[Zohyd//]

back the f*** off

{beauty is skin-deep; ugly cuts to the bone}

It had been a while since the seventeen point one hand wench had graced these lands with her presence. The last time she placed herself in the desert terrain was to compete in the gladiator tournament and things had gone astray after that event. Fancy as Hell quickly found herself jumped by a trio of brutes who didn’t quite believe those with the double x chromosome should be able to compete in such an juncture. They were a bunch of pussies to attack and outnumber one that just competed in five rounds. Not like that was about to stop the dappled wench from attempting to rip their throats out and castrating them. Fancy had managed to sweep one of the bastards to fall to the ground with a loud thud; however their strength combined with her injuries from the previous rounds showed a dark fate for the Percheron wench. The moment she took down the one bastard she immediately felt the other two upon her, hoping to make her nothing more than a carcass for the resident vultures. That was until The Master had made an appearance and put the whole situation to a grinding halt. The brute that she had trained with before the tournament and earned some of her respect had played the “knight in shining armor” role, causing himself to quickly earn all of her respect without a doubt. What other way than to repay him with what he wanted within the first twenty minutes of them meeting each other? Reproduction. It wasn’t very often that you found purity of lines- not to mention their personalities were spot on with each other. Fancy had given him three purebred Percheron fillies, triplets. The process was the most pain she’d ever experienced- no battle wound could compare to not only one foal but three. Since when does a wench have three foals that come out perfectly healthy while she herself survived? It’s unheard of. Just goes to show the amount of strength that ran through the dappled wench’s bloodlines. She could’ve sworn it was the Devil’s doing, him messing with her and testing her pain tolerance with giving her three fucking foals to deliver, but she did it and passed with flying colors. Although Fancy cussed him through the whole labor.

It was days after giving birth that Fancy’s antics to kill and torture came storming back- knocking down the door. Her lust for bloodshed and killing had grown even greater from her small hiatus due to her pregnancy where her pregnant lady emotions would have rather had her flirt with The Master than kill him. On top of her desire to kill again Fancy felt obese from the added baby weight, it had to go- NOW!. Hours upon hours Percheron wench would train to get her body back so she could finally have the luscious curves that she had before. The triplets often joined her in the conditioning, they were growing stronger and more solid everyday- The Master would be pleased. It was when she was ready to spar that she approached The Master and asked for his help. There was nothing he could do about her wanting to fight- hell it’s what started their love hate relationship from the beginning. She had children now, yes. But she was not about to put her life on hold to baby them and watch after them 24/7, they had to learn on their own eventually. Harsh? Perhaps, but Fancy wouldn’t have it any other way and sure enough The Master wouldn’t either. They were raising the highest quality, elite pure blooded equines around. Their foals were not about to be babied and coddled like so many were. It was The Master’s first crop was on the ground and it was with her. The standards needed to be set high as Fancy wasn’t about to let some other bitch make her foals look weak or pathetic. Deep down she wanted to keep The Master entertained and coming back, begging for another set of foals. Hell she had just given him three healthy foals at once- she’d like to see him find another bitch to do that?

Sparring training had taken off fast. Fancy acted as if she hadn’t missed a beat. Her sweeps were clean and precise. So effortless. So flawless. Each hit was packed power and force, game changing blows that could cause brittle bones to snap like a small twig. It was obvious that the seventeen point one hand witch was coming back ready to mark some names on her death list. Fancy had started back on her death streak. Those whom thought they were safe would need to watch out now for the Queen of Bitchy was back and her anger was built up in heaping mounds looking for a way to escape. With a short temper it didn’t take much to set off the Percheron wench and to cause a small, personal war. All that time off certainly didn’t do anyone else any favors. You thought she was nasty before? Think again. Welcome to planet Earth where your biggest fear should be Fancy as Hell.

