"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
Azael had always lived by a rather simple code: if you wanted something, you bled for it. The scars marring his dappled pelt surely attested to such a life philosophy.
And so it was that the grey wraith found himself upon that hard-packed earth on that particular winter day, the chill bite of the season catching the sooty tendrils of his mane and tail, sending them fluttering behind him like the tattered banners of some long-forgotten warlord.
He wanted something. And he wasn't going to leave without it.
Arching that elegant Andalusian neck, Azael cast his ebon-stained muzzle skyward to let loose with a piercing cry - a cry rife with challenge and confidence both.
Chemdog. Your blood is requested upon the field of battle.
Azael
Chemdog: You are being challenged for control of your lands and your mares.
I have until 6:51pm tonight to reply to this i believe. Let me finish up Archie x Chem challenge and i'll get started on this. Looks like an awesome character btw <33
His wounds are still semi-fresh from his last fight. His slow walk betrays his slight limp in his left shoulder. His scars still pink and beneath that coal black coat his muscles still bare the soreness that seems to not ever want to quit ailing him. Archam fought harder and better than he expected. Their sizes matches perfectly – both fit, both tenacious. Each fight teaches you something, or several things; things you can take with you when you meet another in battle.
His bitchy little bugle rings out and Chem lets out an unbridled laugh, moving obediently toward the beckon of a tiny war. He's pleased to arrive and find a finely built stallion, slightly smaller, steely color and stone-serious expression. Chem doesn't grin or laugh, he simply stares on from behind his forelock. His head falls, nods and rises again, he paws the ground and the battle begins.
Immediately his darts to the right, moving in a quick half circle and diving unpredictably toward the underbelly of his waiting opponent. It is an starter, a teaser, an invitation for more brutality. He finds what he can and holds on if he's able. He wants to rip him, the soft part just before the stifle. Rarely do things go as he plans so he'll be grateful for any piece of his dappled adversary. If he can manage to he will launch away with his grip still clenched, skittering away from any counter attacks (attempting to, anyhow).
Evening is settling on the snowy landscape. Bitter winds are moving in and with them come storms. Thickly falling snow is just north of them – a horse can smell the freeze on the air, the wet snowfall in the mountains. Chemdog silently hopes they'll be done by the time the heavy white cloud swallows them up.
Summary: He arrives and goes for his second favorite bitey spot, the soft flesh on the underbelly. Specifically the piece just before his stifle, but who knows if he will succeed. He wants to bite and rip away, but either way he moves off after his attack, moving only a couple feet away. [you can rp Chem facing him head on or with his back to him, depends on what attack you're going to do <3 up to you.] – Words: 304 – Post I
Time ticked by in slow measure. How long had it been since he had issued his challenge? Only the gods who deigned to watch over these lands would have truly known, for each passing second had simply bled into the last for the dappled stud who remained there, frozen in place while he awaited the appearance of his rival. For such was Azael's way. Though his thoughts raced with possibilities, though his mind thrummed with accusations - coward, colt, unworthy worm - he was, as ever, cool on the surface. As smooth as an undisturbed pond. As steady as a glacier, unaffected by the changing seasons.
And then, finally. There he was. The painted brute of the forest lands. Tall of frame. Broad of form.
Silence. A pause. A nod from his opponent. And then, movement.
So their battle began.
Inward the painted brute drove and stoically did Azael continue to hold his ground. When the other male circled, so did Azael turn his form into that movement in an attempt to keep his opponent from entering that vulnerable blindspot directly behind his hindquarters. But that blindspot was never his target, no - or so the dappled stallion realized when the paint suddenly snaked into his side, muzzle aimed for the tender flesh of his underbelly.
There had been time for a retreat, for a sidestep, for some sort of a counter to lessen the impact of that well-placed blow. But no such retreat ever came. Why waste a perfectly good bit of proximity, after all?
So it was that Azael whipped his own skull about. So it was that he aimed a deep bite at the crest of Chem's neck. He would have preferred a taste of that soft throat, in truth, but the crest was a far more reasonable target at the moment, given their current positioning.
