the Rift


Time to earn your stripes - [Wessex vs. Zunden]

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#1
for there are many ways to kill a man they say
Growing pains are a particular kind of ache, one that is not expected past foalhood, when one’s body grows into one’s spindly legs. It’s an unusual kind of pain that seems to differ based on where in the body one is sprouting new bone: her whole skull seemed to ache when her points erupted, throbbing, pulsing with new blood flow and all the signs of the one and only migraine Wessex will ever have. Her tail change was more dull, the kind of constant ache one gets when damaging one’s tailbone, leaving the mare thankful she wasn’t the type of creature that liked to (or was able to) sit. The tail spikes seemed almost like a phantom pain - there, but not. Something she cannot relieve, something that is happening to a different version of her, as if in a fever dream, or some astral projection/otherworldly experience.  

But Wessex is firmly of this solid, rocky Earth - more than some in the herd, it seems. Having checked off the General, the Thief (now Lord), and member of an opposing herd, she now seeks a spar partner either at her rank or below it. It’s a lovely day, and there’s something in the usually stoic mare that says she wants company instead of a solo session, which then sets her mind on a brief fantastical excursion of heroic teachings and public words of praise from Erebos (and oh, perhaps earn a touch and a caress from the gentle Lady!). Weaver, her fellow Corporal, should be her next go-around, but she remembers something about her going on the patrol to the Marsh with the rest of the army. Wessex volunteered to stay back and protect the herd. So down the ladder to the next soldier who is… Beloved. Ah… fuck. Nope nope nope. Even if the white woman is around, Wessex is not ready to tackle that particular brand of ear-less crazy, not even with her additional set of spikes.

Look, it’s not that Wessex dislikes Beloved, it’s that she doesn’t trust the maniacal giggles and the crazy eyes. She’s their Cassandra, without the prophesying or war or lives hanging in the balance. If the white mare were to cry ‘truth!’ would any of them believe her? The fall of Troy - of their icebound home, their Basin, the entirety of Helovia - it could not be. They - all Helovians - would rather take stock in their abilities to work together and persevere than admit defeat in the twisted words of a madwoman. It’s not a thought Wessex wants to face today (she’s stowed the memory of black blood deep in the crevasses of her mind), nor has she the patience or energy to stay twice as diligent as one must in a normal spar. Crazy doesn’t react predictably.

So with Beloved out of the running and Weaver somewhere else, that leaves the newbie soldiers.

Even though the Corporal has been a very busy bee, she remembers hearing the names of the Basin’s newest Soldier recruits: Zunden and Ezital. As for what they look like… eh, the horned woman hasn’t a clue. Peeking out from the rim of her cave, the mottled mare grins: a challenge and a spar all in the same day. Wessex sets out from her ‘home’ near the entrance to the Basin and heads towards the center of the valley, kohl-rimmed eyes peeled for anyone she doesn’t recognize. Altogether, it’s a very pleasant day; the late summer sun is kind in its mid-morning shine, puffy clouds float along on a slight breeze, and even the birds seem to chirp cheerfully. Passing the brilliantly yellow Secret Tent, and the the outer edges of the Lake, it isn’t until she reaches the Crafter’s Cave that she thinks searching this way might be a futile task; the mountains offer ample coverage, as do the swathes of pine trees. She chuckles to herself. Time to make a spectacle her partner won’t be able to refuse.

Standing in the middle of the flat, green interior, Wessex takes a deep breath in and faces the interior of the Basin, allowing her voice to echo off the peaks and into the open space. “Zunden! It’s time to see what kind of soldier you are!” And with that, the prickly woman settles in to wait for her opponent, newly spiked tail waving in a gentle arc behind her. A wave of excitement washes over her at the thought of using her newest toys, and she hopes the (mare? stallion?) Soldier doesn’t take too long to show.

I am Iron and I Forge Myself


@Zunden  

Attack: 0/3
Words: 770/800
Setting: In the Basin, just north of the Crafter's tent. Lovely late summer day! You are welcome to attack from your first post, or have them meet first ^_^
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Zünden Posts: 75
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 15.3 :: Four [Birdsong] HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Pare
#2


She stood on the edge of the Basin relaxing in the sun her muscles tensing and relaxing thoughtfully. Her mind rolled slowly over thoughts of sparing, and sex. Those two things being her favorite things in her life. Blood and pleasure. A small smile spread languidly over her grey features. Which would she rather have right now? She turned the options over in her mind. If it was sex she would only settle for the best, now she was home anyway. Out on the road she had lowered her standards. How she had her mix matched eyes on General and Lord of these lands. Her thin tail swished lazily behind her as she thought of the handsome men she had grown up with. Of course she would settle for horned or non, as long as there were no feathers involved. Her father had taught her she was better than any Pegasus could ever be.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment thinking of muscles and sweat. A quiver ran visibly over her dapple body. She drifted into her own mind relaxing after searching for her brother and son. Ever since she had been accepted back into her home of ice she had stuck to the edges of the Basin or the wilds. She was sure now that the two she sought were really gone. Her heart clenched at the thought of never seeing either one of them again. A sigh of regret ruffled her nostrils, before a voice called for her.

