the Rift


Come not within the measure of my wrath. [Sinuhe & Africa Challenge]

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#1


Continuation from this thread.

There was a growing audacity to idiots. They meandered, wandered, traversed and travailed, trespassing in their nomadic ignorance, beleaguered with the sense of entitlement. They possessed naught more than an inane, inept boldness that didn’t translate into intimidation or prowess; the slip of stupidity tumbling down another few disappointing notches. And for a being that encompassed very little feelings within his blackened, corroded heart, he allowed their impudence and insolence to fuel one: rage. Exasperation, aggravation, vexation fed the dark, swift ire of his frustrations, of frequent, devilish warnings that went unheard, of contemptible incantations that went unnoticed, of the nefarious convictions brimming along his hide, had come to a dominating design. Had they not felt the promise of his treacherous oaths? Did they not believe his perilous decrees? Could they not feel the ruthless entropy cast from his shell? Were they really so brainless as to not fear for their lives, for their souls, for their pathetic, vacuous minds? His muscles undulated, uncoiling, unfurling, into the monstrous contortions of his silent, sinuous machinations, rigorous control, composure and damnation in the stead of his movements, in the quick motion of his callous, frigid exterior. Cold, chilling upon the outside, but within, a fire burning viciously, serpentine embers licking the heat of his fury, the ache of his umbrage, the yearning of his villainous ferocity. How wonderful to be granted an opportunity to annihilate, to obliterate, to ruin and destroy a meaningless existence, to throw them into the discarded portions of rubble, to watch their lives devastated in the wintry air of the Basin. Not since the labor of his liberation with Lace had he felt such a building animosity, such a timeless ecstasy of battle, to pummel, to demolish, to unwind the sparks of indignation, throw them into the inferno of his chaotic wrath.

He looked once to Alan, a simple puncturing glance that spoke volumes of silent, comradely comprehension, the unsung, unsaid reception of a fellow soldier. She’d returned to them, to the boughs of their Siberian arms, to the din of their war drums. In that one piercing blue stare, he laid a gesture at her feet, a welcoming invitation back into their home, an extended provocation to shatter, to eliminate and defeat the struggling morons hissing, grumbling, and posturing at their door. He turned away thereafter, expected her to follow him into the plunge, into the crusade, into the fray of blackguards against infidels, caressing the ground with the tainted trace of his unholy progression. His target, smaller than himself, perhaps lithe, perhaps limber, perhaps quick, laughed, chuckled, as fickle, as idiotic, as capricious as the breeze, and he pondered whether she’d still be cackling if he separated her head from her body. A satisfying image he hoped to emulate; he gathered his frame towards Sinuhe’s right side, dipping his head towards alongside her body, intending to lacerate the side, haunches, barrel, and shoulder, longing to drag the long sword in a lengthy, lancing blow. He wanted her to suffer, he wanted her to fall, and he wanted her to lament in anguish over the travesty she’d committed. He wanted her to bleed, to cry, scream and beg for mercy where none would be found. She’d already erased that chance the moment she wandered into their home.


[2 x 2 battle (Deimos and Alan vs. Sinuhe and Africa) for dominance/capture (Alan for Sinuhe).
550 words.
1/4 posts + 0/1 defense. 0/1 magic.
Deimos draws himself towards Sinuhe’s right side and intends to drag his horn down the length of it, aiming for her right haunches, barrel and shoulder.

Edited: To hopefully make this less confusing, we'll have 72 hour rounds with Deimos/Alan, then Sinuhe/Africa? Thank you!]





Alan Posts: 28
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 10
Adoptable
#2
Alan was sure that her eyes were about to grow as wide as saucers and her jaw fall to the floor any moment. Did this mare truly have no brain at all between her ears? Alan was tempted to knock her horn against her skull just to listen to the hollow ring; the complete disregard for their warnings, their offer to let her leave unscathed.. could she really be as stupid as it seemed? Theoretically, it seemed impossible to the bay mare, but here the living proof stood, strutted and pranced, talking as if she was some sort of god and nothing would be able to touch her. That part of it was amusing, and it'd be fun to beat her to a pulp to prove her wrong, but it was equally exasperating, and in a way, depressing. Despite the horn crowing her head, Sinuhe had effectively been demoted to hornless in Alan's book, and as such, she would be removed from this world. She was a blight upon the greatness of their race, and in the shadows Alan muttered "I'm not going to tell you, bitch, I'm going to show you,".

She remained in place, a predatory look in her amber eyes as she watched the shorter and brighter mare dance around, inch by inch hammering the nails into her own coffin. Alan's 'brows skyrocketed when she went closer to Deimos; was she insensitive as well as stupid? At this point it was less about defending the Basin's integrity and more about reducing the number of morons loose in the world. And Deimos, well, he seemed to be of the same mind - the look he gave her seemed to say a lot of things, and a crooked grin curled her lips. She couldn't quite know if she liked the "welcome home" part of it more than the "what the hell who didn't drown this girl when she was a foal? let us rectify this".. and decided she liked them equally much. Poor, idiotic Sinuhe - what had she landed herself in now? A throaty chuckle escaped Alan's maw, her limber frame shifting aside from the tree to stand ready. "Leave?" She laughed darkly, a stray breeze ruffling the mess of her black mane. Tail swishing Alan drew even closer. "You've set fire to that chance and buried the ash deep in the glacier, babe. I think I'd quite like a new pet..."

And then, quite a few things happened at once; a Pegasus crashed through the trees, and sat looking awkward in the snow (Alan spared her a guffaw, a pause with one front hoof raised and a glance in her direction), and Deimos sprang for Sinuhe's right side. The movement of her General snapped her attention back to the task at hand, and ignoring the birdbrain (for now) she found traction against the rocky ground and charged across the yards separating her from the graceful predator and their young, foolish prey. Warm adrenaline was spreading with her blood, each step reverberating up through her black legs; Deimos was trying to drag his horn up Sinuhe's right side, and even though Alan didn't utilize it very often, she did have a brain, and figured it'd be a pretty bad idea to accidentally get impaled on her own ally's long horn. So, she threw her path further left, to try and round both Deimos (wherever he was at this point) and Sinuhe and come up on her left side by her haunch. Foolish little pretty girl Alan thought; Sinuhe was slender and short, and Alan felt a strange surge of satisfaction at the fact she stood taller than the little bitch. It'd be easy to push her into the dirt and sit on her, especially if Deimos would lend some of his, ah, intimidation to keep her down. Grinning, Alan lowered her head to the left, and bared the flat stretch of neck and shoulder on her right; her hind hooves came in further beneath her belly as she pushed off, and tried to smash her shoulder into Sinuhe's left thigh, hoping to at the very least unbalance her.

And she couldn't quite contain herself; glee and excitement fired off a movement she hadn't planned (not that she was well-known for planning things anyway), and her her lips pulled back to bare her teeth as she tried to nip Sinuhe's pristine skin, probably around the region of her barrel.

[ 1/4 :: 740 words. ]
72 hours for Sinuhe & Africa commencing now! :D

Sinuhe Posts: 38
Dragon's Throat Mare
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.1 :: 3
Roo
#3

Howling ghosts that reappear,

In mountains that are stacked with fear

But your a king and I'm a lionheart



I knew that Africa was not going to do it, she was to much of a coward, I should of known it but I was to quick to jump at things and now a fight was brewing. You could almost hear the gods cackling above as the tension became more intense whilst they stirred the ingredients to worsen the situation. Inside I scape at my brain, trying to work out a way to fix the situation. No way would I run, nor fall into the petty hole of submission, instead I would stay strong and slowly wiggle myself out of this mess - Dragging Africa along with me. My attention turns to the bay mare as she spoke and for the first time in my time here I showed the slightest bit on interest in her. Mischievous blue orbs turn to face the ugly lady, her voice dripping with poison that in replay I saw nothing to except, with a pretty flick of my head, a look on my face saying 'try me'. Her voice was like a rat in my ears, full of disease and annoying but I guess that was what the Basin was made up of, rats and bugs of all different ugly shapes and colours. Her squeaky voice continues along to a roll of my eyes. Please, suger, any pet of yours would be taken away for animal cruelty; and all you would have to do was look at the poor thing.


