IMAGE | 300 words | NOTES: INKHEART STAYS PUT BUT GETS MAJORLY SMUSHED BY THE ELDER TERYR'S WING. SHE FRACTURES HER RIGHT HUMERUS AND PASSES OUT. SHE WILL WAKE UP IN THE NEXT POST - IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER WAKING UP, SHE WILL BE HOBBLING AWAY FROM THE SPOT, TRYING TO SEEK SAFETY. SHE MAY OR MAY NOT TRY TO REJOIN THE FIGHT AND USE HER WINGS INSTEAD OF HER LEGS :P
THE WORDS FROM THE OTHERS, FROM THE ONE KNOWN AS TORSTEIN TO OTHERS (TO HER AS -THAT STRANGELY DISEASED STALLION-), FROM SERAPHINA (THE RIVAL), MIGHT AS WELL BE SILENT WORDS FOR NONE OF THEM PASS THROUGH HER EAR CANALS TO REGISTER IN HER BRAIN. SHE CAN'T HELP BUT IGNORE THEM, FOR THOUGH HER HEARING IS WONDERFUL, HER SENSES ARE TOO FOCUSED ON THE BEAST THAT AS APPEARED BEFORE THEM. IT'S HUGE, MUCH BIGGER THAN ANY OF THE EQUINES PRESENT, INCLUDING HERSELF. IT'S A STRANGE BIRD-LOOKING CREATURE, THIS ELDER TERYR, WITH FEATHERS ALL OVER IT BUT LOOKING MORE PREHISTORIC THAN MODERN. A GIANT BLUE BEAK FROM WHICH EMITTED A LOUD SQUAWK. BLOOD OVER ITS LONG FEATHERS.
MAXENCE ORDERS THEM ALL TO PREPARE, AND TO HOLD THEIR POSITIONS. THE BLACK AND GOLD MAIDEN FLINGS HER WINGS OUT, GRITS HER TEETH, AND PREPARES TO DO BATTLE. ENERGY FILLS HER BODY AS SHE READIES HERSELF, AND SHE LETS OUT A SQUEAL, REARING WITH SHARP HOOVES FLINGING OUTWARD IN FRONT OF HER. BUT THE TERYR IS ALREADY ATTACKING, ABOVE THEM CIRCLING, THEN SWOOPING DOWN TOWARD THE SMALL HERD. AND SHE STANDS NO CHANCE.
HIS WING IS ON TOP OF HER, SMOTHERING HER, CRUSHING HER. THE ENTIRE WING SMASHING HER LIKE A PANCAKE WAS NOT SOMETHING SHE HAD PLANNED FOR, AND NOW SHE SCREAMS IN PAIN - IN FEAR. HER BODY CRUMPLES, A SEARING PAIN STEMMING FROM HER RIGHT LEG AS AN AUDIBLE CRACK FILLS THE SMALL SPACE LEFT TO HER. THE PAIN AND IMPACT COMBINED LEAVE HER NO CHANCE, AND ANOTHER SECOND LATER HER WORLD HAS GONE BLACK. SHE IS NO HELP TO HER COMPANIONS, NO HELP TO HERSELF. IN THIS MOMENT SHE IS WEAK, IMPOTENT, AND THE LAST THOUGHT THAT PASSES THROUGH HER MIND IS THAT SOLIS IS A ROYAL ASSHOLE, AND HAS ABANDONED HER.
The mare's eyes drifted to every new arrival with quiet judgment in the back of her mind. They were all strangers, for the most part; some she had seen at Maxence's rally, but was far from an opportunity to familiarize herself with any of them. To be truthful, Avdotya bore not even a shred of interest for most, but it sure would have been nice to know their skills in combat now that she was to fight alongside them. Nevertheless, she would make do with what was given.
Eventually her focus fell upon one mare in particular among the group: Bexley, the insolent thing she had encountered back in the capitol. She met her gaze with cold indifference, then left it to linger for a moment more until the unmistakable screech of a Teryr bird tore through the silence. It sent the woman's ears flat against her neck and drew a sour look from her face. The sound was awful, but it seemed it even that was not quite as awful as the onslaught they were suddenly facing.