Percheron figure walked through the desert terrain at an ambling walk. Her mind in contemplation about the turn of events on her life. Motherhood, herd life and a bastard that she actually respected and cared about- although she would never admit such a thing out loud. However the fact that she quickly arose to the occasion to fight for The Master’s freedom might have said enough. Or perhaps it was the urge to get back in the ring that caused her to jump at the opportunity. To hear bones breaking, skin tearing and grunts of pain- oh how it was music to her ears. It has always been what drove the Percheron wench. Her heart enjoyed that kind of torture upon others and she most certainly couldn’t wait to get back at it. What better way to start then with Vanth? He might be immortal, but for this match he wasn’t. He could still bleed and feel pain and that’s all Fancy cared about. He had no advantage in her mind, then again she thought of herself as the all mighty warrior and that she was untouchable. Not to mention when you mess with a woman’s man she sometimes gets a little pissed off. It’s like pouring kerosene on the fire. If you continue to play with dynamite it will eventually blow up in your face and the low-life bastard of hell was about to learn that. Fancy as Hell was not someone to poke or mess with. She has no reservations on shredding anyone to pieces; perhaps the two opponents were more alike than they would admit.

Silver toned dappled bodice came to a halt as Fancy patiently waited for her opponent. Sour look plastered upon her façade. Muscles beneath her grey canvas read that her warrior condition was back, no longer did she have any baby fat lining her barrel. Fancy was like a mini Hulk that was rather quick on her feet. It was deceiving really. A seventeen point one wench with pure Percheron blood and consisted of voluptuous curves and yet she could be in and out with her attack faster than you would expect. It took time and patience to reach this goal. Certain muscles had to gained along with the knowledge of attacks that would keep her light on her feet. Most drafts didn’t have the ability- but there was always that one in a million. Silver whip lashed at the occasional insect that landed upon her hide as her emerald optics scanned the desert terrain for her opponent. Small smile twitched at the corner of her kissers at the thought of getting back in the scene. Fancy had a name to make for herself. She had started before her pregnancy when she seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth, but now she was back and ready to start her harassment. Protect your loved ones because she will strike where it hurts, and she will pray you retaliate. Kill two birds with one stone.



words; 1361
tag; @winter
words; Finally got this up!

Terms;
3 hits
2 dodges
3 day reply time
No word max/min

Stats;
Name- Fancy As Hell
Breed- Percheron
Age- 4
Gender- Mare
Height- 17.1hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 100%

[Deleted]

Name- Vanth
Breed- Tennessee Walking Horse x Bavarian Warmblood x American Quarter Horse
Age- Immortal, Lord of Hell
Gender- Stallion
Height- 17hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 98% -- healing from a bite to his flank, neck, chest, a hoof impression on top of his neck and an abrasion on his belly

Vanth was growing used to the battle field and its topography if that spoke for how often he had traveled here as of late. Even though he was frequenting the battle grounds, by no means was he growing tired of the incessant fighting or blood letting that ensued. The Devil was set on the punishment he intended to inflict upon those who had committed their crimes. What crimes was he referring to at this hour? The crimes willfully committed at the hour he had arrived upon the battle field at a previous time to take the soul of an uniquely marked maiden named Kida. He had publicly announced his challenge to the Dark Royals and invited the presence of one of the Royal family to fight for the right to her soul's possession. Akroma had stepped forward as much as he expected but the witch had apparently had another idea slithering beneath her pasterns. She had also invited a horde of her cronies to the same appointment as well. Vanth did not have a problem with that as much as he did the abundance of disrespect and dismissal that he received from her allies. The Lord of Hell would not allow such intolerance and impudence toward himself, his Mistress, or the Underworld go unpunished or the least bit unnoticed in his courts. His remedy for the incivility from all of those involved, including the Helkaer named The Master who he was fighting over today, was to steal their souls. That, for the majority of the dark alliance, would be nothing to fret over except the eternal fate of these particular souls would not remain in the Devil's grasp for long. Oh no. These particular souls would be handed over to Utopia with the guarantee that they were eternally banished from the Underworld and never to be comforted by the Abyss. The Master and those he stood beside at the battle field on that day may have thought of themselves to be higher than the Devil at the time. But his intentions were to prove them so clearly and utterly wrong.

