Necessity had brought them from the storied structures of the Dawn Court to the Steppe. Martin nodded appraisingly at the landscape, weighing it as carefully as he would his opponent. As Cassia had so painfully demonstrated for him, no battle was ever fought merely one horse against another: one's environment is every bit as dangerous as one's adversary, and the Bellum Steppe would surely be no exception. While largely flat and open, the earth was pocked with treacherous gopher holes waiting to catch careless hooves.

It was not a particularly suitable stage for war games, but it would have to suffice.

For his part, Martin had scouted out the least offensive arena he could find: mostly clear of holes and other obstacles and predominantly flat, in the interest of fairness. The earth itself was pleasantly yielding without being overly soft, and the mid-morning sun had risen high enough to provide good visibility for all contenders. He was thankful for the journey here, too, as a spring chill yet lingered in the air.

The gilded unicorn stood like a coiled spring at the ready, facing down Rostislav across a ten-meter gap between them. He had chosen the field and so the privilege of the first strike belonged to the darker stallion, but he'd be damned if he made things easy for him. Agility would be his greatest asset in this contest.

Although we had both left around the same time from the Dawn Court, we arrived quite separately, which leaves this battle to be a long time coming. In that time, so much has happened. For one, I've received the armor that I thought had been lost in Helovia, and I found Damaris on top of Veneror Peak -- and those are just a few of the major changes that have happened! Finally, I am present and ready to fight the pale unicorn with the turquoise tattoos.

Martin arrives before I do, and has apparently decided on a place for us to do battle. Looking at the landscape, I see that he's chosen well, for both our sakes. The ground appears relatively flat and solid, compared to some other areas that are patched with holes from rodents like chipmunks and moles. The grass around us provides a soft arena for us, though we certainly aren't prevented from stepping outside it. Damaris follows quietly behind me, tagging along at my heels. Our conversations have been extensive and nearly non-stop, but now she is silent to let me focus. Except... As always, I will be here if you need me. Do be safe, I've only just gotten you back. I nod, knowing that at some point I will call on her to assist me. After all, I'm quite out of practice.

The creme unicorn stands silently, just ten meters or so away from me. It's just enough to get a running start for a few strides. Martin's leaner body will aid him in escaping from me, while I have the advantage of weight behind my attacks, and armor to assist in my protection. In truth, I'm not used to fighting with my armor; it had only just been made when I left Helovia. The metal is lighter than I expected, but still an additional weight to slow me. I can only hope that the defense it provides will be worth more than the speed I'd have without it. It clinks and shines in the sunlight.

Without speaking a word, or letting loose a wild battle cry, I leap forward, cantering toward my opponent. Though it is difficult to see when my eyes are naught but silver, a fire is lit there within. It has been ages since I fought anybody, and I feel the lust for battle surge within my breast. My drink-stained teeth are bared, leading my attack only just behind the draconian spikes that line the bridge of my face. Just before I arrive I lift my front legs from the ground to assist in the might behind my attack. I aim for the side or crest of his neck, hoping to rip his skin or even just knock the breath and balance from him with the force of my momentum and bulk. I land then to my right and turn my skull to face his left, nostrils flared and sides heaving from the increased effort I'm putting forth.

WC: 497
Tag: @Martin @Sid @inkbone @kay
Rosti thoughts | Rosti speech | Damaris mindspeak

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Summary: Rosti arrives with his armor on, accompanied by Damaris, his hellhound companion. At first he stands opposite Martin at the 10m that was specified, then he canters toward Martin and half-rears, attacking the side and/or crest of Martin's neck, on Martin's left. Then, whether he succeeds or not, he returns all 4 hooves to the ground and turns his head toward Martin.

Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: None (except his armor that he arrived with)

Response Deadline: July 22

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool

Much had happened indeed. Martin had taken in Rostislav's new armor with equal parts apprehension and thoughtfulness, knowing the advantage it afforded in protection came at the cost of speed, agility, and stamina, but he had never faced an opponent thusly clad. Battle armor was something spoken of only in the oldest lays of his people. There was the animal companion to consider also.

Ah, well.

The gilded unicorn had been thrown enough curveballs in his relatively short life that he would not balk at this new development, which was a rather fortunate truth because no sooner had he come to terms with his status as the obvious underdog than the armored bay had begun to charge.

