Duskfire Glacier We Light the Way

@Astier

faust stands in the biting cold of the glacier, the frozen winds clawing at his fur, but he remains unmoved. the sky above is a muted gray, the air thick with the weight of snow. here, in the heart of the glacier, the world is unyielding, a reflection of the man who trains within it. his breath comes in sharp puffs, dissipating into the still, harsh air.
the terrain is unforgiving, but faust welcomes it. the ice beneath his paws is slippery, but it sharpens his focus. each movement is controlled as he moves through the frozen landscape with the grace of a predator. his body is a weapon, each strike of his limbs cutting through the cold with the same precision as his mind.
he practices with his weight, shifting between his forelegs, testing his balance against the unsteady ground. he leaps, narrowly avoiding a patch of ice, and then lands with the kind of grace that belies his size. the wind howls around him, but he doesn't falter. his muscles strain with the effort, but the satisfaction is in the burn.

rolled a starter but figured it works more if we start rolling in your post!

The wind scours the glacier like a living thing, sharp with salt and snow, but it does not touch him. Astier moves through the pale like smoke, silent, lean, precise, his gait measured against the drag of the cold. The slope creaks beneath his weight, brittle with frost, but he glides along it as if the land belonged to him.
He does not call out; not at first. Only when he nears does his voice break the hush, low and even, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest: „Round two.” No edge to it. No challenge barked in bravado. Just the calm certainty of one who does not forget. His eyes find Faust’s shape through the gloom, solid, set, a mountain of muscle and force, but Astier doesn't falter. The mark of their last spar still stings beneath his fur, a phantom echo beneath the skin. It is not shame that brings him back, nor spite; only resolve.
He stops just a few strides away, frost cracking faintly beneath his paws. His breath curls up, ghostlike, into the stillness between them. „I learn quickest when it hurts,” he says after a pause, gaze cold but lit. „You taught me well.” A beat, a shift of weight. „But I’m not done learning.” And this time, he does bare his teeth; just slightly.

a: 4

faust's lips curl into a small, sharp smirk as he watches astier move, the faint crack of ice beneath his paws a prelude to the inevitable clash. the tension in the air thickens, but faust does not move at first, studying his opponent, eyes flicking from the icy terrain to the lean figure before him. the words astier speaks are not met with taunts or boasts, but a simple, quiet acknowledgment.
then let's see how much more you can take, faust murmurs, his voice a low growl, just above the wind’s howl.
with a flash of motion, he lunges, powerful legs propelling him forward, jaws snapping with a precision honed by countless battles. it’s not a full strike yet, just a test—swift and fierce, aimed at astier’s side.
his body is a blur of muscle and intent, moving without hesitation. the pain from their last spar is not forgotten, but it sharpens him, makes him more dangerous. he doesn’t waste time, doesn’t give an inch.

def: 2 / atk: 2

The strike lands, fast and sharp, cutting through Astier's guard before he can even steel himself. A grunt leaves him, low and quiet, as Faust’s teeth meet their mark at his side. The bite doesn’t shake him, but it carves a sting that flares beneath fur and bone alike, a bruising reminder of just how much stronger the glacier’s fury could be.
Still, he doesn’t recoil. The Wraith holds his ground, breath drawn thin, the cold fogging in the air between them. His limbs tense, weight shifting with that eerie control he’s known for. He moves, but the retaliation that follows is little more than a flicker, a warm up. A motion born of instinct, not force. A snap of teeth that aims to find Faust’s shoulder.
Astier merely settles back into the rhythm, pain dulling into focus. He knows better than to expect grace in every moment. Sometimes you bleed first, before you find your edge.

d: 3 a: 5

faust felt the strike land—sharp and quick—but it did not shake him. his body shifted to absorb the blow, using the momentum to stay upright, to keep his balance steady. the sting of pain was fleeting, replaced by a simmering focus, cold like the land around them. his eyes narrowed, the gleam of intensity in his gaze matching the bitter winds around them.
the moment astier moved again, faust did not hesitate. he dodged, pivoting just enough to avoid the snapping teeth aimed at his shoulder. then, with a fluid motion, he surged forward again, jaws open, swift as the mountain's fury. this time, the strike was aimed lower—fast and calculated, the pressure behind it meant to unbalance, to find that small crack in his opponent's defense.

