to break, to bind [Tal]


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Post Mon Apr 23, 2018 10:59 pm

to break, to bind [Tal]

They were the fastest, and so she bid them run—hunt down what had broken through and return, quickly. The barrier they’d set was tenuous, the grounding far too close to the Fields. If luck were with them—Hinote did what he could—the breach would be in a far corner, away from casual wanderings. But Fields still, and therein always the danger.

So they ran the ward path, trailing what the darkness had dripped in passing, and found themselves spat out in high grassland. Id had to crane his neck to see over the stiff waves of dry rushes; Lock would have to rear up.

“Not good,” she said, simply, turning to guard his left flank. His eyes to the front, hers to the back—the best they could manage.

“We may hear it,” he said; she’d need the words, now that she could not look at him. “Your ear is keener.”

The wind shifted, and the grass crashed like a sea. He felt her press closer, and even then he could bare make her answer. “Too much. Sound, everywhere.”

It was—rustling, snapping, rushing. Not impossible to place a direction, but difficult, and Lock not used to tuning out all she could sense. But their prey had been marked—they were
here, that much was sure. From where they’d come, neither he nor she could know. But they would come. In their corruption, it was all they could do.

“Could be a time to call your Death,” he murmured, only half in jest. Felt her tail sting against his ribs, quick as a whip.

“Not for little this.” There was pride in the monotone, if one knew how to listen. Here, at the edge of waiting, of some promised violence—here, the only time they would speak so lightly.

Seconds stretched. The grass moved, revealed nothing. They each felt the other’s breathing slow, slow, and stop.

Wait.

Fangs exploded by his unguarded shoulder and—stopped, the tips frozen in their half-moon sinking. Lock’s gift, one count wasted on him, but no
time for that. He whipped around and his teeth buried deeper, through the scaled folds at the beast’s nape. Ichor burned in his mouth; the hold broke; it screamed.

Now.

He shifted his weight back, reared up—the creature’s dark bulk snapped through the air, tethered in his jaw. His neck tensed tight as a wire, and he dragged it down, down to the dust. They crashed together. Breathless. Blind.
Do not let go.

Low sound cut through the impact—not a cry, no, Lock never made such noises. Through the slow air he saw her suddenly, another darkness in her teeth, dragging her along. The grass splintered like bone around them, and they were gone.

Fury thrashed in his hold, hissing, blunted claws scrabbling for his gut. He could try to rise, to pin, but his hooves slid against the matted grass and would not stay. If the beast found purchase first—no, keep it occupied. Felt a sharpness find his hind, sink, twist. Fine. He leaned into it—all the weight he could.

He was not made for crushing, but in the moment, it was all he had.


((Hope this is good enough for you to work off of, Tal--I'm very rusty when it comes to action ^^;;))
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Post Tue Apr 24, 2018 8:52 pm

Re: to break, to bind [Tal]

((OOC: Honestly, it's perfect! It's been far too long since I've written anything action oriented either, so not to worry! You'll have to bear with me as I feel these characters out. I've never played with Threestrikes, and it's been awhile since I've touched on Tatter))

Galaxy had sensed some form of danger in the fields, and had asked them to go investigate. The stallion was the equivalent of their General, and his word was law. Where Vision was the democratic leader, and Bridle his right hand, Galaxy had taken up a special role in their little society. The Elementals and Warriors respected the Rogues, and while Shimmer preferred a quieter role in the herd, Galaxy's praise and opinions were almost revered. Threestrikes didn't even hesitate when Galaxy asked him; it was the first bit of excitement he'd had in years. The same stale patrols had made him battle hungry. In reality, his eagerness to comply to Galaxy's requests had everything to do with who he was and what he wanted, and less to do with obeying the Rogue.

Threestrikes raced through the fields with Tatter in hot pursuit. Tatter was not a warrior, but he was one of the fastest runners in the herd, and he was invaluable as a result. He was the only one who could keep pace with the Warrior, and he had very little fear of the unknown himself.

