the Rift


[JUDGED] Not the Good China!

Albrecht Posts: 249
Aurora Basin Impersonator atk: 6 | def: 8.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1hh :: 19 (Orangemoon) HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Strom :: Suma Ball Python :: None Townsen
#1


Albrecht
And Should I Die, Alone, As I Knew I Would?

He’s running, galloping, the whites of his eyes exposed and gleaming. Red flashes with the stretch and retract of his nostrils and the ground reverberates with his step, hooves reaching and placing, pulling his body forward with greater and greater speed. His frame is so light, so thin, shrunken down to mere skeletal dimensions, that once he begins his wild, careening dash for safety it feels as if his legs exceed their own power, churning beneath him now in a frantic effort to meet the rushing blur of the earth itself.

He wants to slow down, needs to, his mane-less neck pulling upward and backward to shift his negligent weight, but momentum shoves him forward. He props his front legs where they strike, hopping forward in an awkward, bouncy deceleration, his tail tensed and bent to help him balance. “Shit, fuck, shit!” He punctuates the stutter steps, head twisting sideways to look behind. The thundering of hooves grows incongruously louder with his halting.

“It was only a joke!” He wails to the sound, a shadow of impending doom stretching ahead of its physical form to forewarn him of the incoming strike. His remorse is far from genuine, but the dread with which he flinches away from its consequence is not. Old men do not win fights, especially against those significantly younger and healthier than they are, which pretty much describes the entire population of Helovia in his case.

Anticipatory tremors flicker across the stallions withered muscles as he hunches his shoulders protectively, teeth clenching behind his grimace of displeasure.


OOC //  Open spar! First attack goes to the challenger! Permission to power-play whatever insult would best infuriate your character is given. ;)


           
[Image: 56c616e54affc]Rated M, R, NC-17, AO, 18+, NSFW
Tag dat azz!  @Albrecht
Violence & Magic okay.
Wish - Away - OOC


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#2


sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:



"Get back here, you geriatric son of a bitch!" I find myself shouting, my young companion darting along behind me in zig-zags; I’m coming in a straight line, moving only for obvious ruts or obstructions. Not the first time, I wish I had wings to simply fly over them, dropping like a spear of punishment from the sky right onto his oddly tall and lanky back. Instead, I’m forced to chase him, which has wound up being surprisingly difficult, despite the fact that the guy I’m chasing is older than some of these boulders we’re passing.

The meadow combats each step, the spring thaw having driven many ruts and divots into the surface that are hidden by the grasses, and occasionally I stumble in one. The ancient enemy runs ahead, occasionally disappearing behind a rise or cluster of trees, but the mostly open landscape keeps him in sight more often than not. I’m also pretty sure I’m slowly gaining on him, especially as fear seems to set in, drawing his not-so-impish-now gaze behind him to see if I’m still chasing.

Weaving ahead of me is a goat like, ancient stallion with a mouth that would make even my mother blush. Today, however, he’s chosen the wrong victim for his verbal conquests; I don’t take lightly to being insulted, especially when it comes to my looks or skills, and he’d struck both bloody with a few well placed verbal stones. That he’d also had the audacity to snap his moss riddled teeth at me when I’d (essentially) called him a sun weathered bag of limp dicks in reply was simply more than I could tolerate.

I simply hadn’t expected the old fucker to be so fast.

It was only a joke!’ he calls behind him, a bit too late. I’m already way too mad, and he’s made me chase him too far to just walk away.

"Stay out of the way, Duir!" I bark behind me at my anxious fawn, who is entirely confused as to what to do in this situation. It’s really throwing off my mojo, making it hard to focus, and it’s not until he takes a distant position that my mind clears enough to formulate much more than the chase itself. Though my opponent is stumbling and obviously getting tired of running, he’s still too far ahead of me for physical attacks. While I hadn’t wanted to use my magic so early on, knowing how handy it can be in later situations, I decide it’s the only way to catch the obscene geezer.

He’s weird looking, with no mane, his body more goat like than any unicorn I’ve ever seen (except that one freaky one at the Wolf battle). I wonder if it means he’s got magical resistance, or some other weird ability, but fuck it. He’s old as bone dust, and I’ve got time on my side. Reaching into my mind, I draw on a magic I’ve only used once in battle before now, in a fight I’d lost… badly.

