the Rift

when a tornado meets a volcano [vol vs nym]

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends
I'm the king and you're the queen and we will stumble through heaven"

He thought saying no to her would be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do.

He was wrong. The hardest thing he'd ever have to do is watch as her face twists, as she growls like a caged animal, knowing that he is the cause of it. His numbness cannot quell his urge to protect his sister - but never has he been the one she needs protecting from.

Then, she speaks. He recognises the nothingness in her voice; it is mirrored in his own. He knows how dangerous it is.

He is correct. Suddenly, there is fire. It is fortunate that the goliath's reflexes, sharpened through battle, do not fail him; with pinned ears and gaping nostrils, he manages to lunge forwards just in time to stop the black's inferno from castrating him. He does not escape fully unharmed; the flames graze his rump and singe off the top layer of skin, but the pain is momentary, unremarkable, in comparison to the agony of reality hitting him in the face.

His sister's dragon just tried to burn him alive. And she let him.

How could she?! He is apopletic - and it isn't over, either, because suddenly he's crying crimson tears, suddenly his nose is bubbling blood from deep within its core, and suddenly dizziness makes his head swim and his legs wobble. He staggers, blood pissing out of his face, confusion and betrayal and rage etched across his regal features.

"We come!" Vérzés' mental voice stabs into Volterra's addled head, and he feels air against his dragons' wings as they begin their hectic flight back to his side.

No! His response is a savage mental roar; he forbids his dragons to return to him. The reason is simple - he knows that, in their anger at Lilómiel, they will not hesitate to tear him apart. A red and gold against a lowly black? It would be a massacre.

Volterra's remaining sanity tells him that he cannot let that happen. He is furious at his sister, yes, but he could not condemn her to that.

In the depths of his pain, his rage, the beast's instincts take over. He likens it to when Mother scolded them for misbehaving; his sister might be one half of his blackened fucking heart, but she has sinned, and she must be punished.

She must bend to her brother.

The brute breaks into a half-run, half-stagger, his path zigzagging and haphazard due to the dizziness. He summons his magic, attempting to erect a chest-high plateau of earth in front of Nymeria to try and halt her escape; he hopes she will be taken by surprise and run right into it. As her own magic begins to wear off and his mind sharpens again, he aims to pull close behind her and then shift to his left, to try and bring them parallel - his right side to her left. His massive shoulder lunges to the right to try and slam it into her left flank, wanting to knock her over to her right and fucking dominate her - the first time he's ever attempted to use his height and weight advantage against her.

His jaws lunge to their right, too, trying to pepper her left side and back with hard bites aimed to bruise.

All of this is performed with an eerie coldness. Fire he may be on the inside, but he is ice on the outside. Unlike his other fights, this is not to be enjoyed. This is not to be savoured, remembered with glee. This is just a filthy, horrible little necessity, a task he must carry out, like the swinging arm of the executioner.

The forest suddenly bursts into colour as dragons of red and gold fling themselves onto the battlefield. Having ignored Volterra's commands - and oh, how it thrills them to defy their master! - they have arrived with revenge on their minds, and their bonded feels their twin outrage at the crime their brother has committed. Vérzés, who has grown up with the black, who sees him as kin, has misgivings and hangs back, his uncertainty radiating into Volterra's head.

Vadir - savagery personified, vengeance incarnate - has no such doubts. She flings her colossal body down, down towards the traitorous black, the runt, for he has earnt the wrath of the queen. She aims to wrap all four limbs around him and slam his little body towards the ground, into the ground, where he belongs.

And her jaws - they open, and from their depths comes fire. For the first time, the queen has found her flame, and she aims this maiden torrent straight towards the black.

Volterra cannot even bring himself to feel happy about it.


Spar for @Nymeria , set directly after this thread. ICly the fight outcome will be played as a draw/tie, but we still want a judging etc for VP/EXP :D

1/3 - 791 words

image credits

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]

Nymeria Posts: 182
Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 8.5 | dam: 6.0
Mare :: Equine :: 16.2hh :: 3 years HP: 69.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Lilómiel :: Plain Black Dragon :: Fire Breath Wanderer
If there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes
I know you wanna go to heaven but you're human tonight.

