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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


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    [challenge] Krigare;
    #1
    I chose you at random for a lovely battle. I need the experience, you see.

    If I win, you come to live in Loess for a half a year.
    If you win, I'll come to hang out with you for half a year. Why not?

    - No powerplaying
    - Traits allowed
    - 2 posts each
    -- 2 attacks per post
    -- defense as needed (can't come out of this entirely unscathed though, obviously)
    - You, and only you, can fight this battle. No one can fill in for you.
    - You will go first

    My stats:


    16.2 Friesian/Mustang Hybrid Stallion
    Immortality, Limited Dragon Shifting, Wings


    Strength: 10
    Speed: 5
    Agility: 6
    Intuition: 5
    Accuracy: 7
    #2
    Challenge accepted: ((OOC: super excited about this!))
    Krigare
    warlander cross || Classified with a thicker Friesian type build. || No traits no defects

    strength: 6
    speed: 3
    agility: 3
    intuition: 3
    accuracy: 4
    experience:
    ~

    When the whispering begins, he is in his hollow. His dark bodice is pressed into the trees, eyelids closed in a dreamless, sleep. The calling pries emerald eyes open, muscles rigid with alert. 'Go' the voice that calls quietly to him is soft as summer rain. It wafts through the air on the bristling wind that ruffles his ebony locks in an attempt to raise him. 

    When the bay stallion stands, his bones crack in a loud protest. Distantly, he can hear the faint wish wash of the ocean that borders his volcanic home. He listens to it as he leaves the land he had lived in for the past few years. The land where he was trying to build a family, a future. 

    'Go'

    The whisper is insistent now, urging him out of Tephra. It pushes him through the field and the barren land beyond it. It rushes him until he comes across a place that easily could have been on another planet. The air around him smelt thickly of despair and anger. The earth was cacked with iced over clay the color of autumn leaves and rubies. For a long time, he stares at the landscape, wondering how on earth anything (or anyone) would want him here.

    It is then that he sees the other. He is a dark mass of black and white, a sharp contrast to the maroon tinted world around them. From what Krigare can see, they are the only equines dotting the land for miles. Their lonely hostel stretches from sky to horizon, not a cloud dotting the winter dome above them.

    He realizes now that this is a challenge. A small smirk curls at the edge of salt cracked lips, dark hooves dragging him closer to the other. Once he is within a few feet of the unknown stag he offers a simple,

    "Hello."

    The stallion's voice is thick with an underlying hostility that melds with the winter air. Ebony tendrils brush against puckered scars that map his thick bodice. Green eyes trace the other, they were of a similar height and build... A fair fight indeed. Krigare takes little notice of the wings that the other possesses. To the dark stallion, they were simply another striking point.

    "Lovely day for a bit of bloodshed, no?"

    Krigare had always been one for impromptu small talk... With no further excuses, the stallion lunges to the left. He aims to impair one of the stallion's wings. A bite perhaps to damage the fine skin crafted for gliding? As he is not very fast, the other may be able to strike at his stomach, a very soft vantage point. Though if the other was really smart he would simply turn to lash out at Krigare with his teeth. 

    The battle had begun, from this point on it would be flesh to flesh. A battle of wit and strength. 

    "Let us dance child."

    Krigare growls his next line, teeth clacking as he pulls away from the other's body. Curved satellites are pressed firmly against the arch of his strong neck, dark eyes narrowed to concentrated slits. He can hear his own heart pounding beneath the alabaster bones of his chest. It hammers like a caged animal as he paces, awaiting the other to make a move. Awaiting the other to slip on the icy ground that he so easily could trip on now. He could feel the effects of the weather on himself already. The cold had sent icy jolts into his joints when he lunged, his bones popping with dismay. 

    He growls, a low noise emitted from deep inside his expansive chest. He turns to the left, praying to whatever there was that his next move might crush bone. Praying that it would hit at all. With a most literal leap, he kicks out with powerful hind legs. His aim is directed at one of his opponents forelegs, a most needed asset to running and frolicking about. Though he is slow, he is strong. He allows his body to finish the movement before swiftly turning to his right. His breathing is hitched, soft puffs of silver fog escaping his nostrils.

    "Your turn."

