An urgency entered Azzuen's wingbeats, a sudden rush, a surge of fear. He watched TORASIN fall unconscious, watched as the little white dragon who had been trying to aid them in rounding up the little goat AURELIUS returned to her master, and felt like he was passively watching as his attack fell less and less accurate. A thump upon his aching leg informed him that the little goat's final, lashing attack of a bucking kick would not have hurt as much as it did, had it been upon his left leg. But no, the position Azzuen had been in, on the ascent following his swoop, meant that the flailing hooves of the short goat stallion met their mark, causing a resounding shudder of violent, throbbing, sharp pains to be reawakened in the currently useless left limb. It was not broken, but certainly sprained, crushed, battered, the hock joint already swollen beyond the point of recognition. Other aches and pain ailed him, but he was blind to them, he pushed through them. Something required his attention at home, he could feel it, and suddenly, he no longer wished to be a part of this war. Wings, the only thing he had managed to keep unscathed during this entire battle, pushed his athletic build skywards, and he hovered above the battle, watching as the fighters pulled apart, unable to see who the victor was yet. Breaths came hard and ragged, his lungs burned from the residual smoke that was scattered around. He eyed the little goat-stallion from his perch in the skies above, making a mental note to keep track of him. He hoped Xira at home still had a hold of the Doctor, but more than any of that.. He hoped his family were safe at home. Never before had he left behind loved ones to fight for, back when he was a colt it was always his brother, mother and father, fighting together - or for the many years after that, just himself. The urgency to leave did not fade, but he waited, until the verdict was delivered, before swiftly turning his body in the air and heading home.


[360 words. ]

The taste of blood dribbled down MASKAN's throat, and he smiles, pleased that his target was met with teeth that may have been designed for a herbivore, but were certainly capable of carnivorous acts. His satisfaction did not last long however, against the throbbing exhaustion that pounded against his ears, he heard a war-call echo, and his orange eyes peered in the direction of KORRA just in time to see her make her leap towards his left side. He did his best to skitter away to the right, in the wake of ALAN's hoof-tracks, but it did not stop the antlers from pressing against him, into him. He did not scream, or even groan against the pain, he only continued to skitter sideways, allowing the push from the little mare to carry him further away, to lessen the impact - the impact was lessened but not nearly enough to save his skin from being shredded to pieces. He was lucky, in that her antlers did not pierce his jugular artery, though it throbbed with effort down his jugular groove, lucky again, that she pulled away as the battle seemed to come to a pause. Blood cascaded freely down his side, he could not count the amount of lacerations that decorated him now, only that they were there, stinging him, aching him, draining him of his life essence. He looked to his brother, casting his gaze out over the battlefield, and for the first time, he grew afraid.

Madyrn was struggling. Weakness caused his hindlegs to rattle beneath him, even as his forelegs pounded against DEIMOS, he felt the unicorn use his weight against him, felt himself be tossed aside. By some miracle, he still had hooves beneath him, by some miracle, he was still conscious. The rage that fuelled him earlier allowed this much, gave him some co-ordination, some semblance of consciousness. Then it began. He felt his blood turn cold, he felt the fiery ball of rage that was fuelling him from within dim down to a mere whisper of existence. He may as well have been dead, the drain was that heavy upon him. Weakly, he managed to set his predator's gaze upon DEIMOS, but he was unable to do anything more besides look, as his crown slowly bent down to the ground. Somehow, his legs entered a wide stance, and though they shook violently, they kept his massive bulk standing. Breathing was shallow, even though he was trying to breath deeper, it was as if the oxygen was being stolen from him before he could even use it. His head lowered further, and then, he was peering at the ground that existed between his forefeet, focussing on that. The ground there did not move, and he clutched to it, willing his own body to cease its shaking, to continue standing. Moments passed, though they felt like torturous centuries, until he felt the drain stop. It would take a while for his body to restore him his energy, his rage that he kept to himself as his own personal endless energy source. But he was alive.

They had survived.


[522 words ]

He didn’t pause to see what damage had or hadn’t been done, after having hunches land from submitting his pervious bucking kick in LLOYDs direction; wings unfurled with swift intent. They stretched and dove down with every ounce of strength he had remaining in his bones. Body shot skyward with limbs flailing madly to pull his body up and away from the angered bull of a horse. His orbs trailed over a grim sky, happily it received him as a child to mother; he rose high.

The whistling of wind past his ears muffled the anguished cries below. Ebony skull twisted to carry gaze onto the plain of turmoil below. The overwhelming stench of blood, fear and anger washed over him like a hot tidal wave. A pained expression flittered across his face, ‘So, this was what battle felt like?’ He thought silently with sorrow filling his heart. Each side had lost much this day.

‘Where was the glory?’ he wondered, ‘Was this really the justice that his herd represented?’ As a soldier it wasn’t his place to question the orders of his herd, nor its intentions upon the land. But—he couldn’t help but feel guilt and pity for those that hurt below, kinsman, trusted, and enemy alike. Alas, wallowing in self thinking wasn’t on the agenda at this moment, with a forceful snort he pushed away building emotions and focused on finding his leaders, and herdmates.

Gaze found the pale coat of a familiar lad, LEANDER. His frame angled protectively over the crumbled form of another clan mate, though one he didn’t know by name off hand. Dipping down with bent wings, he landed roughly and stumbled forward with effort to maintain an upright position. Ouch. His limbs were still very sore from shock impact in the last gravity attack. The overwhelming smell of copper was making his gut sicker with each passing moment. He stood near his brethren, surveying and offering his presence as another protector.

Words:329
Attack: None, leaving to go stand beside LEANDER and TARES.
Defense: None.
Summary: Sorry squirreled, I couldn't wait any longer for your post. This one is crap and for that I'm really sorry. I ran out of time and lost my first post.

