the Rift

[LACE CHALLENGE] the Queen of Peace
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
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
[ Continued from here. ]

Slowly, the embers of his rage reignited.

Who was he, to come here, and say that Mauja needed to get over himself?
Who was he, to come here, and act so high and mighty?
Who was he, to come here, and demand to be let back into his old home?

Mauja could see himself, battered and bruised and tornburnt—coming here, to the realm of the Qian and demanding to be let back in.

Laughable. They would've thrown him over the Edge in pieces, torn apart by the hungry dragonfangs, and that would've been the end of the Frostheart.

Fuck. Off.

He had tried. He had tried so fucking hard, and what had he gotten?

Nearly put on trial for an accident that had haunted him.
His love and close friend laid down as a carcass by a God supposed to protect them.

How dare he, something in Mauja's soul whispered, an echo bounding between three souls. How dare he, the rage whispered.

"What he means to say is that he would love to stay here, pretty please and thank you."


Liar liar.

He meant what he said. She should learn to mean what she said, too—Nyx's friend or no.. it was too late.

It had always been too late for them.

Calm descended upon him as he stood there nose-to-nose with Lace—calm claimed him, spreading with both fire and ice through his veins as his heart pounded out a war beat. This ended now. Here and now, in the snow melting from the sun radiating above them, with Nyx as their witness.

This was what he knew how to do. This was familiar, the promise of violence whispering in his blood like an old friend.

Irma fell back, a ghost sailing on quiet feathers, but Diego swept in above the dragon's back—burning eyes trained on her, trying to read her every motion before she even made it.

To always keep out the reach of her flame, her teeth, her body.

Mauja was tired of rationality. He was tired of cold intellect. He was tired of quelling his rage, swallowing shards of ice and tongues of flame and growing colder and colder and colder.

He was baited, but he wasn't going to just nibble. He was going to bite and swallow, fucking hook and all, until he'd made his way to the end of the line.

Then, he would swallow Lace too, and the world would be a better place.

Fuck. Off. He thought it for the thirteenth time that day, and then, the cool calm of his preparation shattered in violence.

His rage was their rage.
Their rage was his rage.

And they would kill silently.

There were no howls of rage—no words of challenge, a last plea for humility from the noble fool poised before him, nothing.

It would just be death and the silence of winter.

It took less than a heartbeat, his crowned head dipping down—he dove for Lace's neck, hoping to split his skin and embed his horn beneath the equine's left shoulder blade.

Hoping to take him by enough of a surprise to drive its point all the way to his fucking heart and pierce it.

Today would not know mercy.

Ice erupted from the ground again, this time directly beneath Lace, three spires of hate and vengeance taller than both of them shooting for the sky—and in the sky itself, his youngest owl descended into his first real battle. Sharp talons extended into the air, seeking the wing joints of the dragon, his curved beak hunting for the base of her head.

Irma glided on silently, watchful. Thoughtful.

Waiting for her moment to strike.

[ Pride challenge against @Lace ]
[ 1/4 || 620 words. ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
Lace the Silverthorn
It is our actions that define who we are

See, the problem was that he never really believed in a happy ending. Not for them. Too much water had flowed under the bridge and now it had been set aflame with a finality that left nothing else to say.

There were no words that could mend the rift that had been torn between them. He didn't even want to try. In the dragging moments where he gazed into the cold eyes of the Frostheart he felt a fleeting sadness as he thought of Nyx - poor, struggling Nyx who tried so hard to mend what had always been broken. But then there was only them. Him and the King, a dragon and two owls, all equal in their knowledge that this had gone much too far already.

It was time to settle the matter in the only way they knew.

Maybe it was the sudden steel within those blue eyes, perhaps a quiver of will that stirred the ether, or just a year on the battlefield to hone reflexes developed from early childhood. Whichever it was; when the attack came he was ready for it. The instant the ice erupted from the ground Lace shoved himself into a high rear and fell to the right, avoiding the first spike, and the second... The third stabbed into the flesh at the left side of his barrel and tunneled up beneath the skin, until finally the sharp tip burst out in a shower of crimson blood. The ripping, tearing sound as flesh was rent apart was even more nauseating than the pain, and he made no attempt to swallow the shriek of pain as he jerked himself loose from the ice.

