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[JUDGED] Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Printable Version

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Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Gull - 07-17-2014

Gull
Poor Rostislav. There he was, enjoying a beautiful day and a nice walk in the woods, when out of the blue a stranger charges at him. Perhaps it is a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or perhaps he has simply had the bad luck to run into a madman—because that’s what you look like as you launch yourself across the clearing at him, yelling at the top of your lungs.

But just as you have no way of knowing that he isn’t responsible for the misery of your kinsmen, your unsuspecting adversary has no way of knowing that you associate his horns with years of famine, of jagged scars and of jutting ribs. He cannot know that the entirety of your experience with his kind comprises of shadowy monsters picked from survivors’ tales, told bitterly in raspy voices and gurgled from throats knotted with scar tissue, fleshy souvenirs carved by horns not unlike his own. And from the way you’re racing towards him, he cannot be expected to imagine that it’s nothing personal, because it’s not…just, well, it is. All he can possibly surmise is that you don’t like him, and only the gods know why.

Of course, as you’re en route to attacking him, you’re not thinking about any of this. Really, you’re not thinking at all; that much would be apparent to any witness who’s watching you attempt to clobber a friendly stranger, completely unprovoked. Thought comes to you slowly enough when you are lucid, but now, it seems as if it has completely deserted you. Pure instinct is what’s driving you to lunge at the horned beast, that and anger. For anger is the only emotion that your body can manage to hold right now, and even that feeling, raw and primitive, cannot be contained. It spills over, clouds your eyes, claws at your muscles, and tears at your soul—you want this devil to suffer, just the way your family did at the horns of his kind. You want him to hurt.

Unfortunately, hurt is exactly what you’re going to be in about two seconds if you don’t move fast. You are about to slam into the unicorn head-on when you see the angle of the black spikes on his head. They are wickedly sharp and glittering like obsidian and pointed right at you. Panic rises in your chest as your so-called instinct suddenly decides to abandon ship, screaming at you to do something! on its way out. It’s too late: passion may be on your side, but physics is not. After racing at the stranger from one side of the clearing to the other, by the time you reach the edge where he is standing, momentum will carry you forward no matter what you do. All you can attempt is to throw your weight to his right and pray that you avoid his horns. Maybe if you’re lucky, your shoulder will even ram the smaller stag and knock him off balance. But Lady Luck is a fickle creature, and she’s never seemed to care much for you or your winged brethren. Maybe you should have considered that before you picked a fight.


WC: 534

1/3 attacks, 0/1 closing defense
Summary: Gull charges blindly at @[Rostislav], consequently noticing the angle of his horns too late. Gull attempts to avoid them by throwing his weight to Rostislav’s right, intending to shoulder him and shove him off balance.

Setting: A clearing in the Threshold, early afternoon. Grass footing, which is lush, but not particularly slippery. Trees form a ring around the fighting ground. No magic, no companions.

OOC: Hopefully I set this up right—first spar ever, wheeeee ! Rosti's starting position is taken from here: http://helovia.net/showthread.php?tid=14821

*EDITED TO CHANGE THE PREFIX TO 'JUDGE'*

trouble just grew wings
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RE: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Rostislav - 07-24-2014

Rostislav
The forest trees surround us, encircling us to make a sort of ring. Of course we just happen to be in a ring. What a coincidence! The peahen Bellona takes a few steps back, but stays to watch us have our row. Will she choose a side? She must not stay for long, or she might be come collateral damage. How many bodies should lie on this grassy floor? It's not a terrain I'm as used to fighting on. I've fought in snow, in thistle, in dust, but not in a nice, comfy forest. Honestly, I'd much rather lie down and take a nap than deal with this madness. The light is good enough that I can actually see what's going on, despite my sometimes poor vision. It was initially so calm that I might have decided to lie down and have a drink. But when trouble is on the horizon, that be no time for drinking. You save that beer or liquor, or whatever your pleasure, until after fighting's over. Then you get as drunk as you fucking want.

