mordant. father.

Her savior. But she didn't want this. She didn't want him to fight. What if somehow this stallion beat him? Elari didn't want her father to be hurt...or even worse, killed. She would never forgive herself from letting go of his hand. He shouldn't throw himself into this for her, there must have been another way. But there wasn't. Or was there? There was. She could go with the bastard, and save both of them from this thing. But she didn't want that either, and surely Mordant wanted to teach this brute a lesson. So she had a back-up plan.

She followed her father to the barren, nervously looking back to make sure that that bastard back there was in line. She walked slowly around to the sidelines and held her head low, emeralds burning with hatred at Firago. Damn him. She hated him. He took her innocence away, he took her virginity. But one thing he would not take away was her father. If he did that, she would tear him to pieces and push him off the face of the earth.

Go, daddy, win. He was a fool to provoke Mordant, either he was a fool or he was brave. But bravery could take its tolls.

[ooc - eh, sorry. I didn't have much to work with. Besides, she's not fighting.]

ELARI
//LIVE [like] .there's NO t o m o r r o w

Stag rolled his eyes as Firago commented on his...well...comment. Fancy words? Right. Who said anything about being fancy? After all, when it came to battles, in a bloody place like this, all forms of "fancy" were forgotten, lost in the wind, in the splatter of blood and pain. On the battlefield, there was nothing but suffering and adrenaline. One could think of nothing but their goal. In Mordant's case, his daughter, standing on the sidelines.

She looked worried. Her orbs were dancing, as though she were plotting his next move for him. She had something up her sleeve, he just knew it. But what? That was hard to tell with her. He couldn't read her as well as he would like. But, of course, she needed some privacy. He did know that he probably wouldn't like what she was planning, that was for sure. She looked a bit upset, as though she were going to make the mistake of a lifetime. And all for him. If worse came to worse, he knew she would give in for him. But he wouldn't allow that. Worse wouldn't come to worse. He would make sure of it.

Who said I wasn't aiming for a corny pun? Stallion asked as the opponent neared him. Maybe I did it just to throw you off, to have you underestimate me. A smirk was pasted onto his kissers all to easily as Firago struck. This guy was slow. Mordant slid easily to the side, his strike grazing his skin. Enough to draw blood, sure, but he had been dealt worse. Much, much worse.

That all you got? He asked, the smirk still there. I'm disappointed in you. With a soft tsk tsk, he lunged forward, ivories at the ready. One...two...three...

He struck. But not with his teeth. No, those were there as a distraction, a diversion. Make the enemy think one thing, and do another. He had been taught that long ago. Instead, he struck with his body. Barrel aimed to ram into his shoulder. Just behind him was a rock. One of many. But this rock was special. It was jagged and pointed. Perfect for spearing someone. And Firago was in the perfect position to be thrust into it. As Mordant's body connected with the appaloosa-painted one, he prayed he held enough momentum to do just that. And if he didn't, he hoped he had enough speed to at least slice his godforsaken flesh.

Mordant
No good deed goes u n p u n i s h e d

Brute grunted as he was thrust aside. It didn't hurt of course, but it sure as Hell startled him. He had expected blood, not a body, to rush into him. And a live one at that. Crap. He had failed. Oh well. There would be more chances. After all, the fight was far from over. Firago proved that when he snarled. What kind of equine snarled? Dial shook, shoving the thought aside.

Kissers parted to make a smart comment, but none errupted. Silence was the best one he could think of. The best one Firago would pay attention to. Well, that idiot stallion may be wise, he may have time and trials on his side. He may be able to ignore all smart-aleck thoughts. But Mordant had youth. To an extent, he had agility. He had something worth fighting for. He had nothing to gain, but everything to lose. And he was going to fight for everything.

Stallion reared, tossing one quick glance to the darkening sky before crashing down. Almost as soon as he started to fall, a strike of lightening shook the sky, lighting the battlefield. Rain poured on the equi, but Mordant paid no mind. The rain flowed, washing his cut clean. It soothed him, replenished him, readied him for whatever punishment would come from his newest attack.

