11-22-2015, 01:11 AM
Nymphetamine heard his name like a whisper in his sleep. He almost wasn’t sure it was real, but the intonation of distrust or more rather, dislike, could not be mistaken—Killdare was calling him. The Colonel was definitely not his biggest fan. While the winged beast didn’t say it outright, the interactions they had were not the most amicable. Nymphetamine didn’t blame him for not trusting him, very few set themselves up as double agents of sorts with out being assigned, to do so. Never the less, Straia had decided his usefulness was worth a little risk, but only so much so, gifting one of her pet ravens to him as an invisible companion. He felt the weight even now as his tall lean frame turned to go meet Killdare.
The blood bay arrived at the mocking grounds, a generally cleared out area in terms of trees and other obstructions surrounded by a wooded area of sorts; that was reserved for practicing for battle. He witnessed Killdare there, tall, but not quite as tall as him, confidently looking back at him. He does not need words to know what Killdare wished, and Nymphetamine was happy to oblige. See, he was young, days shy of turning 3, and not nearly the veteran that Killdare was, but he was willing to learn and eager to prove (something obvious by his decision to spy). He had few advantages, but would try to play them the best he could. Since he was of a finer make and model, he would be able to react quicker, move faster than Killdare, and there was also his necromancy- but he would hold out on that if he could, since it weakened him so. Killdare would make a great training partner, if nothing else, it was an opportunity to let go of some pent up annoyances from when he was in that ice cage. This moment of arrival was short lived, the moment of sizing up and strategy was over as quickly as an autumn breeze flies through.
Nymphetamine braced off the cooling ground, autumn was quickly bringing death to the spaces around them, the grass yellowed and was crisp under each fall of his daggers, the trees dropped their leaves around him until they became a shell of their former selves. The necromancer felt a connection with the death around him, he didn’t consider himself the darkest of beings, but you can’t be light when you can force the dead from their chambers. The wind blows a chill around the two beasts of varying stature, and just like that, it was the needed push to topple the two into a frenzy of hooves, teeth,…and wings.
Nymphetamine waited a split second too long and missed the first attack, as Killdare’s muscles where already clenched. The winged bay’s haunches pull him up-up-up in a great rear, pawing and striking. Killdare reached forward, fore-daggers splitting the air like a hot knife through butter. While Killdare’s mass is impressive, Nymphetamine’s speed is greater- at least in this moment. As Killdare’s weight is rocked back, mass balanced in his hind section, the blood stallion launched himself in a tight rollback. He moved first to the left in a tight circle-escaping the winged creatures hooves and ending by Killdare’s left haunch. The move took only but a second, the tiniest of retreats to avoid the hooves and a small arch to bring him to the rear of his opponent. The younger stag’s ears are pinned back, eyes hard and focused, his maw parted showing his teeth as he attcked. He aimed at the haunch in front of him, teeth ready to sink into the muscled flesh burdened by the mass above it.
The stag finished his motion, and hoped it would hinder his sparring mate at least momentarily. He pushed his pillars forward, raking in air to his lungs, replenishing his blood with oxygen to keep his mind sharp. He moved around to better position himself, as the Colonel lands, and moves off to the conjurer’s left. Nymphetamine had only seen his wings unfolded a few times, so when Killdare held out a wing as he got closer Nymphetamine didn’t judge the length fast enough. Killdare past him swiftly, the thorns on his wing caught the flesh of his shoulder. Nymphetamine winced, the thorn sliced through his skin, leaving a jagged bleeding line in its wake. The blood bay tossed his head in pain, gritting his teeth as to not shout out, as to not show weakness. Pain worked through him in a hot pulse, as he cantered away continuing to move off Killdare’s left side; away from Killdare, away from the clearing, and into the trees. His shoulder slowed him a little, and he limped slightly until the pain turned into a dull tingle that he pushed aside the best he could.
He was not retreating but giving way to the chase. Nymphetamine needed the cover of the trees. The trees would help him, he could whip around them easier than Killdare, and more importantly Killdare would have greater difficulty opening up those wings within the trees. That was the fantastic thing about the mocking grounds, the land wasn’t just flat, or just cleared out; the land was as almost as dynamic as the inhabitants of Chamber. Nymhpetamine zigged through the trees; left, right, left, right. He then made a hard, sharp turn to the right to move back at his opponent. Swiftly he aimed his hind-quarters at the beast and fired both legs out at Killdare’s ribs. A smile came cross his maw as he thought of the crackling sound of breaking ribs. As soon as he was on all fours again, he pushed out and away a few strides, a chuckle escaping his lips, as he turned back read for the next attack.
This is good fun, Militiaman. What else do you got?