Avdotya leapt back instinctively as the bird razed through some of the others, crushing one of them and rendering her already useless. Her mind only required a fraction of a second to calculate her next move, and while their target was busy focusing on the first few, she sprinted 'round to position herself behind it. From that point, her teeth viciously grabbed for the wooden shaft of her spear. After having established a firm hold of the weapon, Avdotya waited only for a moment to rifle it into the base of the Teryr's tail. To damage the tail meant to hinder its ease of flight (perhaps by striking a nerve in the spine), and with some of the others honing in on the wings, this would simply be another nail in the coffin towards their goal of grounding it.
Silence was immediately followed by the cracking sounds of wings, the screech of a beast he had yet to see. His eyes followed the horizon, dipping over the edge of the vast canyon where the dust was kicked up. Ears flattened further against the crest of his head, their black ombre mass all but disappearing into the swept back expanse of his mane. What the hell was that? He'd be a liar if he said he wasn't at least a little bit unnerved by the size and appearance of this dinosaur-esque like creature.
His head craned back as the beast swept upwards, and he was silently thankful that he often chose not to stand near the crowds. In the chaos that followed the moment after it crested over the edge of the canyon, it had already attempted to take out three and successfully took out one. A husky chuckle hummed in the back of his throat, and he almost felt bad for thinking 'Well, at least she's been shut up' when Inkheart was effectively smooshed.
Maxence took the skies, called the name of a mare he barely knew... and the rest, well, he thought they acted quite a bit more logically than the painted stallion. The stallion that rivaled his own size went for a wing, while resting bitchface incarnate went for the tail. Torstein steeled himself, tightened the spines of his chest, and threw himself forward and into the fray. This was exhilarating, even if he would benefit very little from it all in the end..
He sought to add his own weight onto the wing that Leviathan was working on, launching himself into a half-rear and then seeking to bring his front hooves down heavily. He had them aimed for the joint of the wing that housed the deadly talons that the beast walked with.. It would be hard for the beast to throw Leviathan off, let alone two massive, heavy stallions at once.. and if he could break the joint or the talons, it would only be icing on the cake. Shortly afterwards, Torstein ducked partially under the shoulder of the massive creature's wing, and thrust his upper body into the air, horns aimed directly for the shoulder joint and wing membrane. Should his massive expanse of horns make contact, you can be certain he would make his best attempt to rip and jab. He wanted to cause as much damage as humanely possible before he sidestepped away and circled around the back of the creature, in an effort to avoid that deadly beak.
summary: Torstein backed up as the Teryr crested over the canyon ledge. Once Leviathan attacked, Tor aimed to damage the same wing that Leviathan was. He half-reared and attempted to slam his hooves down on the joint the Teryr uses to walk, hoping to break it or the talons on it. Immediately afterwards, he ducked partially underneath the beast's wing and reared up fully, attempting to jab his horns (which have very sharp edges&tips) into the membrane and/or shoulder joint. Tor then side-stepped out from underneath the wing, and circled back around the back of the beast to avoid it's beak.
It did not take long for others to begin to gather – Avdotya, dark and stoic as ever, the pretty slip of palomino she believed was named Bexley, Leviathan, a clear asset for his massive bulk, scars, and cragged horn, the somewhat unexpected Inkheart, whom she had deemed some sort of wandering missionary rather than a warrior (though, she supposed, as an evident devotee of Solis she could very well be both), and, finally, Torstein. (Seraphina was still unsure of how she felt about him, but she supposed that with his stature, he was capable, and that was what they needed.) Avdotya offered a greeting, and Bexley and Leviathan arrived in silence. Initially, the only other equine to speak was Inkheart, who almost immediately (whilst puffing and preening like a bird bathing in the Oasis) extended her great wings and seemed to expand as she offered a retort that might have been biting to the silver mare. Seraphina fixed her with an expression that was, while distinctly unimpressed, slightly perplexed. Was she suggesting that her words were coddling? Teryrs had ravaged entire patrols in the past – it was foolish to throw unknowing warriors into the fray with no preparation. In her moment of contemplation, Torstein offered a retort to the jet-black mare, words perhaps equally scathing. To her own surprise, in spite of her mask of cold apathy, some of the words that immediately sprung to mind were venomous; but Seraphina had no interest in further aggravating the situation, not when the teryr could come sweeping down from the canyon walls any moment. The last thing that they needed was infighting. She held her tongue.
Not that she would have had much time to verbally spar the mare, anyways – a screech that momentarily sent her mind whirling and a surge of primal fear (flight instinct, Viceroy would have called it) running through her veins, hot and frantic. Her eyes moved faster than her head, and they were practically rolling as she caught sight of the feathered monster, diving down from the canyon walls with its talons curved out and beak snapping down on hot, hazy air with a disgusting crunch. It did not take her long to recover her carefully - systematically - instilled calm, and, even as her eyes locked with the beast and she realized that it was hurtling towards her, she kept her gaze even, cold and calculated. Her brow furrowed as she examined the curve of its body in the split-second before impact, and she realized that it was going to try to knock her off balance. Her legs itched to run, but she knew that she wouldn’t escape its onslaught, so she simply stood, eyes narrowed.
She cursed inwardly as the teryr flung her to the ground; she did not fight it, and, rather, focused on controlling her fall. (“Panic ends with broken bones, Seraphina.”) Her legs buckled neatly, and she found herself tucked beneath the bird’s great, jagged talons. As those sharp, monstrous talons dug into her shoulders and sides, raking and ravaging and reducing the glimmering silver of her torso to a cesspool of blood and tatters of ribboned flesh, she did not let out a sound. In the back of her mind, Seraphina could hear her name – was that Maxence? The burst of hot air that escaped in each beat of the monster’s wings made it impossible for her to tell. She was back on her hooves even in the fray of its onslaught, and, in the fraction of a second between her rise and the teryr’s escape, slashing off towards Leviathan, she used her close proximity to aim a sharp, violent kick towards the legs that had only just been scraping down her torso, hoping for a break, or, at the very least, a sprain. If the creature could not land, or stay balanced on the ground, they would have a decided advantage. Before she could actually assess the damage that had been done to the teryr, it was in flight again, dashing to assail Leviathan, and then Inkheart – she thought that she heard the crunch of bones when the teryr went after the black mare, but she couldn’t be certain. She did see her slump in a heap of feathers and limbs, and supposed the damage was enough to keep her out of the fight, at least for the time being.
As she blinked copper from her eyes and heaved in a few breaths, thick lines of blood staining her sides and hair bright red, she surveyed the situation laid out in front of her; Maxence seemed to be after one of the joints in the teryr’s wing, Leviathan assailed the teryr frantically, hooves swirling at anything he could reach. Over the slump of the creature’s back, she thought that she saw Avdotya, spear aimed at the base of the teryr’s tail, and Torstein seemed to have joined Leviathan at the teryr’s wing, sharp horns jabbing up towards the underside of the wing. She shook off the splitting pain in her sides – the gashes were deep, but not deep enough to discourage her – and darted back towards the teryr, fluid strides betraying none of the pain she was obviously experiencing. The teryr was still flapping its massive wings, bruising and throwing her companions. If any that had focused their assault on the wings were successful in damaging a joint, particularly in the shoulder, she expected that the creature would be downed. However, as she darted across the fray, steering clear of the range of the animal’s vicious, snapping beak and elongated neck, she found herself devising another, if less graceful, manner of grounding the creature. Its wings were quite like a bat’s, she decided, and the majority of each limb consisted of a relatively thin, stretched membrane that was not designed to hold weight. She ventured towards its flailing wings, eyes narrowed and limbs tensed in a prowl that was practically catlike, and, pressing all of her weight onto her hindquarters, surged upwards and out in an attempt to lunge down on the membranous folds of the teryr’s wings, practically pouncing. Were she to miss her target, she would land gracefully on the sand below, ducking away from the wild flailing of the teryr; were she to actually make her jump, rest assured that she would press her sharp hooves down with as much pressure as possible, seeking to use her mass and angle to tear through the teryr’s wing. summary : gets really badly messed up on the back and sides; bleeding heavily from deep gashes, will be feeling it come the next post. While the teryr is bearing down on her, she attempts to kick one of its legs and break it, and, after it darts off to harass the others, she chases it, edges towards one of the wings and attempts to jump on top of it (Holsteiner blood coming out?) to try and tear the membrane.