A cold satisfaction welled up within the bronzen steed's breast to see disbelief and, better yet, fear rise into the FrostHeart's face before the fire he breathed hid the spotted unicorn from sight. Irritation replaced it when ice rose up before him again, confirming his assumption even as his fireball broke against it in lapping, expanding waves. And then it dawned on the massive stud that that ice made a better wall against his own passage than it did his fire, regardless of the fact that it effectively stopped the fireball.

Desperately he swerved aside to the left, shortening his strides and flailing his tail toward the wall in a frantic attempt to not hit that ice. Barely, barely, he managed to fling his bulk aside far enough to not crash into the ice sidelong. Instead his haunches slammed into the leftmost spike with a solid thump. Pain blossomed immediately, promising some spectacular bruising in a day or two, and was followed a moment later by a somewhat dimmer pain as his tail crashed against the other spikes. Oh, he'd be stiff tomorrow, but at least he hadn't crushed his left wing.

Weariness scrabbled at him then, greater than expected. He was worn from running about the battlefield, but since none had dared close with him, he had no explanation for the sheer degree of exhaustion that was draining his energy. With a grunt of exertion he lunged away from the lingering ice spikes, limping heavily on his right hind as the muscles protested the abuse they'd endured. But he forced them to work, staggering into a jolting trot as he sought distance from the center of battle. Oddly, the exhaustion ebbed after several strides, and he glanced back in bafflement. Was this some strange magic?

He slowed then, snorting softly as he came to a halt. Wearily he shifted his weight to allow his battered muscles to rest, and started slightly when Mirage slid up against him. He turned his head far enough to recognize her dark figure, and relaxed immediately. She was hurt, he could smell her blood and feel the needy way she pressed against him, but she was standing. Protectively, possessively, he arched one wing over her. She was his to protect, moreso than the Qian was theirs, and he silently kicked himself for not doing a better job of it earlier. But now was an excellent time to make up for his lack. His golden eyes glinted warningly to any who strayed too near, and his tail swayed back and forth to ward off any who might think to take a cheap shot now at the tail end of battle.

[445 words
Attack: None
Defense: Swerves wildly left to avoid crashing into Mauja's defensive spikes, slams into them with right haunch and tail. Results in severe bruising. Deimos' magic eats at him, and he staggers off to get some space and is baffled when the exhaustion ebbs.
Ends battle standing a bit off from everyone until Mirage joins him, and he takes a defensive stance over her.]

I WANT TO FEEL THE PAIN AND THE BITTER TASTE OF THE BLOOD ON MY LIPS AGAIN</style> Paladin was shocked as Ricochet came barreling toward them at full speed, and he managed to rear up and avoid Monster’s horn and at the same time avoid the tan colt’s wild sprint. What sort of tactic was that? The young colt was chaos in the body of thickly muscled brute, and Paladin respected his style, though it seemed to leave so much to chance. As a lull in the battle called his attention, the crimson eyed stallion watched as Kri came upon Giselle, forcing his sister to her knees. The black dun grinned. He made a note to thank the chocolate and caramel flyer for her help today, and perhaps they could build a foundation off of this battle. The stallion sincerely hoped so because he liked the mare and her wild, fiery temper. His body jolted with impulse as his ivory jaws hit black hide, tearing through the flesh with bruising, blunt force. The taste of her hair and blood in his mouth was so familiar, and the sensation almost made his own wounds hurt less. Almost. Blood had a bitter tang, metallic almost. Everyone was a machine, a mindless slave to this world. Then, she ran, and the black dun stallion smirked, a deep, resounding laugh building in his chest. The sound came from his throat with a certain edge of brutality, and it filled his ears and lungs with darkness. To watch his jackal of a sister, PSYCHE, run with her tail between her legs, bleeding from all sides was an even he had been waiting for a long time. All except he and Donovon were blights upon this earth, filled with needless hate and unable to resolve their abuse. The black dun pitied them and hated them at once, and he felt no kinship toward his family. The small white figure of Ned, painted in blood called his attention, and the black dun moved toward him as well, arching his great, mane-less neck in greeting. He was bleeding, but so was Paladin. Analytically, the dun made not of his injuries, able to feel torn skin on his hip, and he still had to blink blood away from his eye. Why did head injuries leak blood like a waterfall? The stallion snorted, bending his neck down to wipe his face on one of his white canons, leaving a visible trail of blood. “Let them run, Ned,” he spoke deeply to his friend. “Like all bullies, my family are cowards.” Paladin’s gaze scanned the battlefield, and he nodded to Ned. “I am going to check on the warriors,” he muttered before moving his muscled figure through the slowing masses. A slight limp formed on his hind, left side, but he was otherwise uninjured. The two brothers, Madryn and Maskan looked a little worse for the wear, but they were alive and relatively uninjured. “Well done, brothers,” he spoke to them, pride filling his soul. “You have fought valiantly.” Then, he moved onward, nodding once to the general Azzuen. Archibald and Aaron had stayed together, and he shifted to the pinto and black, startled to see that the large stallion was down. Aaron’s feathers displayed the mud and blood badges of their honorable fight, and Paladin moved closer, assessing his injuries like a caring parent. “You have fought well, Aaron. I could not hold more pride for such a young and capable warrior. You honor all of us, and thank you for watching over Archibald.” Paladin sought Kri then, but he assumed that she remained in the skies. Even so, he cast his gaze to the heavens, thinking that he spied her up above. “My gratitude to you, noble Kri!” he called up. “I would be much worse off if not for your capable flying.” [(627 words) Defense: rearing to avoid monster and ricochet.]