'What kind of solider I am?' Anger surged through her body as she turned towards the heart of the herd. Who had the right to question her abilities? A frown pulled her dark lips down and narrowed her eyes. She walked forward slowly up the rise in order to look down upon the herd. As her robust body crested the rise green and yellow eyes moving over the landscape looking for the source of the insult. A lone grey and spiked mare stood in a wide open space waiting for her.

She rolled her shoulders before moving into a fast trot to warm up her muscles. She emptied her mind as she drew closer. She knew the names of the Corporals, but that was it. Was this one of them? If it wasn't she would make sure they never questioned her again. 'Hell, who am I kidding, I don't care if she is ranked. She wont second guess my skills after this.'

She slowed as she neared the taller mare gauging her carefully. Besides the massive amount of spikes, and her height, she didn't seem to have any major advantages. The two grey's seemed evenly matched. 'Well, this will be a fun fight at least.' She smiled as she stopped a few feet away from the other. "You rang?" She dipped her head in greeting before meeting the mare's golden eyes. It was funny to her that they both had at least one golden eye as well as a steel pelt. 'How ironic.' Her eyes never left the mare's face, but her mind turned to the spikes on her tail. Those wouldn't be easy to avoid. 'My best bet is staying close, it'd be risky for her to slap that thing around if she might get herself.'

Her wire marked leg pawed at the ground as she braced to charge her. "If you want to test my skills, that must mean you're a Corporal." She paused for a moment before continuing, "Be careful what you ask for." She chuckled before racing towards the mare her attention on the mare's chest, the best place to see movements before they happened. She lowers her head slightly hoping to ram the other with the hard flat part between her sharpened horns. Maybe she can at least knock her off balance and pin her bothersome tail down. The promise of blood made sweat pop over her hide. Instead of racing away like she normally would do, the mare lashed her right front leg out trying to catch the mare's left fore. She had to stay close and avoid the mace attached to her opponent.

-----------------------
Talking"
OOC; 1/3 Zunden charges Wessex and tries to ram her with the flat part on her poll between her horns, then she tries to paw her left front leg with her right one all while staying close to Wessex
Words/Tags;   @Wessex Sorry this took so long!
image credit
- table by Niki -
Superiority is my reason
Anger is my fuel
Blood is the cost
Victory is my prize
[Image: zunden_by_poolpaw-d8dwmp0.png]
Her horn isn't broken

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#3

RAISE WHAT’S LEFT OF THE FLAG FOR ME

The women come together in slips of gray, two wolves meeting in no-man’s land. Neither truly trespassing, but their mere presence is enough to start the posturing; with overblown egos and yellow eyes full of bias, each judge the other to be inferior, though either have yet to make a move. Appraising eyes note that they are similarly built, each boasting an impressive set of horns (though Wessex personally believes that the sheer number of her spikes and curious placement give the Corporal an advantage), but Wessex has a good hand over the other. If this comes down to which woman is stronger, though, she’s honestly not sure who will come out on top… or if anyone who cares to stop and watch them on this perfect Tallsun day would be able to distinguish soldier from soldier during the thick of it.

That’s where the pleasantries stop; as much as the Corporal is here to train and test her fellow soldier, she is also here to mark a win in her column. She’s recently found out just how much she has to learn, and part of her duties entail making sure the other Basiners can hold their own as well. This kills two birds with one stone. With a steadfastly neutral expression, its apparent Wessex has no animosity for her fellow warrior, just a simple, “Yep, Glad you could make it. I’m Wessex.” Ok, there’s a little snark, but she isn’t herself without it. A little thrill surges up her spine as they face each other, a mere couple of feet away. It’s too close for comfort, but she can’t back away, because that could be seen as weakness. Her ego simply won’t let her do that. Instead, her muscles tense as she prepares to move once the silly talking part is over with. The grass-covered ground offers firm resistance, and she likes to think that her reflexes are just a tad sharper than they used to be, after a couple of sandy spars. She’ll simply have to be quicker than Zunden.