It will heal, he thought as darkness hovered at the edge of his vision, it will mend, I will live... It didn't help much. His side still hurt like a bitch, and for a short, horrifying moment he glanced down over himself to see whether he had been cut open. But no. No slippery intestines dangled beneath, no guts had been exposed or damaged. Only blood splattered onto the snow-covered ground, red and steaming in the cold air.

Luck was with him.

He staggered off to the side, and as he did the narrowing eyes focused on the burning orb that hovered above them all, quivering as his will wavered. With a thought he forced the burning sun down towards Mauja and let go of the compressed flames, allowing it to shatter, erupt, explode. It might burn him too, maybe set fire to the surrounding trees, but he didn't care. Lace would heal; he could already feel the crawling, itching sensation within the wounds that suggested his curse work its mending magic. Cells would knit together, ruptured vessels regrow and soon enough the wounds would be gone without a trace, leaving no scar behind to tell about his suffering.

But not quickly enough. He still had a battle to fight.

And among the trees the dragon snorted contemptuously as she spun around in the air and let loose a jet of searing flame towards the young owl, guarding against claws and beak with the hottest fire in the world. She didn't wish to hurt the boy because he too was a son of wind and winter. But neither could she let this act of ignorance slide. Was she not a queen of these woods, now that Akaith was no longer here? The oldest dragon in Helovia, bound by love and soul to the true king...

They would regret belittling a daughter of light - if they lived to look back upon the battle at all.

WC: 603
PC: 1/4

Summary; Lace rears and throws himself to the right to avoid the ice, but is struck by the third ice spike. It stabs into the right side of his stomach and moves up beneath the flesh, puncturing the skin where the tip comes out. He rips himself loose and moves off further to the right, simultaneously trying to move the sun down towards Mauja before making it explode.

Elsewhere Fajira spins over onto her back and sends a jet of fire towards Diego in a combined block and attack.

Picture by Vossity

♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
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
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

Letting out the pent-up fury.

It was a powerful sensation, a blast of blinding light going off in his skull—something resonant, ringing, pounding and pulsing, throbbing. His heart spasmed with it, once, an uneven rush of blood through his veins; it was sickening (carnal), as always, the word yes threatening to tear itself out of his throat in an endless, psychedelic repeat.

He hated it, and he loved it. He loved it as much as he loved the beauty of blood running down the slick, clear edges of ice; he hated it as much as he hated the flaming reflection of the small sun in their cold depths. Hated it as much as he hated the heat lapping down on his back, sending waves of sweat running afresh.

Lace's scream was just another wave to shake him to his core, a half-gasp coming out of his lungs—there was heat in his belly, exhilaration in his bloodstream, a complete, utter loss of sense.

The only thing that existed was his bleeding, wounded prey—the sound of its pain music in the twisted pathways of his mind, the memory of it what drove him, what had him jerking forward half a step—

More, his thoughts whispered hungrily. Lace's blood was beautiful as it fell in a darkening pool in the churned slush of the ruined snow.

And then, he had no idea what happened.

Instinct, he supposed—something as deep as his primal need for Lace's destruction. Blue eyes widened a fraction, grew clearer, nerve impulses running pathways with little conscious thought attached to them—and as the sun descended Mauja moved, finding some kind of traction beneath the melting snow.

The orb crashed into the ground with a sense of finality, hot streaks of flame bursting out; Mauja's eyes had closed, head turned away, and he braced for—


A moment later his eyes opened. Soot did its best to cover up the carnage Lace's wound had left on the snow, the spikes shattered and melted upon the ground.

For once, he had not been burned.

And you know what?

He felt drunk with relief, gagging on his laughter as he staggered sideways. What in the actual fuck had made him evade a fucking sunburst?

Focus, he chided himself.

Relief and delight were dangerous things, pushing out the mad blood-hunger, replacing it with, well—he didn't know, but he felt like strutting about Lace and laughing at him. But, he reminded himself, the bastard had survived a war with a broken leg, so...