The seventeen hand gladiator mused these things over within his think box as he stretched his sinew lined pistons. The bite to his flank had scabbed over enough to not break open every time he made movement and the abrasion to his belly had began to heal as well from what he could see at odd angles. The muscles surrounding the bite were still sore but they would heal in a few weeks most likely. He had spent so much time here lately that there had been no purpose in returning to the Underworld or venturing any further than the boundaries of the battle field. After every fight, the list of his next opponents continued to grow. He would continue to eat, sleep, fight, and exist here until he had laid claim to every single soul he arose from the sulfuric ashes and putrid fumes to take from their petty security in their mortal realms. Even now, Vanth assumed that The Master felt safe yet the Helkaer was nowhere to be found in regards to the matter of who would hold possession of his soul at the end of this fight. The Master himself was not fighting this skirmish. Instead, he had sent his significant other to bleed for him. The hit men for hire had a strong reputation of trying so desperately to keep the dirt off of their hooves and it was blatantly pathetic. True soldiers do not flee from the churning of violence, they are at the heart of it. Yet these fools shield their gaze from it and deny its existence. 'Such puerile and pathetic mongrels do not belong in my Courts, anyway. He is much better suited for the cleansing light of the dawn and cherub choirs in Utopia.' The thought lingered within his cerebellum with a sharp twist of poison and a tempered inferno.

The Lord of Hades continued on his prowl of the battle field until a hulking mass disrupted the horizon. A feminine perfume wafted through the atmosphere and it was tainted with the essence of sulfur without the wench being enveloped with the scent. His opponent for today's entertainment was named Fancy As Hell. 'What a poor display of intelligence from her parents. She is, even from a distance, not fancy. She is gargantuan in width and barely taller than myself. The Master must have a thing for big beautiful women. Bleck.' Fortunately for Vanth's personal tastes, Asmoday was flawlessly petite even with her sire's heavy bloodlines. Crimson spheres narrowed upon his rival as the Devil sauntered toward the ashen behemoth from her side. Ebony edged harks swept back beneath his onyx and ivory locks as he continued to grow closer to her. "I would hope you are at least intelligent enough to understand that your width invites the desire within me to assault you with the same intensity as I would a male behemoth? I usually grant ladies a softer approach but anything I throw your way should bounce right off the immense amount of fat on your bones. Tell The Master that I said 'thank you' for the free punching bag for the day." Vanth grinned in utter amusement as he immediately charged forward without a moment's hesitation. He was built of a lighter frame with a pleasant blend of slow twitch muscle fibers that he inherited from the Walker and Bavarian Warmblood in his lines. This meant he had the capability of endurance and the possibility of reaching fatigue at rate that had a chance of being slower than his opponent. He also inherited the fast twitch fibers from the Quarter Horse blood, which allowed for his relatively short termed ability to maintain a high rate of speed. But if the mare was not of a pure draft breed, he could be in trouble with the unknown advantages of cross breeding lighter and faster breeds in with draft blood. It was just an unknown risk he was going to have to take in this fight.

The Devil charged toward Fancy's massive figure before his hind pistons propelled his painted frame up into the air. Front hooves ferociously thrashed with every intention of slashing her bodice open while having plenty enough force behind each strike to bruise or damage any part of her bony features if he was lucky enough to make contact with the anatomical protrusions. Seconds later, his hind hooves left the ground with a powerful shove as his frame sliced through the air currents in a wild leap. His hind limbs tucked up close to his barrel before both hind legs brutally and viciously struck out behind his frame in a one swift motion as his last attempt from this attack to kick any part of Fancy he was able to reach while in flight. He had no idea if his hooves had actually struck any part of her or if his entire leap-attack had been futile. Fore hooves finally caught hold of the roughened earth once more and Vanth did not waste any time to put himself on the defensive side. As soon as all four hooves graced the soil again, he pivoted upon his hind quarters to protect his top line. While he was in the motion of spinning around, his jaws rapidly parted and closed in savage snaps of his enameled pearls in case Fancy would try to get close. He had no intention of being merciful in this battle. She was nothing more than an obstacle in his way and she would not remain so at the end of this fight. He was sure of it.

