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When the world had dealt its cards - Castalla - 05-25-2020

Rise, red as the dawn

Uproarious cheering filled the cramped space, every nook and cranny vibrating with the voices of spectators as they jeered and whooped. The very ceiling above them, the ground for those not aware of the chasms and tunnels twisting and winding beneath the Day Court, was humming with the tension and excitement that thrummed through each and every horse standing in the dirt. A rough circle had been marked out with rocks, misshapen and stained with blood. Hoof prints had churned up the sand within- skids and piles where horses had stood or fallen.

Within the circle stood two opponents. One, a large chestnut stallion with a scar across one side of his face and a pair of sharp fangs descending from between his lips, stamped his hooves and preened to the crowd, raising their ire and thirst for violence. The other, a smaller mare laced in scars, watched with an imperceptible smile.

The White Lion they called her- for the ferocity with which she fought and the pale colour of her fur. It was not far off the title she’d earned in Alanaris- the White Wolf. Each combatant was dubbed with a title if they chose not to reveal their name, and Castalla rather appreciated the anonymity of it all. It felt as though she were a snake shedding her skin, or a demon letting the beast loose. Snapped were the chains that tethered her to humanity, that locked up the wild savagery smouldering like a bushfire within her soul.

Calmly Castalla closed her eyes, relaxing her body with a steadying breath and bowing her head. Slowly the cheering faded into the background until it was just the beat of her opponent’s heart and the air leaving his nares that permeated her enhanced hearing. The stallion, somewhat perplexed for his part, approached her cautiously- smart enough to see the scars and hear the title and know she was worth the precaution. The White Wolf felt his every hoof-fall in the sand, tasted his excitement and anticipation upon her tongue. She didn’t need her eyes to see, not when she’d been trained to fight blind. Castalla was in her element, miring within her own exhilaration, the bloodlust rife within her heart. Should she make this one quick? The first time she’d fought here it had been over in a matter of seconds and the silence had been so thick she could have stabbed with her dagger. Drawing it out might lull her opponent into a false sense of hope, belief that he might stand a chance. There was a darker side of Castalla that enjoyed it, relished the shock and surprise when she triumphed against the odds.

The stallion didn’t want to wait. His intake of breath before launching himself was audible to her, the pause in his step as he shifted his weight to his back legs in preparation. In the same split second her eyes snapped open, shockingly blue and filled with fierce concentration. As sudden as a viper striking she slipped beneath his outstretched mouth and grabbed his neck between her teeth, lashing out with a well-aimed kick to his left foreleg. Taken aback and entirely unprepared, the stallion stumbled and Castalla used the force of his movement to drag him to the ground, pressing one hoof to his neck and smiling a wolf’s smile. Quick it was. She’d seen horses killed during these fights but it showed the ability and restraint of a warrior to keep control. The howls and shouts of victory resumed once more as betting slips were passed around and money changed hooves. With a soft push on his neck, the Wolf released the stallion, eyeing her teeth marks in his neck just quickly enough to ascertain that she’s only barely broken the skin.

A smug smirk played across her lips as she stepped over the ring of stones and melted into the crowd, receiving pats on the back and looks of trepidation as she wove between them.


"Speaking."


@Wildthain (/Wolfram) <3


RE: When the world had dealt its cards - Wolfram - 06-04-2020

ours is the fury
Wolfram is a looming shadow behind the masses of bodies crowding around the arena, cast to the walls around them. Bids and bets are thrown to the air, aggressive and proud and certain until they are not. Titles are born and names made here. This was a scenery not unfamiliar to him; the blood, sweat, and vigor in the air, in the closed confines of all the bodies. It was almost like a second home, although that word is bitter on his tongue.

He remembers times where he relished the fight. Not to say he had lost that passion within him, only that he hadn't felt it in a long time. Life was boring, the theme monotonous. He looks from above the heads of other horses to dismally regard the fights that unravel. Some impressive, in their own right, others just plain and short. Nothing stands out to him, eyes languidly following the winners off the arena and back into the throw of bodies, only to be replaced by new combatants.