This one won’t play out that way, I’ll make sure of it. He may be able to slip out of my reach every so often with those nimble goat legs of his, I’m stronger, and his awkward height will likely cause him more trouble than it will benefit him against me.

Sweat begins to run down my sides as the Sun beats down, high overhead, but I don’t allow myself to slow up anymore than is necessary to cast the spell at him. Reaching out with my most recently discovered power, I flex my mental will, feeling the erratic magic of the spark erupt through me. Hurling that focused power at the general vicinity of the cretin’s ass, I smirk as I continue to attempt to close the distance between us, knowing better than to rely on magic and magic alone to stop my opponent. However, if it hits him, I’m sure he’ll think of me as more than just a stupid child, as he’d so thoughtlessly accused me of only moments before (among other accusations that wound my ego too much to recount).

1/3 | 690 words
[ Summary: Outskirts of the Thistle Meadow, late afternoon. Also I love Albrecht and I love that Rikyn gets to meet him in such a fashion. <3 I'm still giggling xD ]

sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.


Image by TheArtlex@DA

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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Albrecht Posts: 249
Aurora Basin Impersonator atk: 6 | def: 8.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1hh :: 19 (Orangemoon) HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Strom :: Suma Ball Python :: None Townsen
#3
A heartbeat passes, then another and the crushing physical blow of the young stallion’s body colliding with his own never comes. The protective curl of his neck loosens as he dares to open one eye and peek out at his adversary, still charging forward in a flurry of agitation and anger, but as he watches the black and gold’s furious stride slackens, just for an instant, before he plunges on.

Confusion slides across the elder’s face, creasing around his eyes and nostrils. One ear makes a tentative quarter turn away from the safety of his neck, warily questioning, before the immobilizing jolt of an unseen reply launches through his body.

He feels the magic land and break over his hindquarters first, like a wave crashing onto the rocky shores of the Edge, but silent and intangible. It overwhelms and saturates him like a deluge, but the sensation is electric. His mind recoils, loosing a flood of neurotransmitters across his nerve endings in an instinctual flurry of self-preservative motion, but their corresponding receptors lay unresponsive. His front legs scramble uselessly, desperate to move away while his hips and hocks slump beneath him, deaf and dumb to his wants, but far from numb.

Invisible tendril-like fingers slip between the layers of skin and fat in his rear half to grip and painfully clench the fibers of muscle and tendon, flexing and retracting his loins, thighs, and buttocks well beyond the range of motion they would normally exhibit. He gasps, open mouthed, the wrenching pain of tissues being stretched, torn, and joints pulled into hyper flexion too jarring to leave breath for complaint.

He squats there, helpless, reminiscent of a wormy dog dragging its ass around on the ground, until finally the magic rescinds. “What have you done, you little shit?!” He hisses hysterically, hindquarters wobbling drunken and sluggish but blessedly obedient behind him. “Ten years your senior not enough of a handicap?” His earlier insults were piercing, yes, barbed as everything that exits his mouth, but now he’s invested, now he cares what havoc his words will wreak.

“You’re a coward, shit-bag. An impotent, ugly slug masquerading as a man. You think that gold makes you pretty? It’s sour, rancid piss splashed over your hide from the whore who birthed you, no doubt let loose when she saw your grotesque, ball-less, abomination of a body. She probably dropped you on your empty, lopsided head in her haste to escape the projective vomit your face summons up.”

Truthfully he knows nothing of the stallion’s heritage or the circumstances of his birth, let alone the sexual habits of his mother, but the old man’s tirade is heedless, words jumping off the precipice of his pursed lips with a vehemence rarely matched.

“You think magic makes you a man? A warrior? Well slap a banner across my back ‘cause I’ve got a little gift from Father Sparky too.” He’s inexperienced, only having used his magic once before and by accident at that, but he’s spent more than a few of his sleepless nights contemplating that day in the Heart Caves and he’s certain now of the implications he only suspected then.

Inhaling deeply, he sets his slender shoulders and pins his ears flat to the back of his skull. He quiets, consciously curbing the wild energy of his anger and resentment into a single, focused spear of intent, staring so harshly at the other stallion’s charging form that everything else in his field of vision seems to blur, deemed unimportant and ultimately ignored.