word count | 1284
tags | Zohyd// with fancy as hell
notes | complete
battle terms | three hits, two dodges, three days to reply, the winner gets The Master/Deimos
attacks | 1. he charged at Fancy's side and leaped into the air while striking with his front legs until his hind feet left the ground. when they left the ground, he tucked them up against his belly before kicking out behind himself with both back feet at the same time like what is done in a capriole. depending on where fancy was at the time, whether if she dodged or was not in his vicinity, i'll leave it up to you as to where it all hit, if at all.
dodges | none used
speech | BC8F8F
text | 000000

[Zohyd//]

back the f*** off

{beauty is skin-deep; ugly cuts to the bone}

This was home to the seventeen point one hand wench, more of a home then Lost Land would ever be. Fancy was comfortable here in this element. The scent of blood that the breeze carried with it caused the Percheron wench to relax. Why she had given up a year to birth three foals she wasn’t quite sure. Now that she was standing within the vicinity of the battle field she could not wait to get the battle started. She had spent hours getting back into her shape and her warrior figure proved just that. The blood scented breeze now carried an awful stench with it causing emerald orbs to scan the horizon. Sure enough the culprit of that stench was moving her way. Twin audits now became laced to her dappled skull and her expression turned hard and cold. Fighting was a love hate relationship. She loved the taste of blood, the snapping of bones and the sounds of pain her opponents made. However she hated being in the presence and being touched by others, the thought irked her to no end. But the moment the battle started it was like a switch went off in her mind. The beast within became released and there was no stopping it until the job was done.

Blood stained, oddly painted bastard approached her. Fancy observed him quietly, noting his barely shorter stature and slimmer build. However she also noted the abrasion on his barrel along with a mark on his flank where someone had taken a chunk from his canvas. These injuries were not game changing unless internal damage followed them- however she would doubt that in this scenario. I would hope you are at least intelligent enough to understand that your width invites the desire within me to assault you with the same intensity as I would a male behemoth? I usually grant ladies a softer approach but anything I throw your way should bounce right off the immense amount of fat on your bones. Tell The Master that I said 'thank you' for the free punching bag for the day. The Percheron wench was not here to throw useless assaults at this bastard. She noted the grin that spread across his maw, clearly amused by his little remark. Fancy laughed to herself from within. He was being ignorant and judging based upon her breed characteristics. The seventeen point one wench had very little fat on her bodice. The baby weight had been lost and replaced with muscle. She had turned into a brick wall that surely no one would want to collide with. He thought of her to be slow and perhaps careless. This large mass moved much faster than the Underworld bastard was expecting. Oh now wasn’t he going to be in for one hell of a surprise!

When it came to battles Fancy never allowed the fight to come to her. It was the aggressor that usually won in a battle, the smart aggressor that is. You had to know your opponent before just charging in and hoping for the best. Perhaps Vanth had missed that memo. Blood stained ivories became bared as she watched the bastard make his move. His muscles coiling up before springing him forward in her direction. The scowl turned into a small grin as her mind thought bring it on.

Haunch muscles became flexed beneath her dappled hue, she was not about to stand there and let the immortal bastard charge at her without paying for it. Although their height wasn’t far off from one another, their build was. She was thicker than he, and he wanted to believe it was fat- but soon enough he would learn it was muscle once she body slammed him. Fancy launched herself towards the brute that was already barreling down on her. There had been little distance between them in the first place but it didn’t take long for the Percheron wench to react to his action. Perhaps he was used to other opponents? Those that either shied sideways, or cowered and waited for impact? No, no, no. Not her fighting style, she was a brick of a warrior and she was going to use it to her advantage.