Unlike her most recent excursion, Wessex is able to remain calm in the beginning. There are no trips, no stumbles, there is no strange magic to supersede her body’s will – there is simply her body and another’s, and this is where the horned mutant thrives. She doesn’t have to worry about impressing anyone (though it would be terribly embarrassing if she lost to a lower rank), for Wessex already feels at home in the Basin. And here, beneath a stunningly blue sky, she gets to do what she likes most. How could life get any better?

Zunden paws at the ground, giving away her readiness. Wessex makes an immediate decision to lunge to the right and hope for the best – starting out this close, she can’t be indecisive. Her opponent lunges forward, and Wessex swerves with a pivot to her right, hoping to clear at least ninety degrees and a full turn, propelling herself forward with powerful hindquarters. As soon as she judges that she is both far enough away and at the correct angle, her weight shifts forward and she bucks out with her back legs, aiming for anywhere on the front part of Zunden: shoulder, chest, neck, upper forelegs, it doesn’t matter. The only problem with this type of attack is that she isn’t sure where the other woman is, but she does know that she manages to avoid the woman’s horns. When her hooves land again, Wessex lashes out with her tail, swinging the barbs in a wide arc, hoping to hit the gray’s legs or sensitive belly, perhaps. That would sting like hell.

Without waiting to see if her attack lands, Wessex bounds forward again, eager to turn around and face the woman head-on. She continues to pivot to her right, using momentum to push herself around as quickly as possible. The sooner she can see what’s going on, the better. A surge of confidence flows through her body, unbidden, keeping her limbs feeling light, and a slight (but determined) smirk on her face. The Corporal knows all too well that luck can change in an instant, but damn, it feels good to be on top right now. Even the sun seems to twinkle a bit more brightly, sending its warmth down in abundance to bless the chilly region. A thin sheen of sweat breaks out across her armor-less, mottled coat, the sign of a vigorously good time.


W E S S E X
image credit  


@Zunden  
It's not late at all! Are her horns like a Cape Buffalo's horns, or something else? They seem different in her pictures... just want to make sure I have the right descriptions!
Attack: 1/3
Words: 744/800

Zünden Posts: 75
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Hybrid :: 15.3 :: Four [Birdsong] HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Pare
#4


The lady gives her name and she locks that way carefully in her mind for later use. She watched the woman quietly for a moment fighting the surge of adrenaline that threatened to ruin the whole fight. A battle can be lost all to easily with to much excitement, it clouds the mind and slows the body. She takes a slow deep breath then lunges forward. To her utter amazement and flaming rage she competently misses. Rage rolls through her body screaming that she turn around and totally lose her shit. Instead she tries to back away as the other mare spins around to her left. Before she can get her thick frame out of the way hooves crash into her lower neck and shoulder. Pain flares as bruises pop up instantly where Wessex's hooves had been seconds before. Then that damned spiked tail lashes out at her, scrapping along her ass. Blood wells in lines over her round rump, more of a flesh wound than anything. If the lady had wanted to slow her down, she would have to do better. Maybe this was why her brother had always turned away from sparing. Adelric and never really wanted to play fight when they were kids. She had always assumed that it was because he had a kinder heart, but now she wasn't sure. Maybe he had always balked at the idea because he didn't want to get his ass beat all the time.

A scream of rage rips from her dark lips and her ears slam down against her skull. Instead of standing around like a deer in the headlights she shoves her rear left leg into the ground before throwing her body around. Yellow and green eyes narrow slightly as she tries to quickly calculate the mare's trajectory. Feeling that she knows where the taller lady will be, she races forward large hooves pounding at the firm ground. Sweat blossomed over her dappled grey hide as the sun beat down on her broad back. Her eyes are pinned on the damned spiked mare she as smirks and prances around like she's already one. Her lips lift in her anger and disgust. 'I'll give you something to smirk about.'

She aims for the the place she assumes Wessex will end up in her childish prancing. If everything worked out well she would be baring down on the Corporal. She throws herself forward trying to slam into the taller mare. Wessex might be taller but she has the weight on her side, giving her the advantage in this area. Hopefully she can knock her over or at least of balance. While she is close the mare throws her head back and forth trying to slice her with her long twisted horns. For good measure she throws her barbed wire marked leg out trying to trip the Corporal or hit her foreleg.