Suddenly there was a crash landing by the side of me. Somehow Africa had fallen down from the sky, it was embarrassing. I was half tempted to roll my eyes and say 'I'm not with her' then step awkwardly to the side to finish this on my own. I couldn't though. Despite how much of a coward she was and embarrassing she was, I liked her, and it was me who had dragged her into this. I was ashamed to think that she might get hurt during this, she didn't strike me as a fighter at all, whilst I just loved the thrill thundering down through my veins whilst hooves pounded at flesh and teeth snapped at skin. Had Africa even fought before? Scrap that actually, here I was assuming she would fight but she might not. It would be a cowards thing to do, I must admit. I would of joined in valuently although I knew most of my friends were capable. It was just the right thing to do.


I lose track of what Africa is doing though. With in a flash the shadowy figure of Deimos had moved, darting at my right side. Though the darkness of the late hour I had managed to size him up. He was quite a bit taller then me as well as being a bigger, more sturdy build so I guessed that there was no way I could knock him down, unless he became ever so unfortunately unbalanced. Because of his bulky build I doubted he was as quick or agile as me though, I bet I could easily out run him whether it was a sprint race or long distant. The mare, she was also taller than myself and also was a more bulky build. Damn. But I suppose I could dance my way through them both.


I instantly throw my body round, to hopefully face Deimos, whos long blade had only just missed my side in my quick movement. I aimed to clash horns with Deimos, at a safe distant. At the same time as turning I noticed the quick movement of the bay mare coming round to my left side. I instantly kick out with my back legs, aiming to kick her as she comes round the back of me, straight in her barrel, but I also flick them out slightly to the left, just in case she moved quicker than my legs.


Now the bay mare moved on. She came round to my left side with my blue eyes tracing her from the angle. She came up to my left shoulder, bashing into it. Anger surged through my veins as my shoulder started to throb. It almost stiffened with the pain so that I didn't want to move it but I wasn't about to let this bitch get away with her cheap move. With baring teeth, I pull away from Deimos, my front legs jumping of the ground, body turning towards her and horn poised. I was raised slightly of the ground, my front hoofs in the air. I came down with a driving force, pushing my body forward to try and dig in my horn to the muscle in her shoulder, or just behind. I wanted to make her bleed, to make her sorry for what she had done.


OOC: *Is enjoying this* | WC: 799 0.0| Summary: Turns to face Deimos, aiming to clash horns. Kicks out at Alan when she is behind her. Alan then bashes into her shoulder, Sinuhe turns, pushing her front legs of the ground to give a driving force, trying to stab her in the shoulder, or just behind.
talk talk talk


Credits

Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc Riven
#4
[Image: 515b833f251f3]


Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding





Not much time had passed since Africa’s arrival in the Basin guided by her confident, and somewhat cocky herd-mate Sinuhe- an hour or two at most had hosted the group’s fruitless confrontation, and exchange of warnings and scorn in general. The plan had been to trick one of them; the enemy, under the careful concealment of night. An icy wind still swirled in wild excitement up from the basin below. It buffeted the exposed dell at the foot of the mountain where the ghost-white Unicorn had been surrounded unfortunately, by those who were supposed to be the unwitting targets of the evermore evidently, foolish scheme.

Africa’s surprise appearance, no matter how bumbling, ridiculous and humiliating, had apparently- to her relief, scored little interest from the facing-off crowd (only a passing glance from the shadowy bay in fact). She remained still by her crash site, probably four or five lengths away from the leftward side of the friendly mare’s hip, gathering her bearings and figuring out her next move.
It seemed to her that Sinuhe had impressed quite remarkable loathing into her pursuers, engaging their relentless focus almost entirely- though she wasn’t moronic enough to imagine she had been missed by those who did not look over. For that, the dapple grey Pegasus was now exceedingly grateful as it allowed her liberty to recover and regroup; but also, and perhaps more importantly, it permitted time for adrenaline to recommence its powerful coursing through her trembling body. The cascade of hormones immediately began working to settle the race of her anxious heartbeat, and it triggered too, her sympathetic nervous system to select ‘fight or flee’.

A coward in the face of battle she was, yes; but justifiably so. The young winged horse lacked fighting experience and combat skill. Her talents remained so far, undiscovered and her life and mentality were constantly evolving, influenced continuously by the myriad events and tasks she delved her passionate self, headlong into. What Africa lacked in prowess, she absolutely made up for in enthusiasm and selfless devotion to those she pledged her love to- her Throat family.
As such, a sickening feeling of uselessness flooded through her conflicted being, soul destroying and rash, as the darkest and most awkward to distinguish of the group of Unicorns, charged voraciously towards her 'sister’s' right side. Africa could not see from her position, the dip of his head as if to aim his spindly horn at her body. She did notice however with a crusty, steamy snort, the sudden forward movement of the bay’s moonlight silhouette rounding towards the left side of Sinuhe- in front of Africa. The white mare appeared then, as the grey watched on, to snap around very abruptly, to face the first assault and then again, maybe to make her own against the second aggressor. The movement was a blur of light and dark shapes in the night, all seeming to blend confusingly together.

Africa instinctively pulled her wings upwards through their taught attachment above her shoulder, clenching the well muscled yet delicately boned arms so that they would pin tightly down the length of her blotchy grey back, long tapering black primaries criss-crossing at the wispy black and red base of her thick tail. Although unnatural, the positioning was effectively defensive, exactly the young creature’s intention as she launched brazenly into a long striding canter, compelled forward impulsively and selflessly through the slush to protect her endangered sister. In the same moment, with ears pinning belligerently against the flailing mass of wind-blown grey mane, Africa increased the speed as much as she could, given the distance between them- lessened still more by her velocity.

Naturally, she funnelled her direction towards the more visible target, the brown ‘mare’- as it soon became apparent. Guided by the pale focus of her inexpert eye, Africa rounded her path slightly inward so that she might approach and arrive around the vicinity of the other’s right thigh.
She could only presume that Sinuhe’s and her own strength would be more advantageous if united or combined- so noting that her glowing ally had spun in an attempt to spear the bay head-on, Africa charged forward determinedly.
Lifting the arc of her neck to tilt her face slightly right, the young horse leaned heavily left, aiming her shoulder between where she imagined her opponent’s flank and thigh were, to perhaps unbalance her in the midst of Sinuhe’s attack- or distract her at least.

Carefully she sought the location of each enemy through swivelling ears, listening intently for any shift in drumming or scuffling hooves; and the laboured grunting breath of exerting energy.


Words: 770
Post: 1/4
Summary: Africa charges Alan’s right thigh area, hoping to unbalance her or distract her from Sinuhe’s attack




Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#5


Frustration was an avid, cantankerous contortion that bit and gnawed at Deimos’s membrane. Within the context of befuddling, swift movements, he found himself not grinding, not lacerating, not puncturing Sinuhe, but merely their horns scraping at one another. There was no blood, no torment, no agony postured from her lips or torn along her flesh, no bleating of wretched outcries, no corpse requiem curdled along her mouth. The only hints of discontent that passed over his normally impassive, nonchalant features were the grinding, clenching, of dentals within his jaw, and the smooth pulse of air that quivered into the evening chill, a rancorous snort driven from his nares. Had someone granted her salvation in her brisk, rapid motions? Was she gifted with some art of speed that he hadn’t seen, hadn’t visualized, or hadn’t conceived in the analysis of her frame? Never one to bestow or pledge mercy, he proceeded in his hedonistic haze, in the yearning, in the longing, in the decadent desire and callous craving of her desecration. Their horns rasped against each other for a few slender moments, like an irritating itch one couldn’t scratch, before he lowered his cranium, still postured on her right side despite her strange twisting and turning, seeking further upheaval for the lengthy blue-tipped sword. It deserved its rapier’s urging, its cutlass clawing, it’s desperation for anarchy, for bedlam, for the touch, the taste, the relish and fervor of her life force. He drove forward, aiming to graze at her right shoulder again, a savage, nefarious beat of motion that promised, indicated, anguish. The monster continued on the same track, swerving his body outward for the briefest of moments to gain a better angle, drifting away from the potential flailing of her hooves, then tipping his cranium in to adjust his heinous horn towards her right haunch. He longed to push the sharpened blade into her skin, rip, tear and slash, a long, stabbing harpoon, an opus to his satanic ire.