And when Chem disengaged, there was indeed a rip, a tearing of hide that left some of that meat beneath Azael's belly exposed, vulnerable. The wraith's silver pelt bloomed crimson.
But the pain went unnoticed for now, ignored, the adrenaline roaring through the male's veins keeping such things at bay for the moment.
And here is where their brutal dance turned to a frenzy of movement, the dirt swirling in a hazy cloud around them as Chem skittered away, as Azael swiveled about to position his body just so, placing the two studs rump to rump. But not too close. It wouldn't do to be too close now. For Azael knew that in their hindquarters rested their true strength, that raw driving power which served to propel their hulking frames.
And Azael fully intended to compromise that power for Chem... or at the very least, make a valiant attempt. So it was that, with all of his might, the Andalusian kicked out with both back hooves, aiming a strike that would hopefully connect with Chem's hind legs - specifically his hock(s), at that rather crucial joint.
Whether the blow connected or no, the dappled stag would then move once more. But instead of moving away, he would attempt to move toward his opponent until there was nothing but disdain between them. Too close for a return kick, but plenty close for another bite, if his opponent so chose to bestow another upon his hide.
Or at least that was the plan.
Azael
Summary:
Chem's bite connected, ripping away some of the hide from Azael's belly. He is now bleeding.
Chem's retreat was successful.
Attack 1: Azael attempts to bite the crest of Chem's neck when he's in close quarters.
Attack 2: Azael then attempts to kick Chem in the hock(s) after Chem's retreat.
Defense 1: After the kick, Azael presses in close in an attempt to keep Chem from returning fire, leaving himself vulnerable to more bites or what-have-you in the process. Feel free to determine the way he's facing based on the needs of your first attack.
A clever one, eh? Now he grins. It's subtle, maybe even half-assed, but it's there. The boys seem to mimic one another at first, neither shying away, neither showing signs of cowering to the other. It's beautiful to watch, muse the trees. The gentleness of the breeze now picks up and the surrounding trees let their skeleton limbs dance and brush against each other with a quiet cheer for the fighters.
Chem's not sure how he managed to snake his body backward so quickly, but the steely stallion isn't to be taken lightly. He uses the lack of space between them to his advantage – this stallion has been to the rodeo before. He snaps at his nape like a wolf for an ankle. He's successful and the shock sizzles down Chem's speckled spine. At first the assault makes him want to instinctively duck down and back out, this would be a mistake, he realizes in nanoseconds. In his defense he thrusts up in a rear, a small and struggling rear (the stallions grip is seemingly powerful and well placed). Chem hopes to throw him off as much as he can and adjusts his body to face the dapple gray chest to chest. He wants to damage the jaw wrapped around the fuzzy pile of dread-locked hair that is the crest of his thick neck. It provides padding enough, but the pinch is hard and painful. He's not sure when the disconnect happened but this allows him to dance away on feathered legs. It's not a clean break and he receives a delightful sucker punch to his right butt cheek. A half moon of fresh pink flashes from beneath the obsidian of his coat.
His small retreat works well enough but it's not distance he wants, so he pivots to face him once more, slashing his chipped, hardened feet toward the face of his opponent. His intention is to smack, punch or clip the boyo in the forehead. It's a two prong attack, though, dually purposed to make the gray shy away and blind himself for even just a fleeting moment. It is hard to stop ones body from flinching when something is flying at your face...especially if your any ounce equine in nature. Everyone tries to avoid getting hit in the face, right?
He'll use this first attack to hopefully weaken, but at the very least distract his opponent from his second maneuver. Propped raggedly on hind limbs, one weakened from a well aimed kick. He's painfully straining to keep his upper body afloat while he swings his feet for Azael's head. His body is battered from fighting. His rough black pelt is marred and ripped, blood still caked on his wounds. His muscles feel like strings that are about to give out. He pushes for one last piece of energy, for the adrenaline coursing hard and fast through his veins to go into overdrive even for just a half-second. He's in a semi-rear at this time, suddenly his flailing legs stop and he folds them tight underneath him. He springs like a lightening fast torpedo of inky hair and exposed teeth. He sets his sights for Azael's vulnerable little left ear. This is his favorite move. It's always proved worthy as long as he is fast enough. Sometimes he is and sometimes he's not but when he is it's bad news for anyone on the other end. He'll clench so hard it'll bleed, if he can manage a decent grip. The ear is so very sensitive and can be torn easily, no one wants that, but then again no one wants their shit taken from them either. Fair trade. He'll snap like a gator until something is grasped, not justhair but flesh flesh flesh, meat, muscle, the metallic taste of blood. He wants that ear – he's hungry for it and if he can get it he'll fall back to his feet with all the force he can muster and hopefully bring his adversary with him. He'll shake like a canine with a rabbit when he finally finds something worth grabbing with his dull yellow teeth.