A few yards separated them, and Mauja wasn't sure how to close again. Magic? Lace was bound to be slower now, so he was more of an easy target, but magic was draining—so maybe just a plain charge?

Why wasn't laughing at someone a valid attack?

He cast a guilty glance at Nyx before opting for his second theory of just charging: slipped once in the early stages of it before finding his footing, and simply barreled towards Lace. Head low; horn first. Hitting any part of Lace would do, and if he could topple the bastard it would just be a fine bonus.

In the air, Diego swerved sharply as the dragon's anticipated breath came. The flame passed him harmlessly, but he had lost his position, and it was too dangerous to go back in. In silence he fell back, keeping a ways away from Irma.

No reason to play with fire and get them both burned.

[ @Lace || 2/4 || 584 words. ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
Lace the Silverthorn
It is our actions that define who we are

He would have laughed if he hadn't been so busy staying conscious. A grim laugh, full of dismay and disappointment, and perhaps a bit embarrassment too. It had been a long time since the fire failed him so utterly and completely. He had thought that the times of implosion and self-destruction were over, that he had finally mastered the fickle, dangerous element. Was it because of the pain, his slipping consciousness? Lace would have to practice more, but it had to wait until he wasn't being attacked.

He was lucky enough that the flames hadn't reached his own silvery hide. Now he only had the thick-headed unicorn to worry about. The idiot was charging at him with all the creativity of a yearling drunk on testosterone. Lace confessed himself disappointed as he steeled himself, hooves scraping over snow and ice to find traction; he'd been expecting something a bit more refined, worthy of a soldier with as much experience as Mauja ought to have. Instead he was rushing foolishly towards Lace's left flank, slightly from behind, as if expecting him to just stand there and take the punishment.

Who would? Unfortunately for Mauja, the grullo didn't exactly swing that way. He'd have to find release from his urges elsewhere.

Gritting teeth against the pain in his barrel the grullo waited until the very last moment and made a swift, agile leap forward. The slick, snow-covered ground didn't offer good footing however and at the last moment he felt his rear hooves slip away. The horn missed his flesh and Lace flicked his tail towards Mauja's eyes, hoping to blind him with the silky hairs. But instead of passing straight by like he had planned, Lace felt how some part of the unicorn shoved into his ass with  and sent him staggering away, cursing wildly as he strained to regain balance, poise, some dignity...

Winter was never a good time to fight and this was exactly why. The ground was slippery, the air bit into open wounds, the snow showcased the evidence of injuries like crimson trophies and elegance was nowhere to be found.

A pained grunt slipped from inky lips as his pirouette ended against the sturdy trunk of a black-barked tree. Flicking his head to get the pearly forelock out of his eyes Lace glared in disgust at his opponent, wasting no time in digging deep into the earth with his mind. The trees were stiff and unwieldy at this time of year, the response was not as immediate as he would have preferred. But soon enough the ground rumbled and cracked, burst open as Lace guided entwined roots up beneath Mauja in a sharp, drill-like point. Not as pretty as the ice, perhaps, but just as deadly.

Let's return the favor, shall we? See how he managed to avoid attacks from below, as he was so fond of dishing it out on others.

"This is for Torasin!" he snarled breathlessly, a vicious gleam in the golden eyes as he took this one, glorious change to avenge his fallen brother

Nyx was forgotten. He just hoped that she was wise enough to keep out of the way, so she wouldn't get hurt.

Elsewhere, a white dragon was watching, waiting, observing the feathered ghosts as she zig-sagged through barren branches. She was content with keeping them busy for now, ready for any attack to be unleashed. Let them throw what they had at her gleaming scales; it was much beneath her to waste energy when clearly she was the stronger of the three.

She didn't hunt owl. They tasted funny.

WC: 600
PC: 2/4


The fire orb imploded just before it reached the ground, dealing no damage. When Mauja charged Lace made a jump forward, avoiding the horn. Lace flicked his tail, hoping to obscure Mauja's vision. Mauja bumped into his butt and sent Lace staggering forward. Stopping against a tree, Lace uses his wood magic to drive a spear-shaped tip of roots up beneath Mauja, hoping to pierce his belly.

Fajira hangs back, waiting for the owls to attack again.