Further motions are muddled, foggy, as Sinuhe’s target changed and, oddly, the monster was left to his own devices. Used to the tangling, distorting drumbeat of war pounding in his ears, the furious, righteous wrath of an enemy barreling upon his body, he was suddenly abandoned and forgotten. Was this the art of his intimidation, to force a rival elsewhere, to have them wish for another target? Or had he truly been neglected, ignored and discarded, tossed into the shadows of the nocturnal eaves to become one of the murky mantles, waiting for the sun? Both notions stirred him, incensed and ruffled, roused him further to the brutish, barbaric plunges of conflict. He’d show them the price they were bound to pay for neglecting his presence, for forgoing his entity, for relishing their idiotic pursuits upon his fellow warrior instead of minding the existence of his atrocious, depraved attendance.

The demon slipped off to the right, sliding around the crashing bodies and the zealous entanglement of femmes, careful to avoid skidding along the terrain’s ice, rime and slush, and all the while he analyzed the state of the newcomer Pegasus. Her intent was clear, pinpointed upon Alan, charging rapidly towards his comrade, and so he drove his own onslaught of terror and torment towards Africa. He wouldn’t allow Alan to face assault after assault without the condemnation of his own assailments battering upon their adversaries. Africa and Deimos were nearly of the same stature, height and bulk, so winding his weight into hers would likely matter very little; he’d have to be more direct, more forceful, more persuasive. He used his sword for the matter once more, escalating his ruthless movements towards her right shoulder, a lancer, a spear, thirsting for her anguish to be heightened, for her scream to pierce the midnight skirmish. They would show the fools, the kingdoms and the world, why no one trespassed, why no one ignored, why no one disregarded a demand from the soldiers of the Basin.

[663 words.
2/4 posts + 0/1 defense. 0/1 magic.
Sinuhe and Deimos’s horns clash briefly, before he lowers his cranium and continues along Sinuhe’s right side. He attempts to graze at her right shoulder with his horn. He then moves his body forward and outward (to the right), hopefully to avoid any flailing hooves, and twists his head inward again (left) to hopefully stab at the vicinity of Sinuhe’s right haunch.

When he is not given any more attacks to defend against, he slips off to the right and around the mares, finding a new target in Africa. As she rushes towards Alan, Deimos charges and directs his horn towards Africa’s right shoulder.]





Alan Posts: 28
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 10
Adoptable
#6
( apologies in advance. I'm not feeling well. )

Things became somewhat of an astonishing blur, as the dainty Sinuhe showed off some seriously quick footwork in repositioning herself. Alan had known the mare was limber, as she wasn't blind, but hadn't expected her to move quite so fast. With a grunt she kept going, rounding her haunches at a distance that seemed mostly safe, and the trespasser's hooves came flying up anyway. At the edge of her reach one of them scraped against Alan's right shoulder, blood vessels breaking beneath the skin - she clicked her teeth after the retreating limb, ears pinned against her neck. Bitch. It wasn't nice to kick those who came to do the world a favor and put you down. Nice and easy just stay still and let me kill you...

But of course, that wasn't going to happen. She hoped that the kick would keep her in that precarious state of almost-balance while Alan slammed into her thigh, but not even that happened. Either her own aim was so ridiculously off she should drown herself to spare the herd her shame, or the mare had some backpedaling magic the likes of which Alan had never seen before - whatever the case, something about it made her want to plunk down on her ass and just scream her frustration at the sky. Trespassers with too large egos and mouths shouldn't be nimble as well! They should be slow and stupid like cows for slaughter, to match their imbecile nature and obvious lack of intelligence! Frustrated, Alan took savage pride in the ringing blow of shoulder against shoulder, using her own pain to spur her on - keep this one as a pet? No. I hate you now. She'd rip her apart, skin from flesh and flesh from bones, drink her blood and dance all night long.

Despite the way heat clawed at her veins and throat, the way her teeth hungered for Sinuhe's throat trapped between her jaws, Alan did not lose her senses. She saw the gray blur of the Pegasus mare coming in, her regal frame working up a speed that could surely do some damage on impact, but battle is about prioritizing - care about the Pegasus running amok in her direction, or the unicorn with a sharp stick on her head, who also happened to be close enough to put said sharp stick in her body?

It wasn't a hard choice. The Pegasus could do whatever the fuck she pleased. Alan was pretty sure she'd survive it.

With the same litheness she'd shown previously Sinuhe spun into a rear of sorts as the Pegasus closed in. Alan gave a slight roll of her eyes and, instead of running off in some haywire direction, chose to abuse the fact that she was more or less pressed up against the pale mare. Collecting her feet upon the unfamiliar ground she jerked forward, in under where Sinuhe's neck had been before she'd curled around; she'd just begun to find her feet and balance when Africa smashed into her butt, pushing her further forward, front hooves scrabbling in the slush as her nose dipped lower. Instinctively Alan's right hind leg shout out towards Africa's knees, but all in all, maybe it'd play out in her favor. Who knew, maybe the pretty imbecile would shove her horn into her own friend's neck? It'd certainly give Alan a laugh, but should she miss or miraculously find the small strip of bay hide available to her without breaking her neck, it'd leave a thin, bleeding gash down Alan's right buttock, unable to sink deeper by the angle and movement.

Gritting her teeth in frustration as she had to find her feet and balance again, and lamenting the fact she couldn't kick Africa's brains out with Sinuhe between them, Alan heaved herself forward over the rock and slush, leaving deep marks as she sought to take a stride forward, seeing the dark shape of Deimos advance in the corner of her eye. Two horses between them, that should be enough to not hurt him, shouldn't it? As soon as she was past where Sinuhe's forebody might be Alan threw her weight forward, her long hind legs unfolding in two fast kicks; the first low, sweeping in towards her cannons and front knees unless she reared up higher, the second, now that she'd got her aim calibrated, shooting higher, to try and hit her wherever she was. Much as she wished to pummel Africa into the dirt for almost making her faceplant, she'd leave her to Deimos. She was sure he'd appreciate a chew toy, especially if it squeaked.

[ 2/4 :: 771 words. ]

Sinuhe Posts: 38
Dragon's Throat Mare
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.1 :: 3
Roo
#7

Howling ghosts that reappear,

In mountains that are stacked with fear

But your a king and I'm a lionheart



I guessed the smash of the bay mares shoulder into me had sent a surge of joy though her, just as it had when my own hooves had scraped against her shoulder. Her neck had unrolled out though, teeth nipping the skin on the side of my rump. It hadn't hurt to much as she had pulled away though, what it did do though was spur me on. That surge of joy was better than anything and this pain that the little bitch had caused had only made me want to feel that joy again in my bones, my veins, my muscles; and I would do anything for it, even if it meant killing her, which would mean unmerciful happiness.


My horn had clashed with the long blade of Deimos, just as I had planned however I had wanted to hold him off for longer but he managed to push against my icy horn, lowering his head, relieving us of the pressure of each other. His horn lowered towards my right shoulder but I was already turning, front legs lifting slightly over the ground as I turned my body. The long blade of Deimos, instead of grazing my shoulder, ran past my shoulder, cutting just behind instead it, grazing it. My teeth gritted together but for now I would have to ignore the pain the bastard Deimos had cause me, and focus on the other mare.


Out the corner of my eye, whilst turning, I had caught the quick movement of Africa darting at the side of the bay mare. So the timid mare had decide to join in. I suppose in a way I was glad she had found her courage but I didn't want her to get hurt during this considering it was my own stupid fault for persuading her to come here. I felt so stupid for it and if she was to get hurt, I don't think I could forgive myself for a while to come. The bay mare was also moving quickly, this time towards me as I spun myself round in the air. What is she doing> I had hardly lifted myself of the ground and she was trying to duck in front. Africa ran straight into her with force. I hope she hurt the bitch. I thought to myself.