They were going to collide, that was inevitable. He aimed directly for her and Fancy had redirected the favor. Powerful haunches launching herself faster and faster with each stride, emerald orbs carefully taking in his movements. Where was he looking? What muscles shifted beneath that blood stained hue to indicate he was going to change his game? You had to take a hit to land a good hit- every battle fanatic knew that. Fancy as Hell certainly didn’t mind taking a few to get into the right position to where she could take her opponent down in a solid sweep.

She caught the weight transfer as the space between the two dwindled. Fancy protected her dial as he lurched in her direction, forelimbs slashing through the air and aimed for her bodice. It was a wild, panic attack if you asked her. Just hoping to make contact with whatever he could- certainly not calculated on game changing blows. He had been successful none the less on tearing open her dappled pelt. Lacerations upon her boa and shoulder spread open. Blood beginning to surface, threatening to overflow and stain her silvery pelt. The pain that came with the cuts was welcoming, one she had missed in a sick and twisted way. However the cuts didn’t slow down her seventeen point one hand bodice. As his daggers sliced her pelt Fancy as Hell extended her boa, teeth bared as she snapped in the direction of his crest. If she could get a big enough mouthful of his flesh than perhaps her continued mass moving past him would rock him backwards and completely knock him off balance, or even skin some of his blood stained pelt right off- replacing it with the real liquid blood that she much more preferred in a battle.

Percheron wench didn’t have time to see if he she was able to pull him off guard before she caught sight of his hind daggers flying towards her. Instincts took over as muscles flexed, preparing herself for the blow that was about to make impact. A surge of pain coursed through her under barrel section. The impact was hard and landed at the bottom of her last couple ribs. She was sure a couple of them had now been bruised as a dulling pain was there, although it with the endorphins and adrenaline running through her bodice it was hard to tell much of what she felt anymore. Fancy certainly wasn’t about to sit around and take the beating though. Once hit you always had to make a move- that way it didn’t look like you were losing. It also messed with the opponent’s mind. No matter what they came at you with you immediately encountered without slowing down. Started messing with their mind, thinking that their attacks did nothing to faze their opponent. Battles weren’t just a physical situation. To be successful you had to know the mind tricks that went along with it, something that usually comes from many battles and learning from those battles. Not once after a battle had Fancy not evaluated her mistakes and worked on fixing them. If she wanted to be the best she had to train and act like the best. Dappled wench was a complete bitch and she was going to make a name for herself that caused others not to even want to mess with her or anything that belonged to her.

Emerald orbs watched as he came down from his attack, his haunch muscles indicating he was about to face off with her. This bastard certainly wasn’t about to get a break. Muscles were already coiled up and springing her forward towards him at more of a side angle. The lacerations upon her neck stung from being stretched farther than they wanted to but the dappled wench didn’t flinch- she would curse later when she had to clean them. Fancy was already close to him so it didn’t take much to close the distance. With another powerful push from her haunches she pushed herself forward and slightly upward. Dial tucked between her knees for protection and to help with her attack. Forelimbs now stretched out as her deadly daggers aimed to strike. Left dagger was aimed just to the left of his point-of-shoulder on his left side. She was hoping to dig deep beneath the shoulder blade knowing that if she had gotten the precise area packed along with the power she hit with then hopefully that shoulder would become dislocated and would no longer want to bear much weight. Considering equines carried more body weight on their front end then their back end, which would just be unfortunate for her opponent. Fancy didn’t give a rat’s ass though, he asked for it the moment he stepped in the ring with her.

She had more weapons to use in the midst of her attack. While she hoped her left one would make contact she still had her head and right dagger to go. Right dagger aimed to hit in the rib cage section just slightly below and to the right of the withers. She hoped that the mass behind her movement could potentially bruise a rib or knock it out of place which would also cause discomfort when moving and breathing. While her daggers were aimed for their targets she now had one more weapon in her box to use. Her cranium that had once been tucked between her knees now shot up lick a rocket. The crown of her skull was directed towards the jaw of the blood stained bastard.