Martin braced himself, weighing his options at the reactive speed of instinct. He had plenty of time to turn and retreat from the oncoming adversary, but inertia would work in Rostislav's favor if he had a greater distance in which to work up steam, and it was far too much to hope for that he should tire himself in the space of a single short-distance charge. It would be better to take the initiative out of Rostislav's hands, to cut short his wind-up and thus starve his strike of a bit of its intended power.

So that's exactly what he did. Instead of surrendering to prey instincts and attempting to leap away, Martin set his jaw with kindling determination and met Rostislav's advance with his neck arched and horn held at the ready, warning away any serious threat that the other stallion's teeth might have posed. He rose into a rear with his opponent in the time-honored tradition of two testosterone-charged males battling for dominance, though for his part he knew he would have little headway to do damage himself against Rostislav's armored breastplate.

His purpose here was simple: in rising to meet Rostislav rather than turning to avoid him, he intended to prevent the other stallion from taking full advantage of either his body or gravity to land the most effective blow possible. However he was reacting to Rostislav's actions, and the other stallion's hooves came down at an angle along the meaty base of his neck and chest, digging in briefly where the two structures met before skipping off the sides of the gemstone at his heart. It would blossom into a proper abrasion, though he couldn't assess the damage easily without delaying long enough to open himself up for another attack, but he knew it could have been much worse if taken standing still.

The impact forced him back down to all fours, knees jarring slightly as he absorbed the shock of the landing, but he knew he did not have time to dawdle. In such close quarters, Rostislav's greater weight would garner the greater advantage if he was allowed any time to regroup from his own efforts. Martin pressed the offensive immediately, harnessing the downward momentum from his landing to lunge forward at a slight angle to Rostislav's left and reach out with his left foreleg in an effort to deal some damage to Rostislav's own unprotected left foreleg as he himself attempted to lunge past and into open quarters. It was less of a proper kick and more of an opportunistic, deliberate misstep, but - unlike the rest of Rostislav - that leg might actually be somewhat vulnerable to attack, and a wounded leg would be no good to a horse so burdened with extra mass and armor.

If all went well, Martin would be able to spring clear and round away to his right, keeping Rostislav in his sights for the next onslaught. His chest burned with the steady buildup of blood in the skin (a sure sign of inflammation to come), but he could yet bring his horn to bear if need be.

Though the time it takes for a battle to take place is short, the battle glory, the heat of the moment, is enough to make time slow and seem like what takes seconds is really taking minutes - hours even. The scent of the two stallions' building sweat, their heart rate rising upward as their efforts increase. The blood through my veins pounds in my mind as my teeth fail to make contact. They snap together with a loud 'clack!' and I grunt as I land, not appreciating the jolt through my jaw. The tremor in my legs is not too great from impact, which I'm thankful for. Looking toward my opponent I see the faintest scrape along his chest where his neck joins - indicative that my hooves made contact.

The grin that appears on my face may be confused with a grimace, it is tainted and jagged, like an open sore on my muzzle. It wasn't a huge wound to give Martin, but it was better than nothing. Despite my solid standing, the pale unicorn tries to unbalance me by catching his leg on mine. It works, and as he lunges away, I descend toward the ground, my knees buckling and crashing into the earth. I grunt again, knowing that I will have abrasions there. With a loud groan I raise to my feet again, all the inertia that I'd come in with stripped of me.

Are you okay? Should I help? Damaris's concerned voice enters my mind. I can almost feel her digging her claws into the earth, ready to leap after the golden-horned stallion. No, it's ok. He couldn't handle you anyway. She chuckles, as do I, and I turn around to face my escaping opponent. I charge him again, ears pinned again, but what my attack IS is not apparent. Until I've almost made contact, it may appear like I'm just running madly at him, except that within a few yards I lower my crown, pointing both horns and spikes at my leaner opponent. I swing my head toward my right, hoping to scratch or stab Martin in the side of his shoulder or ribcage - whatever he might leave open to me, unguarded from onslaught. I lift my head up as I go, then move past him, leaving him behind me only long enough to get away, then I wheel in preparation for his retaliation.

WC: 398
Tag: @Martin @Sid @inkbone @kay
Rosti thoughts | Rosti speech | Damaris mindspeak

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Summary: Rosti is successfully tripped and falls to his knees. He gets up and charges again at Martin, this time edging to Martin's right, and swings his horns at the right side of Martin's body. Then he moves away past Martin and turns around to face him again.

Attack Used: 2
Attack(s) Left: 0
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: None (except his armor that he arrived with)

Response Deadline: July 26

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool