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Description
Featuring Hjalmar & Atlas (NPC)
YEAR 764, early autumn
The Proving Grounds, Blackwood
The sound of antlers hitting and hooves hitting the ground echoed throughout the Blackwood.
The air was beginning to drop in temperature, evident by the puff of white cloud that engulfed Hjalmar's face as his snorts mixed with the 'clicking'. The brutish looking warrior's antlers were hardly designed for dueling, to the point while growing he had subject to teasing that his antlers were 'running away'. This year was no different, though they had grown in slightly larger than the last year, something he was immensely proud of and so it seemed his sparring partner felt the same about his own.
"Come on now Atlas, I know you're better than this, don't insult me by treating me as though I was a newborn fawn. Do the Mother proud, prove you'll survive Her test!" Hjalmar taunted, the corners of his mouths quirked upward as he stepped back lightly before tossing his head.
The dark brown stag that served as Hjalmar's sparring partner seemed to not be nearly as impressed by that pure black stag's words, but nonetheless he reared, dropping his head and closed the gap between them. Atlas was significantly slimmer that the hulking warrior he was currently locked with and even with firm footing he found himself losing inches as Hjalmar pushed against him. That spire that jutted from Hjalmar's forehead was lost within the numerous points in Atlas' own rack, with only a few of his keeping the points that rounded around the side away from his face.
"What's wrong, wolf got your tongue? You're usually so talkative!"
"I can't think straight with your horrendous breath invading my nostrils!" Atlas replied with a chortle, With a sudden burst of energy he began pushing back, driving the obsidian-hided warrior back, re-claiming the ground that he had lost and then some.
A look of dismay fell over Hjalmar's face as he realized that, currently, we was losing. By now the thrumming sound of his own heartbeat was deafening as his body strained, muscles flexed, trying, attempting to regain ground but failing. The most he could do now was brace and think of how to obtain the upperhand. At the very least there were no does currently spectating this duel, or at least he hoped to the Mother not.
Inspiration struck, or rather struck one of his rear hooves, as he was backpedaling. The pressure against his rack prevented Hjalmar from moving his head to any great degree, but it was clear from the passion in the brown eyes that stared into his own face that Atlas was clearly not thinking of the placement of his hooves. Much to Hjalmar's advantage.
In the span of only seconds, Atlas came crashing down to the ground, tripping over a hidden rock that his partner had managed to find and step over. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, tossing his head up off of the ground as he began the undignified process of rising back onto his hooves. By the time he did, Hjalmar had put several yards between the two of them, but even so he could see the smug grin plastered upon the warrior's face. Something he would enjoy greatly to remove from it. With a throaty bellow, he charged.
It took Hjalmar some seconds to properly process what was happening, but by the time he did Atlas had nearly reached him. Wheeling around, the black stag took off. While he knew Atlas was stronger and likely faster than him, he had higher stamina, something so evident that he could hear it as the brown stag heaved behind him.
"Come on Atlas, give up!" he called back, though he did not dare to turn to look. "Why don't we call it a tie?"
"It's NOT a tie!" Atlas snapped at the suggestion as he closed ground between them only to begin losing inches, feet, yards, as his legs began to grow heavier and as a result, harder to move. Still he pushed onward, intent on seeing Hjalmar give in and cry defeat. Something he knew he would have to work for.
It was not much longer until the hoof beats stopped behind him and Hjalmar's own pace began to slow. Finally he came to a stop and he turned to find Atlas a significant distance behind him with his head lowered and his mouth hanging open. With ease he spotted the quickly expanding abdomen of his sparring partner. It seemed that Atlas had suffered defeat first and by his own hand it seemed. He was not without his own aches, his own
"Done already?" he asked, tossing his head skyward, taunting, seeing if he could coax him onward. No to effect. Atlas did not bite at the bait and instead sank to the cool ground, attempting to cool his overworked body. Hjalmar stepped lightly over the moss and rotted needles that graced the ground towards him. Just as he was about to kneel and lay beside him, Atlas' head came out and with a powerful shove from one side, sent Hjalmar toppling to the ground.
The brown stag's eyes narrowed as he craned his neck to look at the face of a rather perplexed Hjalmar. "I win." he declared smugly. Any anger that had been in his eyes was betrayed by the playful smile on his face.
"Fine, fine." Hjalmar replied with a hearty laugh as he attempted to roll himself back up. It took two tries but he managed at least. As he came back up into a laying position he nudged against the neck of Atlas playfully with the side of the longer spire that jutted out from his forehead.
"You never fight fair." Atlas commented, his entire body much more relaxed and it was then that Hjalmar noticed that the panting had nearly been silenced. It was the dropping temperatures and the cool ground that they had to thank, but that didn't help the aches that both stags were sure eachother were currently suffering through.
"We're Blackwood." Hjalmar replied with a wide grin. "We never fight fairly."
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Comments2
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This is awesome, especially that last line. So much love!