def: 4 / atk: 11

Astier’s attack falters, his jaws snapping too wide, the air between them cooling as he misses his mark. His body shifts slightly, the slip in his aim an uncomfortable reminder of the harsh environment and the testing ground they fight upon. But there’s no time to linger in the misstep. He feels the rush of Faust’s approach before it even reaches him.
The strike lands, sinking into his side with a painful but not unexpected force. Faust's body does not relent, driving the bite deeper as the Wraith grunts, the sharp sting dragging through his muscles. He doesn’t stagger; he absorbs it, feeling the force of it pulse through him, but not enough to break his rhythm. It stings, yes, but it sharpens him, quickens his focus.
In the same breath, Astier pivots. The wound, still hot in his side, only sharpens his determination. He doesn’t let it deter him, doesn’t let the pain shift his purpose. His response is swift, calculated. His body coils low to the ground as his teeth snap forward again, this time with intent, angling for the Kaan's legs; a quick and punishing strike aimed at throwing off his opponent’s balance.

d: 18, a: 8

faust felt the tension in the air shift as astier’s strike missed, his body flowing with the motion, evading the snap with a fluid shift. the space between them closed quickly, and before astier could recover, faust’s teeth found their mark—sharp and deep. the force of it pulsed through his muscles, a sharp, quick sting, but nothing that would take him down.
he stepped back, eyes never leaving his opponent, watching the glint in astier’s eyes as the man adjusted, immediately reacting to the wound. faust’s jaw tightened, the sting in his side reminding him of the stakes in this spar. he felt the shift of the land beneath them, the cold wind that cut through their fur, but there was no hesitation.
as astier’s attack came, faust dodged, moving in a quick arc to the side. his eyes gleamed, a predatory glint. with a swift move, he retaliated, his bite aimed low, seeking to press the advantage. his fangs reached for astier’s legs, aiming not to maim, but to control—to bring the wraith to the ground.

def: 3 / atk: 19

Astier hit the ground hard; the cold biting through his coat as snow exploded beneath him. The blow had landed true, enough to knock the breath from his chest. For a heartbeat, he lay still, steam curling from his nostrils into the frigid air. But the Wraith did not stay down.
He surged up with a grunt, movement sharp and practiced, the sting in his side fuelling focus rather than fear. His limbs gathered beneath him, and with a sudden burst of motion, he twisted toward Faust; silent, steady, and precise.
This time, he didn’t aim high. He struck low, sweeping in with jaws bared toward the Kaan’s leg, an answer to his own attack; not to injure, but to shake his footing, to disrupt the rhythm Faust had carved so ruthlessly into the ice. A breathless retaliation, but not without intent, each movement calculated, clean, and cold. Astier may have fallen, but he had not yielded.

d: 4, a: 16

faust’s side burned from the impact of astier’s strike, a sharp gasp escaping him as the cold seared through the flesh. he staggered, the pain driving him to a halt for a heartbeat before he regained his balance. his blood began to mingle with the snow beneath him, staining the white landscape. but faust didn’t flinch. instead, he growled low, eyes narrowing as the Wraith’s next move became clear.
as astier lunged low for his leg, aiming to unbalance him, faust’s instincts kicked in. his weight shifted quickly, but not fast enough. astier’s teeth found purchase in his calf, sinking deep and drawing another grunt of pain from the kaan. the icy sting of the bite shot up his leg, and faust hissed as he fought to remain steady, the cold intensifying with each movement.
his retaliation came swift and brutal, fueled by the agony of the wound. with a snarl, faust twisted his body, aiming for astier’s flank. his fangs found their mark, sinking into the other wolf’s side. the strike was harsh, designed to wound, to draw blood—a warning that faust was not so easily toppled.