the Rift


bulletproof [vol vs weaver]

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#1
THE INDOMITABLE

HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

The air shimmers, creating a mirage that tangles with the onyx warlord's mind and causes him to squint cautiously at what appears to be an inviting oasis but is, in fact, nothing but swirling dust. The heat is almost overwhelming, the sun an orange ball of fire in an eggshell-blue sky devoid of any clouds to shield Helovia's unfortunate residents from the scorching inferno. It is sweltering, making the stallion's black skin glimmer with a thin sheen of sweat and causing his mane to flop limply around his lathered neck like tangled tendrils of rope.

It is uncomfortable, bordering on the unbearable. It is the kind of weather that makes most horses crawl beneath the shade of their favourite tree and sleep away the long, excruciating hours until the moon conquers the relentless sun and offers some respite from the hellish heat. Most horses, though, are not Volterra. They are not Indomitable. They are not men forged of war, men who push their bodies to the limits and more in all manner of weathers and circumstances in their quest to become the most powerful creature to ever walk the earth. They are not men who take their suffering and wear it like armour, men who hold each scar as a trophy and see each wound through to its painful conclusion.

The road to glory is, after all, paved in blood, and Volterra's massive hooves have carried him a good distance down that particular track. That's why he ignores the mirage, despite the fact his mouth is as dry as the desert that he calls his domain, and turns instead towards the figure in the distance. That's why he hardens his resolve, tenses his muscles, and charges. That's why he turns his mind towards a potential fight rather than submitting to his desire to crawl into the shade and collapse in on himself like a house of overheated cards.

Fighting in the midday sun is bordering on lunacy, but Volterra knows that he must conquer the inferno. Given his southern desert home, there's a high likelihood that one day he'll have to fight against invaders during the heat of a Dragon's Throat summer, and he needs to ensure his body is ready. Living in the Throat has hardened him, but he still knows that he can grow harder still. His stride is a collected canter to conserve energy, unwilling to enter an all-out charge until his opponent is closer; the nearer he gets, the more he squints until he can see that she's a she. Winged, horned, magnificent; her tobiano colouring only accents her raw beauty, and the stallion feels a different kind of heat begin to blossom inside him.

"Another maniac out in the sun?" he booms to announce his presence. Volterra is still trying to get himself out of the habit of not attacking first in fights, but he just cannot bring himself to strike without prior warning; it seems cowardly, dishonourable. He seeks to approach the mare head-on, making no attempt to hide his intentions. "Care to dance?" He takes a moment to assess her properly; she's a good two hands smaller than him, and it is clear that she will be no match for his sheer brute strength. Yet her hardy build, her sturdy appearance....her endurance is undoubtedly far better than his own, meaning she should suffer less in these cruel conditions. It's in his best interests to make it a quick fight, else he expire before her eyes. The ground is hard, firm, sun-dried; if his dragons get involved he'll need to make sure Vadir keeps her fire breath to herself, else she could immolate them all. The surroundings are perfect for fighting upon, but there's an obvious threat in the form of the scorching heat - it will take its toll upon both gladiators, and Volterra knows that he'll be better off moving as little as he can once he's fully engaged his foe.

Without waiting for a response from her, the behemoth lunges. He seeks to approach her face-on, his chest thrust out like a battering ram as he attempts to slam it hard into her own chest. His intention is obvious - try to cripple her with a bruise, bully her with his weight, and perhaps even push her backwards. His jaws snap forwards, attempting to plant a hard, painful bite upon her left cheek in a brutal display of masculine dominance.

_____________

Spar for @Weaver !

Set in the Thistle Meadow. Very hot and dry, possibility of fire ;D

1/3 - 738 words

image by neverr the glorious

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Weaver Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Corporal atk: 8.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Hybrid :: 15.1 :: 3 years HP: 61 | Buff: Novice
Raven :: Australian Raven :: Terrorize Kyra
#2

i don't rise from the ashes, i make them.

What is she doing out in an inferno like today? That’s a great question. Trying to visit her pal Death, clearly. It's hot enough out to boil her insides, turning her into a nice steak. And if that doesn’t happen, then she’s going to shrivel up and turn into a prune, a grape left in the sun too long. Sexy picture, right? But really, why is she out here trying to kill herself? Same reason as The Indomitable.

