent on slamming chest-first into the larger stud, teeth bared and neck outstretched as if ready to bite and tear at him, ears pinned back against a gnarled mane that flew as Buce's strides ate up the ground between them. Mere feet from his opponent Buce skidded to a stop, neck jerking back and a grin that was once all teeth turning to one of wicked mischief, and in a swift move he whirled, his right wing flaring out and dropping down, scooping up and and hurling it into the air hopefully towards Rhoa's face as the black turned. Once that was done his wing snapped shut against his side, feathers stretching to cover most of his sides in an attempt to provide cushion against any oncoming blows as the Morningstar completed his turn. Dark hooves planted themselves against the sand, and his back tightened before his hind legs lifted and lashed out in a lightning-quick strike, Bucephalus hoping to strike somewhere on the boy's front, and his hind hooves weren't even touching the ground for a heartbeat before he was off again, but this time not in a kick. The Morningstar leapt forward, bouncing a few wing-lengths away before turning once more to face Rhoa.

However he was far from done. Long wings unfurled once more, and he began vigorously churning them at a downward angle, lips peeled back in a feral grin as the sand before him stirred sluggishly, then began allowing itself to be whipped higher and stronger with every pump of his wings. Sand stung at his eyes and nostrils, golden eyes tearing a bit but he merely shrugged it off, closing his eye to slits and tightening his nostrils as to not breathe the sand in. Slowly he began backing up, ears pricked sharp to listen for the sounds of Rhoa's hoofsteps over the beating of his wings as the black did his best to keep the sandy barrier between himself and the boy.

Setting: Dragon's Throat Arena, midday with clear skies and strong winds.
Summary: Bucephalus charges Rhoa, but before impact he skids to a halt and turns, sweeping the tip of his wing up to hurl sand towards Rhoa's face, and as he turns he quickly plants his front hooves and lashes out with a back kick towards Rhoa's body. Once his feet touch back down he springs forward, turning again to face Rhoa before using his wings to whip up sand into the air, backing up slowly the entire time, ready to turn with Rhoa's movements to try and keep the barrier of sand between him and Rhoa.
WC: 788 according to
Attack: 1/3
Tag: @[Rhoa]
Comments: :D Good luck Aud! This is gonna be fun -fistpump-
The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.
Coding by Tamme
Image by Aud

Pixel by Aud

Rhoa Posts: 175
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6.5
Colt :: Pegasus :: 17hh :: 3 HP: 65 | Buff: ENDURE
Like ships in the night

I don't know why I agreed to this.

Well that's not entirely true, because of course I know why - I just don't know the why to that why.

Let me explain.

After ... after whatever happened in the Woods, I was going to try my hand at crafting. Because as I lay in those woods - covered in blood and rain and sweat, nearly dead and half crazy - I still wanted more. Something inside of me had snapped, and my mind had given into it. I fell into a pit of never ending hunger and darkness, and part of me liked it. And the part of me that was still me, the part watching this horror show, knew that I would always like it. I was a fiend, an addict. The bloodlust would never go away, not once I opened that door.

So I vowed to never open those doors.

But when Bucephalus asked me to this spar, how could I refuse? As our former Chancellor and now our lead spy, who was I to refuse him? If anything, being a Prince of the Throat restricts my freedoms rather than grants it, for I have Father and Mother and the herd to think about. I can't just think about me, I have to think about them.

So I had agreed.

Now perhaps you can see my dilemma. I can't say no to Bucephalus, but I also can't do this. I can't spar him - I can't open the door.

But I have to.

As Bucephalus began to take his armor off, I swallow down a hard lump that had formed in my throat. The lump was a composition of blood-lust and glee. Put it back on.. I silently begged as the darker part of me continued to whittle away at my self-discipline, hungrily looking at the places now exposed on Bucephalus' body.

I try to force a smile and a weak nod as Buce comments on having fought my Father, but in truth I barely hear him. I'm just focused on remaining calm. If I can just avoid him ... If I can be faster than him, I can keep myself distracted... I know his build and his time spent on our sands and in this arena will make him a formidable opponent, but I am not without training.

I thought maybe we were going to chat as we stood facing one another - for Bucephalus was normally so talkative - until his muscles tensed and his body shot towards mine.

(Kill him)
(Run away)

The angel and the devil on my shoulders, only as the dark and gold was brought nearer and nearer by thundering hooves, in that moment I didn't know who I wanted to listen to. I knew who I should, but part of me wanted...part of me (blood on his face, aim for the gold spots. Make him regret taking his armor off) wanted it..

Angel or devil, if Bucephalus thought I was just going to stand there, he was mistaken. Einarr had told me that our wings and the air were our greatest strengths (Is Einarr here? Is he watching? Will he be proud?), so I heed his advice. I begin to move forwards as well, although immediately my coal-burning wings spread from my flanks and began to beat. Just as Bucephalus begins to halt, I lean back and launch myself into the air. I mean to clear him, but I hadn't expected him to buck. I feel his hooves strike my back right gaskin, and my body is thrown askew. I can feel pain flare through my right side as my hindquarters are pushed left. My wings beat harder and my muscles strain to try and keep me airborne, but it's no use. I barely had the speed to clear him without interference. I land roughly, like an ungraceful colt (Einarr will be so disappointed) and turn to see sand being thrown my way.

Part of me wants to give in, to disregard the abrasive sands and (tear out his throat) charge at him. But I resist. Again I take to the air, ignoring the pang of resistance from my back right leg. I aim to fly high enough as to avoid the most concentrated portion of his sand-cloud, but low enough that I am still in range to attack. I mean to fly over him - and slightly to the right. When I gauge I am at his shoulder, I'll kick out with my back left leg (for my right is still throbbing slightly), and aim for his shoulder or wing. I assume he'll move somewhat, so I allow my long legs to fully extend in my kick, hoping to make contact with something.

WC: 784

Image Credits

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

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