He did not have to wait long, for across the way, another man stood. There is a moment of contemplation, both being sure that their intents were not crossed. After it’s made apparent that this is to be a friendly spar, Miseal allowed a dip of his ibex crown, "Pleasure, best of luck to you." He then lets his golden eyes blaze their path down the skin of the brown moose man. He is tall, but Miseal is taller and he would be sure to use that against him. It occurs to Miseal as he thinks of how to best the Moose, that such thoughts had never risen before. The chromed may believe he contained a matured mindset, but his inexperience in warfare was quite obvious to him now. He had never once fought before, there had been times that he had wanted to destroy in battle, but this had resulted from rage not desire. A certain antlered palomino came to mind at the idea of war, and there is a flicker of frustration that ignites in his barrel, but he quickly engulfs that flame, he had moved on(or so he hopes.) The beast would not allow his mind to trip over the thought of Enna and Rohan another second, for he had his own family, and the cream and brown antlered equines were of no worth to him any longer.

Focusing on the event at hand, he resumed his physical analyzing of Moose. He would have to watch out for those antlers, but Miseal felt confident that this man was going to be a good competitor. They both shared muscle mass, his Belgian lines to be the blame, but after that they shared little.  Miseal takes a breath, lets his mind calm and relax before the spar. He reflected on his life in those quick seconds, and there was a sense of pride that enveloped him. Despite the odds that had once been so heavily stacked behind him, he had persevered through the barriers of amnesia, and prevailed. That alone was something to be proud of, but he was more so grateful for the man he had become. Miseal used to be so reckless, so careless with his life, so only obsessed and worried about himself. He was shallow, and as he reflects on such a man that he had been, he is appalled, embarrassed even that he had gotten away with it. How had no one not beat the shit of him? He wondered, for if he met a man like that and was given the chance, he would surely beat the hell out of him. And here he was at the battlefield, ready to learn and gain the experience to do so.

Now, Miseal believed that there was more complexity to his character, and he hoped that others believed so too. The striped stallion would never admit it, but deep down inside, he was insecure in his thoughts and searched for approval of his actions. Maybe that explained the atrocity of a man he once was. He was just a young boy tossed into a world without the teachings of parents, without a mentor to guide him, and that world he was so harshly thrown into taught him in the ways of vanity and caring for no one but yourself.

His thoughts quickly began to dissipate as Moose spoke, his skin taunt over tensed muscles. His sun’s narrowed as he tried to predict the Moose’s intentions, his hoofs light and prepared to dance the dance of battle. The brown man looked massive in his approach, all thundering muscle and desire to be victorious. Moose would be met with a battle alright, for Miseal wanted this desperately. He needed it. His body then begins to craft his defense, craft his offense, and silence his mind. He is now completely and wholly blurred from reality and engaged in the art of war. Miseal's mass is lifted into the air, his hind legs carrying his weight as he rears. He uses the power in his thick neck and ibex horns and with his head tucked in, he swings his neck down as he lands, intending to clash with Moose's rack. Considering that the might of those sharp horns are better to defend against rather then the original impact of body to body. He stops the direct impact, but as the moose roars past he suffers from the trail of his antlers, his neck and shoulder warmed by the seepage of blood.

With little time to craft his attack, he lifts his front hooves into the air and attempts to send the weight of his chest and front legs down upon Moose's back/hips as he passed, Miseal’s teeth blindly lashing out to try and bite his body. Yes, the spar had begun.





talk talk talk

WC: 800/800
A: 1/3
D: 0/1
Damage Sustained: Grim’s antlers cut open his skin on his neck and shoulder,
Setting: Just outside of DT, sun is shining, cold wind, and on sand. About mid-day.
Notes: Yes please! I’d love a teaching spar!