Picture by Vossity

♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
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
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
He wasn't entirely sure when he had traded madness for something less inspired, but he figured it had something to do with the aftermath of relief. Still, knowing was something one could do after, a time for reflection in the wake of the storms of war, but it irked him to run on faux anger when the man clad in wolf's gray belonged to such a hated faction of his past; he should be glorious in his thundering charge, a sunset full of blood and brilliance and heat pumping through his blood, not this.. this sense of performing a duty, closing the space between them again out of necessity rather than desire. The breath that had been so hot and harsh in the back of his throat wasn't exactly calmer, but there was no hunger in it anymore—no demands for Lace's blood.

Really, he would rather be picking daisies somewhere right now than do this.

What would they say if he broke off now? What would Lace think? Damn; he should've taken the chance when he had it, after the sunburst, when he still had the upper hand, when he could've gotten away with it—

It was about how far in his thoughts he got before his horn pierced thin air, and his chest slammed into Lace's retreating ass. Instinct had his neck curve right; silken hairs tickled his face, and a hard tail bone knocked lightly against his jaw. Friction rubbed him warm as the spindly butt slid against his left shoulder, before the slush of the ground took over and sent the intruder spinning away from him.

All it did was tear a grunt from him, and tease his frustrations.

What the hell am I doing here?

He was supposed to be a soldier; fuck, he'd been a general and won wars, he.. he.. he wasn't some diddering old fool going through the dumb motions with all the inspiration of a dead squirrel.

Well, tough luck—it was who he was for the day, hind-legs coiling to break his awkward momentum. He hated slush. He hated the muck-and-mud of spring, of his precious snow being soiled, of—

Get a fucking grip on yourself.

As quick as he could he spun to the right, and two things happened almost at once: a thin, snaking pain started to creep up his left flank, and Lace said something very important.

Time slowed to a crawl as the root's tip split white skin in a fine line, pearly red seeping out to the slow chorus of nerves starting to scream. The way his heart skipped a beat in fear and surprise was drowned out by the low roar of the waking beast within.

Torasin, he thought, teeth gritting against the blooming pain, even as something deeper whispered you were blind, you were blind to the attack, you evaded the brunt of it by dumb luckTorasin, his breath seemed to say as he darted for the smaller stallion trapped between an avalanche of budding rage and a tree.

Torasin, he snarled silently, a swan of fire exploding out of his chest and nearly blinding him as it sped towards the gray stallion, singeing Mauja's mane and throat as it went.

(He came here, he demanded, he baited and provoked, and then, finally—he took the culmination of their twisted "truths" and spat it like damnation at him. At him, the one who had been haunted by what had transpired, haunted by images of that gold-and-cream gentleman frozen in mid-step, blooding running down an ice spike, he dared come here and take that and fling it at him like truth—)

Because didn't you know, that all the evil in Helovia had a single root: Mauja?

His eyes were ablaze with blue rage as he dug his hind feet into the muck, pulling his forefront up into the air; the thin flow of red from his flank grew thicker with the motions, the pain a dull echo lost in the haze of his anger.

(Because it was fucking unfair—)

Frosted hooves pummeled down, hoping to catch the shorter stallion's spine, and beat him to the ground.

To show them what real murder looked like.

(Because Torasin had been an accident.)

[ @Lace || 3/4 || 707 words. ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
Lace the Silverthorn
It is our actions that define who we are

This clearly wasn't his day. Lace had no idea what it was but no matter what he did it seemed that the fucking bastard managed to slip away. There was nothing wrong with his tactics, he executed every move without hitch - well, almost - and yet the only trace of his anger upon that ivory hide was a thin trickle of blood, barely visible in the gathering dusk. What difference did that make? How was that sufficient payment for all the pain, suffering and hatred this white devil had caused them all?

Frustration burned in his throat. The slender stallion hissed and shoved himself away from the tree, biting back a groan as the wound in his stomach stabbed in sickening, white hot pain. He had to move, couldn't stand there like a duck on open water...

... and even as he dragged himself forward a bright, red-lined light exploded from the chest of the King. He saw the fire bird but could do nothing, saw it fly towards him and heaved desperately, painstakingly forward, felt the foul stench of burning hair permeate the air as it collided with his left flank.

