"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
He felt.. empty. Ever since he could remember, Cerva had been there. He'd chosen her himself. For her kindness, her softness. Her beauty. And now he was leaving her. But not forever, never that. He would find her again, as soon as he could. She was his, and always would be.
He would return for her.
But he had to do this first. For her. For them. He had to learn to fight. It had driven him to this man, this magician. He was the key to returning to Cerva as a new man, able to keep her and protect her. Able to hoard his treasure like the great beasts of legend.
The boy was two years now. Or maybe that made him a man. He followed the magician dimly, paused as his mentor bowed down to the sky, watched in silence. His thoughts were elsewhere, they probably always would be. Tangled in a beautiful mess of his mare. Her rich color, her bright eyes. Soft lashes that teased him each time they closed. Silky hair that always smelled so good. Flawless skin.
"To the plains with you, boy." The man's voice shattered his mental paradise and he glared at the ground. "If you have a wish for death, I have no qualms of giving you your wishes." He believed it. He'd have to work hard to make it out of this alive. The man wouldn't hesitate to kill him. But that would only make him better at this. "A boy wishes to spar with a King. Bootlicker, Dovev. Is that what you are?"
Dovev bit back a growl, grit his teeth. Black eyes shined like polished obsidian as he raised his gaze to the magician beneath dark, hooded brows. He forced any retaliation down. The colt belonged to him now, and the man would call him whatever he wished. So he ground out a Yes while his eyes screamed Never!
His eyes hazed as it happened again: like bones grinding and shifting beneath his skin. It rumbled and yet it was silent, settling over tissue and muscles. Like a child in an early womb, it could be felt but not seen. But it was growing, and perhaps soon it would stretch his skin when it moved. He swallowed the fear and uncertainty. He couldn't understand what it was, what it meant. What would happen to him.
He slowly refocused, the blur of his mentor, his master, carefully pieced back in to terrifying clarity. He stiffened, unaware of whether much time had passed or if it had only been an instant, and pretended nothing happened.
12-08-2016, 07:12 AM (This post was last modified: 12-08-2016, 07:17 AM by Ashley.)
He makes Dovev wait.
And wait.
He watches, to see how long it takes. How long would the boy wait? How badly did he want this?
Ashley’s ember eyes peer through the grasses, ears flicking forward in a vain attempt to hide his red pelt from the boy. Eventually, he gives up the ghost, and moves to stand in front of Dovev, the light going out in his eyes as he faced the boy with the bone armor. “Interesting shift in appearance, Dovev,” Ashley says with a hiss, clicking his teeth and shifting his weight to his backhand to test the ground. Soft, not much traction. He gauges the wind, and makes note of any marked foliage in the expanse; any form of cover to shield himself or the boy from oncoming obstacles. Flat sandy ground, boulder on the far side past his pupil. The master takes a mental note. Always be aware of your environment. If your opponent has not established it, make sure you do. Your environment is as important to your offense and your defense as your attacks are.
Sizing up the small boy, the old king, pushes up, arching his back, and presents his own armored plates that push forward from his body. His crest is pushed towards the ground, abdomen and stomach up as his wings are shed from his body, fading into a crimson myst of blood and feathers. Flight will do no good this day. Bones that have snapped to produce his armor and break his wings away crack back into place with a loud grunt, and Ashley shakes, his joints loose, his body in agony. Magic aside, there are still consequences for body manipulation.
Magic always has a price.
“Unlike you, my plates will not someday choke me to death. Before that day comes, you must learn to use it to your advantage, boy. Remember what you have, play it into your hand. Know your opponent’s body. Always know where they are. Be aware. Read between the lines.”Find some good diagrams on equine skeletal and muscular systems. Knowing this and being able to manipulate your post to include scientific locations of bones, muscles and organs allows you to be able to predict and say with authority what the consequences of your attacks and defenses will take. Organs if you also intend to include blood/bleeding injuries, and digestive disorders (eg: a Kick to the right place in the stomach would induce vomiting, etc)
Sooty black plates overlap on his back and spine, crossing the front of his barreled chest and up the back of his neck his hair plaiting through the plates, laying flat against his skin. His tail flicks outwards, the plates working their way down his tailbone, making their way over his back flanks. What was a man is replaced by mostly calcified rock, moving and turning with a grace that only a magician could have, despite the weight he carries. “You want to play, but this is not a game. You long to be a man, but you’re barely out of shortpants. If you want to chase the shadows and dance with your nightmares, I can give you what you seek, but you will pay dearly for it.”