If truth be told, Threestrikes wasn't even sure what he was looking for, until he abruptly came upon the breach himself. He slowed to a halt, and for all his bulk, the Warrior was quiet as he stalked forward to investigate. He wasn't sure what manner of being had crossed the barrier. He didn't even recognize the barrier as one of their own; that alone made him cautious, despite his propensity for being rash and hot headed. None the less, he was confident in his ability to track the being or creature, as it seemed to leave its own sinister trail to follow.

He motioned towards the ground, and Tatter nodded silently in agreement. Threestrikes took the lead again with Tatter trailing at the rear, just in case another being dislodged itself from the breach to follow them.

When they reached the grassland, the relative silence was punctuated by the snap of grass, and muted sounds of a struggle. Something was crashing about in there, something large and feral. Many things from the Wilds were, and if Threestrikes had to hazard a guess, with his limited experience and knowledge, he would bet that the creature made the Wilds its home.

He couldn't run in blindly, not without pinpointing the approximate location of his target, but the grass made visibility impossible at best. He strained to listen, but there were too many noises emanating from within. Tatter waited for word silently, knowing that Threestrikes was simply weighing his options. The pale stallion's blood sang with the promise of a skirmish, as he trotted along the grass' edge. He paused for a moment, and Tatter could almost see him planning out a strategic position in his head.

With very little warning, Threestrikes dashed into the tall grass and Tatter had to quickly give chase. Tatter emerged not too long after into an opening made from crushed grasses, but he was forced to hang back to give the Warrior some striking distance.

There was a stallion in front of them who was pinning some creature of the void. The stallion was holding his own, but Threestrikes intended to end it, now that he was incensed and the smell of blood was upon him. He lowered his head like a deadly battering ram, sharp crimson horns aimed for the only exposed portion of the being's body that the other Serian was not currently trying to crush with his bulk. Threestrikes darted forward nimbly, readjusting his trajectory to compensate for the thrashing creature.

With barely more than a grunt, Threestrikes felt the resistance of the creature's hide against his horns before it gave way with a sickening sound. The stallion twisted his head, determined to rend and tear, or maim at least if he could not make it a clean kill. Luckily for him, the creature's claws had already found purchase in the other Serian, but still it struggled, until he twisted so violently that the creature shuddered and uttered the briefest screech, its death knell.

He withdrew from the corpse but paused only long enough to question the other stallion. Conversation was not his strong suit, and he could feel the bloodlust upon him.

"Is this it? Is this the only one?"
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Post Wed Apr 25, 2018 8:51 pm

Re: to break, to bind [Tal]

A flash of white in the corner of his eye, a sudden hit of bloodlust—but nothing he could do, if it were aimed at him. He braced against the pain—what was there, what might come—felt impact shudder through the beast’s body. Not his own. The stallion was close now, clear: pale hide, fall of teal, wicked horns sunk deep. Warrior.

The darkness screamed, and died.

Id let the weight fall from his jaw.
Rise. The claws had spasmed before they’d gone loose, carved deep furrows that he felt only distantly. His hooves were steady under him, even with what swarmed in the stranger’s air. Bloodlust, pure and strong enough to send memory like heat lightning through his veins. The blood in his mouth took on sweetness—but no. Not now.

“Is this it? Is this the only one?”

Pointed, but little time for anything else. He noted another stallion, at the edge of the brush—fanged at the spine and throat, but not like them. “One more. My companion had it last.” His voice sounded strange to his ears; he couldn’t place why. “Larger quarry, from where they came.”

He turned, then, towards the place he’d seen Lock disappear and through—they would either follow, or not. Lock had not called him; their bond lay silent, still. Could mean anything. He moved swiftly through the path she’d cut. All the blood along it was dark; a sign, maybe, that she was holding her own.

And still, had he not a Warrior’s senses, breaking upon her fight might have surprised him—so quiet, her way. The beast croaked around a half-crushed throat, its stance low and wary, snapping and clawing whenever she entered its range. Never quite fast enough—though there was a red gash below her eye, where she’d learned its timing.

She glanced at him as he parted the rushes, spared him a singular nod.
Good, you’re alive. Her dance shifted, then—a little wider, a little faster. She spun on a back hoof, casting a spray of grit into the creature’s opaque eyes. It screeched; she smiled, so soft and quick he might’ve imagined it.

She was no Warrior, that much was true. Just—something else.

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