a king walks among us
El Rey watches as the stranger comes in, wings holding the wall like an anchor. And then he’s off, cantering round the colosseum until he stops short, two mismatched eyes trying to find somewhere to hold Rey’s empty black ones. He looks like a warrior, and certainly that “-of Solterra” could’ve gone unsaid. For a native, he was unusually stocky, yes, but there is something the natives of the sands have that no one else does. Rey has learned to see it, even if he’s not quite sure what it is, or if he could say so about himself. The sands run in his blood like oxygen, oh yes, but can it be seen, smelled, touched? He isn’t sure. Perhaps I’ll write about it, he thinks, but he never will, of course, because he dies here.
They are alike, in many ways. Two stallions, bred for battle and built for it, years of torturous training strung up in them on steel nooses, and when they face each other they are calculating, calculating, calculating.
It is Noam who strikes first. This is fine, El Rey thinks; he would rather watch the stranger work before making any assumptions. They were too similarly sculpted, too divided by land and air, to know. The gray charges, and with a split second move shoots out a pale wing. Rey sees what he’s trying to hide, though, and in the moment that Noam bucks, he relaxes, bracing for a swift kick to the ribs - and he gets it. Two hooves punch into the bull’s flank, but he’s ready for it, and instead of pitching sideways with the force, he twists, chasing after Noam’s thigh with bared teeth. It was a half-moment too late to aim his horns anywhere spectacular. El Rey slams his hooves down hard into the earth, coughing as he catches his breath. He’d gone without after Noam knocked the air from his lungs, and that decision cost him a few seconds of rattled breathing. Something's probably bruised, he thinks, but not broken. The stallion remains alert, waiting for the pegasus to come darting back in a cloud of dust. He knows that he’s too heavy to chase after anything on wings, but when that bird comes his way, he plans to knock it down.
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
They are alike, in many ways. Two stallions, bred for battle and built for it, years of torturous training strung up in them on steel nooses, and when they face each other they are calculating, calculating, calculating.
It is Noam who strikes first. This is fine, El Rey thinks; he would rather watch the stranger work before making any assumptions. They were too similarly sculpted, too divided by land and air, to know. The gray charges, and with a split second move shoots out a pale wing. Rey sees what he’s trying to hide, though, and in the moment that Noam bucks, he relaxes, bracing for a swift kick to the ribs - and he gets it. Two hooves punch into the bull’s flank, but he’s ready for it, and instead of pitching sideways with the force, he twists, chasing after Noam’s thigh with bared teeth. It was a half-moment too late to aim his horns anywhere spectacular. El Rey slams his hooves down hard into the earth, coughing as he catches his breath. He’d gone without after Noam knocked the air from his lungs, and that decision cost him a few seconds of rattled breathing. Something's probably bruised, he thinks, but not broken. The stallion remains alert, waiting for the pegasus to come darting back in a cloud of dust. He knows that he’s too heavy to chase after anything on wings, but when that bird comes his way, he plans to knock it down.
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
Summary: Rey lets Noam strike first. He relaxes his muscles to soften the hit to his ribs. As Noam passes, Rey turns, trying to bite Noam's thigh. Rey has to catch his breath, but stays alert and waits for Noam to attack again.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: n/a
Response Deadline: June 28
Tags: @