Well, that ought to cauterize the wound at least, he reflected in a stray, mad fit of dry humor.

And then the pain set in. Lace had been burned before, more times than he wanted to recount. By Fajira when she was in a bad mood, by the gods when they'd been in a bad mood, in battle and by scalding, sizzling blood from a green monster. It was not the kind of sensation you ever got used to. The scalding, burning, itching feeling as hair was seared away, the bubbling and oozing as the skin began to bubble and melt, the maddening, nauseating smell of burned flesh and reminded him that it was him that was on fire.

He screamed, and in the distance a dragon echoed his pain with her own blood-curdling screech. It promised vengeance, fire and death upon the one who dared block their path. Fajira made a sudden turn in the air and set off as fast as she could towards the battleground; she abandoned her game of I spy with the owls, hoped to leave them behind to rot as she hurried towards her Silverthorn.

As consciousness threatened to leave him the grullo sank down to his knees and vaulted into the dirty, trampled snow on the ground. The cold grain against his oozing flesh was almost more than he could endure, he made himself ridiculously vulnerable to the charging stallion who thundered up towards him, but Lace couldn't care less just then. At least the fire was disappearing, leaving him with its horrendous aftermath - and not even the knowledge that he would heal without a scar was any comfort this time.

He felt the fury of the Frost-hearted beast draw nearer, felt the earth tremble beneath his hooves as he gathered and reared. Just then Lace rolled over on the other side, and barely keeping it together he managed to avoid the supposedly crippling blow with inches to spare.

Unconcerned about keeping up appearances he sobbed in mindless pain as instinct drove him back up on his feet. The knees were trembling, chest heaving, his vision came and went in a pulsating, over-bright manner that made him dizzy. He staggered as he tried to withdraw from his opponent, feeling Mauja's presence crawl up his spine for every sluggish, feeble step.

But he was not defenseless. He was not alone.

The barren canopy above exploded in a fury of raging white scales. In one, fell swoop Fajira descended, fire blazing in her jaws as she unleashed her inborn powers upon Mauja. Once before she had burned him, and now she would do it again. This time she hoped it would be fatal, crippling, so that he could never do harm to another again in his life.

She didn't hate him for what he had done to Kiba. The dead are dead and won't come back. No, the dragon hated the horned one for the pain he caused, for the dark clouds his existence gathered in the mind of her beloved.

He was a plague, and she would do what she could to purify these moon-touched lands from his taint.

WC: 715
PC: 3/4

Summary; Takes the burning swan to his left flank. Gets down in the snow to put out the fire. When Mauja rears he rolls over to the other side to avoid being trampled and gets up on his feet, trying to move away. Fajira returns and swoops down on Mauja, trying to burn him with her fire breath.

Picture by Vossity

♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
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
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

It was the first time in a long, long time that Mauja had thought it, so clearly, so viscerally, a single kill-command echoing through the blazing fury of his mind: die.

He had meant it before—when those three spikes had broken the ground beneath Lace's body, they had risen with that single, common goal. Destruction. The end of something.

But it had been a fickle rage, as tentative and wavering as a candle in the wind, a spur-of-the-moment attempt on the gray's life. This.. this was deeper. This was a slow demand vibrating in his bones, a certainty plaguing his soul with each slow movement made; with each breath exhaled through wide, black nostrils. Today would be the day Lace died. Today would be the day Mauja put his hoof down.

He wasn't interested in Lace's pain, in his screams of agony as the fire-swan blasted into his bleeding flank; he wasn't interested in watching the gray drop into the snow in a mindless attempt to relieve his pain. He wasn't interested in the dominance, in the humiliation.

The only thing he was interested in was turning Lace into a corpse.

He had lived with the brands the Qian had put on him for far too long.

(The worst of it was that they hadn't dared brand him these things when he had actually represented some of it.)

The golden idiot rolled in the snow to get away from Mauja; his weight crashed into the unforgiving ground as the gray staggered upright, the owls blaring warnings in his head at the same time. His white skull swung to the side—he saw the dragon—exploded out of the way, the burst of superheated flame narrowly missing him. Some of the hairs of his tail curled and simply melted from the proximity, but once again, he had somehow dodged fire.