gyah sorry this took so long >>
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
Bexley’s stomach hums with premonition, with the promise of something about to happen, and it goes all the way into her bones, grinding and chattering until she feels like a thunderstorm personified. Heat sings over her skin, at least, and that’s something to find comfort in. Solis smiling down on them. His white teeth bared in a grin, his gaze welcoming. But still, overwhelmed with anxiety, her eyes flicker uncertainty from here to there and back again, trying to soak up what information she can:
Walls on each side. Fine sand mixed with tiny pebbles under her feet. A sky blue and only barely cloudy, streaked with white and smoke. Sun still streaking in a yellow comet through the air, dripping, sparkling, like a silk across her skin. She swear she can feel the earth speaking under her feet. Speaking of something monstrous and wicked. And, in the way of all Briars, she trusts that her planet is saying something true, and then, trusting, the cold blush of fear spreads over her skin, into the map of nerves behind her eyes, and renders her, for a moment, immobile.
She thinks of her father. She thinks of the sacrifices her family has made, and how she’s grown up around blood and bone. In her mind the Elder Teryr warps into something magical, were-wolfish, an amorphous creature half-flesh but mostly drooping, eyes sliced into its body in multiple places, tails swirling in a vortex, trying to make it as terrifying as she can, so when it appears it won’t be so horrible, a pathetic attempt at exposure therapy, to remake her fears into something killable, punctured, only strong enough to be satisfying when crunched. Leviathan appears, and for a moment that’s a comfort, something she doesn’t really want to hold on to, but does.
And then it’s not enough.
An unearthly shriek rattles through the entirety of the canyon, into Bexley’s ears, her bones, her teeth, and her muscles flex involuntarily, lock and tense as she feels the descent of a body overhead, shadows spilling into each corner of their earth. The sweet, organic smell of carrion wafts through the air - her nostrils flare. She knows she only has a moment. You have a moment to do this. She thinks, or attempts to, against the blazing in her head.
Walls on each side and the fine sand and the blue sky and the teryr swooping sideways, she ducks close to the ground, avoiding the hard beat of its wings as it whooshes overhead, wind buffeting her so hard she almost trips at the ankles, but doesn’t, sticking the landing by stamping each hoof into the sand with as much force as she can muster. The silvery smell of blood fills the air, but it’s not her own. She sees Inkheart crash to the ground - Seraphina sliced in multiple places - Leviathan injured too, and he’s supposed to be one of their best warriors, shit! The thing is dangerous, it’s horrifying. Her body is rife with adrenaline now instead of fear, so that everything simmers hot and red, the canyon twisting and dipping in her vision.
Bexley blinks, and it’s above her. She swells with something angry and powerful, with heat that radiates from every pore. Her head tilts back to look up. She thinks about birds. Thinks about things with wings, hate those fuckers, and about how their body weight is mostly fat and feathers to cover those fragile bones. She whips to look sideways, at the leg that rises on her left like a pillar, stretching almost endlessly, the foot lined with scaly skin and claws, the reptilian kind of body that she finds viscerally disgusting.
But it’s weak. Weak in the place where bone-meets-bone, and the place where that becomes visible, jutting out from under the skin. Without another moment for thought, Bexley digs her hind hooves into the sand, jerks the front of her body sideways, and lunges for its foot, where she rears up to smash both hooves into the closest joint, hoping to hear the saccharine crack of bone - something to punish this thing for hurting her friends, loathe though she is to call them that.
As the three he'd chosen folded under wing and claw, the Teryr spared not a single moment before he lashed out with his almighty tail. Already three licked their wounds, including one who was too injured to even raise her head from the sand. That would nt mean that they couldn't be the final arrow in a dragon's back, however, and the Teryr would take no chances with any of them.
When Seraphina aimed her hooves at his leg a sickening THWACK of bone sounded first, followed by a scream - no, a screech. With Leviathan and Torstein upon his wing there was little to be left to imagination. Before too long feathers and blood scattered the sand, the devastational impact of the two warlord's attacks.