Shit. Africa was now in the path of my horn. I was coming down and the bay mare had escaped the wrath of my horn. She was a lucky bitch but this was one day out of many, next time will be hers. I throw my head up, moving my horn out the way with a jerking movement. Teeth gritted, noticing Deimos who had charged at Africa. Inside anger flourishes. Africa had nothing to do with this childish scrabble so why was he picking on her? I can't think about that for long though, the bay was soon throwing her legs about.


She throws her hoofs at my knees, hitting the bone. My bones almost rattle from the impact, pain, and fury. It was impossible to stress how much hatred there was between me and her. Even though no words had been spoke, the air was full of tension, like a rope who is the victim of the tug o' war match. With a murderous look in my eye I turn to face her directly, she kicks out again, hitting me but with less force because of my movement. I throw my neck forward, teeth snapping at her neck then, with my neck fully extended I hoped to be up her neck, I do another mine rear, wanting to stab her in the throat or the bottom of her head between her two cheeks. Maybe it would just be enough to kill her.


OOC: Mehhhh | WC: 629 | Summary: Lifts her head to hopefully avoid stabbing Africa. Alan kicks her knees whilst she turns to face her and when she kicks out again, she tries to bite her neck then, hopefully under her neck, mini rears hoping to stab her under the head. She is brutal like that :|
talk talk talk


Credits

Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc Riven
#8
[Image: 515b833f251f3]


Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding





The cold wind was laden with the thick stench of simmering hormones and steamy intoxicating sweat. It seemed to feed the perceivable fury bubbling between clashing, tangled egos, driving their resolve everlastingly through the otherwise tranquil Basin night.
Plumes of hot breath, soured by hostile exertion clouded the unlikely battle-field, and the tell-tale clatter of scrabbling hooves against ice-slick rubble, resonated wildly- trapped by the flanking mountain range.
Africa was no longer trapped in one of her own fantasies. This was gruesome and real, marring the sensitive young creature’s mind perhaps indefinitely. The sickening thud of flesh against flesh; of ivory clacking as brandished swords through the slow tick of night; it pierced her gentle soul, tarnishing her purity and her very essence.

Her eyes were wide with fear, focused only by her desperation to protect herself, and her kin. Listening ears strained clumsily, to pick apart the muddled chaos of warfare, and her stomach churned- sickened by the bloodlust boiling through the atmosphere.
Africa’s shoulder collided, with the intended (though quite unpredicted) force and the bay Unicorn dipped forward beneath, and clear of Sinuhe’s simultaneous attack. From the corner of her fear-filled right eye, she watched the tip of the ghost-white mare’s pointed ‘stick’ descend towards her own neck, and in that second the peace-loving dapple grey clenched her creamy eyes shut, the expectant hesitation choking the breath from her heaving lungs.

Suddenly- trapped within that same frightening moment, Africa’s eyelids sprung open. The bay mare’s right hoof struck. Unexpected pain jarred through the nerves lining her left knee, and the irrepressible reflex resulting, jerked the leg up to tuck snugly against her impulsively uplifted forearm.
All balance was lost in that instant and while she was astonished that the predicted knifing of her partner’s horn had not occurred, the grey winced with consternation as her driving bulk ploughed shoulder-first into the slippery combination of frosted grass, and loose shale. As the pain in her knee softened immediately to a bearable tingle, a replacement burning prickled through her left shoulder. The gravel-rash across its sinewy bulge began to seep blood instantly to stain loam and hide- a stark contrast to swathe of the soft grey dapples.

Perhaps only milliseconds had swished by, she could not tell in the heat of the moment. Distressed, laying across the ground atop her folded left wing and partially paralysed by throbs of the shocking, never before experienced pain, her neck swayed, and curled up to the right to lift her snowy-bald face in an effort to gasp despairingly at the horrible cold wind. “Arrrrrrgh...” She wailed miserably at the moon who was glowing serenely above, declaring her melancholy to any and all within hearing distance. Then, as the last of her cry was lost amid the vociferous fight, her hopeless gaze spotted the shadowy shape of a night-kissed body. The forgotten black brute was advancing at speed towards the proximity of Africa’s right hip. It took far less than a second for the young horse to realign her attention, and also for adrenaline to clear the chaos in her mind.

The stallion’s horn was enormous, extending easily the length of her own stiffened hind leg, she thought, as its blue tip glowed viciously against the gloom- coming at veracious speed. Time seemed to slow and Africa presumed wistfully that the seconds to follow would surely be her last. Undoubtedly, given that his direction towards her should have allowed him ‘binocular vision’, she imagined the stallion would have been angling to drive his long ridged horn down into her body- somewhere (she could not tell due to the steady rock of his progressive stride). If her theory had been correct, the dappled Pegasus could do only one thing to even remotely aid her defence- maybe secure her survival.

Africa heaved away from his attack, rolling back against her withers, continuing further still until her right side sank against the icy terrain. To the educated eye of battle-scarred warriors it might have seemed the worst possible decision, exposing her belly and any number of the most vital organs she possessed. It was a knee-jerk reaction though, and she had zero combat experience- aside from cowering against a rock wall while Midas pummelled that black and white nightmare into surrender. She couldn’t remember that now though!

The tapering sword sank shallowly into the fleshy curve of her rump (which was compacted against the terrain), to the right of her spine- and came out the other side. Africa screamed in agony, jerking away from the concentrated sting breaking the skin as she did, and ripping away from his reach. Startled by his sudden attack and in wild, unbridled terror Africa heaved herself up from the ground and staggered left, away from the group at a limp-hindered lope.

Post: 2/4
Word Count: 800 (sooooo not enough :p)
Summary: Africa’s left knee is struck during Alan’s kick and she topples while still recovering from leaning into her own attack. While on the ground Demois comes from her right, she rolls to the left away from him, and his horn spears right through the top of her rump right of the spine- it is shallow enough that the skin rips around it when she jerks away from him post-attack, freeing her to stand.

"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."



Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#9


The brutal, scorching demon fed upon the Pegasus’s fear, enjoyed the taste, the touch, the sizzle, the tension, the savagery of her terror, of her trembling motions, of her quavering, wavering movements. She was prey, flighty, confused, panicked, and he was predator, carnivore amore, wolfish, rapacious. Floundering, falling, speared and harpooned, she reminded him of a flailing mouse, dangling by a cat’s paw, jaws open wide for the vulturine swallow, carnivorous consumption and condemnation. He relished the sight of a quivering foe, of a foolish infidel lost to the folly of their poor planning, lamenting on their vacuous decisions. He savored the ruthless blend of weakness and imprudent whims, watched as dreams were torn asunder, as divinity and virtue were plucked from the seams of innocence. He reveled in the forlorn state of another, caught and brutalized, awaiting the death sentence that hung over their heads, the bleeding, fleeing, screaming cavalcade of witless foes. Now he wanted more; craved, yearned, desired her mouth to part in a dying, final outcry, for her soul to be crushed under the wake of his dominance, his might, his precision and prowess, for her carcass to wilt under the Siberian, callous touch of the Aurora Basin. The monster hungered for their destruction, for their demise to pour into the visage of ice and rime, for their last thoughts to be cemented, brutalized, fixating on their idiotic decisions, on why this land was supreme, on why the warnings of their treachery were real, perilous, on how their demands should have been answered. Africa had been led into her catacomb by a herd mate, and now she would sink into her unknown tomb, gesture wildly, fight for survival, be smothered, obliterated, annihilated by an idiotic fancy, a walk into the ferocious enigma. The mystery of their kingdom had unraveled before her, and the evidence was dangerous, daggered, detrimental and debauched.