Fancy didn’t wait to see if she had made contact before she began her exit from her attack. She needed to keep herself protected while leaving. As her seventeen point one hand bodice moved past him she departed from the blows she had hoped to land. As her dappled pelt moved from his oddly painted one a single hind limb shot out behind her matched with a powerful force. She was creating her space while she moved out of his striking distance to give herself hopefully enough time to turn and face her opponent. Back ribs ached from the sudden rush of activities causing Fancy to keep her breathing calm for moment, careful not to take any deep breaths- trying to keep stress off of them for the couple of seconds. The ball was in his court now, and things were just starting to get fun!



words; 1783
tag; @winter
words; I miss battle posts, this was fun to type- although difficult when doing it at work haha
note; So your attack didn't make a ton of sense, I think you were just missing details in your post and your explanation of the attack. " he charged at Fancy's side and leaped into the air while striking with his front legs until his hind feet left the ground. when they left the ground, he tucked them up against his belly before kicking out behind himself with both back feet at the same time like what is done in a capriole. depending on where fancy was at the time, whether if she dodged or was not in his vicinity, i'll leave it up to you as to where it all hit, if at all." Doesn't say anything, anywhere about him turning around to then strike with his back legs... but I figured that's what you wanted, so I had it land in my post.

Terms;
3 hits
2 dodges
3 day reply time
No word max/min

Stats;
Name- Fancy As Hell
Breed- Percheron
Age- 4
Gender- Mare
Height- 17.1hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 92%

• cracked back ribs
• Lacerations upon neck and shoulder

Attacks-

1. As he charged her she charged back and aimed to either grab his crest and pull him off balance or tear some of his pelt off. When he turned to face her she was already in full attack on him hoping to dislocate his left shoulder and bruise or knock a couple of his ribs out of place. While doing that she swung her dial upward hoping to make connection with his jaw.

Dodges- none used

[Deleted]

[ooc] I have edited my first post to make it clearer on the attack.

[Deleted]

Name- Vanth
Breed- Tennessee Walking Horse x Bavarian Warmblood x American Quarter Horse
Age- Immortal, Lord of Hell
Gender- Stallion
Height- 17hh
Alliance- Dark
Health- 90% -- healing from a bite to his flank, neck, chest, a hoof impression on top of his neck and an abrasion on his belly. he has a sliver of flesh removed from his crest, a hair line cracked scapula (shoulder blade), and strained serratus dorsalis muscles.

The mare exuded a poisonous amount of confidence and a superior air. Well, wasn't she just the hottest shit to exist? However in all her self-possession, she was ignorant and vain. She was nothing more than a mere mortal every day of the year. She dealt with petty matters as all mortals do and considering the fact that he had never heard her name before today, she was insignificant to society. To Vanth, that chalked up her emanation of pride and superiority as arrogance. By the simple matter of the situation, she was worthless and would do nothing to alter the Devil's thinking. She may have thought she was doing The Master a favor by being here today but she was not making his punishment any less severe. Even if by some chance, his soul would be set free today he would not hesitate to cause a problem for the mare. Presenting your arrogant visage to the Devil was never a good idea. Feverishly lusting to draw the Devil's blood did not make you a bad ass or make you important. It made you a puerile fool that was screwing around with much greater matters. If The Master had dealt with his battle in a responsible manner, the entire punishment process will have been much less painful. But no, the mortals always have to have it their way and for that, these two in particular would pay for eternity. Beyond this battle field, their fate was set. Vanth sarcastically hoped that Fancy was going to be happy with her decisions beyond this point. They would dictate how everything from here on out was going to transpire. 