That first time with Rexanna and Ezital he hadn’t purposely cast his magic and had been surprised by the toll it took on his body, but this time is different. Now he watches, plans, waits for the challenger to close and nearly be upon him before shoving abruptly outward with his supernatural volition. He doesn’t know the full extent of his own power, but he’s seen enough to grasp the gist of it and hopes to catch his rival full on and full force, the nature of his ability twisting and reversing the stallion’s own feelings so that he either halts his attack, possibly causing harm to himself in the effort to pull up so short, or abandons the charge and dodges to one side of his intended target, leaving himself open for another attack.

The black has no way of knowing which option his younger rival will take or even if his scarcely tested magic will work at all, but he takes the chance and stiffly wheels around his battered hindquarters to toss an uncomfortable, embarrassingly lackluster double-barreled kick at the narcissistic fuckers gilded face or whatever part of him happens to be near, though he sincerely hopes it's his face.


@Rikyn
1/3 + 0/1
790 words

Damage: Takes it up the asssssss from Rikyn. xD Just kidding, but his magic hits hard and incapacitates Alby from the flanks back causing loss of bodily control and severe muscle cramping. He’ll be stiff, slower, and weaker for the rest of the battle and sore and gimpy for quite a while afterwards. (More so than his usual that is.)

Attack: Used LightxSpark | Ability to stimulate pleasure centers of brain inducing attraction/affection. Lasts 1 post in battle; recipient must be within 10m radius. Then spins around to kick out (feebly) at Rikyn with both hind legs.

           
[Image: 56c616e54affc]Rated M, R, NC-17, AO, 18+, NSFW
Tag dat azz!  @Albrecht
Violence & Magic okay.
Wish - Away - OOC


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#4


sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:


My magic hits him square in his raggedy, old man backside, and I accelerate my pace as soon as I see the battle between body and mind begin, easily sealing the gap between us while he staggers and stumbles. Unlike Gaucho, the only other to feel the embrace of this peculiar magic, the elderly asshole doesn’t take it with any amount of stoicism at all. Rather, it’s the very opposite of the powerful warrior’s reaction; if I weren’t in the midst of teaching him a lesson about keeping his tongue under control (and the knives and arsenic dripping from his mouth weren’t directed at me), I might have even taken the time to admire the emotional sledgehammer that is his verbal eloquence.

As I pull in closer to him, hoping to slam one of my youthful shoulders into his obscenely tall and decrepit frame, I’m mostly laughing, small chuckles that fall in the downward beats of my hooves into the sun warmed grasses below. He thought that because he was old enough to be my great grandpa he could say whatever he wanted? As if. It’s an extremely faulty logic, and that he thinks I lack any honor for defending it is almost entirely humorous to me.

He does hit home with his insinuating that I might be unwanted. If he’d picked the bond with my sire to pick on, I might have kept on cackling at him like the old jester he is (silly appearance included!), but the ancient fucker is so spot on the nerve that I revoke my laughter in a snarl.

"Get ready to eat your four remaining teeth, ass-fuck," is not shouted, but is certainly said with some measure of force as I drop some of my speed for power, preparing to launch myself with what I imagine to be the impact of a free falling boulder into the exposed front half of the taunting goat man. Somehow, though, in mid-flight, even, a strange and invisible cord lashes to my thoughts, and pulls me astray of the mark. Instead of leaping into my foe, my legs carry me down his right side in a powerful and useless leap, very much against my will. Most peculiar about the entire experience is not losing control of myself (I do it to others, often), but that I seemed to like him while it was happening.

Oh, hell no.

If I hadn’t had the dusty fart’s previous declaration of “Father Sparky’s” gifts ringing in my ears (who would mock a God so callously?), I might blame the failure of my ramming assault on Duir’s battle naivety; our mind link keeps sending me flashes of thrill, fear, and wonder in random deluges, mostly because he’s never witnessed anything so exciting. This is my first fight with such a crippling distraction, having had few opportunities to teach my young friend about fighting in our first weeks together. The bond trills with worry as the ruddy midnight stag strikes my left barrel, towards the hip, with his hind hooves, but my opponent’s age is evident in the strength of the blow; while it scuffs my pretty black hide and leaves a bruise, it’s nothing compared to the pain I’ve felt before. My fawn, however, unleashes a small squeal of surprise in the distance, having not expected my pain to have been transferred to his mind at all.