    Why he is here, why either of them is here is still unknown. Krigare's blood is mixed with the frothy mirth of adrenaline. His heart no longer beat for his alabaster angel, but for the cold of battle. The rush of pure power damaging others could bring. Though mixed with the burning of adrenaline, there is a sense of betrayal. Deep in his beating heart, he knew he should be in Tephra. Krigare knew he should be guarding his home, his lover. Yet despite the ache, he is here, battling some stallion he didn't even know. He was lashing out at him as though he had been the one responsible for all of Krigare's life problems. 

    This is when his idea is born. A light flickers in his emerald eyes, a distant flare of revelation. All the anger the bay had built up could be used here. The hurt, the loss, the desire... every emotion the past year had hurled at him would be thrown into every move he offered. 

    Maybe it would be enough to help him win.
    [Image: krigare_by_voltum-dbctewi.png]
    #3
    Castile has no personal vendetta with Krigare, no true motive to choose him except to merely gain experience. The flat plains of the battleground have sung to him for months, beckoning him, luring him into its grasp. He is capable of so much, but the boy has hindered himself and hasn’t bothered to even try until now. His inexperience will play against him, that he knows, but it doesn’t stop him – not this time.

    Waiting allows his mind to wander, his nerves to be plucked like the strings of a violin. Come on, come on, he whispers to himself as his breath clouds around his face, his mismatched eyes flickering to every direction. To stay warm and to prepare himself, Castile idly paces. There is snow and ice blanketing the plains as far as he can see. Fortunately, the clouds are no longer spitting flakes, allowing a fairly clear visual of when his opponent materializes and joins him. Simultaneously, they scrutinize one another. Having no ill will, Castile offers a nod, but nothing more. He still paces – a few steps to the left, turn, a few to the right, turn – even as Krigare speaks as though their paths have crossed by chance.

    The conversation is moot and Castile has no interest. In response, he merely grunts as his gaze remains funneled on his target knowing well that an attack will come to set this battle aflame.

    And it most certainly does.

    There is no way Castile could have anticipated what would happen, or how. He blinks and Krigare is lunging with his mouth agape, his blunt teeth bared. At the time of attack, Castile is still pacing perpendicular to his opponent with his right side open. Admittedly, he is startled by the sudden lurch and so he stumbles to his left in the shallow snow, away from Krigare, but it doesn’t spare him from having his skin tightly gripped between the stallion’s teeth. His wings sprout up and slightly extended to regain balance, and with that, the top of his shoulder near the withers is bitten. With the motion, a patch of his mane is also caught in the foray.

    When the grip is released, the area is left throbbing as blood rushes to the site. Castile, mostly unfamiliar to pain, groans but it pours adrenaline into his system. This unleashes something inside him he has struggled to control. It doesn’t take over him entirely, not yet, but it ripples down his legs and shifts his hooves into the claws of a dragon. Unaware of the change – his mind thinks only of the battle, of his retaliation – Castile rears up ¾ of his height and lashes out toward Krigare’s right shoulder. He anticipated seeing his hooves flail in attempt to bluntly hit somewhere on his opponent’s right side of the forehand (since his targeting isn’t entirely precise), and so is shocked to see talons desperately groping to tear flesh instead.

    When his hooves – no, claws – alight back into the snow, a chill rises through him but subsides with another wave of throbbing heat. His right shoulder has been hit, the dull concussion rippling through his muscle. ”Shit,” he mutters under his breath, his jaws clenching and his eyes shutting for an instant. Krigare, with his hind end facing Castile, veers right after his attack. Ideally, the young stallion would have kicked back considering the close proximity, however, he hesitates to add additional stress to his shoulder so soon. The adrenaline is dulling the ache to a degree, but his ignorance and youthful fear decides against his initial plan.

    The anger brewing inside him – it has to be anger, right? What else would he feel in the heat of battle? – fuels his shape shifting only so much. He wants the claws to remain to provide more traction in the ice and snow, but gradually they are being replaced by hooves once more. As he swerves to his left, two claws have awkwardly shifted back to hooves – his rear left and front right – which makes moving more ungraceful, but the traction in the remaining claws help to complete the tight loop to face Krigare. In that time frame, Castile’s face has mutated into a cross of a dragon, having the muzzle and teeth of one, that snap forward when he lunges for his opponent’s neck. He isn’t trying to kill his opponent, but perhaps maim? Would that make him the victor? Any damage could potentially scar therefore leaving a mark of the deep ferocity Castile is capable of. If, in the case, he does find purchase, the young stallion tries to thrash in order to do more than leave mere puncture holes. Any injury could distract or slow down Krigare, or so he hopes. Castile retracts and turns right, his left side facing his opponent as to protect his injured right shoulder. He tries to keep reasonably close to his rival as to not enable him the chance for great momentum or power in his following retaliations.