On the hunt, on the prowl, he surveyed her limp-walk, her hindered steps, and nearly smirked at the loss of her abilities. He wondered if she had anything to make up for it, incantations to gather at the deprivation of her motions, if he should be ready for another calculating sentiment driven from the obscure creature. But it appeared as if she truly wished to leave the gathering – and he followed, drawn, beguiled and allured, to the need of bedlam, entropy and menace. She wasn’t allowed to waltz away from the error of her ways; they’d teach her a lesson in formalities, in trespassing, in pursuit and ruin. Deimos pursued her from the right hand side, driving his strides again to mangle his target, to scar his opponent, ignoring the wake of his companion nearby (he was assured by Alan’s experience; she’d take care of the other nuisance), aiming to maim, ruin and ravage. He forced his muscular bulk towards her right side, hoping to align his shoulder with hers, to obliterate and drive her slender frame back into the ground. Thereafter he plunged his forehand to the right, twisting his hind end, launching his rear hooves in pursuit of her right haunch.

[517 words.
3/4 posts + 0/1 defense. 0/1 magic used.
Watching Africa flounder, fall and become speared by his horn, Deimos doesn’t allow her to continue her escape. He follows after her, drawing his body to her right side, intending to force his muscular frame into hers. Soon after, he moves his forehand to the right and twists his hind end, and therefore rear hooves, towards her right haunch.]





Alan Posts: 28
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 10
Adoptable
#10
Something about the situation was almost hilarious to her, despite the surge of frustration she felt at her own shortcomings. She was rusty like a pail of nails left out in the rain, but at least some kind of luck remained on her side as she skidded and flailed across the slushy ground, churning it to mud under her hooves. She just didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and a hit resonated up her extended leg. Within, she purred, heavy tail flying out to the side to help her balance as she managed to score a second hit - sadly, no crack of bones rewarded her ears, and the euphoria of contact faded into the same dull, almost angry feeling. Was she doomed to feel this morose even when kicking idiots into the dirt? It'd be a sad day, and not even the second impact against Sinuhe's pristine skin could reignite the flare of savage joy she used to feel in battle. What was wrong with her? Was it just because she felt cranky about how fleet of foot the pale bitch was?

Yeah - maybe it was just that, as she somehow hobbled up a step against Alan's side (or elongated in a magical fashion; Alan wouldn't put it past a Helovian horse to know some weird magic) in the same quick fashion as before, her ugly mug leading the new attack. All satisfaction had been drained of this, and in its wake came a kind of fury: it bubbled up like tar from the bottom of her soul as the battle lagged on for longer than it should. It didn't matter that Africa had fallen over in a flurry of feathers and limbs, and that Deimos closed in on her; all that mattered was that this rude numbskull refused to follow her friend into the dirt. And to top it all off, she had a skeleton of titanium or something. Alan knew she'd hit a leg, but it didn't hinder the bitch's speed one bit. Something about it went beyond mere frustration at trespassing, beyond the intoxicating thrill of proving she was the better fighter, and went straight down the lane into fuck this shit.

She didn't care anymore. She just wanted the bitch to fall down and bleed on the snow, stain the white with red running out of her throat; a hellish scream tore out of Alan's maw as she began to spin her haunches left, Sinuhe's jaws pinching the skin below her right ear, but the flat muscle beneath offered no real purchase and as her teeth closed, they simply slid off Alan's skin. The pain sent a spike into her mind, a frenzy; ignoring the groan of her shoulder she lifted her right foreleg, struck out in a pawing motion towards the nearest of Sinuhe's front legs - probably the left, but at this point, she'd given up on trying to gauge her aim as it just went to hell anyway. Maybe a few more hits to her bones would drive the point home and send cracks into them.. try running with a smashed knee-cap, darling. Anger flared in her eyes, malice seeping through her veins as she struck, again, before she caught the bunching of muscles in Sinuhe's lower back, and with a growl Alan threw herself forward. Not again, bitch. She didn't care where the pale mare would aim - she didn't intend to be there, anyway, and as she pushed forward using her hind feet she cursed the muddled ground; the traction was getting lousy and would lessen the force of her blow, but at least her feet didn't slip and leave her sprawling like some incompetent idiot.

Opening her jaws wide Alan tried to lunge to her right of Sinuhe's neck, bringing her slightly broader chest like a battering ram toward the point of her shoulder to try and push her back, or over, or something, anything; with her head past Sinuhe's own, the pale horn pointed harmlessly into the sky. Bunching up her neck Alan opened her jaws fully, and with as much vicious power as she could muster she aimed a bite towards Sinuhe's withers. No one had shed blood yet, but by everything cold and terrible, Alan wanted to taste it now; should she get a grip she'd rip and tear until skin broke, furious at the slighter mare's tenacity. She had come in here like an idiot and pranced like an idiot, and now she'd die like an idiot. Alan would make sure of that.

[ 3/4 :: 763 words. ]

Sinuhe Posts: 38
Dragon's Throat Mare
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.1 :: 3
Roo
#11

Howling ghosts that reappear,

In mountains that are stacked with fear

But your a king and I'm a lionheart



I am a fool, I am a fool, I am one goddamn fool. I knew now that I shouldn't leap into things, like trespassing and playing tricks on others. But then I suppose that, I had never thought about this sort of stuff and after a years break I had maybe...lost my touch. As well as that, I had picked a coward to come with me. Her fear could be smelt and I bet Deimos, who I guessed was using her as his chew toy, was feeding on her fear. I hated to think that she was feeding her enemy his favourite meal. Why couldn't she be as clever thinking, witty, and as good a fighter as me? But then I suppose everyone was different.


I heard the thud of a fallen body behind and I didn't have to think before I knew it was Africa. Damn you. It was to embarrassing. Why had I asked her to come along? She was a coward, now she was going to get hurt and the leaders would find out and I would be in deep shit. How great. Well, then she would never know then. I wouldn't tell her, and neither would Africa. We would both suffer the consequences in silence; claim we were randomly attacked by some seedy outcast and that we were the ones that had been victorious.


The kick to the leg had indeed hurt and it did slow my pace down slightly but I would not let pain stop me from mowing on. The bay mares vocal cords rippled against each other resulting in a ear splitting scream. Die quietly bitch. I wish sarcastically to myself. My teeth grab behind her right ear and I put in all my effort to ripping the skin hard, fast, and deep. Her leg responds by kicking out. Her hoof just catches the side of my leg the side of my leg, sending a slight painful tinge though my leg but it would of hurt a whole lot more and I knew it. It strikes out again but by this time I had ripped away from her, avoiding her attack.


Again she lunges, her jaw wide. However with a menacing grin as her neck out stretches I throw up my body, not into a full rear but one high enough to keep good balance and hopefully kick her, with the top half of my bent leg, under her chin. It was going to hurt me if I struck her right but not as much as it would hurt her. I purposely didn't rear high because, one I didn't need to, and two, I wanted to keep my balance and get over the Africa as quick as I could.


My hoofs land and she moves, round to my side. She lunges out again, at my withers. However, I was not going to let her get a bit in. I turn my body, head bowed so that I might just be able to scrap my horn along her side behind her shoulder. I add in a kick with the leg that hadn't been hurt although the weight left on it took its toll. I aimed my kick hard at her belly. It was not much, but it was something.


OOC: Worlds worst spar post....ever...in history | WC: 546 | Summary: Alan kicks her leg once, misses the second time. Rears under her chin (not high but high enough to kick her under her chin) trying to hit her under her chin. Moves out the way of her other bite by turning, could possibly scrap her horn down her side and then tries to kick her under her belly.
talk talk talk


Credits

Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc Riven
#12
[Image: 515b833f251f3]


Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding





The dark stallion’s eyes sparkled with malice; with a twisted cruelty that was both alien and frightening to Africa. Though enchanting and quite beautiful, the ravenous rage within their azure depths haunted her as she hobbled away from him in an attempt to evade further harm. As she staggered far left of Sinuhe and the bay mare, who both appeared to be locked in churning combat, the reality of the situation gripped her pounding heart. Ice-laced wind swept in punishing flurries against the aggrieved droop of her ashen face, her neck crooked and slightly off centre with the twinging bursts of pain that ricocheted from her hindquarters up the length of her flinching spine with each harassed step. Innocence and inexperience would be the downfall of the foolish, though otherwise undeserving creature of the air, who had trustingly and chivalrously followed the newest of her oblivious herd into the burning pit of hell.

