01-23-2020, 01:35 PM
I'm going to say this is marked Mature for gratuitous gore :|
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allan|Playfair+Display|Rosario" rel="stylesheet"><link href="fonturl" rel="stylesheet"><style>#brazen{width:600px;border:1px solid #d8d4d3;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #898584;background:url('https://i.postimg.cc/rF53fRcX/BrazenBG.jpg');background-size:600px;position:relative;}#brazenname{margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;z-index:2;position:relative;font-family: 'Playfair Display', serif;font-size:70px;text-transform:uppercase;color:#394956;}#brazenwrapper{position:relative;z-index:0;width:500px;background:#d8d4d3;border:1px solid #312c32;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #312c32 inset;margin-top:-100px;margin-bottom:0px;padding-bottom:1px;padding-top:90px;opacity:0.8;}#brazentext{width:450px;color:#45403a;font-size:14px;font-family: 'Rosario', sans-serif;}#brazenpic{position:relative;z-index:1;margin-top:0px;}#brazenquote{color:#394956;font-size:18px;font-family: 'Allan', cursive;line-height:16px;}hr.brazenname{width:100px;background:#394956;height:2px;border:0;}</style><center><div id="brazen"><div id="brazenpic"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/x1CGcB6x/Brazen.png" width="600px"/></div><div id="brazenwrapper"><p id="brazenquote">cold in the violence after the war<br/>hope is a fire to keep us warm</p><p id="brazentext" align="justify">In a way, it’s a blessing, slipping into darkness in the wake of her unaccountable sorrow. It’s impossible to say how long she lay suspended, but when she awakens, she finds herself whole and well once more. Too much so. It’s foolish to miss something that offers only a life of uncompromising pain, yet she does. Others might view it as a burden, but it is <i>her</i> burden.
Choking back the lingering emotion, she scrambles to her feet, wary gaze shifting to the offending pillars once more. This time it comes as no surprise when another figure appears between them. She squints for a moment, but as the horse steps forward and she recognizes the familiar visage, her eyes widen in shock.
It’s surreal to watch one's own self step towards them. Ears flattening against the wild tangle of her mane, she eyes the clone with suspicion and distrust. They would be the same, were it not for the fact that the doppelganger wore Brazen’s original face, not this be-horned one.
As before, the other horse attacks without a word. Brazen is prepared this time. There could be no mistaken intentions anymore. Whether it had merely been sent to test her mettle, or whether it truly wishes her harm is irrelevant. She isn’t about to wait and find out.
For a period of time, the two Brazen’s dance around each other, one naked, doing her utmost to avoid the brutal edges of bone while attempting well-timed strikes with tooth or horn or hoof, the other charging heedlessly and without finesse, her body a battering ram. Brazen, the real one, is growing ever more leery, realizing with each failed strike just how impossible it is to cleave through the bone and granite-skin her counterpart had inherited. Though she can appreciate the impressive defensive nature of her stolen abilities, this is not the manner in which she would have chosen to discover it.
They are too well matched. Equals in too many ways, too well versed in the moves the other would make before they were made. But as they continue their fruitless dance, sweat beginning to darken their skin, Brazen begins to see a weakness. They are both fit, their stamina above average. Brazen’s daily need to run had seen to that. But, for the first time in a very long time, Brazen does not have the significant weight of her armor impeding her. A weight that would, inevitably, cause her counterpart to tire faster.
She does not need to fight through impossible armor into a doomed end. She only needs to last longer. Eventually, as the false Brazen tired, her stoneskin would fail.
<i>That</i> would be her opportunity to end this stalemate.
And so, it continues, until both are breathing heavily, sweat darkening the red and white of her skin. Until, so briefly as to be almost unnoticeable, she sees it. The flicker of weakness. The sight bolsters her, giving her a second wind. Keeps her tired legs moving. Until the stone fails completely, and the doppelganger struggles to summon it once more.
Seizing the moment, teeth gritted and gaze focused, she bursts forward, dropping her head and shoulder to ram into the false Brazen’s chest and neck. One of the few areas on her body not protected by bone. The bruising force of skin against bone is drowned out by the shriek emitted from her counterparts lip as horn meets flesh, scraping and grinding against the bone that, given only another inch, would have protected the vulnerable flesh.
As they break apart, blood splattering her grim features and dripping from the horn, she watches the other Brazen stumble backwards, a wound gaping where chest and neck meet. Brazen does not stop however. She cannot, not yet. Charging forward once more, she swings her head, using her force and momentum (and conveniently provided horns) to rip through her opponents unprotected neck. The weary and injured state of the false Brazen, coupled with her excessive force, serves to produce a gory scene as horn rends flesh. Blood sprays as her trachea separates from her neck, cutting off her shriek midway.