She seeks power. Not the same power he seeks, all brute strength. She’ll never have that, and she can’t even pretend she could. Look at her, and then look at him, and then laugh at the notion she could ever be stronger than him. She is not built to be a fighter, she knows, but that fact doesn’t stop her. That’s part of her search. Power enough to hold her own on the battlefield. Power enough to surprise everyone who looks at pretty little Weaver and think she's there for the taking. Yes, she wants to be underestimated. It’s one of the only advantages she might have, and she’ll play to every single one of them.

But like him, she knows that power too is the ability to conquer the weather. She cares less about fighting in it and more about the power to survive. To live through ball numbing cold and ovary boiling heat. To walk into everyday unconcerned about the weather. To act like it's normal when a behemoth of a horse comes barreling at her on one of those ovary-boiling days. And in Weaver’s world, this is normal.

The sound of hooves against the hard earth catches her attention first. Then his words announce his presence, another maniac out in the sun?. She gives him a wicked grin in return, trying to size up her opponent in the time she has, which isn’t much. He’s taller, stronger, faster, and more agile. Basically, she’s shit out of luck, like always. Any other girl would turn tail and run with such odds. But Weaver is not any girl, like Volterra is not any man.

She can’t win, but she can damn well make it hard for him to. And she definitely won’t turn tail and run. To walk out of this fight having left her mark on the mammoth horse would be enough. Well, enough for now. She’s still a baby solider, whereas he looks like a seasoned general. Raven takes off, away from the dragons and the fight. He stays close enough to keep an eye on Weaver, but nothing more.

“I prefer to tango,” she fires back. She can’t fly away. He’s too close and too tall and he’ll probably take out a leg. Which doesn’t leave a lot of options. She dives to her right, planning to fall if that means she can get out of the freight train’s way. But she’s too slow, and he smashes into her left shoulder. Pain blazes through shoulder and she tumbles to the ground. Thankfully she’d been planning to fall and it’s not disastrous. Only her front legs go down, the right leg taking the brunt of the fall. Blood blooms on her right knee where it scrapes against the dry ground. A surface wound, but still, it hurts.

At least the fall kept his teeth away from her face. Though she fell to her knees instead, so either way, he wins on the masculine dominance thing. That just won’t do.

She scrambles back to her feet, trying to canter out of his path. She’s slower already. Her knee's sore, but it’s not her problem. Her left shoulder protests every step, but it holds her weight, so she grits her teeth and pushes through. “We’d make a fine looking pair on a dance floor, but I like to lead,” she throws in his direction.

She’s used to pain. She’s died twice. She’s fought her way through life from the day she was born. This isn’t new for Weaver. She can fight through some bruises and cuts.

She turns course as quickly as her front legs will allow, trying to aim for his left side, smack in the middle of his ribs. Weaver charges, knowing she won’t have the same speed or power behind the attack as before, but she’s not trying to fight him with brute strength anyway. She'll lose on that front. So she uses what she's got: horns. Weaver ducks her head, aiming all seven horns for his left ribcage, hoping to give him a few nice stab wounds. Let him bleed from a hole for a while and see what it’s like.

***

Attack 1 – Words 778
Summary:
- Volterra smashes into her left shoulder, knocking Weaver to the ground and she scrapes her right knee
- Weaver tries to stab his ribs with her horns on his left side

I'm the whole fucking fire.

- weaver -

image credit | quote by erin van vuren


@Volterra

Please tag in all posts
Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death
Image by AmoretteRose

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#3
THE INDOMITABLE

HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

His chest slams into her shoulder, causing a small grunt to leave him as the wind is pushed from his lungs. He succeeds in knocking her to her knees, although his bite fails to land. It is always satisfying to see a woman kneeling before him, as though worshipping at the altar of his raw testosterone and masculinity. The leviathan stands tall, drawing himself up to his full, titanic height as he looks down upon her, feeling the familiar lurch in his loins at the sight of her crawling to her feet again. He doesn't attack even whilst she's prone; his honour forbids it. Instead he just enjoys the sight, his eyes glowing with a thin sheen of lust that he makes no attempt to hide.

