He isn’t waiting long - and yet, it’s long enough for the flowers to start creeping their way up his legs, their trembling petals reaching for his heart. Overhead more birds appear, songbirds and finches and crows, flitting back and forth across the sky. He thinks he can hear something prowling through the trees that line the edge of the field, something watching from within the shadows. And yet every time he turns his head to look, he sees only the trees, waving at him from afar.
The feeling of being watched grows stronger with every passing second - it was magic at the root of it all, he knows. His magic, the island’s magic, Novus’ magic, running through his veins and the veins of the entire world. Once, when he was a foal, he had thought magic to be the gift of the god’s - as rare as a Juliet rose.
Now he knows better. If the world were a body, its blood would be composed of magic, shaping it from within.
He wonders idly, as the bay man comes to a stop, how that magic would shape them today. There was no doubt in his mind that it would have a place in their battle; how could it not, when they were carved from the same vein?
Ipomoea had expected to feel nervous today, when facing down his opponent - his first opponent. But he surprises surprises himself with his repose. There was tension still, lingering in his muscles and stretching in the space left between each heartbeat. But his mind is a river, clear and flowing. All thoughts of the gods and the island dissipated the moment Asterion came into view.
He watches him now, as he draws close and stops. Ipomoea recognizes the look in the bay king’s eyes, for it’s the same look that colors his own vision. There’s a dangerous edge to it, to the way Asterion’s gaze seems to see through his flesh and bones. Ipomoea has only time to find his expression unreadable, to realize he can’t anticipate what he’ll do next - before the fight begins.
The king lunges for his legs, as quick as a bolt of lightning splitting a tree, and instinct takes over. Ipomoea rears into the air, drawing his front legs up and away - but not before a blade of pain tracks its way down his foreleg. He is not fast enough, not skilled enough, to avoid the other man’s strike completely; his hooves scrape the outside of one fetlock, tearing away skin and feathers alike in a thin line. But he has only a second to comprehend the attack, just enough time for his nerves to scream in surprise, before Asterion’s body slams into his.
He’s already rising up, his weight shifted to his back legs as he pivots, when the bay man’s shoulder catches his heart girth. Asterion is pushing into him, lifting him higher into the air, shoving him off balance, and it leaves him scrambling. His small wings flare, although one cries out in protest, drooping sadly against his fetlock. His front legs reach out for purchase, and all they meet is empty air.
The magic begins to burn his veins with hunger.
And the earth responds.
The grasses beneath their hooves begin to grow even as their bodies make contact, climbing their way into the air. In the blink of an eye they’re as tall as the horses’ knees - and Ipomoea distantly feels the way it saps his energy, the way the magic seems to draw directly from his lifeblood. But he cannot take it back, he cannot stop the way it draws from him like a leech, and then runs wild as if it’s a separate entity, as if it has a mind of its own.
The stalks weave themselves together into braids with a dry rustling sound. They scratch at the bay man’s legs, striving to wrap their arms around him, to drag him down into the soft bed they’ve made. And he can’t tell if they mean to trip or strangle his opponent, for they do not seem to know the difference.
To fight without magic, he would learn, was the same as attempting to fly with his misplaced wings.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
i say, stay in there
don’t be sad
@asterion !
i needed an extra day too, aha
”here am i!“
Summary: Ipomoea is not expecting Asterion’s quick attack. He rears by instinct, but is not fast enough: Asterion’s hooves rake down one fetlock at the wing joint, and his shoulder slams into his girth. Ipomoea is thrown off balance and as he begins to fall, his magic attacks. The grasses around them grow taller and longer, braiding themselves into ropes that seek to wrap around Asterion’s legs. Whether they simply trip him or tear him down, or whether they can even grip about Asterion’s body, has yet to be seen.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 07/26/19, again flexible!
Tags: @asterion, @Sid, @inkbone, @Sparrow, @nestle, @aimless
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 07/26/19, again flexible!
Tags: @asterion, @Sid, @inkbone, @Sparrow, @nestle, @