Her eyes keep an eye on her dangerous tail trying her best to avoid the fucking thing again. Her ass gives a painful twinge reminding her what the red tipped barbs care capable off. She snarls allowing her rage to poke through a little more allowing her to fight through the mild sting and bruises on her neck and shoulder. Now she wishes she had her magic so she could shock the hell out of this cocky bitch. So what if she held a title? That didn't make her any better than herself, and it sure has fuck didn't give her the right to look so shitty about landing the first blow. A memory flashes through her mind for the briefest second. Krieger stood in front of her after finding his young daughter attacking a tree. 'Never just throw everything you have out there at once. Battles can rage for hours, and if you use up everything you have in the beginning, you might end up dead.' Those words at stuck with her for the rest of her life. She held that to every aspect of her life instead of just for fighting. She focused back on the Corporal trying her best to not allow the mare to escape again.

-----------------------
Talking
OOC; 2/3 Takes the kick to her lower neck and upper shoulder, then gets cut on her butt(shallow), she turns and races after Wessex trying to cut her off and slam into her then she tries to cut her with her horns and trip/hit her with her front leg
Words/Tags; 691   @Wessex Her horns are basically water buffalo, except the actual horns are spiraled like kudu horns
image credit
- table by Niki -
Superiority is my reason
Anger is my fuel
Blood is the cost
Victory is my prize
[Image: zunden_by_poolpaw-d8dwmp0.png]
Her horn isn't broken

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#5

RAISE WHAT’S LEFT OF THE FLAG FOR ME

Yes! Wessex’s aim is true, and there is a massive flair of satisfaction as the Corporal resists the urge to spit back, ‘Careful what you ask for!’ Except for the fact that Wessex herself summoned the mare, and so, her opponent didn’t have much of a choice. That, however, is pure semantics because this isn’t something the warrior simply asks for - it’s something she needs. Instead of looking at her mutations in an ‘unfortunate’ light (despite whatever self-disparaging remarks she may utter in public), she now sees them as something beneficial, an odd (really fucked up) twist of fate which gives her an unmistakable purpose.

Then her tail finds its mark, and the child in her who will forever seek her dead mother’s approval rears its ugly head with a smug, gleeful little laugh. Zunden’s scream merely spurs her on, setting a smile to her normally stoic face - wide and unrestrained. Gods, she will never tire of this!  

What’s interesting about this spar is that they both have Percheron in their blood - Wessex’s mixing with Andalusian, while Zunden’s mixes with something else. Heavy and tall, she is affectionately called half-moose and half-tank, depending on whom one asks; her speed slows as she pivots back around to face Zunden, but that does not mean she can’t stand her ground and take the weight the soldier throws at her. It feels to Wessex like their impact is akin to the crashing of boulders in a rock slide, the impact echoing across the open area. It almost knocks the breath from her chest, and in truth, she is unused to someone using her own tactic against her! But this why they spar - to face every opponent imaginable. To learn.

She is stalled, perhaps for more than a couple of breaths, as she struggles to push back against her herdmate. Hooves dig into the grass, and practice from previous spars on the sand might be the reason Wessex is able to keep her footing - but even she cannot completely dodge her opponent’s impressive pair of horns - especially when trying to maneuver her own. They seem to have the same impulse, to gouge and gore with spikes, and a red-hot line of fire rips across her neck as their lines mistakenly get crossed. The Corporal yanks her head diagonally back and away, a grunt-roar escaping from her mouth in surprise. The movement itself stings even more, as the edges of flesh separate and threaten to tear apart even more. It’s shallow, but long, and close to the rather sensitive underside of her neck. Her legs follow her head’s trajectory and she hopes that Zunden will be too busy waving her horns around to notice she’s taken a step back. Ideally, it gives her a moment of space, takes her away from a striking foreleg, and allows an opportunity to clear her head so she set a course and aim for it; Wessex lowers her head and after leaping forward with a little pawing into the air, she aims to somehow maneuver around Zunden’s horns and scrape her own spears along the gray’s withers and upper back.

Wessex tries to follow down the line of the soldier’s body, but knows full well that pain makes one move away from the stimulus. She wants to get in another good laceration with her tail, perhaps just to add some icing on the cake, because she is a cocky bitch (with a title!) after all, and has everything to prove. Wessex has no intention of holding back, because how will that help either of them? She’s taken beatings, and now it’s time to pass it on. With a swish of her heavily armed tail, she tries to rake it across the mare’s chest before pulling away from a dangerous pair of hind legs. The Corporal knows all too well that their frames, their muscles, are instruments that can pack a hefty punch. It would be stupid to linger. Even though endurance is not Wessex’s strong suit, she’d rather make Zunden chase after her spikey rear end or come at her from the front.

Even with her injury, Wessex finds herself enjoying this fight far more than she has her previous ones - so much so that a slight smile drifts across her face again as she tries to lure her opponent into a chase.

W E S S E X
image credit  


@Zunden  
Words: 742
Attack: 2/3
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --


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