When a pale mare takes her position in the ring, Wolfram's ears flick dimly. He watches her movements and notes the scars marking her pelt, the composed way of which she holds herself. The stallion she's up against is red as the blood on the stones and sand with an obvious penchant for entertainment. He knows how to rile the crowd. He knows how to exude confidence.

The mare makes hardly any movement at all. Aside from that calm smile and the closing of her eyes, there is nothing about her that betrays what she is thinking. His eyes narrow and heavy brows knit in concentration; reading the fight itself came naturally at this point. Of course one could never know the end of each and every fight; odds can be stacked and weighed in the middle of a fight. At this point, for all intents and purposes, the chestnut stallion seemed more likely to win. But that was only because he was parading himself, and looks were certainly not everything. He would most likely strike first, unless the mare caught an opening in his flaunting. Otherwise she would let him come to her, and depending then on how accurate the movements and attacks were, the fight could end quite fast or draw out.

In the end, it's faster than even he anticipates and his chin lifts just slightly as he watches her ground him. A snort leaves him, although otherwise his expression remains entirely emotionless, as it has been. Cheers crowd the space and vibrate the entire arena, money is passed around and traded, and Wolfram watches this 'White Lion' closely as she exits the arena after a firm look to her opponent. She weaves through the congratulatory and spiteful, and for several moments all seems normal - until a venomous shout near him makes his attention divert.

"I call fraud! You, girl - you made me lose everything! I demand a rematch, all-or-nothing, there's no way you could have beaten a stallion twice your size!"

An exaggeration at best. He loses his deep voice against the moron yelling for some desperate compensation. These were the pits - there was none to be found here. These fights were as true and raw as anything. You lost, you lost. You won, you won. 
"You lost your coin, boy. Face your poor judgment with some dignity. Or else you'd rather put your coin where your mouth is and face that beast yourself?" His head tilts to the side, toward where the White Lion was among the crowd. The man he'd spoken up against is hard-pressed for words at the thought, jumbles and curses and speaks nonsense under his breath as he tries to ghost away from the attention while still seeming like he had something to say back. Wolfram continues to stare hard at him until he is just one with the crowd again, and things continue when two new fighters enter the arena and bets are once more placed and shared and the monotony of the game continues.

Looking back toward the mare's direction, he'd offer a slight dip of his head if he can find her and meet her gaze. It was a wordless invitation as much as it was a simple regard to her, and if she decided to join him, there was certainly no fault in that. He slips further to the outskirts of the gathering, and if she came closer, would greet her company with... Not telling her to leave him alone.




Speech

@Castalla <3




RE: When the world had dealt its cards - Castalla - 06-04-2020

when no one sees you suffering, do you really suffer?

”I call fraud”. With the accusation hurled into the crowd- above the jeering, above the chanting, Castalla paused mid-step and snaps her head up straight. One ear twitches, twists, seeking out the words spat from a maddened tongue. “Ha!” She barks a laugh, a smile curling across pale lips as she turns around to face her accuser, a predator in the skin of a prey. Only there is no denying that she is a predator when you look upon her form. Though be it not evident from the cream coat, the slender body and long blonde hair. No, her ferocity is buried in those icy blue eyes, slumbering in the precision of her movements as though held at bay by silken chains. She fixes the man with a look that had sent so many running. But a shadow intervenes, stepping across her line of site. Not a shadow- a stallion. Carved from darkness and onyx, crowed in blackened spikes with only pale brindling and pinky scars interrupting the ebony smooth. She cocks a brow with mild incredulity, tipping her head to one side in a manner that can only be described as wolf-like.

Were she another woman, a lesser woman, she might smile serenely or shyly at the man’s intervention. She might preen at his masculinity, feel a flush of warmth and bat her eyelids. But Castalla was not that kind of woman. She was the kind of woman born into a world where she had to prove herself time and time again, prove that she was capable of ruling as an unmated female, prove that she was powerful despite being a woman. It had come with it a cost and that was her unwillingness to accept help, particularly from a male and most certainly not when she could deal with it on her own.

The pompous man who’d yelled out to across the crowds had melted back into the stamping hooves and raucous cheering. But, as her icy blue eyes swept the crowd, heightened by her magic, she was easily able to pick him out, the look of indignation still wrought across his features. She slipped easily among the bodies, small and unnoticed as she crept up on him. At his back she allowed her voice to permeate the noise, a dagger cutting through the cries.