The wind howls now, screeching almost and bringing in the darkness with it. Clouds choke the sun and the pale beyond turns into gray shadows. The forests are naked and the lakes are solid, the wind has nothing to hinder it while it screams down the valley and into the plains. Temperatures are dropping fast and the storm is picking up, faster and faster, they may not finish before it reaches them.
chemdog
astra inclinant, sed non obligant.
Chemdog
Six Years and Healthy, Athletically Fit
Sturdy Drafty Build - Hybrid
17hh
Black Paint w/ Birdcatcher Spots
No Traits
Sum: Chems defense to Az's 1st attack is jamming his neck into Az's mouth... hoping his advantage of strength will throw Az off or at least make his jaw hurt enough to let go. His first attack is a punch to the face (or several, but i don't care if they don't land or where they land), a typical stallion rear up and slash those feet like they like to do (; - the point though is to make Az shy away from the hooves coming at is eyes. We all know horses don't really like that. His next attack, taking advantage of his flinch, he goes for the ear and wants to drag the stallion's head downward and shake it back and forth, resembling canine behavior. [he's seen canines do this, he like it]
His bite to Chem's neckline is successful. Azael's kick lands on his rump instead of his hock but it's a powerful hit, still.
Chem's Injuries, so far: - hurty bum-cheek
- hurty neck
But such is the nature of these encounters, these shows of strength and cunning, these displays of split second decisions, of strategies formed in the span of a thundering heartbeat and dashed just as quickly.
Such a dashing Azael himself experienced when his opponent reared and the dappled stag was suddenly presented with a flash of flinty hooves in his face, threatening his precious eyesight. No. That was one risk he was not willing to take.
And so it was that the grey wraith shied away, head ducking, his great frame thrown into a swift reverse. But it wasn't swift enough, for the painted stag was still able to lunge forward. He was still able to clench his teeth downward on that sensitive bit of flesh - Azael's left ear. And then he began to shake, like some sort of lowborn cur.
Pain.
It ripped through his body - an insatiable wildfire tearing through his form, devouring all sense and all reason for the span of a single moment.
And then there was only anger. A pure, icy anger burning with all the chill of the season's first frost. It filled him. It consumed him, until there was nothing, nothing but that very moment. Nothing but Chem. The acute agony in his ear was little more than a dull ache, easily forgotten. The heated trickle of blood staining his silvered cheek was soon to be yet another memory of battles past.
Thus filled with renewed purpose, thus narrowed with a frigid focus, Azael threw his entire body into motion. A forward motion - a motion meant to hopefully throw his opponent off-balance and inspire a disengage. With all of his might, he pressed, ignoring the burn of his straining muscles, ignoring the throb of his injuries. Using his body as a battering ram of sorts in this way, he flung himself wholeheartedly into the action, unable to divide his attention for any other purpose besides simply pressing, pressing, pressing, pressing.
He would gladly drive Chem into the very depths of oblivion if he had to. Or until his own body gave out and he collapsed onto the dusty earth beneath them.
Whichever came first.
Azael
Azael Six years old Andalusian 16.2hh Dappled grey with black points No traits
Summary:
Defense 1: Azael, predictably, ducks his head and tries to back away in order to avoid the blow.
Chem is successful in getting a hold of his left ear and shaking.
Attack 1 & 2: Instead of dividing his remaining strength between two separate attacks, Azael simply throws his all into pushing himself into Chem in an attempt to throw the other off-balance and encourage a disengage.
Injuries:
He has a patch of flesh ripped from his stomach, bleeding.