With Avdotya upon his tail and the painted stallion swooping for the bones in his wing, strike after strike and blow after blow, soon enough the beast's fury turned to panic. It was with Bexley's boot into a crucial joint that one more squeal pierces the air and the creature lifted what he could of his wings and sent them in one almoghty outward sweep, expelling the fleas that wrenched and kicked at his hide.
Perhaps if his wings were still in one piece he would have taken off, though with injuries this severe it was far too late for that. Instead the monster would resort to fighting off his attackers, even if it meant they killed him first.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.
The pop of a breaking bone was a sound so sweet and satisfying to Maxence that it nearly wrenched a smile onto his ever-scowling face. As he landed before the Teryr though, his sharp hooves having broken the great bird's radius into splinters, something ticked in his mind - not everyone was as lucky as he. He was blessed with wings, the kind that could carry him to safety right now if he chose while these poor wretches had to make do with their hooves.
As the seconds lurked by, the more Maxence began to wonder if he had actually lured them to death.
The through was literally struck from his mind when the beast gave one more wail, it's wings extending and banishing the fighters outward in a bloody swipe. The commander was, by now, totally drenched in blood and as he was sent skidding across the sand, the rocks and knicks tearing his small feathers from the backs of his wings, he gave a great cry not of pain but of anguish.
It would end now.
As he rolled forward and sprung upon his hocks Maxence was greeted with a flurry of dust, blood and feathers that easily grounded him to the sand beneath his hooves. He could not take flight just yet, so another plan etched his way into his mind as he lunged forward toward the Teryr's sunken wing.
"Avdotya!" He boomed as his hoof grasped the flesh beneath, the commander striding up the monster's wing like a ladder. "Your spear!" he would then cry as he took an unsteady position upon the abomination's neck, blue eyes of a sea searching desperately for the fearsome woman and the devastating weapon she carried. "Torstein, Leviathan, take his wings!"
There was no telling how long Maxence would last up there before he was shaken (or snatched) from behind his head, and with only his grazed wings for balance there was little keeping him safe.
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
Her lids flutter open, slowly revealing her dazed gold orbs. At first all is dark - her lids open but she sees nothing. Slowly her vision returns, the light refracting to show her surroundings. But she can barely make sense of what she sees. Dust swirls around her and she coughs, trying to clear her nostrils and lungs. Screeching fills her ears, the cries of battle echo around her. She glances up to see the Teryr flailing above her, defending against her fellow herd members, and dealing blows in return. Of course she cannot tell that she has taken the worst hit of them all.
The inked mare tears her gaze away from the sight and focuses away from the battle. As she tries to struggle to her feet, she feels a horrible pain in her right front leg, and she can't lift herself. Her wings flap awkwardly like a downed baby bird as she scrambles to all four. She hops away from the battle, unable to put weight on that leg, pain shooting through her. Tears burn in her eyes, a natural reaction to the pangs of pain surging through her. Feathers support her movement, and with difficulty she turns around to glance back at the battle.
WHOOSH!
The wings of the strange beast known to them as a Teryr are flying through the air, accompanied by an almighty screech. Inkheart's own cry - a mixture of surprise, alarm, and pain - joins the chaos and she's hit again by the beast. The wing scrapes against her left side, leaving a ragged gash that cuts across mid-shoulder to the middle of her ribcage, just below her wing. Luckily those appendages granted by the Gods catch her as she's thrust back, beating hard to keep her upright. Blood drips down her jet black coat, and the air sends searing pain against her fresh wound.
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" She howls in pain and fresh rage at how she's so far been rendered completely inept and impotent in this battle. With another cry, this one with the force of intention, she leaps forward (or rather flies foreward), teeth bared so that perhaps she can at least rip the skin from the beast, even if she can't use her legs. Her pearly whites aim for the juncture between its neck and wing, adrenaline and endorphins fueling her. Revenge is the only thing on her mind, and she WILL have it.
WC: 404
Inkheart is back in the fight! Sorta. Her attack won't be very strong ;)
The chaos of the battle left a sour taste on Avdotya's tongue. She remembered now why rarely dabbled in group combat; without perfect coordination, it lacked the efficiency she was able to achieve independently. Quick and clean was the mare's style (except, perhaps, when she intended to draw out a victim's suffering) and this was far from that. Of course, this was no simple brawl, and she was more than willing to suffer personal displeasure for the potential benefits that could become of her efforts.
