"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
how about some leisurely combat? No rush for posts..lets say 5 days between if necessary? Extensions are fine, just speak up and let me know.
2 posts each with two attacks per post, counters/or blocks as necessary
I'm fine with traits, so here are my stats >>>
Killdare
bay with a stay and a white sock (idk in case you want to describe him for some reason whatevs)
friesian/vanner cross ( I've always played him as quite large, broad.. so think more of a vanner build )
16hh
Mahogany colored dragon wings ( quite large in size as well, as they must be able to lift him, i picture them much like the ones on GOT..and with talons/spikes? on the tips..they are fire- proof )
All aboard--- I hope I'm actually good practice-- it has literally been years.
Nymphetamine
Mahogany bay (i play up the red-even though he isn't a chestnut) with dark tipped (Agouti gene A+ type) muzzle, ears, and darkened cannons. No other facial markings.
akhal-teke x arabian -- slender, finer boned type, but quick both are racing breeds. akhal-teke plays into his shiny "blood coat" (if you want to use it , i dunno)
16.2- hh
Trait: necromancy- reanimation only- any typically found animal of the setting.
He’s called the conjurer to the mocking grounds, they all needed to practice for what was to come-including himself.
Autumn falls upon Beqanna just as easily as the leaves to the ground, the air is cool, and welcome on his back. He takes mental note that the boy is taller than he, but only a bit. When it came down to it, that would matter little, and not offer much advantage. What he does concern himself with (and it seems he always must) is the sleek form of the colt before him. He was easily heavier than most, and because of it slower. What he did lack in speed though, he would try to make up for in strength. Every hit must count if he was to win.
There is no honor in besting the little man, this he knows, but there is honor in the knowledge to be gained. Every fight was a lesson learned, no matter the outcome, regardless of the spoils.
Now a little man is just as useful as a big man, tough and wiry as they are, but what battle demands before all things- is a sound mind in a sound body. Muscle is useless without mind. Mind is just the same when unsupported by endurance. Mind is essential, endurance is essential, muscular strength is a most valuable auxiliary.
He imagines they stand before each other, a time (though short) for such thoughts to take place. Though they can not simply remain idle, and Killdare would never dream of such- so the bay beast advances. Swiftly (as any large beast might possibly go) he rears, bringing his weight to his hind-quarters and strikes forward on his way back down. Thrusting his forelegs out, sending his hooves at the young bay, and adding momentum to his physical strength.
Again reaching the earth, he trots away a few paces to the lads left, using that very same wing to reach out. He swipes one of the slate-colored talons at the necromancer as he goes by, before tucking the scaled arm back to his side, and turning about face. At this he gives a great snort, raking the hardening autumn ground before he prepares his next attack.
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.
He knows the youngster will show, they always do. No one, not even he, would forfeit and suffer that kind of shame.
The blood is ambitious, perhaps even more than Killdare was when he was young. A good long stint in the Chamber might cure him of that, might align his enthusiasm to something worthwhile. Not ambition for himself, but ambition for the good of the Chamber. Given time, perhaps the young bay would find he suited that purpose. Pray he does. It is not likely the chamber or its Queen would take kindly to a turncoat.
The Colonel is glad that they do not make a dance of this, ditching the grandeur of show. Diving into the meat of the matter, no puns intended. As he rears, engaging his haunches and bringing his weight there to balance, the kid backrolls. The younger male pulls away from him before turning and reaching like a snake, aiming to strike at Killdare’s haunch. Before the winged brute can land and side-step the attack, Nymphetamine’s teeth meet their target.
It’s an irritation, if it is anything. Dull, foliage-eating teeth scraping the dragon-stallions skin. A minor abrasion was left in its wake and soon it would give to some swelling, but only for a few hours. He lands with annoyance, heading to the juvenile’s left. Killdare grunted, young colts tended to be mouthy, and he deemed Nymphetamine no exception. It was a common game among the young, nipping one another back-and-forth back-and forth. The Colonel had outgrown such games long ago, and he swats the boy in passing. He smirks as the granite-colored spike slices the blood’s shoulder, kissing him with a little souvenir.
If Killdare thought the lad had retreated into the treeline, he would have laughed mockingly and flown back to the Chamber. No, the young warrior wanted him to follow, vying for the cover to aid him in his assault. The dragon-bay pressed forward, folding his scaled arms against his sides. He had learned to navigate a forest some time ago, true he was terrible at it-at first. However, once he discovered how to roll against the rough bark and not simply to barrel into the trunks, his life become far easier. Now as he weaved, his wings scraped their discord against the trees, gouging the wood as he rolled off. While the Chamber Colonel worked his way much slower than the sleek Arabian hybrid, he could still manage to discern the blood’s footfall. Autumn leaves offered little in the way of muffling one’s steps.
The young one may have taken off into the forest, but Killdare can distinguish the increase in volume as he turns back for him Each step gets closer, the sounds fall harder on his ears as the boy comes at him. He hasn’t advanced far enough when back legs seek the soldier, trying to kick the stout bay in the gut. Killdare shifts his weight from side to side as he backs, giving himself distance from the strike. Two lean legs whiz just past his chest, and he pulls his head and neck back to avoid a crushed windpipe. Backing isn’t his favorite, as it is not commonly any horse’s favorite, and he makes sure to show it.
He’s managed to dodge this time, placing him nearer to the lads barrel just before his hips. As his opponents hind quarters seek to return to the ground, Killdare throws his shoulder into the hip and flank of the conjurer. Hoping to throw him off balance, hoping to send him crashing into a neighboring tree. Taking the opportunity to turn back towards the clearing, he stomps off and away.