What in the actual fuck was going on.

But he didn't let the relief claim him again—he spurred himself on, latched onto the swift form of Fajira with his mind, bombarding her veins with ice crystals simply to put her out of the game for a bit before releasing her, like a play-thing he had grown tired of. She would die with Lace anyway.

He wasn't going to savor the moment. He wasn't going to say dramatic things like, this ends now, or prepare to die, or any pretentious shit like that. He was too old for dramatic flairs. He just wanted it over and done with, this threat removed for forever.

His body steamed in the deepening dark, white breath smoking out as he exhaled—inhaled—moved again, in sync with his magic. Three spires of ice, just shy of Lace himself in height, rose on Lace's far side, one by his flank, one slightly in front, one behind—a trap, as neat as any he had ever laid, a cage for the gold-backed fool of a wolf. Because on the other side, where there was no ice, was Mauja.

He charged him from a collected trot, not wanting to risk breaking his legs on the foul terrain, and besides, between the ice and his injuries Lace ought to be slow enough that he wouldn't need to take a step or two of full-blown canter to reach him. It wasn't like all of Helovia lay between them—just a few yards.

Ears flat, blue eyes blazing with an anger that was slipping off its leash, Mauja aimed to punch his horn in between Lace's ribs—into his heart—even as the ground erupted again in a last, exhaustive push: two ice spikes rose beneath Lace, hoping to puncture his chest and abdomen, as he let the other three fall.

Die, he thought again, determination a flame roaring in his mind.

(Die now, he thought, because this is pretty damn draining.)

[ @Lace || 4/4 || 643 words. ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
Lace the Silverthorn
It is our actions that define who we are

This went from bad to worse at the drop of a hat. Was it because he had been bold enough to think luck was on his side? Should he have been more humble as he proclaimed himself to be in the favor of luck and good fortune? Well, either way it had all abandoned him by now. Why such powers would side with the frost-speared queen of bitches he had no idea - who would ever want to follow someone like him anyway? - but he supposed it didn't really matter anymore.

The flames of his defender just barely missed and Fajira let out a high pitched screech of dismay. She had meant that attack, she had been utterly and completely serious yet the fire still hadn't reached the ivory hide. Angling her wings she rose again in the air, turned to come back for another go...

... and pain such as they had never felt before erupted within their veins. They screamed, and in the roaring fires of her agony Lace became blind to everything. Like the fool Mauja thought he was the stallion walked right into the trap, oblivious to it in face of his dragon's pain, and didn't realize it until it was far too late. Blocked off from escape he was forced to witness how the pale, slender shape of Fajira fell through the air and landed with a dull thump on the snow.

The sound seemed much too quiet for such a monumental event.

He grieved as her consciousness fell away into darkness. He raged even as he threw a wild,  accusing glare in the direction of Nyx, shoved to the sidelines by the rage of the once and future kings. How can you just stand there and let this happen? it seemed to say. Why are you staying in the shadow of someone who would do this?

He could do nothing but watch as Mauja drew in on him. Lace had feared death many times in his life but never had the prospect of dying seemed less inviting than now. He didn't want to go. There were so many things left to do, so many faces he longed to see. Cathun, Tandavi, Amaris, Semira, the last remnants of what once could have been a happy family.

They all seemed to parade before him, but as the horn plummeted towards him everyone faded, leaving only one. A dark face with lips that curled into a mysterious smile, such vivid, living golden eyes framed by inky lashes.

"Silverthorn... Won't you fly with me?" she whispered, inviting, challenging.

"Yes..." he replied, like he should have done that time, so long ago now. "I will fly."

On his chest the amethyst stone began to glow and pulsate. A throbbing hum reverberated from it that nearly made his ears pop. Lace felt magic leak out from the stone as it cracked. It enveloped him, hot, dark, constricting, expanding. He reared in defiance against death and the white fool who thought he could end the life of the Silverthorn, and as he did his body changed, stretched and swelled, hardened from fur to scale and hair to spike.