I guess I’ll have to apologize to him later for not warning him, or even really thinking about it until now…

As evident by my scar riddled body, this isn’t my first rodeo. No sooner do I hear his hooves woomph into the ground than I kick out from my right side with my hind legs, before I’ve even really gathered where exactly he is after his buck. I do know I want to keep the skewering length of his dual horns away from me should he try to pivot back around, and that time wasted is time lost, so I quickly pull off a few clockwise steps and kick out again, following the cow-kick with a full fledged buck.

"I’d be saving my breath, old man," I taunt, attempting to pull back around in a clockwise direction to try and meet face to face him, golden eyes glowing with a need to hurt him more, "you’ll need it!"

2/3 | 728
[ Summary: Takes Albrecht's buck along his right side towards his bum; responds with a cow-kick, then a full strength buck after altering his angle slightly. Hopefully re-positions to face Albrecht. ]

sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.


Image by TheArtlex@DA

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Albrecht Posts: 249
Aurora Basin Impersonator atk: 6 | def: 8.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1hh :: 19 (Orangemoon) HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Strom :: Suma Ball Python :: None Townsen
#5
He strikes out at the black and gold with conviction, but with little expectation of actually causing harm to his much stouter rival, so it comes as a surprise to the old man when his cracked, dried out hooves land square in the other stallion’s right flank, eliciting a satisfyingly hollow whap of keratin meeting flesh and an unexpected shriek of astonishment in reply. At first he assumes the wounded, high pitched sound is just more evidence of his opponent’s delicate idiocy, but what little he sees of the challenger’s face as he lunges past is determined, impassioned, not taken aback.

Confused but intrigued, the elder scrambles in jerky, disorganized steps to try to pivot and follow his opponent’s movement, but his bearded head lifts and swivels independently of his body as he turns, seeking out the source of the piteous noise.

He knows, even inexperienced as he is in front line battle, that diverting his attention at this particular moment, with an enemy so close that they could share the same air with each breath, is a genuinely stupid thing to do, but he also knows that the skirmish is no contest by any means and that a close quarters exchange will undoubtedly leave him irreversibly crippled and the other relatively unharmed. He needs every advantage he can get, even if it comes with bone shattering consequences.

For his distraction he takes the savage cow kick at the point of his left shoulder, where bone is only thinly covered by skin and hair. The pain is sharp and the impact splits his hide over the swell of his humerus where it juts forward of the sternum to connect to his sloping shoulder blade. An agonized half grunt, half whine slips through the crooked spaces of his yellowing teeth, but when his emerald eyes sweep back to the younger stallion’s face they gleam with a newfound maliciousness despite the nausea of skeletal damage roiling in his stomach.

The other stallion gathers himself and the elder lurches backward instinctively, escaping this second and more powerful kick by a mere hairs width. “Your body’s not so fragile as your feelings,” he admits, the words low and cold in his throat, “But how about your young friend there?” A wicked sneer of satisfaction spreads across his salt and pepper muzzle, anticipating the impact of his words even before they’ve left his mouth. He doesn’t wait for the younger stallion’s reaction, but lunges to his right, onto his uninjured shoulder and past the other's left as if in pursuit of the wide eyed deer-like companion hovering fretfully at the far edge of the meadow.

He knows he won’t reach the fawn before his opponent follows and overtakes him, but the companion isn’t his true target. He opens his stride as best he can, mentally begging his battered ass end to support him just for this one moment so that the enemy will buy his bluff and come careening after. He doesn’t have time to glance behind and verify positions, but he doesn’t have the energy or strength to continue running either, so he brakes hard, dropping his weight onto his front legs and swinging his already gun-shy hindquarters around behind him in an attempt to halt and face his opponent.

Squeezing his eyes shut and offering a silent prayer for no broken vertebrae, he drops his head low to the ground, nearly brushing his muzzle across the vibrant Birdsong grass, tilts his poll forward, and braces himself.