He turns away from him then, his ears turning backwards, to hear the sound of the grasses swaying around Dovev. This was a mock, but there was no way that the child would come out of this not bleeding. The King has a student—the student must be broken.
He snarls, his voice echoing down his body and backwards towards his prey.“Take what you think you know, and try to strike me. I promise not to kill you. Today.”
He stood motionless, watching. Waiting for the man to command him. Not just a man. His master. Each minute that ticked by fueled his impatience, made him want to smart off to the magician and push him into action. The suspense was eating at him, his muscles twitching expectantly. Make your move! Do it!
With a cry of pain, Dovev tensed up, his face pinching in agony. Lengths of bone plates grew within him again, stretching his skin painfully tight across their lips. They held there, just beneath the surface, instead of piercing through and relieving the pressure. His teeth clenched tight and his eyes watered with the unbearable pain. He choked out a gasp, his chest tight. "Interesting shift in appearance, Dovev." God, the bastard knew what this was, what was happening to him. Couldn't he make it stop? Please make it stop!
Snaps and cracks of breaking bone forced his eyes up to Ashley. The man was covered in what Dovev now knew to be forcing its way out of himself, pulling his skin tight but not yet piercing through. The magician's wings were gone, and Dovev tried to focus enough to see what his own armor would grow to look like when he aged.
"Unlike you, my plates will not someday choke me to death." His eyes flashed up to meet Ashley's in fear. He was going to die from this shit? What kind of a sick game was this to be born with a magic that would kill him? "Before that day comes, you must learn to use it to your advantage, boy. Remember what you have, play it into your hand. Know your opponent's body. Always know where they are. Be aware. Read between the lines."
Goddamn, this was going to kill him. How soon? How long would he have with Cerva before this grew enough to suffocate him?
Bones rumbled within him again and his eyes slammed shut. Dammit, make it stop! It hurts!
When he opened his eyes again, they were angry and pleading. Maybe he should be wishing for death here. Something quick and not this slow torture taking over his body. "Take what you think you know, and try to strike me. I promise not to kill you. Today."
Damn, maybe Ashley should kill him. Maybe Dovev could force him to. But Cerva... He couldn't leave her. Not ever. He'd suffer this for her. Anything for her.
With the excruciating pain against his taut skin, he acted in haste. The very least he could do was cause the surface to rip and release the suffocating pressure. It would be a gory mess of blood and bone, but he'd have a little relief from this intense pain. So, he launched himself forward. Almost immediately he could feel his traction slipping and tried to counter it by throwing his weight into his forelegs, digging them through the top layer of muck at the surface to the harder packed ground beneath. He couldn't run full-tilt, but they were able to grip and pull him forward without stumbling.
With only his own painful pressure in mind, he tried to throw himself at the man, aiming to drag his body across Ashley's bone armor, from left shoulder to hip, to release his own plates of bone. Make it STOP! Come on! he screamed, begging for his release. He kicked his back legs out as he passed, without aim, in an attempt to keep the magician from coming too close, doing too much damage in return.
Ashley smiles, lowering his head and stepping his backhand further behind him, taking a wider stance as to be able to withstand the blow of Dovev’s bone armor. A hefty thud follows a dragging sound as Dovev tries to crack their armor—to relieve the pressure of his body, and perhaps to test his own mettle against his master. Ashley snarls, pushing forward as a battering ram, lifting his head as Dovev lashes backwards with kick; potentially aiming at whatever he could get, potentially his face. The ginger-colored man bites out at Dovev, intent to grab onto the Suspensory ligament just above the hock. The intent of this would be to bring Dovev to the ground; or to cripple him, whichever would come first. The wonderment of being trained by a magician—all your wounds come free of charge, and so does the healing.
Sneaky sneaky.
Ashley disengages from this by pulling back from pushing on his prey, and rotating his forehand to the left. He pushes forward again, shifting his weight to his front hooves and attempts to kick Dovev’s ribs, between the more sensitive portions of the plates. Broken ribs would mean punctured heart or lungs, limited breathing, internal bleeding, or death. Of course, death is not what we’re looking for today.
Ashley is heaving. Blow delivered, he straightens his posture, takes a deep breath, and turns to look at his handiwork. “Impressive. Most Impressive.”