It's at this point that he notices the impressive array of horns she possesses. Heavens, he almost loses count of them, and decides that he would not like to be skewered by them. "A fine arsenal you have there," he remarks, his gruff voice impressed. Her comment draws a loud, joyous guffaw from him - ah, he likes this one! She's sharp, her wit honed like a knife and her body, whilst not the ideal build for a warrior, shows clear signs of battle. This is a woman bettering herself, a woman unwilling to bow to what nature gave her. Volterra has always considered himself quite fortunate that the genetic dice rolled in his favour, giving him great bulk, strength, and the basis to become the warlord that he now is. He's fought hard to improve upon that, but it seems that this hybrid mare has had to start her journey from a far lower point than he did, and she receives some respect in his eyes for that.

That doesn't mean he's going to allow her comment to go unchallenged, though. He grins, a wolf's smirk, a devil's smile. "A shame, because I do not follow." The tobiano is up, then, swinging around towards his left side. The behemoth turns, wanting to keep her in front of him where she's at the mercy of his savage hooves and teeth, but alas, he is too slow. Her horns - all seven of them, count them, seven - stab hard into his left ribcage, sinking easily through the skin and carving deep into the muscle below. Any deeper and they'd scrape bone; as it is, the stallion cannot help but roar as he feels himself carved apart by the mare's fearsome weaponry. The worst cut is caused by her primary face-horn, the wound dangerously deep and acutely painful. Volterra swings his hindquarters to his right, peeling himself off her horns like a corpse pulled from a sword, and the blood that tumbles down his sweaty skin causes the grass underfoot to turn crimson.

If the Indomitable could go pale, he would. He feels weak, his stamina sapped further by the crippling wounds to his side, and he laments his own stupidity for allowing her to take essentially a free shot at him. This injury will compromise his movement for the rest of the fight, and that's less than ideal given the already challenging conditions. The beast retaliates as fast as he can; his jaws swing to his left, careful to move only his head and neck rather than the rest of his aching, bleeding bulk. He aims for the left side of the mare's neck, hoping to plant a hard bite onto the muscle there and hopefully cause her movements to be affected too.

Now his body is damaged, Volterra is left with little choice but to utilise his magic. He rarely does so; almost all of his fights have been won due to the strength of his physical form alone, unaided by his dragons or his magic. This, though....this is different. He tells himself that he needs practice at using his supernatural gifts, but in truth he just doesn't want to lose. Not with how much he's invested in becoming the greatest warrior to walk the earth, not when he's so proud of his record, the long list of notches in his battlefield bedpost. He can't slip now, can't see himself felled by a small woman and her quite unnecessary array of horns. No, despite his sense of honour and chivalry, Volterra wants to win. That will be a lot easier if he uses his powers, so he reaches into the depths of his mind and summons them.

He seeks to lift the earth beneath Weaver's front right hoof, trying to jerk it up into a knee-high plateau of rock and stone. His aim is simple - to unbalance the mare by forcing her right foreleg upwards, and to hopefully cause her to grow distracted and give his bite to her left side more chance of hitting.

_____________

Spar for @Weaver !

Set in the Thistle Meadow. Very hot and dry, possibility of fire ;D

2/3 - 799 words

image by neverr the glorious

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Weaver Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Corporal atk: 8.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Hybrid :: 15.1 :: 3 years HP: 61 | Buff: Novice
Raven :: Australian Raven :: Terrorize Kyra
#4

i don't rise from the ashes, i make them.

A fine arsenal you have there, he says in that deep, booming voice. She laughs, despite the pain in her shoulder and her knee, because there are far worse pains. Even if this were a far worse pain, she would still laugh because she would not let him win so easily. She would not stay on her knees before him. Not now in this battle, and not in any to come. Though their banter entertains her, she doesn’t let it distract from the attack, from her goal of skewering him with her arsenal of horns.

She's rewarded, all seven horns slipping deep into his left side. She’s cut many horses with her horns, but she has never impaled anyone. It's thrilling in a way she cannot describe, a feeling of power she rarely finds. She is tiny compared to the Throat's Sultan. She is weak and insignificant. But despite these facts, there are seven holes in his side.

The successful attack gives her no illusions of winning. But she is pleased anyway, ecstatic. She does not need to win, not so early in her career. She only needs to be memorable. That would be enough for now. One day, she will need to win. One day, she will need to be everything she is not yet. But for now, to be a worthy opponent on the battlefield is a damn good start. She’s willing to bet that he won’t forget the girl who was inside him. It usually works the other way, after all.