The bruised nerves in her left knee were annulled by the throb of rushing blood through the bleeding lesion straddling her muscular left shoulder. It ached terribly, and the hurting tarnished the purity of her gentle mind with loathing and resentment (loathing for these foul, detestable horned creatures whose nature was bloodthirsty and violent; and resentment that she had been imprudent enough to have been dragged to the very centre of their quarrel). Africa promised herself in that moment of half-liberation, that she would avoid the likes of them from this point forward- if in fact she should be fortunate enough to escape their passionate wrath altogether.

Though she could bear near-normal weight across her knee again, when leaning into each left step, her balance was skewed and her direction abruptly forced to the right as she tried in vain to escape the shadowing pain in her prickling shoulder- worsened all the more by the biting cold temperature embracing her. It was confusing and debilitating for one who had never known the mortal truths of battle. Furthermore, the gash which sank shallowly beneath the torn flesh across the right side of her croup was spewing blood; throbbing wickedly. Each muscle contraction forced the hot liquid to pool, then overflow with each rocking movement forward. She kicked outwards to the right once, twice shaking the limb below to try to free it of the unpleasantly pinching sting. It was useless...

With her neck swaying dizzily right, Africa’s teary right eye widened in horror as the dark blurring form of the still pursuing stallion pulled up tightly against her right side, both crowding her maimed body and her spinning mind. Naturally she braced, fighting successfully with the aid of coursing adrenaline, the vivid ache as she stiffened her weary legs to resist his domineering shove. His shoulder planted into her barrel, just behind her elbow and she leaned brashly into the attack. She was moved a little by his relatively equal mass- he was a stallion, burlier perhaps and athletic, but the advantage was just manageable.

Africa struck left with the same hoof, an instantaneous action that allowed her balance to be retained. In the same moment, her long neck snaked around to the right, and open, bared teeth aimed with unhinged, perverted viciousness at his gleaming blue, left eye- it was an obvious target, certainly the most visible part of him aside from the shiny blue tip of his horn (but that should have been beyond her now, wielding far ahead to the right). Black-rimmed ears were pinned tightly against the flailing chaos of her windblown mane; a stark protest to his relentless persecution against her, and her expression was defensively riled in bitter response.

The monster’s putrid, hot and sweating body did not linger and the cold swarmed when the gap reopened by his pitch away to the right. She followed aggressively, flanking his turn as closely as her demented manoeuvrability could manage. Numbed and distracted by the sudden surge of fury, Africa curled her neck towards him again as his hindquarters lifted in assault, aiming one, two bites in rapid succession along the exposed line of his lifting belly. Her focus was as close to the stretched out skin of his flank as she could manage before the power-packed thrust of his airborne left hoof grazed across the frontal swell of her blood-soaked, bunched right gaskin. The impact was not as fierce as the previous nature of her injuries; she was apparently better positioned- though not at all deliberately. The friction of the hard, sharp edge of his hoof as it slid across the taught gathered muscle’s perimeter was bruising only- and that affect was minimal and easily disregarded as Africa struggled to flank his movements.

He was not injured though, and the young Pegasus’s brave chase would more than likely have been a futile effort.


Post: 3/4
Word Count: 800
Summary: Africa spots Deimos pulling alongside to the right and braces against his shove; she aims a bite towards his left eye in the same moment. As he plunges right, she attempts to follow closely and aims two bites towards his lower flank. His kicking left hind hoof grazes her right gaskin.


"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."



Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#13


It was greatly disappointing to discover the Pegasus still wished to live. He would have enjoyed ripping her from limb to limb, crushing her beneath the weight of his dominion, his might, his prowess, watching her shatter across the rubble and ruin of their icy empire. She didn’t fall or crumble, appearing to be renewed by her impending demise, the shadow of her tomb, the shudder of her presaged grave. Deimos didn’t mind the pursuit of his prey either way, in the wake of their collapse and degeneration, or in the midst of their revival. Destruction, wreckage and decimation were palatable in any circumstance.

She was bitter, rancorous and eager, awakened by the state of their frenzy. Her attack came amidst his assault, teeth bared for his incriminating stare, to ensnare his sight. To allow her to feed upon his sockets would be a dangerous sanction, and he had no intention of being partially blind. He swung his cranium to the right, and felt the scrape of her dentals graze against his cheek, dragging down in glimpses of torn hair and pelt. A sting, the slightest prick of pain trailed down his face, before the reign of their assailments continued.

She followed after his direction shift, pursuing the demon’s flank amidst his brutal kick. He inclined towards the right once more, stretching across the ice and rime. The fiend’s rapid movement must have shifted the direction of her siege; he sensed the stroke of her ivories cast upon his left haunch, clipping flesh briefly so that more hide became detached. This nuance was more of an aching sentiment, drawn across his quarters in a sharp irritation, vexing and nettling. However, their close proximity allowed him the opportunity he’d been waiting for, the fury of his callous creation, the ferocity of his barbaric incantations, a gift from bedlam, an offering from anarchy.

His nefarious enchantments pulsed from his cold core, drawn from his savage soul, flourished from his vicious veins, purred and crooned from their fervent entropy, twisting and distorting the earth with one pernicious, puissant intention. It was refreshing, invigorating, to release, unchain, the darkened traces of his abhorrence, to bestow it upon his enemies, to await their cringing, withering, decaying forms laying across the Siberian grounds. Death, murder and execution, slaughter, poured from the tip of his hooves, slithering and crawling across the lands in venomous fingertips, the caress of Mephistopheles, lined with poison, arched with bane, malice and ill will, the menace of augured quietus. The monster’s gaze was cast solely, quickly, swiftly, upon Alan, the contorted trace of his piercing stare only offered her one vivid warning before the plunge of his turmoil. Intending to press closer to the Pegasus, he swerved left, wishing to drive the onslaught of his terror, of his horror, into her marrow, into her bones, into her skin, lungs, flesh and soul, tear her heart until it screamed and beckoned for mercy. The simmering, scorching necromancy filtered further onward, towards Sinuhe, not longing for her to be forgotten in the trace of armaments and massacre.


[513 words.
4/4 posts + 0/1 defense. 1/1 magic used.
Deimos sees Africa coming towards his left eye, and swerves right to avoid it getting pierced. Instead, she nicks his left cheek, scraping some hair off. As she pursues him during his kick, he attempts to go to the right once more, and feels the tug of her teeth along his left haunch, detaching more hide. He then tries to use their close proximity to unleash his death magic towards Africa and despite being further away, Sinuhe.]





Alan Posts: 28
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 10
Adoptable
#14
The rattle of hoof against bone, a mocking of a lover's caress; Alan wasn't stroking this girl out of lust, but out of a desire to break her. She was a pretty creature, but too annoying to keep around, and it seemed like she wasn't inclined to stay either, as she pulled back. Alan's hoof whirled through the air a second time before it came down with a soft thud in the slush, and her amber eyes narrowed, glaring daggers at the flighty bitch. She came in here like she owned the place, and didn't have enough sense to take their five thousand and thirteen offers for leaving whole, yet she resisted capture. It was so moronic Alan wondered if her head was as empty as it seemed.

Alan was closing the distance again, when, yet again, something entirely unexplainable happened. A choked grunt was forced out of her windpipe as Sinuhe's raised knee collided with her throat, her white head high to balance her in a rear; a wheezing gasp slipped in through Alan's widened nostrils, her startled mind trying to grasp what had happened even as her well-honed instincts powered her on. Hadn't Sinuhe been coming in with her head the lowest point when Alan started to lunge towards her? Just how fast was the short asshole? With a breathless feeling, like a lid was lying across her windpipe where one, pale knee had battered against it, she shut her jaws.. on nothing. The damn creature had danced sideways and Alan was, again, left with nothing, like some incompetent moron stumbling through their first spar. Spitting in frustration, and trying to breathe deeply to clear her clouded head, Alan became very aware of one thing: a fiery sting going down her left shoulder. Instincts snapped her haunches right, and the now red-tipped horn slid off the curve of her barrel before it could go deeper, but too many emotions were rolling around in her head. Shock, that this imbecile had managed to steal her blood. Hate, for being so useless after months of trailing Seiren around. And a deeply rooted desire for revenge, even as Sinuhe's limb came flailing up in the air, hitting nothing as it was too far away to strike Alan. She wouldn't have cared even if it had tangled with her own black limbs.

