[Deleted]

LOSTPROPHET OF THE FALLEN

Name- Lostprophet of the Fallen
Breed- German Warmblood x Thoroughbred x Percheron x Andalusian
Age- Five
Gender- Stallion
Height- 17hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 100%

'Oh how the tables had turned now! Karma and treason go hand in hand, motherfuckers.' The former Helkaer cackled under his breath as his mahogany and ebony vessel was propelled toward the battle field. Lostprophet had long since given up on the pathetic entity called the Helkaers. When he had been knighted into their little petty ring, he had worked his ass off for a measly title and the glory of his name being whispered in fear by many. Sleepy Hollow Asylum had been an infernal place to even fathom visiting, let alone actually stepping foot in it. Those who entered usually never exited because they were dead within an hour. Perhaps those were the days when the Helkaer group could say they actually had their shit together, oh wait, they never did. One or two of them always did but never all seven of the brats. That was too much to ask for! The five year old brute bitterly snarled under his breath as these thoughts pieced together within his think box.

After he had left the pussyfooting group, he had sided with a friend that he had made before he became a Helkaer, Necropolis. She had one hell of an empire established and its potential surpassed any other kingdom that may rise or fall. Sometime lately, Carnevale Letale had made the decision to go head to head with the Helkaers and of course, the idiots agreed to have their asses handed to them. Typical Helkaer response even when there was no way in hell they would come out on top. Sure, there were seven soldiers to go around but, the quality of said soldiers was pretty piss poor. What had the Helkaers really done to retaliate? At this point, nothing and it did not appear as if they had any motivation to do anything else besides sit on their ass. They challenged for a couple of their lackluster baubles and jewels but none of them had showed up for a visit. Hell, Carnevale Letale had their commander locked up within its cells. If Diavolo or Necropolis was locked up in a land somewhere, whoever ruled that land could be guaranteed that they would have thirty, if not more, hellish monsters storming their lands. Whatever, if they did not want their man whore of a commander nor need him, Rigor Mortis could rot away in the morgue for the next ten years. 'I wonder how the starvation and cell life is going for the insolent dick wad.' The gladiator did not really care how Rigor was doing as long as he was in some state of suffering.

Ebony lanterns rolled irritably within their lacrimal prisons as he found the entrance to the blood saturated fighting grounds. He was not here about Rigor Mortis though. His abhorrence for him though just helped his mood along for the fight against the beta to Kreig Partei, another Helkaer land. He loathed the Helkaers with his entire being and every little bit about them just fueled the inferno more. Since the Helkaers had not really responded to the simple thievery of the Helkaers themselves, he figured that stealing a pawn from one of them would drive the thorn deeper into their side. Carnevale Letale was far from done with the Helkaers and Lostprophet did not want them to forget it for a second. The pawn he had tried to steal was named Melechesh Al Shaymim and her ruler, Contagion, did not deserve such a beauty within his possession. However, her beauty was all she had going for her at the moment. She was supposedly talented except she had given her talents to the most worthless entity she could have possibly chosen. The next most worthless social circle would have been the Dark Royals. She had sealed her fate though and he was simply the Grim Reaper's assistant. What a stupid bitch.

The seventeen hand warrior scanned the horizon for the ashen damsel before determining she had yet to arrive. Women were always late for everything. Lostprophet grumbled but entered into the war zone anyway. He shook his scarred visage as he cantered past several equines fighting and clashing together for their own personal matters. Occuli rolled over the terrain in search of a flatter portion of the land so both he and Melechesh would have an equal opportunity to give the other absolute hell. Ebony tresses draped over his neck and brushed along his hocks as a cool breeze swept past his muscular frame. Onyx rimmed harks twitched once before flattening to disappear beneath his mane. Melechesh better hurry and arrive soon if she did not want to get promptly bulldozed with his body. They were roughly the same size but he would be damned if she was somehow stronger than him.

A sharp snort ripped through his nasal passages as he came to a halt upon the cracked earth. He wanted this bitch to regret joining the Helkaers and he wanted to piss off her king until he had to actually get off his ass to do something. That was something that Lostprophet despised the most about new Helkaers, they always seemed to think that they could just perch on their shit painted throne and demand respect and collect bitches for their personal use. Infamy and glory did not work that way and he did not mind to be the one to metaphorically crack him upside his ugly crown as well as all of them. He had every intention of striking Melechesh in the same manner, just legitimately. His plan was to try and absolutely tear her apart with every chance he was given. The soldier would admit that she was indeed beautiful but a war torn deviless was far prettier than an immaculate siren. Besides, he could not let her return to her home without Carnevale Letale's signature upon her pristine hide.

status | complete
word count | 983 (without codes)
muse | boom o.o
notes | he's grouchy. sorry it sucks.
tags | @levvy with mele <3
terms | two hits, one dodge, a week to reply, no minimum or maximum word count beyond the requirement, winner takes Melechesh. if Lostprophet wins, he wants one completed thread with her and then she is free to go.