There are quips on her tongue, but he’s already peeling himself off her horns and the words die on her tongue. There are more important things to do now, like not getting trampled to death. His head swings toward the left side of her neck, and she shifts, trying to move to her right. She’s already tired from the heat, sore from his first attack, and the combination slows her down. She is not fast enough.

Her right leg wrenches as the earth comes rushing up, the muscle in her shoulder pulled by the sudden movement. Her balance shifts back to the left, throwing her into his attack. Volterra’s bite lands in the middle of her neck and she finally screams, a combination of pain and frustration. The bruise is enough to hinder movement in her neck, and her front legs are nearly out of commission.

Part of her loves this though. There’s something primal to the scream. Her other battles ended with her getting scratched and little more. They were such friendly spars they hardly counted at all. This is how real fights go. This is how she’d grown up, scraping herself off the ground to prove that she wouldn’t quit. To prove she is worth more than they think. That is what she wants to prove now. She will keep fighting longer than any of her opponents. She will fight till she bleeds out on the earth below her hooves. At least, for the moment, he’s the one bleeding out.

She rocks back to her uninjured hind end, unfurls her wings, and takes off. If she’s lucky, she’ll smash her wings into his face as she beats them in large, powerful strokes to get off the ground. He has magic and she has wings, and she’s not about to let this one advantage go unused. With her front legs and neck bruised, she is glad to get into the air, moving up and away from him so she can pick up some speed.

She circles around, trying to get into position as best she can. When she thinks she'd lined up, she tucks her wings and dives, aiming toward his left side. She spreads her wings at the last minute, trying to avoid a straight crash. Her front legs kick toward his withers, trying to do more damage to the area she’s already stabbed. Even if she doesn’t get his withers, with any luck, she’ll manage to kick his left shoulder, back, or neck. Her attack won’t be as powerful as she’d like, her front legs far weaker than normal. Despite this, she's hoping the momentum of the dive will make up for her injuries. “Then I assume you don’t like to be beneath a woman, either,” she says, hiding the pain and fatigue beneath a mask of vicious flirting.

***

Attack 2/3 – Words 728
Summary:
- Volterra bites the middle of her neck, and she pulls her right shoulder from his earth magic
- Weaver flies and tries to kick his withers on his left side

I'm the whole fucking fire.

- weaver -

image credit | quote by erin van vuren


@Volterra

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#5
THE INDOMITABLE

HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

The scream is beautiful, a benediction for his ears. Like a banshee's shriek, it enters his mind and addles with his senses, making his eyes drift shut to prolong the euphoria of the sound. He made that happen. He created that feral noise, that primal cacophony of battle. This is how it should be - two opponents giving it their all, clashing with hoof, teeth and wing, neither giving an inch.

She folds her back end and lifts like an angel towards the heavens, and he realises with a sudden dropping of his heart that this battle isn't over, not by a long shot. They're both badly injured, but her wings help negate any damage to her forelegs. He's never fought a winged opponent properly before, as he's always engaged them amongst the trees where they can't take off to strike from above. Out here in the open, there's nothing stopping Weaver from using her nature-blessed gifts, and he's given another forcible reminder of their usefulness as the feathered tip of one succeeds in smacking him across the face. It's only a light, glancing blow, but it causes him to see stars and set his teeth in a savage snarl.

By the time he's blinked away his dizziness, the hybrid is out of his sight. There's no chance that he can twirl around in time to see what she's doing, because his grievously wounded side prevents any such movements. He relies on his dragons to inform him of where the mare is, and by that point it's too late. Her hooves strike him firmly in the withers with so much force that he hears his body crunch with the impact, sending him staggering forwards and wobbling ominously as his muscular legs fight to keep him standing against the weight of the downwards blow. A bruise - horrendously thick, bone-deep, crippling - erupts across his entire upper back, ensuring that his movement will be even more compromised than it already is. It's a small miracle that she didn't manage to break the top of his spine, although he puts that down to her weakened forelegs and his own thick musculature.