Pain was within him, pain was all he could feel, pain was what made him draw for breath and pain forced his heart to beat. When it faded he was no longer Lace the former king, Lace the vagabond, the good for nothing loser of a fight he shouldn't have started.

The horn of the Frostheart pierced not the supple skin of an equine but slipped and scratched the hard scales of Lace the Silverthorn, the argent dragon. Golden flame roared out towards the face of the unicorn from point blank range, with a swipe of the enormous wings he broke the pillars of ice that trapped him, ready to take to the sky.

He was strong. He was glorious. He would fly off without a scratch, soar through heaven in eternity and dance with the golden queen who had made him what he was. Never would he feel sorrow again!

Ice erupted from the ground. It punctured the softer hide of the belly and punched deep into the gut, ripping and tearing organs as it went. Another followed, and a third, deadly tip penetrating so deep into the chest that it stopped millimeters from the heart.

But the dragon didn't notice. He had already succumbed to the darkness. The crash as his body hit the ground trembled the ground - and if Lace would have heard it, he would have thought it far more satisfying than before.

WC: 762
PC: 4/4

Summary: Lace is trapped by the ice, Fajira takes the full brunt of the attack and falls unconscious. Lace rears and uses his Moon Amulet to turn into a big, silver dragon. He tries to breathe fire into Mauja's face, shatters the ice that trap him with the wings and try to take to the sky when he is pierced by the ice spikes from below. They do serious damage but does NOT pierce the heart.

Lace is now unconscious, seemingly dead.

Picture by Vossity

@Mauja - Thank you for a good fight! It was fun, even though it went horribly xD
♦ Permission granted to use magic and violence on Lace and Fajira
♦ Only tag in new threads, spars and if it's urgent
The Store | The Warden
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
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Die, Mauja thought.

Yes, the flames answered, and kissed him with all the tenderness of razors and hunting lions.

He knew it. He had fucking known this would happen, that he had dodged fire not once but twice just for it to come back and bite him in the ass. Oh gods, he had known it would've happened, but he thought he had taken care of that—that it would've been fine because he'd sent the dragon careening into the soft snow, he...

He should've learned that nothing ever was what it seemed. His horn skidded and slid against solid silver scales, finding no purchase, and for a moment—that moment before yet another gout of flame lit up the night—he had thought that he would run headfirst into the hulking beast.



Roaring, biting agony, hell's scourge flicking along his skin—the reek of burning hair, of sizzling flesh, the low, violent mumble of the flames themselves.

He knew that too, that feeling, that pain—and he knew the way in which it encompassed everything, overwhelmed every sense, bit and bit and bit and bit, and—

Somehow, he did not stagger. Somehow, he did not scream (shock). Somehow, he just fucking stood there and stared as ice punched into the body of a dragon, one by one.

Until the dragon toppled, ice snapping off and sticking out of him in a macabre display of the violence that had transpired.

Mauja remained where he was—short-circuited in every way. Charred flesh with blackened edges, angry swathes of red and slowly weeping blood covered the better part of his neck and shoulder on the left side, tapering off towards his flank.

He hated pain.

He hated being burnt.

He didn't care that he had won—that it seemed he had killed a fucking dragon—didn't care at all.

All he could think of was the blast of light that came before the torment, the split moment in which he was still whole but knew what was to happen—

All he could feel, was the heat crawling deeper, destroying more, chewing its way into his soul—

He was so fucking tired, placing ice in his own veins to stop the fire's rampage but barely able to summon a thing, his tears fucking vaporized as nothing fell from his eyes.

"Fuck. You." he finally whispered at the downed dragon, before closing his eyes—standing still to lull his screaming nerves, fighting to keep a hold of himself in the face of the agony thrumming through him.

In the back of his mind, he knew that Torleik was there.

And somehow, he had the time to wonder if the black King would condemn him for what he had done.

[ @Lace || Closing defense || 457 words. ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
angels, they fell first, but I'm still here

Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Mauja defeats Lace. Mauja earns 1 vp and pride, Lace earns 1 exp.

Because of the large HP gap and especially because Lace ended the fight unconscious Mauja was declared victor without rubric. However the fighters have requested a rubric for feedback which will be provided in the future.
 HP: 1100

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