[Deleted]

<sub>Name- Melechesh al Shamayim
Breed- Arabian x Marwari
Age- 5
Gender- Mare
Height- 17hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 100%

'What a nuisance,' mused the Palestinian enchantress within the confines of her bejeweled skull. A lad by the calling of Lostprophet had made a valiant attempt at thievery. Alas, his villainous plot was foiled! And thus, the damsel would live to see another sunrise. But the plot thickens as our villain seemed to be the tenacious sort! He proposed a challenge, in which the damsel gladly accepted. Damsel no more, but warrior! A defender of her own honor! Would Lostprophet's dastardly plan be thwarted once again, or would evil prevail? It mattered not. She was unafraid of savage conflict. And she certainly wasn't afraid of one of Necropolis' watchdogs. Melechesh was born into a battlefield and baptized in blood. It was almost a welcome set of circumstances that this lad had challenged for her. Win or lose, she found joy in barbarous bloodshed. The feeling of untouched sinews tearing apart beneath her brutal caress was something that thrilled her. The sight of someone falling to the pitiless dirt in a heap of mutilated agony was something that almost aroused her. She looked like a regal lady of aristocracy and elegance. She didn't look like someone who could slit a man's guts and bathe in their blood. But she was, and that was something she had done in days past. She was Sekhmet reincarnated. In her homeland, everyone thought she was a war god. No, not goddess, but god. Her name did not mean fire queen but Fire King. She was just as fierce as any man. It almost made her wonder; perhaps she belonged in this land called Carnevale Letale, where the killers and the mutilators roamed free. Though, she would not abandon the home she had. She may have been a murderer of the most vile sort, but she was not a traitor. Though, she had to admit that she was becoming more and more unimpressed by the Helkaers as days trudged on. A lot of them seemed to just...sit around. Was that their true purpose? To sit around? Useless. No matter! She didn't need them as inspiration. She could make a name for herself without their damned help.

Effortless strides carried her athletic anatomy across the boarders of the Helkaer territory, into the Free Lands. Violescent lamps cast a condescending glare at the terra firma sprawled vastly before her. The sapphires dotting her visage gleamed in the harsh scrutiny of sunlight. Slate scythes left perfect crescent shapes embedded into the pliant flesh of earth. The Arabian mistress picked up a leisurely canter, trained musculature pushing her along with impressive fluidity. Achromatic filaments flew in wild, lustrous waves encompassing her strong serpentine. The feeling of anticipation arose within her, as did the malign craving for destruction. The thought of this boy who tried to steal her made a vicious temper bubble in the pit of her chest. It seemed as if the lion-headed goddess, Sekhmet herself stirred within her very core. Her steps against the ground went from dainty and lax to stomping and all-devouring. Her footfalls seemed to consume the earth like the soul-devouring Apep. She had almost forgotten how she relished bloody battles. The closer she strode to the battlefield, the more a primal war-lust took over her. She yearned for the taste of sweet scarlet plasma upon her tongue and the sensation of flesh ripping beneath her incisors! Win or lose, Melechesh would do her best and make it bloody. She wondered how this boy's shredded viscera would look spattered on her gilded chest and embellished serpentine. How would his bones look twirled through her silky hair? Oh, or she could pop the eyes out of his skull and use his empty sockets as cute little bird houses. His blood probably tasted like sweetbriar rose and embalming fluid. She would find out soon enough as she ripped the guts from his belly. What a sight that would be!

Soon, she arrived in the battle grounds, ceasing her ambitious gait. Harks searched for any stir of life. They sat at the zenith of her skull like twin watchtowers on snowy mountains. Her next steps were taken carefully, cautious of an ambush. Her optics observed the carnage-soaked topography and looked with unmerciful hubris upon the slain beasts. Bone fragments cracked and shattered as her weight bared down on them. Proud cerebellum lifted high into the air as the odor of a living being sliced through her nasal passages with merciless flare. A violent exhale was forced from widely opened paperthins, her purple abysses surveying the gut-strewn vista. With murderous anticipation, she embarked onward into the battlefield. It was not long before she came upon the sienna carcass of her foe: Lostprophet.