Her words draw out a weak, pained smile. "You're quite right," he manages to groan out through the haze of agony that threatens to overwhelm him. "I always have to be on top." Given the Indomitable's inability to suddenly sprout wings and battle her in the sky, he's forced to rely on his dragons. Go, he tells them weakly, knowing that they've been waiting for his command since the battle started. He hasn't the strength or energy left to direct them or tell them exactly what to do - he leaves that down to their instincts. He manages to hobble forwards, keeping his head lowered in case she should kick out at him again, his eyes darting and his jaws ready to unfurl should she come within range of him. Thanks to the fact that he hasn't moved much during this fight, he's not as exhausted as he thought he would be in the unbearable heat, but he's in so much pain he can hardly focus on that particular positive. In his agony-addled mind, he hopes that Weaver will exhaust herself in the heat as she flies around, and he knows his dragons will do their part to ensure she pays the price for the wounds she's inflicted on their mammoth bonded.

Like twin demons, Vadir and Vérzés lunge forwards. Their bodies glimmer in the sunlight, their thick scales shimmering like precious gems as they dart, beautiful killing machines, through the air. They so rarely get to help their bonded, stubborn as he is, so they both seize upon this rare opportunity like wild dogs upon a dying animal. Vérzés lunges to the left and Vadir to the right as they seek to approach Weaver from behind, wanting to flank her on either side. Vérzés hurls his weight upwards, jaws agape, and tries to wrap his savage teeth around the joint of the mare's left wing in an attempt to prevent her using it. He hopes this will cause her to lose control and crash to the ground, where he knows Volterra will be only too happy to finish this fight with a flourish.

Vadir's mouth opens too, and hers unleashes a great blast of static electricity. She wants to use her flame, wants to watch this mare burn and die screaming, but she knows her bonded would not allow that. Instead she aims her shock breath towards Weaver's right side, hoping to paralyse, stun and electrocute the tobiano to cause her considerable pain. The sheer delight Volterra's dragons take in aiding him helps numb his shame about using them - they, like his muscles, need toning and utilising.

_____________

Spar for @Weaver !

3/3 - 798 words

image by neverr the glorious

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Weaver Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Corporal atk: 8.0 | def: 10.0 | dam: 3.0
Mare :: Hybrid :: 15.1 :: 3 years HP: 61 | Buff: Novice
Raven :: Australian Raven :: Terrorize Kyra
#6

i don't rise from the ashes, i make them.

It has been so long since exhaustion found her. She runs the mountains almost daily, pushing herself to new limits, trying to find exhaustion close to what she feels now. There’s no replicating the feeling of a fight though. The heat sits like a blanket around her shoulders, dragging her down, coating her skin in sweat. The pain is constant, persistent, and distracting. Weaver is not one to shy away from pain, but her front end is screaming, her mind ping-ponging between her neck and her shoulders and the fight at hand.

She is exhausted, but this battle is far from over. Her attack hits, bruised and battered forelegs finding their target, and she swears she can hear something crunch beneath her hooves. Agony blooms in her legs and injured shoulders, stealing away the thrill she would otherwise feel at such a fantastic hit. Well, stealing away some of that thrill, because she can’t ignore the crunch of bone. It’s a beautiful sound to her ears, and power fills her veins. How can she not feel powerful in such a moment, when her insignificant size can reap such damage to The Indomitable?

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches him stumble, and a smile curves her lips for a brief moment before Raven’s warning wipes it away. She’d almost forgotten this battle isn’t over. Maybe he would fall and stay there. What a beautiful sight that would be, the Sultan of the Throat a crumpled mass on the scorched earth. Not that she really expects such a miracle to ever occur. Weaver is aware of her shortcomings, particularly in this battle. All she has is endurance, and that is fast fading. She’s done most of the moving, playing into what likely was Volterra’s plan all along.

It’s in moments like these she wishes Raven could talk, could tell her exactly what he’s warning her about. They don’t yet share words though, so Weaver does the only thing that comes to mind; she shifts into a raven. Her muscles and bones twist and break into new forms, making her smaller and lighter and a whole lot harder to hit. She’s never used this form in battle before because it’s not that powerful. Unlike Ker or the dragons that are after her, Weaver lacks overly large talons or powerful jaws, though they are certainly not useless.

The simple change in her size and shape is enough to escape the oncoming doom from the two dragons. Well, it’s enough to escape most of the oncoming doom, anyway. Vadir’s electric breath shoots above Weaver from her right side, missing entirely. Weaver can’t help but be glad for that, and she’d smile except for the beak now in her way. Vérzés is more successful, his teeth finding her wing, though thankfully he doesn’t find any particularly important bits of it. The dragon’s teeth clamp down on the feathers toward the tip of her wing, taking some of them with him. It hurts, but at this point, it’s such a minimal hurt she doesn’t even care. She wobbles in the air for a moment as the feathers come loose, but she’s able to regain steady flight, though her wing throbs now as well.