Once he was sure the strike had been completed, he backed away to avoid any sudden movements from the enemy. Another glance was tossed to his daughter, still on the sidelines. His baby girl. This was all for her. Mind focused back on the task at hand. The speckled stallion standing before him, rage consuming them both. The madness of the goal eating them both alive. Both wanted the gentle, pregnant mare. But for different reasons. Mordant wanted to keep her safe. Firago, he assumed, wanted her only for breeding rites. The bastard.

Mordant
No good deed goes u n p u n i s h e d

(ooc: 4 posts down, 1 to go)

Stag spun to avoid the barrage of kicks being dealt in his direction. This Firago was a determined one alright. Though, there was the slightest hesitation lurking in his orbs. It was as if he didn't want to fight anymore, as if he was ready to give up. It took all of Mordant's energy, and a good, harsh kick in the flank, to keep him from chuckling. As blood poured from the new wound, he watched the Appaloosa's masque carefully.

He was mulling something over, that was for sure. Though what, exactly, was beyond Mordant. It was obvious he wanted the filly, and her child as well. What stallion raped a mare without a reason? And yet, he seemed regretful, in a way. Sure, the look of complete annoyance accompanied his thoughts, but there was still that hint of remorse. Or was there? Perhaps Mordant’s protective attitude towards his baby girl was creating it.

Maybe he was a little over-protective. Maybe he was shielding her too much. After all, she was going to leave anyway. There was no way Mordant would keep her, at least, not for breeding purposes. If he could keep her young forever, that would be enough for him. He just wanted to know she was safe, she was taken care of. A stallion that raped her, this stallion, couldn’t prove that. He couldn’t promise he would take care of her, and even if he did, Mordant sure as Hell wouldn’t believe it.

But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was wreaking revenge on this brute. He didn’t deserve his daughter. She was far too good for him. Her and her baby. No matter the gender, whether it was a bastard child or not, Firago didn’t deserve the little one. It held Elari’s blood, Mordant’s blood, Iseiya’s blood. He didn’t deserve her.

Ivories bared, reaching to strike at the undeserving hellion. His eyes squinted shut in protection from the blood he hoped would pour from the creature. Muscles quivered in anticipation. Would he finally deliver a killing blow? Or one that will at least make the fool surrender? He doubted it, but there was always hope.

Mordant
No good deed goes u n p u n i s h e d

Brute watched carefully, at the ready, as the opposition struggled through his move. The crimson liquid covered them both in fresh flows, decorating them like war paint. It was war paint. It was the silk thread on their uniform, the symbol, the bold blood that flowed through their veins. It was what made them, them. It was what drove them on. Their blood, and their lust for more. Mordant wanted to keep his blood he had created. Firago wanted to extend his blood...Firago had extended his blood. But both of them wanted the mother, the daughter, the prize.

As if in slow motion, brute watched as Firago's muscles bunched. He spun, wheeled, his rear talons flying in an aimed grace. Black stallion struggled to step back fast enough, but alas could not. Firago's stones bit into his skull, sending more of his brave blood catapulting to the already-red ground. Vision doubled, then went back to a single picture, then doubled again. A wave of dizziness was thrust over him like a blanket, and he fought his way out of it. Pistons spread, trying to keep his balance. He had to make a move, to defend himself.

The enemy had yet to turn, leaving his flank wide for the taking. With what power, what straight-forward sight he could muster, Mordant lunged for him, rearing just before they connected. All he had to do was land on the stallion's back, and something would be crushed. Whether his legs or his back, something had to break. But his thrust was not as hard as he would have liked. The concussion, or whatever it was, had left him airy, weak. With the speed he was going, he could do some damage, but it possibly wasn't enough to kill the other. All he could do was hope. This was his last move. From here on out, he could go no further. He was far too weak. He had to make this one count. He just had to.

Mordant
No good deed goes u n p u n i s h e d