My lips taste his blood, his flesh. The hair that I rip from him sticks to my lips. Sorry, not sorry, mate. Of course I can't apologize for trying my damnedest to take a chunk of him with me. (After all, doesn't he need cool scars to tell war stories about? What better than a friend to provide them!) Satisfaction courses through my veins, bonding with the adrenaline that is natural in a fight. I pull my teeth from his hindquarters, and I prepare to use my momentum to peel away from him. Escape from this proximity is my goal.

But while I have strength to aid me, he has speed. I am the chunky monkey, the weightlifter who remembers arm day but forgets leg day (all the leg days). He is the lithe gymnast, the medal winner on the track. Before I can heave my rabicano body away from his bay one, he's already coming for me. Even as I feel his rough hooves make contact with my throat, I see out of the corner of my silver eyes the knowing smirk on his face. Bastard took the hit on purpose! And then I can't think about Reichenbach anymore because although he didn't break my windpipe, he certainly struck hard enough to start a small swelling that will threaten to cut off my breathing. I brace myself on all fours, coughing and gasping for air. I shake my head to and fro, leonine tail whipping through the air; the agitation and panic at struggling to breathe making my entire body wild.

My mind reaches out to Damaris, screaming in my head for her help even as I cough and slowly start to get my breath back. My sides heave and I'm ready to attack my king again, but Damaris has already leaped past me, teeth bared. I don't worry about her safety; instead I'm actually worried about Reichenbach's! The hellhound has grown so much, approaching her full size and gaining muscle every day. She can hold her own, even against the king. But she has acid in her jaws, and I've never seen it tested against an opponent. A small but growing fear twists my gut up in a knot, worried that she may damage Reichenbach more than is warranted for our friendly battle. But it's too late, and she's come to my defense. I try to touch her mind, but she's blocked me out, too focused on her offensive.

Damaris's jaws part, revealing canines coated in a sickly green venom. Her glowing green eyes flash as she aims to grab Reichenbach's left hind cannon. She moves faster than my poor eyes can follow, but I can hear her snarling and growling. She peels away, running back to my side as I remain still, recovering from Reich's blow. My haunches coil and I live my mass partway into the air, a choked squeal passing my lips. I stop squealing immediately as it rasps through my sore throat. Come for me, brother! I don't have to say it -- the look is plain on my face. Always a gentleman, I offer the same invitation he offered me.

WC: 526
Tag: @Reichenbach @Sid @kay @inkbone
Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak

---

---

Summary: Rosti gets hit just off center on his throat, not crushing his windpipe but leaving what will be a big bruise. It knocks the air from him and he stops to try to catch his breath. Damaris takes his place, aiming for Reich's hind left cannon, assuming that he hasn't moved. Then she returns to Rosti and he does some posturing with a rear and a hoarse squeal. Consider him on his way down to earth for a Reich attack!

Attack Used: 2
Attack(s) Left: 0
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: n/a

Response Deadline: Aug 24

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool

---

R E I C H E N B A C H

---

He struck true. The impact was like hitting a brick wall, such was Rostislav's strength, a man of true strength. The dull thud of his hooves hitting true was satisfying to his hungry heart, the burning of adrenaline pumping through his veins asking for more, more, more. Then came the gasping and the wheezing from behind him, giving reason for the gypsy man to turn, his hair splaying wildly around him with the movement. The earth felt like it was his - the soft grass and earth underfoot lending him their durability, the mountains giving strength, the fresh air that rushed down his lungs making him nimble and fierce. If it had been anyone else but Rosti standing there heaving, Reichenbach might have pressed the advantage, might have leaped upon him like wildfire - but it was Rosti. Instead he danced upon his hooves, joyful and wild even as his rump ached. 

He'd forgotten about Damaris. 

It was his downfall, the complete inability to focus in a fight. All he wanted to do was punch, kick, bite and receive the same in return, a raucous and wild brawl with no rules. There was no focus in the whirlwind of his passion, no reason or logic, just excitement and adrenaline. It was complete and utter luck that as he whirled to grin at Rostislav, he saw the hound coming. Stars above, was she fast. Reichenbach had less than a moment to see Damaris in all her glory, for she moved like lightning, flitting forward too quickly to follow. He had little choice but to leap as she lunged for his leg, the snap of her teeth echoing like a gunshot through the expanse of the Steppe. Reich felt the faintest brush of the hellhounds fur as she missed him by an inch. An inch. Just a tiny bit closer and he'd have had to throttle Rosti for a damn antidote to that acidic venom of hers. The Night King landed with a hefty thud, the muscles in his shoulders rippling elegantly in the sunlight. 

Wasting no time, Reichenbach adjusted himself to face his Warden once again. The challenge was there, plain and simple in Rosti's rugged face. Reich grinned ferociously at Rostislav's hoarse scream, responding with his own roar as he pushed into a swift canter toward the man and his bonded. He maintained the speed, rushing toward Rosti with the intention of slamming his own broad chest into his opponents - but there was Rosti's armour, dented and worn but strong as ever. So as he rushed forward, shoving his strong chest toward Rostislav's, he also swung one leg out and under to attempt to take the Wardens legs out from underneath him and bring the mountainous man to the ground.

---