Nymphetamine charged forward and lifted his front end up dark painted daggers striking at the Colonel’s head, neck chest yearning for impact. The necromancer landed a moment later and trotted around to look back at Killdare. He huffed our in mock exhaustion. The traveling he had done to make it to Bequanna had made him fit; he wouldn’t tire that easily. The blood by looked over his enemy, looking for a twitch, a clench that might tell him what was next. He would wait until he saw it to move, no reason to waste energy hoping about like a rabbit. He would need his energy to play with his corpses later.
The blood bay arrived at the mocking grounds, a generally cleared out area in terms of trees and other obstructions surrounded by a wooded area of sorts; that was reserved for practicing for battle. He witnessed Killdare there, tall, but not quite as tall as him, confidently looking back at him. He does not need words to know what Killdare wished, and Nymphetamine was happy to oblige. See, he was young, days shy of turning 3, and not nearly the veteran that Killdare was, but he was willing to learn and eager to prove (something obvious by his decision to spy). He had few advantages, but would try to play them the best he could. Since he was of a finer make and model, he would be able to react quicker, move faster than Killdare, and there was also his necromancy- but he would hold out on that if he could, since it weakened him so. Killdare would make a great training partner, if nothing else, it was an opportunity to let go of some pent up annoyances from when he was in that ice cage. This moment of arrival was short lived, the moment of sizing up and strategy was over as quickly as an autumn breeze flies through.
Nymphetamine braced off the cooling ground, autumn was quickly bringing death to the spaces around them, the grass yellowed and was crisp under each fall of his daggers, the trees dropped their leaves around him until they became a shell of their former selves. The necromancer felt a connection with the death around him, he didn’t consider himself the darkest of beings, but you can’t be light when you can force the dead from their chambers. The wind blows a chill around the two beasts of varying stature, and just like that, it was the needed push to topple the two into a frenzy of hooves, teeth,…and wings.
Nymphetamine waited a split second too long and missed the first attack, as Killdare’s muscles where already clenched. The winged bay’s haunches pull him up-up-up in a great rear, pawing and striking. Killdare reached forward, fore-daggers splitting the air like a hot knife through butter. While Killdare’s mass is impressive, Nymphetamine’s speed is greater- at least in this moment. As Killdare’s weight is rocked back, mass balanced in his hind section, the blood stallion launched himself in a tight rollback. He moved first to the left in a tight circle-escaping the winged creatures hooves and ending by Killdare’s left haunch. The move took only but a second, the tiniest of retreats to avoid the hooves and a small arch to bring him to the rear of his opponent. The younger stag’s ears are pinned back, eyes hard and focused, his maw parted showing his teeth as he attcked. He aimed at the haunch in front of him, teeth ready to sink into the muscled flesh burdened by the mass above it.
The stag finished his motion, and hoped it would hinder his sparring mate at least momentarily. He pushed his pillars forward, raking in air to his lungs, replenishing his blood with oxygen to keep his mind sharp. He moved around to better position himself, as the Colonel lands, and moves off to the conjurer’s left. Nymphetamine had only seen his wings unfolded a few times, so when Killdare held out a wing as he got closer Nymphetamine didn’t judge the length fast enough. Killdare past him swiftly, the thorns on his wing caught the flesh of his shoulder. Nymphetamine winced, the thorn sliced through his skin, leaving a jagged bleeding line in its wake. The blood bay tossed his head in pain, gritting his teeth as to not shout out, as to not show weakness. Pain worked through him in a hot pulse, as he cantered away continuing to move off Killdare’s left side; away from Killdare, away from the clearing, and into the trees. His shoulder slowed him a little, and he limped slightly until the pain turned into a dull tingle that he pushed aside the best he could.
He was not retreating but giving way to the chase. Nymphetamine needed the cover of the trees. The trees would help him, he could whip around them easier than Killdare, and more importantly Killdare would have greater difficulty opening up those wings within the trees. That was the fantastic thing about the mocking grounds, the land wasn’t just flat, or just cleared out; the land was as almost as dynamic as the inhabitants of Chamber. Nymhpetamine zigged through the trees; left, right, left, right. He then made a hard, sharp turn to the right to move back at his opponent. Swiftly he aimed his hind-quarters at the beast and fired both legs out at Killdare’s ribs. A smile came cross his maw as he thought of the crackling sound of breaking ribs. As soon as he was on all fours again, he pushed out and away a few strides, a chuckle escaping his lips, as he turned back read for the next attack.
This is good fun, Militiaman. What else do you got?
Nymphetamine charged forward and lifted his front end up dark painted daggers striking at the Colonel’s head, neck chest yearning for impact. The necromancer landed a moment later and trotted around to look back at Killdare. He huffed our in mock exhaustion. The traveling he had done to make it to Bequanna had made him fit; he wouldn’t tire that easily. The blood by looked over his enemy, looking for a twitch, a clench that might tell him what was next. He would wait until he saw it to move, no reason to waste energy hoping about like a rabbit. He would need his energy to play with his corpses later.
SIX FEET DEEP IS THE INCISION, SUNSETTER
NYMPHETAMINE