He hopes the immature appearance of the fawn truly denotes a newly formed bond. He hopes the tenderness of such a relationship is compelling enough for his needs. He hopes the black and gold stallion is gullible enough to fall for his ploy, and he hopes beyond all hope that the piss spattered idiot will impale himself clear through the lungs and all the way back to the heart by his own frenzied momentum on the twin horns jutting thick and secure from old stallion's skull.

He hadn't entered the conversation, the chase, or even the battle with a desire to murder, but he's already hurting at both ends and just about spent in the middle. His meager strength is rapidly failing and he's beginning to think that drastic measures are the only way he'll ever leave this place intact. The boy may think it only rough play, the stakes being frivolous pride and imagined honor, but he's not likely to die from a well-placed kick or shatter a joint just trying to move himself. He knows nothing of age, of wear, of weakness, or the desperation they create.



2/3 + 0/1
772 words

Damage: Takes Rikyn’s cow kick to the point of his left shoulder, cutting open the skin and causing a hair-line fracture to the head of his humerus bone that will take a considerable amount of time to heal and stop aching incessantly. Localized swelling and bruising surrounds the wound.

Attack: Lunges past Rikyn's left side towards Duir, then swings around to face him and drops his head low in an attempt to trick Rikyn into charging into his horns.


           
[Image: 56c616e54affc]Rated M, R, NC-17, AO, 18+, NSFW
Tag dat azz!  @Albrecht
Violence & Magic okay.
Wish - Away - OOC


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#6


sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:


The sidelong kick hits home with a satisfying pressure that means it hurts. I’m delighted with this matter, which horrifies the young buck in the distance, who glances between me and the old man with a fretful concern for whether or not he’s okay. While I certainly don’t think about the fact that I could cause the old man’s demise, Duir does, but all his concern for the man is lost in petrifying fear as the elder unicorn turns his attentions to the babe on the outskirts. My own being flares with outrage that he would attack my fawn, despite the fact that I’m a young man assaulting a guy old enough to be my grandparent.

Throwing my haunches down in what I imagine to be a rippling display of unicorn masculinity and power, I throw my body around in pursuit of the devious geezer. The dusty cretin’s speed has been diminished by the touch of my magic and the kiss of my hooves, but he’s still managed to pull off some distance. Feeling a foreign terror for another grip my heart, I surge after him headlong, not thinking once that it may all be a ruse out of desperation to protect Duir.

"Run, you idiot!" I shout at the trembling, white dappled buck who radiates sheer terror; he suddenly bounds upwards as if the word idiot is a lash, moving into life in what would be a comical fashion, if it all wasn’t so serious. His oak toned body darts in an erratic pattern between whatever cover he can find, some as minimal as saplings or clusters of flowers, gold lightning glimmering along his haunches.

Sweat drips down me from the high sun as the ancient one suddenly drops down into the grass. Coming at him with every bit of velocity I can muster, I have very little time to react to this devastating turn of events, and as I hunker down my haunches in an attempt to stop, I discover that the same long grass that partially obscures my opponent’s peculiar body also denies me traction. The tips of his horns gleam into frightful clarity.

My mind starts running around like a lot of startled bats, trapped in a narrow cavern.

Fly, fly! yells one of them. I can’t fly, so I do the next best thing, and simply use my lowered position to launch myself into the air, up and towards the right. I miss the clever trap narrowly, my heart hammering almost painfully against my chest at how close I’d come to being impaled. That he’d managed it without magic, like the elemental spikes I’d seen some draw up from the earth itself, is almost impressive, if the entire experience hadn’t shaken me up so much.

Using the self loathing inspired by the feeling of fear for both myself and my companion, I lash out behind me with my hind hooves, twice. Hopefully, he’s too old and too sore to be able to move out of the way. The bucks aren’t full extension, but I pack as much power into the quick jabs as I can manage, hoping to knock him anywhere it hurts for being such an asshole. I want to end this before he almost outsmarts me again (I will definitely have to remember drop and stab for a later occasion), or he actually does hurt Duir.