    poor Castile still doesn't know how to totally control his shifting xD
    #4
    His attack hits true, teeth bluntly clinging to the thick skin that covers the stallion's shoulder. While he has missed the other's wing (a pity) he has done something. His lips pull into a wicked grin, hooves searching for purchase upon the winter ground. The wind whips mercilessly at his dark tendrils, casting them into green hues. 

    His sight is temporarily impaired. When he can see again, the other is bearing down upon him with monstrous talons. The black stallion is barely taller than Krigare (he stands at a mighty 16 hands) and when he strikes his talons shred the flesh at the hollow of Krigare's right shoulder. He lets out a scream, while the flesh is torn the pain is replaced with anger and the lust for victory. 

    He is old and slower than the young beast that whips around to face him. What Krigare is met with is horrifying. Where the delicate features of a horses muzzle once resided, the twisted maul of a dragon now lay. His opponent lashes out at him with dagger-like incisors, but Krigare is not fast enough to evade his attacker. The teeth sink home, the blinding pain settling damn near his shoulder once more. 

    He has nowhere to go, panic is blinding him.

    breathe.

    He remembers to breathe, as the stallion beneath him thrashes he moves for an ear. The larger stallion that had such a grip on his neck had lowered his height. And advantage Krigare would use to it's fullest. As the ebony man has his teeth latched into the lower right sector of Krigare's neck, he tries desperately to sink his blunt teeth into the other's left ear. If he were to complete this successfully he would pull. Maybe it would tear the ear, maybe it would just get him the hell off of his neck. 

    Knowing the damage it will cause, knowing the pain he will go through for this, he jerks away. The flesh once caged by teeth is ripped from his neck. There is not much but it is enough to leave what will one day be an ugly reminder of this day. The right side of the great bay is falling numb. Freezing temperatures and rushing blood getting the better of him.

    He is facing the left side of the stallion now. He cant help but laughs. What had Krigare done but wounded his opponent's shoulder? Left a bruise for the brat to remember him by? The boy is too close for Krigare to build up what momentum he has in his body, what little fight that is left within him. 

    The stag is stuck between a rock and a hard place.

    Coal colored hooves try to dig into the frozen grass beneath him, some just barely breaking through the hardened clay below. He ignores the throbbing pain in his right side, the blood trickling from his open wounds. If he could hit the other just hard enough, he may be able to knock him into the frozen earth. The ground below could certainly be hard enough to crush the other's damaged shoulder. 

    He turns ever so slightly to the right to the left side of his body could slam into the other. All Krigare can do is hope that his strength would be enough to cause some fraction of the damage. When the motion is over he drags himself backward, the front of his body facing the other. He is bleeding, hot knives of white pain are shoved deep into the wounds of his neck and shoulder, his body begging him to just quit. 

    Maybe he would lose, but that was okay. He was not afraid of the prospect, just meerely annoyed by it. Krigare gives a hulking sigh and awaits Castile's next move. Once more he becomes deeply aware of how cold it was. His body is shuddering with the mere act of breathing. His lungs feel as though there is a thick blanket of ice trapping them in place. He is gasping for air, clawing for the deep drags of icy oxygen around him.

    Maybe this shit would be over soon.
    [Image: krigare_by_voltum-dbctewi.png]
    #5
    When he tastes the blood, it doesn’t plunge Castile into a frenzy; it doesn’t poison his mind and make him sinfully lust more.

    Actually, it frightens him.

    Being young and inexperienced, Castile isn’t entirely sure what to make of the situation. The beat of his heart is a lead weight banging against his ribcage. He has never brought harm to anyone, but he has now. When he blinks, he has slit pupils, but he blinks again and they are normal.

    The blood is pooling across his tongue, but he is forced to release his grip when Krigare latches onto his ear. It’s so close to his face that Castile’s instincts tell him to jerk away, to get away from the danger. The delicate tissue of his ear rips, splitting as he pulls opposite of his opponent. A torrent of fire washes through him, bringing a thin layer of sweat to his skin as the pain intensifies. The frigid wind bites the ripped flesh, and he wants so bad to nurture it and hide it, but he can’t as the battle rages on. The split is at least two inches, enough to cause a great deal of discomfort.