In some moment of clarity, maybe spurred by the sudden shiver up her spine, her gaze went to Deimos, even as her teeth were descending for a rough bite against the groove of Sinuhe's throat; she caught the trailing end of a crystal clear, frigidly cold azure stare, and it chilled her to the core. She'd never really known what Deimos could do, only that standing too close made you lethargic, but whatever the sudden clenching in her gut meant, she doubted it was anything invigorating. Even if she'd find flesh, she'd only clamp down briefly before letting go and throwing her head left, spinning on her haunches, trying to force her right shoulder in front of Sinuhe's face and barge forward; given her taller stature, and the force of the push even in spite of the loose ground, she doubted Sinuhe had anything to put against it.. unless her neck, too, was made of unbending titanium. Praying that something in this mess would make sense Alan shoved, ready to skitter sideways should her faith be misplaced, intending to clear Sinuhe's body at any cost: she could feel the silent hiss of Deimos' extending magic nipping at her haunches, a lethargy almost like a sinister song in the back of her head...

She had to do something - the sharp sting of her shoulder demanded it. She couldn't just.. skitter off, and hope Deimos caught Sinuhe too; she was still too pissed off, even though her system was in some state of shock at her own profound lousiness. Digging her hooves into the slush, hopefully about a step-and-a-half to the right of Sinuhe, Alan extended her long hind legs in a kick, cramming as much power as she possibly could into it and aiming for Sinuhe's barrel and shoulder. Dream scenario was that she'd fall over screaming and be reduced to a limp fish by Deimos, but Alan had given up dreaming a few years ago; stalling her for a moment, to keep her in range, was a more realistic hope.

Unless something hindered her, the moment her feet would touch back down again she'd stagger forward, eager to get out of range of Deimos soul-sucking powers. It felt like having something cold and clammy creep up through her body, and it was not a pleasant sensation.

[ 4/4 :: 777 words. ]

Sinuhe Posts: 38
Dragon's Throat Mare
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.1 :: 3
Roo
#15

Howling ghosts that reappear,

In mountains that are stacked with fear

But your a king and I'm a lionheart



My fucking legs throbbed from the small beating that had been taken from the bay girl. I had to force my way through the pain, pretend it wasn't there and get on with this. Beat the fucking bitch in the ground, rub her smashed brain in the goddamn floor. Although ,maybe, her smashed brains sounded revolting, it was sure to give me the pleasure I deserved. The clash of my leg hitting the bone of her chin hurt, it hurt like hell, but it also smothered me with a feeling of revenge as I heard the sloppy grunt from her fag mouth. My lunge however, had not been as successful but I didn't care as long as the bitch was struggling to breath.


I felt the pressure of my horn though, scrapping alongside the other girls brown body, drawing a thin line of red on her side. First blood, drawn by me. A grin fixes on my face, with a slightly over joyed, cruel twist. I almost forgot I had even shot a leg out at her barrel to try and kick her once more because I didn't care, she left with me bruises whilst I had drawn her blood - not that I wanted to get my horn dirty. Maybe I was getting a little too happy over drawing her blood, maybe it was slightly sick to want to hurt her so badly, but really, was I as sick as the cruel heartless bitches and bastards that lived here, thinking they were higher over us all? Ha, no.


Now I was almost waiting for the next attack which came with the force of a madman. Her neck stretched out and before I could move her teeth clamped round the fleshy part of my throat. Bitch. I could feel the blood gently spilling as her grip tightened and I again, kick up another leg at her chest, this time the more able leg, the one that hadn't been kicked in by the fucking girl. Her teeth though, all of a sudden let out, release my neck of the pain. All of a sudden though, the bay colouring of her came flying towards my face and I only had time to step back slightly and make an awkward turn of my head to try and direct my horn towards the shoulder. It was uncomfortable and I knew that this was gonna hurt us both. The brute force of her would surely test the strength of my horn, possibly break the glass despite it being quite strong. Damn, I don't want a broken horn.


Her shoulder smashed into my horn, Forcing my neck round in the most painful round she could. It bent round, forced to bend my neck in the allow her to pass. I could hear the weak creaking of my horn and I bit my tongue, hoping it wouldn't break. Also, hopefully the way I had angled my head, some of her own blood had been drawn. My neck ached as she jerked past and I was still surprised at the attack but I wouldn't let it put me down.


Suddenly though, energy seemed to be drained from me. Not all of it, just some of it. A hissing reached my ears and I realised that this wasn't being being tired, this was my energy being stolen. Stolen by who? Africa? No. Alan? Maybe. Deimos? Maybe to. My muscles screamed at my to stop, to take a break, to give in the the lesser foe. It was like my own body was working against me but I knew I couldn't give up, not here, not now, not to them. Never. The bay girl was still whirling past and round. I gathered up my body and plunged, slightly to the side in which she was heading. It was without aim really, most likely heading to go diagonally into her shoulder or just behind. It may not have been the best attack ever but it was still quite powerful, despite the loss of energy. It left my muscles aching though and my whole body wanting to collapse.


OOC: Thanks guys, I really have enjoyed this spar, whatever the outcome :D | WC: 686 | Summary: Is bitten, kicks out. Alans shoulder clashes into her horn, nearly breaking it. Aims one last attack with her horn at the side of her body.
talk talk talk


Credits

Africa the Starry-Eyed Posts: 727
Deceased
Mare :: Pegasus :: 16 :: 6 (Tallsun) Buff: NOVICE
Silas :: Common Zephyr :: Roc Riven
#16
[Image: 515b833f251f3]


Look down
The ground below is crumbling
Look up
The stars are all exploding





The clatter of ivory against ivory, horn against horn resonated around the impromptu battle-field, bouncing menacingly between the desolate mountain range’s stone walls, trapped. It was a sound which prior to this night would have roused little reaction from the dapple grey Pegasus. Though now, as the gash across her crimson-soaked croup twinged and pulsed uncontrollably, Africa’s blood began to curdle and her stomach to twist, with reminiscent nausea. She could spare no sidewards glance at that moment, to find her teammate- from her perspective the very reason for this ungracious undoing. Yet the echoing madness filled her ears and reassured her mushrooming resentment that Sinuhe was still fighting.

The unexpected rage which had inundated her mind, filled her heart with new (slim) courage, and numbed her debilitated frame at least briefly, allowed a clear chain of thoughts to form and a new plan of action to bubble to the surface. Africa began to think again with mild coherency- most emotion aside. Her gritted teeth missed their first target, and slid dismally down the slope of his cheek as he swung his horrid bulk of head away from her attack. Her pale eyes were swamped with disappointment as her pathetic grip slipped from the pinch of his facial skin, though she was allowed little time to wallow as she endeavoured heartily to pursue his track.

The revolting steamy haze choked with testosterone and hot, nauseating sweat was thicker the nearer her sullied soul danced to him. The air was ripe and pungent, and it was an odour that would probably linger in her memory, as long as this night’s scars disfigured her sleek dappled hide. Africa so desperately wanted Midas to appear again, cloaked in his gleaming steel armour, splendid and mighty; she longed (perhaps enamoured still) to see his black and white coat rippling across the powerful flex of his muscular form as he balanced profoundly between those gold-dipped, feathered wings. She willed in pathetic desperation for the same earthquake which had brought that wretched ‘stick-head’ stallion to his knees months before, to rumble beneath her hooves now- to shake the entire scene into oblivion.
She wanted to wake up; to lift her unadulterated self from the nest she had created at the doorway to Ahi’s hospital chamber; to be home- safe...