We shouldn’t have done that.

Lilomiel’s mouth is smouldering from the heat of his expelled flame. Smoke wreaths his jawline, curling around his muzzle and slithering along the crown of his head; he beats his wings rapidly, pulling away from his bonded’s sibling. Despite their unique form of relationship, Lilomiel had never particularly cared for Volterra—there had always been a pathetic level of competition between them, a certain vying for Nymeria’s attention.

He was happy to try and burn Volterra’s balls off, but he knew it was wrong.

(He might even say he could’ve guessed the outcome.)

Nymeria hadn’t expected her twin to react so violently. As her magic wrenches at him, manifesting his rage in hot red lines that stream from his nostrils and his eyes, his wrath ignites in an impossible and volatile explosion. He is demonic: simmering, singed flesh (reeking like burnt hair), crimson dripping and unspooling across the hardened bones of his face, broad chest swelling in his fury. She did not see this through her own eyes—why would she look back?—but rather through her companion’s sharp and increasingly anxious gaze. Despite… despite his unfailing support for Nymeria, Lilomiel couldn’t help but think—couldn't help but agree—with Volterra’s reasoning.

(Siblings did not turn on siblings. Did Nymeria not deserve to be punished for her impunity?)

The earth groans, trembles and erupts. The wolf jerks, startled from her reverie, red eyes fastening to the wall of soil rapturously. She knew instantly who was the source of the obstruction, and she spent no time in trying to avoid what was coming for her. Without wasting emotion on fretting about what was to transpire, she rolled back on her haunches, whirling to face her brother. Her mind automatically began seeking out his weaknesses—but it was only moments later that she realized Volterra was her better.

Mentally? No. Physically? Yes.

She knew how he trained. She knew every roll and swell of his muscle. She knew he was stronger, faster, and more practiced.

Still. This is necessary, she told Lilomiel in delayed response. This… this will cleanse us.

(Whether or not she believed what she was telling her dragon was another matter entirely.)

When Volterra shifts to her right, she prepares herself to meet him. The sun is at his back, but obscured by the shape of the Rotunda. Colors glisten and gleam distractingly, but she ignores them. He thunders towards her like a god of war: a tiny and traitorous smile flickers across her mouth. This course of outcome had not been expected, but she’d calculated the possibility all the same. Now—now was her chance to knock some physical sense into him.

(If she could.)

Emotion is put aside in favor of discipline. She coils on her haunches, weight pressing through her hind legs into the ground, and then she unspools sinew and muscle like a striking wolf as he approaches. As his right shoulder plunges towards her, she thrusts herself into his embrace. They collide, colossus creatures, the force of Volterra reverberating through her entire body (originating from her ribs), through her bones, sending her stumbling to her left. Unbalanced and her weight thrown awkwardly, her left foreleg twists sharply as she lurches away; yet more pain quivered up through the delicate, strained tendons.

Nymeria had made a severe miscalculation.

Bruises, heavy, dark, and vast, begin to bloom all across her ribs on her right side.

In return she kicks out at her brother's right foreleg with her right hindleg, attempting to hit the fragile knee. She simultaneously pulled at his blood. This time she aimed to manipulate the blood already dripping from his eyes and nostrils, to use it to coat his eyeballs in a thin stream of red to block or obscure his vision (or unsettle him.)

Lilomiel, meanwhile, had his own problems to deal with. As Vadir chases after him, he makes for a swift retreat; he, smaller and more agile, flits just out of her grasp. Flame warms the tip of his tail as she exhales; he, in response, curls upwards and towards her, lashing at her neck with his jaws. He attempts to bite down over the crown of her head and assert his dominance.

(For a brief second Nymeria is startled and amazed at his audacity; he was typically so submissive with other dragons. Then she returned her attention to the problems at hand.

image credits

Post Count: 1/3
Word Count: 732
Damage Tracker: (1) Strained tendon on left foreleg, severe and widespread bruising on right side.

Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends
I'm the king and you're the queen and we will stumble through heaven"

She wheels around - oh, he remembers this from their infantile sparring as newborns, how swift and nubile she is, like a sleek gazelle next to his slow, heaving lion! - and he has time to register the fact she's smiling. She's smiling. They're about to crash together, two great titans of flesh and power, and she's fucking smiling.

Black spots of fury explode behind his eyes.

They collide. Volterra's subconscious notes, with a considerable sense of irony, that a few moments ago he had the opportunity to collide into her, to unite their bodies in a writhing statue of sweat and pleasure. Now, they collide in a dance of a different sort - the primitive thunder of war. She stumbles to her left, whilst Volterra - with his superior size and weight - stands unmoved, rooted like a tree. The point of impact does create a medium-depth bruise upon his right shoulder, however, and a muffled grunt escapes his jaws at the sudden burst of pain. He arrests his momentum, grinding to a halt and commanding the small plateau of earth to crumble back into the ground; he shifts his weight backwards, assuming she is going to strike back, and sure enough, she does. Her lashed hindleg just misses his foreleg, courtesy of his backwards movement, and smug euphoria spreads momentarily through him.

See, sister? I'm not as stupid as you think.

But the euphoria is shortlived. This is still not something to be savoured - it is just something to be done. He naturally assumes that he will dominate her, put her in her place, and then they will forget about this little incident and go back to being the best of friends, the closest of allies. It does not cross his mind that this could change everything between them.

He reassures himself that it won't. Like any broad who gets above her station, she needs taking in hand every so often, needs reminding of her place. She will understand - she has to.

He spares a half-second to drink her in, to scrutinise her as an enemy instead of a sister. She is quicker, sharper, cleverer than him, yet he is larger, stronger, and more experienced. The unremarkable landscape around them will have little influence on the fight, save for the dying sun which Volterra is careful to keep at his back.

Suddenly, he can't see - his vision is blurry, coagulated blood spreading across his eyeballs and obscuring his sight. He roars, furious, swinging his head to try and clear the cloudiness from his eyes, but to no avail - he can't fucking see.

Vérzés, lend me your eyes now! he commands. The red, obedient this time, not daring to defy master twice in one day, duly obliges. Volterra is suddenly staring out from his dragon, a quite surreal experience as he looks down at his own colossal frame flailing stupidly against thin air. It takes quite an effort for the behemoth to use his eyes in the sky to direct his body on the ground - he stumbles blindly forwards, aiming a hard bite for the dock of Nymeria's tail. When he can only see through Vérzés' eyes, it really isn't the time to try anything more intricate. His right forehoof kicks vaguely forwards, trying to flick his hoof into the back of Nymeria's right hindleg.

Meanwhile, Vadir releases a roar that shakes the ground around them, that sends birds spiralling up from the trees and rodents scurrying into their burrows. The runt avoids her attack - she easily halts before she hits the ground, her royal blood ensuring her agility is second to none despite her giant size. She is fury, she is wrath, she is queen, and by hook or by crook she will show this little black shit that he is nothing. She demands that he bow, and he will bow!

To add insult to injury, the runt dares to try and dominate her - him, dominate her! The impunity, the arrogance! She swerves out of the way, and swings her massive tail towards him in an attempt to slam the full length of it into him, the savagely sharp knife on the end flicking barbarically to try and cut through his scales and into the flesh beneath. The queen pulls no punches. She is not like Volterra, or even Vérzés, in that she does not understand the concept of going easy. To her, it's either a fight, or it isn't.

In the same movement, she flips around to her right, twisting like a gleaming golden fish; another torrent of flame bursts from her jaws, aiming to drown the black in his own funeral pyre.


Spar for @Nymeria!

2/3 - 783 words

image credits

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]

Jen Posts: 16
OOC Account
Mare :: Other :: 14.3 hh :: 21
Over three weeks have passed. Nymeria defaults to Volterra, .5 VP to Volterra.

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