Post by Demmy on Oct 1, 2009 1:47:48 GMT -5
autumn rain. decidedly one of the coldest breed of rains out there. it falls in sheets, thin drops, bent on seeking every crack and crevice, turning the dry earth below into a soupy muck. fall hued leaves fight the torrent, a cool wind having picked up along with the rainfall, violently shaking the deadened branches. said vegetation loses their fight, pressed down by hardened precipitation, down down down, crushed into their watery grave. the once sun-warmed earth joins in, fighting the rain tooth and nail. thus a thick fog is brought forth, clinging to the terrain, unwilling to rise, a child at it's mother's breast.
it us upon this scene the grulla brute strides, easily picking his way through the silent war waged about him. nothing stirs, save for the gathering of darkness, a pulsing shadow of the darkest of darks, growing as more phantoms join it. a reaching, grasping chill stretches itself out, a proverbial rolling front of cold, a bank of fog blowing in. it suffocates, a murderous hand reaching out to grasp every living thing's lungs and sqeeze every last bit of air and life out of it. stop the blood flow, the heart beat? silenced. muscles contract, their last movement. Taboo has arrived. light hued flints do not slip, each step sure and confident. Taboo is a cocky bastard, it's true. stride is long and sure, knowing instinctively the place of combat, whence he and the other would duke it out, one inevitably coming out on top. musculature ripples with each stride, flowing easily, like liquid, over firm, correct conformation. grulla pelt is darkened, having shed it's summer coat, gladly reaching for the thicker winter pelt, a soft fuzz just the beginning. it blends and mixes, becoming one with its brethren - the shadows. dual sentries, forever on guard, snatch themselves forth, carefully seeking out any sign of movement, wishing not to start this battle out on the wrong foot. erm, excuse me. hoof. he did not think the other would stoop to ambush, but then again, Taboo had learned long ago not to take another's inherent natures for granted. thus, steps are careful, strides shortened as the distance between him and the cave shortens, a line drawn from it's opening to his thick chest. briefly, he pauses, nuchal ligament pulled tight, sending skull to once again become the zenith. amber visionaries flick here and there, binocular to monocular. of course, being of the equine species, his eyesight wasn't all that great, in comparison to one's other senses. thus, said senses are employed, red-lined nostrils flaring in sweet anticipation. no. he had not arrived yet. the stale air is deadened, nary a scent of another living thing tainting it's heavy stillness.
satisfied, white-licked appendages stride forth, cranium flipping left then right before lowering itself, hung lightly between shoulder blades, muzzle pressed close to the dusted earth below. he had never been here before, though of course the walls, their dank, blood-spattered selves, had been shaped and formed within his young mind, his mother having had spoken of past battles, both epic as well as insignificant, her own as well as others. the footing was well done, though slightly muddy by the entrance where the ever present wind had pressed the rain into the mouth of the cave, a sad attempt, but slight succession nonetheless. ribcage expands, then contracts, a shuddering sigh pressed forth from the mutt stallion's lungs. carbon dioxide is gladly exchanged for life-supporting oxygen, the stale scent of the cave, as well as his sodden carcass, joining the gas to infiltrate the left and right lobes. psyche turns, focused in it's entirety on the fight ahead. it was true, he had spoken as if he were already king of the Pit. and, in his twisted, quite egotistical mind, he was. however, the other had refused to back down, and for that, Taboo had gained a shred of respect for the other. that didn't mean, of course, that he wasn't gladly willing to tear the other's jugular from his throat, to spill and splatter the other's copper lifeblood 'round this place of combat. visualize success. his way. no highway option.
talons flex, digging easily into the dusted earth below, psyche running a million miles an hour, typical for this particular male, his thoughts return to Satan's Czar's response. of course he had spoken like he owned it already -- visualization, visualization, visualization. it had gotten him this far in this world. muzzle twists in a blowing snort, nares clenching before their release, droplets of mucus flowing forth, flipping through the atmosphere. the other had also spoken of his birthright, believing Taboo believed the Pit belonged to him simply because he was a direct descendant of demise, The Dark King, creator of the Pit. Satan's Czar was sorely mistaken ... how had he even known of his tenuous birthright claim to the Pit? Taboo could think of no instance whence he had mentioned it, and surely the other was not a mind reader. it didn't matter anyhow -- Taboo put no hold, nor claim, on the Pit for anyone but himself. Demise was a king of old -- dead and gone, his skeleton still intact, yet bleaching on the floor of the Pit, where he had come to rest long ago, a deadly fall his ultimate demise. Taboo knew not this Demise, only knew stories. he scoffed at the thought of his grandfather, scoffed at the thought of claiming the throne of darkness simply because he was of royal blood. hah. as if. he scented the throne on his own account -- he was a powerful brute, capable of nasty atrocities. and with these thoughts in mind, one can only defer that Taboo is a cocky ass, bent on leading. he would settle for nothing more, and nothing less. should he lose tonight (which wasn't going to happen, of course), he would continue to badger, perhaps gather a following against he who held the crown. and he would overthrow him. mark his words. he would not stop, a machine hell-bent on success. it's the way of his world, intricately intertwined into the workings of his devious mind. it always had been -- always will be.
horns dart forth, seeking any sign of the other, any slight sign that he had accepted the challenge and was trekking forth to meet his destiny. Taboo had half a mind the other would flash into the cavern, immediately commencing the fight, without so much as a how do you do. thus, grayed cadaver is held loosely, fores and hinds square beneath his frame, optics narrowed towards the entrance. mind is emptied of all thoughts save one -- it was time to get down and dirty, time to drop his cards to the table. only time would tell if he held a winning hand.
--three posts each ((not including this introduction post))
three attacks -- one dodge
winner is Dark King.
three attacks -- one dodge
winner is Dark King.