    Mother wouldn’t let that affect her, right? So, he can’t.

    Castile tries to wheel backwards, his lips coated in Krigare’s blood while his own dribbles down his face, but just as he begins to move his legs his opponent slams into his left side. The injury on his right shoulder still trembles from the earlier concussion and so it struggles to keep balance as he is forced to the right, stumbling awkwardly and slipping on the ice. Had it been warm with no snow or frost blanketing the ground, Castile would have had enough traction to at least remain standing, or if his talons didn’t already shift back into hooves. The combination of factors lands him on the ground unexpectedly, his injured shoulder against the solid ground. His mouth opens, but the cold silence chokes him. Fortunately, Krigare has reeled back in conclusion which enables Castile to rise back to his feet. Naturally, he is sore, but there is still a remnant of adrenaline that dulls the pain for now.

    He can’t let Krigare win.

    A sharp inhalation feeds his lungs, the exhale coiling in white plumes from his dilated nostrils. Castile faces Krigare, their eyes leveled on one another curiously, suspenseful. A careful note is taken of his opponent’s physical state – bloody, trembling – and while the ignorant and inexperienced part of him wants to find a healer, Castile is forced to remind himself that the battle’s conclusion rests in his palms.

    A steady walk – albeit with a mild limp – moves the boy in a broad circle in an almost predatory way. He bides his time unnaturally, letting the winter cold bite into his opponent’s wounds and unmoving body. Keep moving when it’s cold, he muses, don’t let your muscles stiffen.

    When he closes, it’s with reduced speed but a blazing fire in his soul. Castile rears and lashes his forelimbs toward Krigare’s left hip. Whether the hit met its target or deviated a few inches to the flanks or the muscles of the hindquarters, Castile hopes to reduce the powerhouse of the horse’s body and weaken him. The repercussion, however, forces an abrupt sucking of air as the concussion reverberates through his injured right shoulder. Landing, also, is uncomfortable but necessary. The ground doesn’t give much beneath his weight, the snow splaying but the frozen clay beneath holding fast. This needs to end, he tells himself.

    In haste, Castile pivots and kicks his hind legs back. He doesn’t lift his rump high like he would in play; his shoulder threatens him with shudders. It would be a kick more or less aiming for the left elbow, underbelly, or lower aspect of the shoulder. Enough to inflict damage to a degree, but hopefully quickly enough as to remove some of the pressure off his forehand, although it carries a majority of his weight. A majority, at least, isn’t his entire weight like when he bucks.

    The instant his hooves make contact with the icy ground again, Castile leaps away then gingerly turns. An exasperated sigh escapes him and his head droops in exhaustion while the adrenaline begins to wane. Steam rises from his body, battling the bitter cold above him in a hazy cloud. With a low grunt, Castile edges toward Krigare, cringing slightly with his limp and upon seeing the damage he caused. When their eyes level onto each other, Castile immediately sets aside the battle that just concluded and solemnly says, ”Let’s find a healer for you.” The monster caged within him growls with satisfaction as it settles down, for now, never wanting to be truly tamed.


    #6
    Hi there! This isn't a complete challenge, and therefore can't really be judged. Per the challenge section of the guide:
    "Challenges are a minimum of 3 attacking posts each, and can be more if set by the challenger. Each horse must also post a defense to each attack, meaning there must be a closing defense post (i.e. there will be at least 7 posts in a full challenge. 1) Horse A attack 1; 2) Horse B defense and attack 1; 3) Horse A defense and attack 2; 4) Horse B defense and attack 2; 5) Horse A defense and attack 3; 6) 2) Horse B defense and attack 3; 7) Horse A defense.)"

    You are more than welcome to finish the battle and we can just sort of ignore anything in those second posts you have now that feels like an ending. Once complete, you can post again for judgment. Let me know if you have questions. Thanks!
    #7
    Interesting. I didn't know the minimum posts were changed. Ok, I guess we will finish it out then. My apologies.
    #8
    Based on the information provided by Aeris that Krigare's player agreed to finish this challenge before thanksgiving and failed to post to continue, the win by default goes to Castile.




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