Her harks flew back, burying themselves against her ornate poll. She did not bother with petty words or pretentious claims of previous victories. Melechesh was here to fight a bloody fight, not bicker like school children. Though, she certainly would not pay much mind if this beast decided to pick some words from his vocabulary to insult her with.

The pliant flesh of earth stirred beneath her heavy scythe digging into the dirt. She tucked her muzzle close to her chest to shield her larynx from teeth that wished to rip it out. Tight muscle caused her alabaster pelt to ripple as she fearlessly charged the bay savage. A few feet in front of her, her oculi scanned for a sharp object. It was a battlefield, the final resting place of many warriors so there must have been a bone somewhere. "Tamaam!" The excited rumination echoed in her skull as she laid eyes on a long rib bone which was shattered jaggedly at the end. With her hateful glare never leaving him, she lowered her head to quickly pick up the bone between her fangs. She continued toward him in long, earth-decimating strides. When she came upon him, she forcefully tossed her crown to the side, hoping to snag the skin stretched over his nape with one of the sharp points. It was a rib bone, so she hoped that, with the way it curved at the end, it would be easier to hook his skin. If she hit her target, she hoped the momentum of her canter would cause the bone to rip down his neck and leave a vile wound. Perhaps with all of that bacteria, he might get a putrid, festering infection. Whether or not her attack landed, she kept running past him, turning back to face him once she was a considerable distance away.


words--1106
listening to-- a mixture of Nile, Myrath, and Almana Shchora
notes-- sorry this took so long. it's all done now. <3 @winter (finished March 13th, 12:02am eastern time)
hits left-- 1
dodges left-- 1
injuries--
attack breakdown-- she charged him head-on, but kind of went very slightly off to the side(like in jousting) and tossed her head to the left, hoping to catch his skin on the end of the bone and tear it down his neck.</sub>

[Deleted]

[ ooc; @winter can I have another 2 days to reply to this, pretty please? a few things came up IRL and i'm not gonna be able to do it by tomorrow evening. if not, Lostprophet can just have her. sorry! ]

[Deleted]

@levvy; yes that is fine <3

[Deleted]

Levvy has given me two extra days to reply as of the 18th after she finished her reply on the 13th. I have until the 22nd to reply.

[Deleted]

LOSTPROPHET OF THE FALLEN

Name- Lostprophet of the Fallen
Breed- German Warmblood x Thoroughbred x Percheron x Andalusian
Age- Five
Gender- Stallion
Height- 17hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 80% -- bone pierced his gut, has internal bleeding


The Helkaers and their followers had everything upside down. Some thought that Carnevale Letale's residents had lost their minds as they tried to defy those above them. 'Those' being the Dark Royals and the Helkaers. Is revolution not considered insanity at some point? Is a cause not considered lost until that cause is pushed into the light? Lostprophet was not a humanoid history buff but he understood that it took a sincere amount of dedication, one potentially insane thought of rebellion, and a steadfast will to defend one's cause with everything they had for a revolution to be successful. The bay mongrel personally would love to throw the revolution back in the pathetic faces of the Helkaers! The Helkaers always demanded that they were considered better than anyone else yet they did nothing to deserve it. Rigor Mortis and his pompous yet poorly thought out determination to make as many enemies as possible was something that Lostprophet never understood. Carnevale Letale chose their enemies and had no problem with it being half of society. Even with all of their own enemies, Carnevale still had plenty at hand to work with and to wage war beside because unlike Rigor Mortis, they had a brain. This pawn of a battle was not significant in the turmoil of war but, any resistance from Carnevale was preferred. It was still a laughable topic that Rigor Mortis continued on living within the cells of the morgue. If he won this battle against Mele, her fate would be the same. She would remain in the morgue until a suitable challenger came forth which, if they relied on the Helkaers for that, a suitable challenger would never exist.