Glancing about for him, I find that I have no idea where he’s gone in all the commotion of almost being impaled by the insulting old wanderer. Feeling a little relief that he was likely hidden and safe settle into me as I canter off a few paces, I turn about to look at my opponent, sides expanding and contracting with breath, ears still pinned.

"Are you quite done yet?" I jeer between deep breaths, horn angled for combat should he decide to get up and come at me again.

[ OOC: It was super great getting to write with you and Albrecht. Thank you for the quite entertaining and challenging spar. <3 If you'd like an after spar thread just let me know. ]

sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.


Image by TheArtlex@DA

@Albrecht

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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Bunnie the Bonnie Lass Posts: 9
OOC Account
Filly :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 25
Bunnie
#7
sigh. why, overly excitable enter button?
3/3 - 652 words

Albrecht Posts: 249
Aurora Basin Impersonator atk: 6 | def: 8.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.1hh :: 19 (Orangemoon) HP: 60 | Buff: NOVICE
Strom :: Suma Ball Python :: None Townsen
#8
The ruse is a success. The younger stallion cries out to his companion in panic, hooves thundering one-two-three-four behind the ‘geriatric son of a bitch’ in rapid succession. The elder turns, drops into a crouching position with horns pointed forward, and clenches his eyes shut against the impending force of the black and gold’s momentum. Even with ears pinned flat against his neck he can hear the other stallion inhale sharply and assumes with a surge of wicked satisfaction that the gasp is a sign of the little shit realizing his dangerous predicament, realizing that he’s been outsmarted and that a filthy old man will be his undoing, but the gasp is followed by an unsettling silence where stutter steps, collision, and the whoosh of air being forced from his petty little lungs should be.

Confused, the black opens his eyes and raises his head just as the younger stallion rocks his weight backward onto his haunches and through some feat of youth’s Herculean athleticism - or some other equally unsporting bullshittery - manages to actually hurl himself into the air and over the elder’s head. Angry at being so easily thwarted, the black arches his maneless neck and sweeps his poll to his left, the other’s right, in an attempt to catch his airborne adversary across the belly or more preferably balls with the unblunted tips of his horns. He fears his movement is too little, too late and won't be enough to cause any real damage, but he spitefully envisions raking the bastards hind legs as he passes at the very least. He hadn’t even thought such an escape maneuver was possible, so watching the idiot stumble and fall would provide some needed consolation for this thorough trouncing, even if it comes at the price of a mild concussion from flailing hooves. He’ll take whatever he can get.

Last ditch effort thus expended, the old man stands panting with exertion, utterly spent. He has nothing left to give and he’s fairly certain that both of them know it. The black and gold lashes out with his hind legs once, then twice, his kicks landing square and uncontested in the elder's left ribcage. He grunts an unhappy acknowledgement of the hits, air forced out of his lungs with each strike, but these blows seem less forceful than the earlier cow-kick and double barrel buck that he’d been lucky enough to avoid and their damages pale in comparison. He watches the younger stallion regroup and position himself for another round of pointless violence, but when he poses a question instead of a renewed threat, the elder drops his head in instant relief. He doubts he'd have made it through another attack.

Gingerly calculating, he noses at the unattractive flap of skin hanging from his left shoulder, blood dripping down his foreleg and painting his hoof a dark shade of maroon. This in particular will need a healer. He turns to glare accusingly at the other stallion, blood now smeared across his muzzle. “That depends, is this enough blood to pay for my sins? Have you found your version of justice in beating an old man for speaking ill of you?” He snorts heavily, both to clear his laboring airways and to emphasize the derision in his voice, blood flicking across the space between them as he does. “I might be an unlikable ass, but you're a real piece of work yourself, boy. Go home and gloat to your friends, preen yourself, celebrate your great defeat of an already broken man. What a hero you are."

He turns to leave then, slowly lifting and placing each hoof with visible effort. He limps heavily in the front, trying to place as little weight on his left foreleg as possible, and hobbles in slow, shortened steps with his rear, the after effects of the younger stallion's magic still felt in full force. Now that all the excitement is done the adrenaline in his body will begin to fade and the aches and pains of his already agonizing wounds will amplify, so he needs to reach the Basin before then, or some other secluded spot to lay down and die begin recovering in.