As he locates the break in the woods and emerges, he takes a quick backwards glance, coming face to face with the boys feet. One cuts him on his right, near his poll, the laceration swivels down towards his jowl. He greets the blood’s descent with a buck, throwing his powerful back legs at the others breast and neck. He sets his jaw, the knotted muscle in his haunch protests at this move. Finding his feet again he charges forward, leaping into the air and rising into the skies above the treeline. Killdare makes a great circle, pulling around to face the forest edge once again. A scarlet stream falls down the right side of his face, sending droplets of blood spattering to the earth.
"Enjoying yourself young one? Do not overwhelm yourself with excitement, soon the scrimmage will be over. You'll be sullen with desire for the fight to continue, some men love War. They love the terrible things, always, and how will you tell others? What will you do when the thing is done, and you find you love it more than anything that has happened to you, before or since!" He calls, looking down at the young bay.
hmm, not sure about this one. a bit confused about some of the positioning so didnt know how i should respond to them. -shrug shrug-
Nymphetamine was proud- not proud enough to be haughty, but no 3 year old that he was aware of was able to hold his own with the confidence that he held. It was a gift of the hardships of his earliest year. While the past kept him haunted and unsettled he would not begrudge his situation the gifts it had allotted him. He believed he had the right to be proud in his confidence, in his independence, in his ambition. He knew his ambitioned hasn’t directly with or against Chamber at this point- but he wasn’t sure if he was with or against chamber either so for his needs, for his true purpose, Nymphetamine was perfectly happy with his current achievements.
His abilities as a warrior however were young, untrained…green. He would not pretend to be more than he was in that matter, but he had a sharp mind and was not quick on the uptake. So when he felt his teeth make their intended impact, he took the small victory. The attack wasn’t grand, nor was it the most impactful, but he was able to see the attack, and react with accuracy and wit. A small victory indeed, the Colonel shows a small annoyance but moves on quickly.
Since he was looking at this training-battle one step at a time, getting Killdare into the woods was another small victory- but the intended contact didn’t happen and he was now vulnerable. Since his opponent was now closer to him hindquarters, he was left open, and balanced too on the forehand to create impulsion to get away. He saw the militiaman throw his weight towards him. He was already pushing him self away and forward momentarily back into the forest. He was unable to get out of reach- he had moved a about a foot away the mass flung into his stifle. Nymphetamine’s hind swung to the right away from Killdare in an small arc, fishtailing towards a tree hearty oak tree. Nymphetamine fought to pull his shifting hind but was too off balance. His right hip swung into the tree, he felt the bark scrape leaving a surficial abrasion. But the real damage was his muscles- he felt the ripple of force rake through his hind, and He knew his leg would not wand to take the weight and torque he would need to keep his agility advantage. With a quite noticeable limp he gathered himself quickly and moved back into the clearing.
Step-by-step; moves and counter moves. That was what this was. So the loss the Necromancer just had would have to be made up- he knew this. He was hoping Killdare would not except another attack from his legs, and was please that when the beast followed him out that his hooved made a solid thwack against the beast’s face. His rear had worked, but there was little time to think for feel anything as his challenger was attacking in retaliation. Nymphetamine worked fast; there was little time to create the barrier he needed. As he landed he called upon the old flesh below them. He needed a shield and the bag-a-bones with dripping flesh would do. The ground was rapidly flowing out and up and away as a half rotten corps rose. Nymthetamine was unable to back quickly, but he move backwards to the left out of the way and the dragon-stallion whipped around to fire a buck at him, though now the dead barrier was between them.
As soon as he is far enough from the beast’s hind end he lets the skeleton drop, and pushed forward toward the hind end as he starts to run, and his wings unfold. Nymphetamine’s shoulder was protesting and blood trickled down his leg, his right launch was already swelling, but he drove fast and hard. If the necromancer was going to get one last attack in, it would have to be before he took off. He moved to the inner track of Killdare’s circle, judging his position carefully to avoid the massive wings, but he minded his timing carefully as well. Just before the dragon-beast took off he shoved off the ground, throwing his left shoulder into his opponent’s right hip just before he would take off. He hoped this would throw off his flight enough to cause some damage to the beast.
Killdare ended up in the air and taunted him from above. Nymphetamine trotted around the ground below, looking up and trying to avoid the trickling red rain. He looked up and smirked- he had tried his best and he would learn much from discussing this with him later, as he was the more experienced. He stopped, and laughed, ”Well then I will have been given the fever by one great teacher, Militiaman. I will tell them as such, and I’ll even give you the credit so my future enemies may curse your name alongside mine!”
He stood and waited for the winged beast for come down. It was a jovial jest, meant to bring forth the good nature of their training battle. While Killdare was not the Necromancer’s favorite inhabitant in Chamber he would be a fool to deny that he could learn from the winged beast. They had much to discuss from this mock battle and they would each learn from their opponent’s strengths and weaknesses, and Nymphetamine was looking forward to it
SIX FEET DEEP IS THE INCISION, SUNSETTER
NYMPHETAMINE
ooc: I was a little unsure on your final attack positioning, So i hope what I did makes sense. But this was fun, and hard! (that was the end right 2 each? cause that's what I just wrote out >.<
![[Image: nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/dsl_devin/nymphetamine_zpsmlx48otf.gif)
![[Image: ca94dsg_by_calltherp-dcioghd.gif]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/a2aa/f/2018/211/1/8/ca94dsg_by_calltherp-dcioghd.gif)