“And how exactly did I commit fraud, hmm?” The stag turns around with a start, finding himself face to face with her. “Are you intending to suggest the man you bet on threw the fight, or that I somehow, magically cheated?” She releases that iron-tight grasp on her magic, allowing her teeth to extend and her eyes to become more canine as she grins dangerously. The steed backs away, pushing into a crowd he hopes will swallow him up. He fails but Castalla pays him no further mind as he sinks into the shadows the smell of fear rank across his skin. Instead she seeks out the stallion who’d cautioned the sore loser, picking out his obsidian form far more easily. He’s distanced himself from the blood-stained ring, from the hustle and bustle of those yelling and catcalling, fixated upon the equines battling it out in the ring. She paid little attention to them, noting only that the shock of her sudden and easy victory has swiftly dissipated. The crowd was a fickle one, chained to the need for entertainment.

This time she approached to be seen, forcing her way through the sea of bodies rather than slipping nimbly between them. There was much to be said of someone who could be anyone- who could play any role, acting in anyway. It was both a curse and a blessing, to hide behind the walls of a dozen different personas, to succeed in any situation by simply being what was expected, what was wanted. Yet you could lose yourself in the many faces, become so practiced at acting that nothing came naturally. She had nearly done that once- become so invested in a mission, a cover, that it took months to get herself out of the same headspace. But here undercover was redundant, even if impression were not. She could be truly anyone because no one knew who she was.

“I appreciate your effort on my behalf but really I don’t need anyone to stand up for me. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with self-important idiots on my own, thank you.” She calls out upon approach, her voice snaking across the noise. He was even bigger up close, towering many hands above her. Not that she was in the slightest bit intimidated- she’d just proved her ability to take on anyone bigger than her. Internally she can feel her wolf purring, noting how handsome his face is, how muscular his body. Were she entirely alone she might have rolled her eyes at. But she was not.



"Speaking."


@Wolfram <3


RE: When the world had dealt its cards - Wolfram - 06-04-2020

ours is the fury
Noticing the Wolf find her prey and surprise the one who'd spoken out against her makes the beginnings of a smile twitch at one side of his lips. It's gone in the next second, and while he cannot quite hear what she says to him, seeing the stallion reel and disappear finally in the throw of bodies around them is enough to gauge a fairly solid understanding.

A rough breath is cast from his nose as his eyes once more move to study the arena - only this time they get caught on the same pale mare that is now pushing through bodies straight for him. He watches her, patient and impartial, as she approaches him and speaks above the surrounding voices.

"You just grounded a stallion more than half your size. I know you can," he starts, overlooking her now that she's a bit closer; her scars, the ferocious blue of her eyes - they remind him of a thunderstorm - and the confidence she exudes. Yes, this was most definitely a winner here. But he can't help but wonder what stories all of those scars tell; and then there's curious ones, the ones with predatorial bitemarks... "The man was just an unpleasant headache. And I'm not one for listenin' to ignorant, sore words." He knew she could have handled it, and in the end she did have her say. If he was honest, he'd actually had been sorely disappointed if she hadn't followed up his words with some of her own. Not that it was something he'd have held onto. The grasp he has on this area and these surrounding souls was loose at best and straight avoidance at worst.

The mare just happened to have caught his own invitation and attention, whatever that may mean. He is certain he might never cross paths with her again, or if anywhere, only here. So he's his typical aloof, silent, brooding self. Everything he was just fine with being.

Though his eyes have now since abandoned their previous subject, the fighters in the ring and the shouts among the people a mere blur. As she studies him he studies her; unabashedly and without reserve, though in no way that denotes a demeaning connotation. It was more of a size-up, as though he were seeing an opponent rather than a new acquaintance. She may be familiar with masks but he wore none; he was as she saw him, however that may be, and she was as he saw her.

"You've shown you won't let anyone so much as lay a tooth on your hide, yet your scars tell a different story. I doubt any of them are from this arena." An observation, nothing more - unless she so desired to lay a few stories upon him - but he himself is a closed book, and so expects her own reservations to stem from her obvious, less-than-friendly experiences.



Speech

@Castalla <3