Moments ago when the Devil had charged at the mare, she had met his implied collision. Her willingness to get injured was not admirable. It made no difference if she shied or embraced the impact; she was merely proving her lack of intelligence now. When he had wildly leaped up into the air, she had managed to tear a sliver of his blood red flesh away from his vessel. The adrenaline did not allow for him to feel much pain beyond a pulsating sensation at the site of the injury. Crimson orbs locked upon his target just as he had spun around to meet her again when he was back on the ground. Her hooves were coming for him already but that bothered him very little. As she came toward him with her hooves directed at his vessel, he half reared and lunged forward her head on so that he was up over her. Pale hooves struck out in rapid fire assaults as his hind limbs walked forward underneath his painted form as his intentions to knock her back became clear. Enamels snapped and jerked at her visage and by the gods he would be damned if had torn at her ear, gouges at an eye, or otherwise maimed her unattractive skull. As he did this, his frame continued to march forward as he slashed and struck at her ashen head, chest, and shoulders with heavy blows. A solid strike to the joint of where her scapula met her humerus would be quite honestly devastating at this point in the battle. As he continued to march forward, he slammed his own crown down at an angle with the hope of ramming his hard jowls into her fragile nasal area. It was incredibly easy to snap the thin strip of marrow at the bridge of equines' muzzles. If that bone became fragmented and loose, it could easily slice through the tender mucous membranes and inter-nasal structures, complicating her breathing or otherwise potentially filling her lungs with blood. His jaw was bruised from the impact but he was not aware that she had thrown her head up into his jaw at the same time.

But his form was still in motion. Hind limbs continued to move forward as he began to lean his weight forward as well. If she was still balanced in front of him or if she was now locked against his body, this would hopefully force her back. His intentions of this move were to knock her so far back onto her haunches that she would be forced to flip over onto her back which would cause her to reveal her sensitive under belly. Adrenaline still coursed through his system and dulled the pain from his neck where she removed his flesh, his cracked scapula, and the straining in the bridging of his serratus dorsalis muscles. The blow had strained the muscle fibers along his spine and his entire side would be sore for months after this. The physical aftermath mattered little to him right now -- he just wanted to watch this insolent cunt suffer.  All throughout his attack, the sick grin never left his maw. Even through the pain and apprehending fatigue, she was merely entertaining him rather than bothering him. She was nothing more than a gnat searching for flesh to momentarily devastate for their benefit. She was nothing to be afraid of or even be considered a high class soldier. She had not thrown any particular move at him he had not seen before and it was disappointing. He had had a glimmer of hope that perhaps she would have been a challenge but alas, she was no one.

word count | 889
notes | complete
battle terms | three hits, two dodges, three days to reply, the winner gets The Master/Deimos
attacks |

1. he charged at Fancy's side and leaped into the air while striking with his front legs until his hind feet left the ground. when they left the ground, he tucked them up against his belly before kicking out behind himself with both back feet at the same time like what is done in a capriole. depending on where fancy was at the time, whether if she dodged or was not in his vicinity, i'll leave it up to you as to where it all hit, if at all.

2. he reared and lunged at her as she came at him and his front hooves struck at her head, chest, and shoulders with the intention of bruising and leaving open wounds in her flesh. while he was doing this, his hind legs began to march forward (if you watch videos of stallions breeding, they can do this) as he continued to strike at her with his hooves. he did this to try and knock her off balance or push her so far back that she would fall onto the ground. when she swung her head up to hit him in the jaw, he had slammed his jowls down with the intention of hitting the nasal bone and breaking it off within her nose.


dodges | none used
speech | BC8F8F
text | 000000

[Deleted]

Automatic Winner is @winter with Vanth

Zohyd// you needed to post around 14 hours to go to be under the time limit you two had agreed on.

[Zohyd//]

ooc; I have spent the past 36hrs in the hospital due to a fighting injury, i'm on my way home now. I understand if @winter wishes not to give me an extension of time as I was not able to inform her.

[Deleted]

I am going to decline on permitting an extension.