The hellion paced back and forth as he waited for the ivory siren to appear. He was sure she was taking her sweet time upon arrival which settled within him with a bland taste of mediocrity. Women, they were always late to these events. Lostprophet snorted subtly as he waited with diffusing patience. He had already chosen his strategy and regardless of what Mele did, he was certain it would do him well. When he had been a Helkaer, he was very well known for his brutality. There was never a time when unprovoked brutality and cruelty was impossible or inappropriate. Ebony lanterns swept over the ground before lifting to the horizon as the elegant frame of an Arab moved within his range of vision. Ah, his precious little siren had arrived. The sanguine brute cackled as his seventeen hand frame was pushed into the atmosphere. Knives viciously struck at oxygen and carbon dioxide before he charged forward to (hopefully) bloodily greet his potential prize. Harks swept back beneath his short ebony tresses as yellowed enamels parted with a bloodcurdling growl. Soulless eyes locked upon his target before he noticed that her skull was cocked in a particular manner and she had something between her jaws. "Did they teach you that as part of the Helkaer shit show? Cute." Acidic tones dripped from his vocal chords in snarled syllables. By the gods, he despised the Helkaers!

The gladiator shuddered as adrenaline coursed through his veins while his strides became elongated with each step taken. He had a plan and if she was going to try and mar him with whatever was in her mouth, she was about to get a surprise. As soon as they were just strides apart, Lostprophet's hind knives dug into the earth as his carcass was propelled into the air. Ebony dipped limbs were quickly drawn up to protect his underbelly as his jaws parted to try and snap shut just behind her harks. His front limbs protected his belly close to his girth line but not just behind that. White hot pain flashed through his nervous system as the object in her mouth suddenly became impaled into his gut. With the force of the bone gouging into his middle, his balance faltered. Instinctively, his front limbs struck out to help balance his vertically inclined position. He was not trying to strike her but, if she became part of the collateral damage then that was her fault for being in his way. Yellowed enamels blindly tore from where he snapped them shut and he hobbled to the side to put some distance between him and her. Each movement he made sent agonizing pain in a spider web fashion from his barrel. A low growl rattled his larynx as he jogged a circle around the pale siren with blood steadily flowing from his gut. "Ladies, first."

status | complete
word count |  762
muse |  ehh
notes | sorry it's absolute trash x.x
tags | @levvy with mele
terms | two hits, one dodge, a week to reply, no minimum or maximum word count beyond the requirement, winner takes Melechesh. if Lostprophet wins, he wants one completed thread with her and then she is free to go.
attacks | 1.  he reared and tried to bite down behind her ears before violently ripping away from her.
dodge | not used

[Deleted]

<sub>Name- Melechesh al Shamayim
Breed- Arabian x Marwari
Age- 5
Gender- Mare
Height- 17hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 85% - a chunk of flesh missing behind her ears and a nasty bruise on the top of her rump from when he struck out with his front legs.


Even the very essence of fear seemed to scurry from the enchantress' cold amaranthine scrutiny. She was trained to be unafraid of her foes. From the largest of blundering goliaths to the most petite of gnome-like creatures, she was taught to crush the opposition. She was firmly - often harshly - educated on how to pulverize their bones and slice their sinews to confetti. However, this lack of fear did not betoken a lack of concern. Still, she analyzed her opponent and weighed his good traits against hers. It would be foolish to assume she was superior. Arrogance was a common flaw in equines around here. So she pushed her ego aside to size up the auburn hellhound. He appeared strong and he was built like a juggernaut. With a well-placed strike, he could likely end her.

The beast's words reached her harks, but it was only by a stroke of luck that she heeded his meaningless lyrics. Normally, she would only dismiss the words with an invisible shrug of her shoulder. A tilt of her angelically designed crown heralded her bewilderment at the taunting syllables. Why did the inhabitants of Wild Equines insist on meaningless dialogue? What a waste of precious time! "Was that crass inquiry an attempt to humiliate me? What place does this have in battle? I'm here to fight, not talk. Let silence fall upon your tongue, insolent cretin!" The words left from between her lips like caustic fumes, seeming to corrode the airwaves which carried the viperous hymn.



words--
listening to--
notes-- this will be done before Tuesday, I promise. I'm getting my wisdom teeth out on Tuesday, and I want this done before I'm all drugged up and in pain. x__x
hits left-- 1
dodges left-- 1
attack breakdown-- oo1. she charged him head-on, but kind of went very slightly off to the side(like in jousting) and tossed her head to the left, hoping to catch his skin on the end of the bone and tear it down his neck.</sub>

[aliyaah]

@winter @levvy
Is this battle still going? (:

[Deleted]

aliyaah, yep. we've extended the time between posts as relatively indefinite as she and I are both busy with real life issues at the moment.

[aliyaah]

@winter alright no problem!