3/3
699 words

Damage: Bruising to his left ribcage. Will cause stiffness and make heavy or rapid breathing uncomfortable.

Attack: Throws his head up to try catching Rikyn in the legs/stomach/genitals with his horns as he flies past.

@Rikyn Thank you so much for doing this with me! It’s been really fun. <3


           
[Image: 56c616e54affc]Rated M, R, NC-17, AO, 18+, NSFW
Tag dat azz!  @Albrecht
Violence & Magic okay.
Wish - Away - OOC


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#9


sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:


My wild leap for freedom leaves my belly exposed, a thought that doesn’t occur to me until the tip of one of his horns grazes its surprising tip along the soft flesh of my belly, towards the right, alongside where the leg becomes the gut. The curved weapon does its best to grab me in passing, but the momentum of my leap only causes its point to grab and drag roughly with blunt pressure into my skin. The wound isn’t a bad one, only draws red to the surface in pinpricks that don’t bead or drip, but it smarts like he’s ripped all the skin off, and the entire assault is way to close to my gentleman’s jewels for my liking. The result is a less than masculine, "aieee!" which bursts from my lips unbidden, and draws a glower over my features. An old fellow like himself should know how important those particular parts of my anatomy are to me, and that he’d try to limit its future potential with a potshot like that makes me hate him even more than his mouth already has.

He also has made me squeal like a filly, which makes my skin burn with embarrassment and fuels my violent intent, as I rock forward and send the buck back towards him.

Kicking out at him makes the bruise on my side throb; the damaged, delicate skin on my velveteen coffee belly throbs violently, but not as much as the landing does, or when the impact of my backward kick hits home, either. I don’t really care if it hurts him, because I want to let him have it for daring to assault my precious parts.

I’d have kept on hitting him, too, if it wasn’t for the not-so-timid pull of Duir’s heart against my own; he is afraid for the old man, rightfully so, and for me, though I cannot understand why (too young to think of my soul when my heart is on fire). As I’ve come to find time and again since our meeting, the young buck is hard to refuse, and I actively resent him, as I come about to face the geezer, for making me be someone I’m not.

Duir, on the other hand, is simply glad he was no longer forced to play a part (no matter how small) in something as deplorable as kicking some ancient guy’s ass. Between he and the ruddy, goat-like one, there is enough loathing in the air radiating from the two sets of eyes transfixed upon me to make someone more flimsy whimper for forgiveness; I, on the other hand, am cocky as ever, losing none of the arrogant height of my crown as I breathe deeply in the aftermath of battle. It had been an easy victory, but it had been minor proof that my training was paying off; I’d managed to avoid the death trap, for one, and my wounds seem pretty minimal, especially when I eye the blood running to the ground from my opponent’s lacerated shoulder.

I snort as he continues pandering, a mist of blood wetting the air as he snorts himself. The sight makes the bond between the buck and I twinge with anger towards me, and the same vibrant concern for the elder. Again, I feel none of these things towards myself, mostly annoyance that he honestly thinks I really would bother bragging about this.

Please. I’ve fought the Wildfire, Dusty MacCrusty.

"Mm, I’m only hero if I’ve taught you to maybe, I don’t know, shut the hell up when its appropriate," I say dramatically as he turns to leave, wondering if he’ll ever take time to think about the fact that, maybe, I’m not the worst person he could have talked shit to in this place. For one, I’d never meant to kill him and (hopefully, anyway) would have stopped before it made it to that, only having thought to teach him a lesson – a lesson he seems to have failed to learn, by the tone and format of his remarks.

There are folk about who murder innocent children simply because they can. What is some rude asshole’s life to a person like that?

Closing Defense | 701 words
[ Damage Summary: The tip of Albrecht’s horn drags into Rikyn’s belly and causes bruising/blood bruises. It hurts like a thousand devils though because all dem nerve endings. :o ]

[ OOC: Take your own advice Rikyn, jeebs. Also, thank you again for the enjoyable scuffle! Sometimes I forget to say thank you in my closers is why I did it last post too :P ]

sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.


Image by TheArtlex@DA

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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Jen Posts: 16
OOC Account
Mare :: Other :: 14.3 hh :: 21
Jen
#10
Greater than 20 HP gap. 1 VP to Rikyn.


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