Personal displeasure, however, was the least of her concern right now.
In the midst of the fray, the massive bird seemed to grow tired of their frenzy. The sound that spilled from its beak left her with ears flat and eyes narrowed, effectively distracting her from the oncoming smack of its powerful wings. Avdotya may have been behind the teryr, but she was well within reach of its back-swing and the impact was more than enough to thrust her down into the sand.
It took a moment for her to collect herself after such a blow, but once she gathered what just happened, she was quick to leap to her feet. Her ribs protested, sure to be bruised from the force, though the pain was dismissed when the distinct sound of her name broke though the dusty air. The woman turned her head to find Maxence somehow atop the bird, positioned perfectly to deliver a fatal blow... if armed with the proper weapon. Avdotya's eyes darted to the sand in desperate search of her spear, yet the dust that kicked up made it near-impossible to find when its very colour matched that of the desert itself.
Near-impossible.
In a moment of great mental focus, the mare summoned what minimal magic she possessed, and took hold of the particles that swam around her. They dropped like heavy boulders to the ground and enabled her to pinpoint the sharpened tip of her spear poking out from the beneath sand. She lunged for it, grabbing a mouthful of grit as she did so, and then propelled herself into a gallop to permit the forceful throw of the weapon directly up to Maxence. "You better be a damn good catcher." She muttered to herself after releasing it, watching intently now from the ground below.
All it took was a well-placed blow to the back of the head and this battle was over... and she just had to hope the painted stallion did not destroy her beloved spear in the process.
The sound the Teryr makes as she splits its joint is horrific and somehow satisfying; it rings in her ears, the unmistakable high pitch of intense pain, one that Bexley knows well, but here is carnally pleased by. A smile entirely teeth splits open her lips. Her heart still hammers with vicious intensity all the way into her throat, but a tingle of complacent excitement offsets it, so that in the moment she spends backing away from it, her brain is pink with happiness, her body newly invigorated, wet adrenaline speeding through those veins, frame buzzing with the happy hum of a thousand bees: she helped her friends. They’re going to kill this fucker.
Distracted by her elation, she backs up a step too far, exactly into the range of the Teryr’s wings, and it takes only half a second to realize her mistake, as she watches those torn-up pinions swing upward and then back down toward her with stunning force. She can’t move, can’t breathe. A blur of so many muscles coming toward her - a weapon of impending doom she can’t step fast enough away from. Her chest swells with a deep inhale as she steels herself for the impact, muscles locking, legs stiffening, but the hit comes and none of that matters. The breath is crushed out of her lungs; Bexley’s body flies backwards until its slamming halt against an outcropping of rock, so blisteringly intense that she almost folds over it, an uncontainable groan of pain grit out from between her teeth. Stars spiral behind her eyes, winking in and out of a glimmering ache.
Blinking harshly against the blackness in her eyes, Bexley wriggles her hips, hiccups with relief at the fact that she can still feel her legs, and with a hissing exhale slides her way down the boulder until she hits the ground on all fours. Her limbs protest, but hold. That’s great, but it wasn’t the problem, anyway. What’s really shitty if her right side, pulsating with the insistent movement of blood, and an agony so perfect, so intense, that the resulting bruise, she knows, will be at least purple - probably black. Carmine oozes from a shallow cut across her shoulder. Bexley sneers at it, curls her lip in disgust at her own imminent mortality, and, her lungs still wanting for air, pushes forward toward the thrashing Teryr.
Maxence is perched on top of the creature, calling for Avdotya. Of fucking course. Avdotya and her stupid spear, Maxence and his stupid… misjudging her. Underestimating her. Bexley throws a sharp glare at the back of Avodtya’s head and curses herself for being stupid enough to come here, stupid enough to still want to fit in, and then - pushing down her one moment of teenagerish venom - continues to lurch forward. As soon as she makes it under the shadow of its wing, Bexley leans onto her back legs and leaps upward as far as she can, trying to rip open the last undamaged section of its wing, determined despite the screaming pain in her side.
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