As the tight grasp of her straining jaw collected the flesh of his left haunch briefly before slipping once again, the stallion seemed to refocus his energy- the lash of his commanding stride seemed distracted- or preoccupied; the hurt from her snapping attack seemed to only affect him vaguely, seemingly blurred by the transfer of his secret, malicious intent. The shift unsurprisingly caught Africa off guard. Her nervously apprehensive gaze flailed after him as he continued post-buck, around to the right, and as it found the murky blue pool of his left eye she balked, stunned and horrified by the malevolence swirling; building within it.

In an instant, the panic-stricken mare leaned hard left away from his cruel form, unfurling the flimsy feathered mass of her untouched wings with failing care for their proximity reaching towards him. He was a living nightmare, far worse than the gypsy stallion who had coveted her feathers in the misty field in the mountains; more terrifying than the smouldering flames she had found that exploded as though from Helovia’s very heart. He was more petrifying even than the burning agony which racked through her floundering corpse through these horrendous seconds.
The icy swirl of an updraft gathered beneath her wing’s cupped expanse, rippling and teasing each interlocking feather with the promise of imminent flight. Africa felt the rush of wind; the bursting, frantic euphoria; and lurching clumsily upwards across strained and injured haunches, was momentarily airborne- thrilled and relieved by the prospect of her chance to escape.

It was not to be though...

Even as her hind hooves left the loathsome surface of the Basin and lifted into the blissful embrace of liberty, her strength was unsuspectingly sapped by some formidable, invisible force. It had slithered already up through her hooves to twist up the length of her hind legs like a hungry disease; an immortal power which leached the strength from her bones and drained the vigour right out of her soul. Her wings found no energy to maintain her mass, and choked of breath she plummeted for the second, awful time that night. The gravelly, frost-laced terrain was unyielding as she fell hard with a thud, again across the already grazed swell of her limp left shoulder. Whatever air remained in her gasping lungs was expelled as the collision forced it from her chest. She was helpless, stricken by the very essence of death perhaps- Africa could not have known.

She closed her eyes, defeated and without hope...

Post: 4/4
Word Count: 799
Summary: No attacks- no defence. Heather- I hope I responded to Deimos’ magic suitably. Please let me know for future reference if Africa should have been affected differently- learning, learning :)

"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."



Table Header credits go to baylee.
Pegasus icon lineart credits go to Tamme.

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#17


Born for calamity, for desecration, he lined the world with his violence, with his chaos, with his cold, disarming insurrection, and watched as two more victims became aligned to his avaricious anarchy. It was gratifying to witness their turmoil, their aches, their anguish forced into bodies once poised with so much petulance, with so much sinuous ineptitude, compelled and obliged to falter. He’d wanted them to understand, to comprehend, the weight of their disastrous wandering, the notion of heeding warnings, the trace, the puissance, the pernicious capability of the Aurora Basin. He’d wanted them to feel the vibrations, the crescendo, the dominance and the superiority of their nation, of their creed, of their vicious, virulent ardor. He’d wanted them to burn in the wake of their errors, in the fever of their mistakes, in the lush tides of ignorance and foolishness, destitute, debauched, condemned by malevolence. He’d wanted them to perish beneath the diabolical shades of his warriors, and he’d wanted them to be buried in the rubble of ice and rime, where the cool earth wouldn’t remember their bones, their names or their idiocy, where the corpses would rot, wither and decay, and no one would collect their final ashes. Now, here they were, scarred, broken, brittle things, trespassers rendered to nothingness, and he, monster, demon and devil, stood silent in the rapture of their quietus. The heinous tribulation, the haunting outcries of the battlefield, the savage candor of war drums lulled him into composure, collected, insouciant swords gathered, sheathed and predacious all over again, eternally eager for another touch of animosity.

His barbaric stare observed the calculating machinations of his magic sinking into the marrow of the Pegasus, scrutinized and examined as she floundered in the air, then crashed back down upon a kingdom, an empire, that only wished for her to expire, ready for her tomb. The monster breathed in the chilling air, felt the encompassing tides of the mare’s strength flee her body, to be reveled and revered in his, pulsing at the left flank still murmuring its diligent throbs. Deimos had nothing to defend against, for the creature did not fight back the maddening, pervading enchantments cast upon her winged shell. He had naught to complain about either, his frame had felt the armaments of conflict, little pieces of pelt that would grow back, and the clash of horn against horn did not cement his skull to a throbbing tilt. His eyes left Africa’s collapsed form briefly, to survey and regard Alan’s end of the battle, the cold, rigid, haunting gaze of his persecuting malice reaching across the grounds to offer, bestow, the resolute salute of a fellow soldier. They had defended their home, granted their gifts of protection, and laid in wait for the results of their precious, hedonistic acrimony.


[466 words.
4/4 posts + 1/1 defense. 1/1 magic.
With nothing to defend against, Deimos watches Africa fall.

Thank you for allowing us to hold this challenge, Riven and Roo. <3]





Alan Posts: 28
Hidden Account
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 :: 10
Adoptable
#18
There was something definitely maddening about the situation. Alan's blood was boiling despite the cool touch of Deimos, her mind a whirlpool of various colorful, brutal adjectives and scenes, the majority of them involving her and a much-beaten up Sinuhe. It was a daydream within reality, something to make up for the shitty way this fight was going, how it should be but how it wasn't... And she couldn't even revel in the fact she had flesh between her teeth, because the frigid sting of Deimos' magic had her abandoning it, desperate to get away. She had a feeling he couldn't help but do friendly fire, and in the final equation, she wouldn't blame him - but did he have to when she'd just gotten a good grip and blood on her teeth?

The world was a mess of mud, slush, trees and sky, color leaking out of the night more than usual as her sluggish blood pumped through her stubborn veins. The thu-thud of her step seemed distant in her ears, a white leg flailing up to tangle harmlessly against her steadfast forelegs. Alan wouldn't break her stride just because some stuck-up jerk tried to trip her up, nor would something as silly as a knee smacking into her right forearm make her sit down and bawl.

Not even a fucking glass horn ripping her sleek hide would.

It was a most peculiar sensation, having the already bloodied tip sink down into the flesh to the right of her spine, lodge not even half an inch into it - sticking, even as she briefly leaned left to escape it. The only funny thing was seeing Sinuhe's neck bend.. and, just maybe, the feeling of cool fire as the tip slid out of her flesh again. She felt numb and detached from her own body, and the sting of her wounds was so distant it could've belonged to someone else. And, as she failed epically yet again, she wholeheartedly blamed Deimos for her poor aim. Her powerful hindquarters shout out at nothing as the ghastly bitch came up her right side, that glass horn of hers leading the charge. A muted snort left Alan as she pinned her ears firmly, and the moment her hind feet thudded back into the slush she spun away to the left, trapping Sinuhe's horn in the empty space beside her. The shoulder she'd been aiming for simply wasn't there.

Her mind a muddle, Alan settled on the incredibly stupid tactic of running towards Deimos. The reasoning went something along the lines of if Sinuhe wants to stick to my side like some idiot maybe she'll come along to her death, but somewhere in the back of her furious, exhausted mind she knew it was probably a bad idea. She did it all the same, though, balancing precariously upon the treacherous ground as she streaked towards the somewhat forlorn-looking gray stallion. The momentum carried her forward in a straight line where she otherwise would've faltered, and with a distant look in her eyes she passed her stationary ally, hoping to escape his death field on the other side but leave Sinuhe floundering alongside her fallen comrade.

[ closing defense :: 531 words. ]
End of fight! <3 now we need a judge.

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#19
Sinuhe's battle wounds have weakened her to a state from which she cannot return. Blood loss and internal trauma, unable to be seen by the naked eye, has already killed her. With last words spoken, her body tumbles to the ground, dead from the wounds inflicted by Deimos.


[[ Deimos and Alan both get +2 VP each for the 2 way battle. Deimos gets +2VP for killing Sinuhe.

The way the numbers worked out, Africa's rubric alone could not have won against Alan and Deimos. Africa is taken into captivity, but Neo has agreed to work with you on this. Unfortunately, admin-based situations forced this to happen. If any of you still want your Rubrics, you can PM any admin and we will put them on the list for you.]]


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