Dripping and red, Brazen slows and turns to survey her body as she falls almost gracefully in death. Her gaze is curiously devoid of emotion as she watches. Later she could weep. Now though? Now she could only stare in the face of victory, wondering what might step from those pillars next.</p><hr class="brazenname" align="left" style="margin-bottom:-50px;margin-top:50px;margin-left:26px"><p id="brazenname">Brazen</p><hr class="brazenname" align="right" style="margin-top:-50px;margin-bottom:50px;margin-right:26px"></div></div></center>
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allan|Playfair+Display|Rosario" rel="stylesheet"><link href="fonturl" rel="stylesheet"><style>#brazen{width:600px;border:1px solid #d8d4d3;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #898584;background:url('https://i.postimg.cc/rF53fRcX/BrazenBG.jpg');background-size:600px;position:relative;}#brazenname{margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;z-index:2;position:relative;font-family: 'Playfair Display', serif;font-size:70px;text-transform:uppercase;color:#394956;}#brazenwrapper{position:relative;z-index:0;width:500px;background:#d8d4d3;border:1px solid #312c32;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #312c32 inset;margin-top:-100px;margin-bottom:0px;padding-bottom:1px;padding-top:90px;opacity:0.8;}#brazentext{width:450px;color:#45403a;font-size:14px;font-family: 'Rosario', sans-serif;}#brazenpic{position:relative;z-index:1;margin-top:0px;}#brazenquote{color:#394956;font-size:18px;font-family: 'Allan', cursive;line-height:16px;}hr.brazenname{width:100px;background:#394956;height:2px;border:0;}</style><center><div id="brazen"><div id="brazenpic"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/x1CGcB6x/Brazen.png" width="600px"/></div><div id="brazenwrapper"><p id="brazenquote">cold in the violence after the war<br/>hope is a fire to keep us warm</p><p id="brazentext" align="justify">In a way, it’s a blessing, slipping into darkness in the wake of her unaccountable sorrow. It’s impossible to say how long she lay suspended, but when she awakens, she finds herself whole and well once more. Too much so. It’s foolish to miss something that offers only a life of uncompromising pain, yet she does. Others might view it as a burden, but it is <i>her</i> burden.
Choking back the lingering emotion, she scrambles to her feet, wary gaze shifting to the offending pillars once more. This time it comes as no surprise when another figure appears between them. She squints for a moment, but as the horse steps forward and she recognizes the familiar visage, her eyes widen in shock.
It’s surreal to watch one's own self step towards them. Ears flattening against the wild tangle of her mane, she eyes the clone with suspicion and distrust. They would be the same, were it not for the fact that the doppelganger wore Brazen’s original face, not this be-horned one.
As before, the other horse attacks without a word. Brazen is prepared this time. There could be no mistaken intentions anymore. Whether it had merely been sent to test her mettle, or whether it truly wishes her harm is irrelevant. She isn’t about to wait and find out.
For a period of time, the two Brazen’s dance around each other, one naked, doing her utmost to avoid the brutal edges of bone while attempting well-timed strikes with tooth or horn or hoof, the other charging heedlessly and without finesse, her body a battering ram. Brazen, the real one, is growing ever more leery, realizing with each failed strike just how impossible it is to cleave through the bone and granite-skin her counterpart had inherited. Though she can appreciate the impressive defensive nature of her stolen abilities, this is not the manner in which she would have chosen to discover it.
They are too well matched. Equals in too many ways, too well versed in the moves the other would make before they were made. But as they continue their fruitless dance, sweat beginning to darken their skin, Brazen begins to see a weakness. They are both fit, their stamina above average. Brazen’s daily need to run had seen to that. But, for the first time in a very long time, Brazen does not have the significant weight of her armor impeding her. A weight that would, inevitably, cause her counterpart to tire faster.
She does not need to fight through impossible armor into a doomed end. She only needs to last longer. Eventually, as the false Brazen tired, her stoneskin would fail.
<i>That</i> would be her opportunity to end this stalemate.
And so, it continues, until both are breathing heavily, sweat darkening the red and white of her skin. Until, so briefly as to be almost unnoticeable, she sees it. The flicker of weakness. The sight bolsters her, giving her a second wind. Keeps her tired legs moving. Until the stone fails completely, and the doppelganger struggles to summon it once more.
Seizing the moment, teeth gritted and gaze focused, she bursts forward, dropping her head and shoulder to ram into the false Brazen’s chest and neck. One of the few areas on her body not protected by bone. The bruising force of skin against bone is drowned out by the shriek emitted from her counterparts lip as horn meets flesh, scraping and grinding against the bone that, given only another inch, would have protected the vulnerable flesh.
As they break apart, blood splattering her grim features and dripping from the horn, she watches the other Brazen stumble backwards, a wound gaping where chest and neck meet. Brazen does not stop however. She cannot, not yet. Charging forward once more, she swings her head, using her force and momentum (and conveniently provided horns) to rip through her opponents unprotected neck. The weary and injured state of the false Brazen, coupled with her excessive force, serves to produce a gory scene as horn rends flesh. Blood sprays as her trachea separates from her neck, cutting off her shriek midway.
Dripping and red, Brazen slows and turns to survey her body as she falls almost gracefully in death. Her gaze is curiously devoid of emotion as she watches. Later she could weep. Now though? Now she could only stare in the face of victory, wondering what might step from those pillars next.</p><hr class="brazenname" align="left" style="margin-bottom:-50px;margin-top:50px;margin-left:26px"><p id="brazenname">Brazen</p><hr class="brazenname" align="right" style="margin-top:-50px;margin-bottom:50px;margin-right:26px"></div></div></center>