She can’t help but think that Volterra really is indomitable though, and jealousy consumes her with the thought. He is large and powerful, with at least some magic that she knows of, and two killing machines for companions. The unfairness of it all hits her, fueling her to keep fighting, reminding her that she’s got so much to prove. The heat and the pain had begun to drain the determination that sends her to the battlefield time and time again. Now though, she finds it again, turning her course to aim for the top of Volterra’s neck, right behind his ears.

Weaver has no delusions that she can win. She is not The Indomitable, and she never will be. She can be a worthwhile opponent though, and perhaps he will remember her as that scrappy little thing with a bite just as big as her bark. She wants to retort to their ongoing banter, but she’s still not used to talking with a beak, so instead she simply dives. Forget words, forget flirting, she would speak in the most primal language they had. She dives toward her target, talons outstretched in an attempt to rip skin, beak snapping at mane or skin if she can catch it. She’s trying, as best she can, to avoid his eyes and ears, having no intentions to do that kind of damage in a spar. Blinding the Sultan of a neighboring herd is definitely not on her to-do list today, even if beating him up is.

***

Attack 3/3 - Words 791
Summary:
- Weaver shifts to a raven, and Vérzés bites the tip of her left wing and take some feathers out
- Weaver attempts to bite/scratch at the top of Volterra’s neck

I'm the whole fucking fire.

- weaver -

image credit | quote by erin van vuren


@Volterra

Please tag in all posts
Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death
Image by AmoretteRose

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#7
THE INDOMITABLE

HEROES ALWAYS GET REMEMBERED BUT YOU KNOW LEGENDS NEVER DIE

Everywhere seems to hurt, to the extent that Volterra contemplates doing something he never does - consulting a healer. It may be that he has more than a bruise on his back, that Weaver has indeed broken a bone, and he needs to be fully healthy to protect his herd. Part of him is dismayed at himself for going into this battle all guns blazing and receiving awful wounds as a result, wounds that could compromise the safety of his herd, yet he can't shake the innate satisfaction that he's finally had a truly epic spar. Mose of his fights are one-sided, given his strength and indomitable will, but this one has been a challenge. Weaver is a formidable foe, and the aching in his groin only intensifies.

With the dragons on her tail, the mare suddenly shifts. The form that emerges from her formerly pegasus body is that of a raven, and a combination of nostalgia and awe fills Volterra's mind as he thinks of Isopia. Is raven-shifting really so popular? Either way, the mare's newfound small size and agility means that the dragons don't land the hits they'd hoped for, and Vadir unleashes a thunderous roar as her shock breath finds nothing but air. Her red brother is marginally more successful, yet still not to the extent either of them had hoped. They wheel away, hissing angrily.

The raven plummets towards the grounded leviathan, but given his level of pain Volterra is helpless to move out of the way. Instinct drives him forwards one single, agonising step, but this turns out to be the worst mistake he could have made. As the bird is aiming for his neck, his step forward means it instead strikes his upper back - his horrendously bruised, absolutely agonising upper back. The claws and beak are like an inferno against his flesh, ripping through skin that is already battered and beaten and hitting the muscle beneath. Unable to contain himself, the goliath throws back his head and bellows, a sound so loud it threatens to shake the ground. Weaver probably hadn't intended to hit so hard, but it's the combined effect of her attack landing on an already wounded area that ensures that she engraves torture itself into his body.

The bellow turns to a haggard, pain-infused laugh as the sweating, exhausted monolith allows himself to embrace the molten fire burning through his veins. His wounds are bad, but he thinks this is another victory to add to his ever-expanding collection. "Clearly you like to be on top, too," he manages to rumble out even as he staggers forwards again, flashing the raven-mare a weak but lust-filled grin.

_____________________

Thanks for a fun fight :D

Closing defense - 498 words

image by neverr the glorious

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Blu
#8
20+ HP gap, Volterra defeats Weaver. Volterra earns 1 VP, Weaver earns 1 EXP.
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode


Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture