the Rift


[JUDGED] killing in the name of [ Nymeria vs. Rikyn spar ]

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
#8
And I've grown familiar
With villains that live in my head

The stranger is warm.

Nymeria can feel the heat emanating off his lithe, sinewy body, a heat that pulses against her skin--to be so close to someone she’s never met is as intoxicating as the adrenaline that pulses through her bloodstream. She’s full of emotion--irritation, passion, eagerness--but as they fight, their forms weaving together in balletic form, the feelings (swollen and heavy) begin to fall away. The frustration that tinged her thoughts as he evaded a blow or her surge of pride when she landed one or the shudder-worthy pain coalescing in her hip (throbbing with every step, burning and blistering with every move) paled in comparison to the sheer glory of what this fight really was.

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t a fight for glory, a fight for passion, or a fight for love: there was nothing at stake here. It was… just a spar.

Don’t get her wrong--she wanted to win, she wanted to dominate and subjugate Rikyn to her power, but in the end it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like when she’d watched Confutatis warring a futile battle against the Reaper himself; it wasn’t like Abraham, when she’d been flushed with yearning and confused ideas of lust. This was… this was therapy.

Violent therapy, but still therapy.

Sunlight burns against her eyes as she watches water shiver and flex beneath her temperamental command, solidifying to ice as she desires. The shards whistle as they spear towards the stallion, a merry tune of war that is a strangely fitting soprano to the rasp of heaving breath and the splashing water. She is eager and hungry, charging towards Rikyn; and yet her hip protests her with every step, reducing her gallop to a canter that feels hardly faster than a crawl. Nym wasn’t certain if it was her (if she was too predictable, with her red eyes inevitably drawn towards her hasty weaponry) or whether he was simply lucky--but the unicorn shifts away at the right moment, evading the ice spears entirely. The wolf feels a predictable flush of irritation at the stallion’s fortune; her ears pin tightly to her skull and her lips flicker away from her teeth in a grimace.

(He laughs at her. Or maybe at his luck. Her teeth gnash together in gathering rage.)

Petty words lash against her sealed lips (fuck you! Or maybe you’ll fucking lose, loser!) Instead of wasting breath on verbalizing them Nym recollects her weight, fighting against her momentum. She’s fortunate--the speed that had carried her forward had left Rikyn’s right hind hoof slinging through empty air between her fore and hindlegs. Still, her luck is running short (she knows it) and she can’t exactly say she likes relying on luck anyways.

Perhaps it was time to call in backup.

The black had been waiting eagerly for his chance at glory. It wasn't necessary for Nymeria to form a coherent thought; he needs only the barest summon, a vague “I” that trails off as Rikyn re-positions his body. Nymeria, focused on the fight, blocks out Lilomiel’s rapid approach. The water is running red; sooner or later a winner will have to be called.

She is tiring rapidly. She hurts.

Maybe it’s because of the pain; maybe he really is better than her. As he thrusts his forequarters away from her she is too slow and too late to respond. Rikyn’s hooves punch out at the leftmost side of her hindquarters as the last of her speed is expended. His hooves hit her, square and even, right on her thick, lusty butt. It’s painful, sure, but the indignity of being literally kicked in the ass was far worse than the heavy bruising that was beginning to form.

Fortunately, she is saved from needing to respond with yet more violence.

(Backup has arrived.)

Lilomiel saves his flames as he dives out of the sky--it’s not that kind of battle--but he aims his claws at the unicorn’s face. He attempts to drive his talons into the tender flesh around the unicorn's ears and cheekbones (being careful to steer clear of the eyes and horn) while fangs snap at the tips of Rikyn’s ears. Wings beat a rapid tattoo; they lash at Rikyn’s eyes, more to obscure his vision than cause any damage, yet another tactic to shoo the stallion away from his bonded.

Sweating and soaked with seawater and sweat alike, Nymeria slows to a halt and turns to face the stallion. Her curls are tangled and matted; she is bloody and bruised. Despite that, a smile makes its way to her face, a free and happy grin for her equal.

“You fucking hit on my ASS,” she shouts at him, too happy for her own good. “If you want to have SEX, you should just ask!”

And then, naturally, she laughs.

image credits


@Rikyn
Post Count: 3/3
Word Count: 800
Damage Tracker: (1) Minor bruising on right side of chest, moderately deep, long cut along right shoulder. (2) Deep wound on right hip that impinges full movement. (3) Serious, heavy bruising on hindquarters


Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions



Messages In This Thread
RE: killing in the name of [ Nymeria vs. Rikyn spar ] - by Nymeria - 05-04-2016, 06:34 PM

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