You know, honestly, I was trying to be polite and bow my head out of common courtesy. You know, manners? But it seems that this youngin' has no clue what I'm doing and has completely and utterly lost his mind. Has he never seen a Rostislav before? Of course he hasn't, but he doesn't have to be stupid about it. He bellows like a madman and charges me, not showing one sign of intelligence. Whatever opposition he's taken to me, he clearly hasn't thought of the ramifications of running straight into me. Son, you're going to impale yourself on my horns if you don't smart up right now. Damaris sees the oncoming stranger and yelps, jumping out of the way and off between two trees. She is not yet fit for battle, or rather, I won't let her. As for myself, I take a step back, bracing myself for impact.

Contrary to initial appearances, the boy does not come straight on, but veers off at the last second. He seems to have recovered some of his wits just in time to avoid a likely instantaneous death. Well good for him, but not good for me. He veers off to my right, and as I try to side step him, I find that I've turned just enough for him to catch an angle on me. His shoulder slams into mine and I grunt, feeling his muscle and bones collide with mine. The part of his shoulder that protrudes slightly feels like a hammer slamming into me, but even as I stagger aside, head tossing and nostrils flaring with irritation, I know that I am lucky. It's not a major wound, and especially in comparison to the last few spars I've had (I'm having another?!), it seems more like a scrape on the playground.

You can't just charge at someone, though, and expect there to be no retaliation. I'm not sure what this boy thinks, and wonder if he knows what's coming to him. I turn back toward him and rise up on my hind legs. With a masculine, warlike groan I bring my front hooves down, hoping to his his back or flank as he continues on past me. My right leg relies more on gravity than my own strength due to my now sore shoulder, but at least I have one good leg for tearing flesh, right? I hope that I am fast enough and that he is slow enough, but I know that in times like these there is no telling how a battle may go. Perhaps I can leave some scrapes or spill some blood, but even if I only bruise the lad that would do my heart good. Maybe he'll get lucky and move past without a whisper of a touch. I have nothing against this stranger, but he seems to harbor something against me. I hope we can stop this nonsense, but not until I've taught this chap a lesson.

Walk. Talk.

Attack: [1,3]
WC: 674
Tag: @[Gull]
OOC: Sorry I took awhile! Angled his body and tried to move away but instead just made Gull's hit more successful on the shoulder. Rosti staggers back giving him space to rear up and try to strike at Gull with his forefeet. Whatever part he hits (if he hits) depends on Shady and where she thinks Gull will be as he moves past.
Top Shelf Sexy Badass
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RE: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Gull - 08-04-2014

Gull
A vicious surge of triumph flashes white-hot through your veins as you ram your enemy, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him stagger back. Of course, your own shoulder is throbbing, but that is a small price to pay for the damage you’ve surely inflicted on him. A raucous chortle bursts from your lips, and your face contorts in a sneer. They say revenge is sweet, but no, now you know that they’re wrong—it’s delicious. If you had known how satisfying it is to feel the dull pounding of flesh against bone, you would have sought out and picked a fight with one of these horned devils long ago.

For in truth, this ugly creature is your first unicorn. You have never encountered one before, much less fought one. It’s funny; somehow, you thought they’d be much…bigger. With all of the destruction they’d wreaked on your kin, you’d assumed that they’d have to be massive—veritable war machines with curved sabers protruding wickedly from their skulls, or solid walls of muscle able to leap into the air and cut down your kind in flight. But surprisingly, your foe appears to be perfectly ordinary. Aside from the abominable spikes that jut from his face and his head, he seems to be of an average build, perhaps a bit stockier than the typical pegasus, but not nearly as hulking as you’d expected. Was this really the kind that had given your brethren so much trouble?

But for now, you have more pressing matters to deal with than the hows and whys of your past; what concerns you is the whens and whats of the present. Specifically, when will you have the satisfaction of beating this killer to a bloody pulp, and what is it going to take to bring him down? As you rush past him, you only catch a glimpse of him stumbling backwards. You do not see him rise up on his hind legs, for something quite different is rising up before you. A tree stands just beyond Rostislav, and your collision with his meaty shoulder has set you on a crash course with one gnarled pine. Instinctively, your muscles tense, and you hold your wings tightly to your sides as you pivot, spinning away from the branches of near disaster and right into an incredible bit of good luck. Of course, you don’t know that his heavy hooves have missed you by mere inches as you dodged the tree; you only hear a groan and a thud as he hits the ground. However, even someone as thick-skulled as you can guess that something is going on behind you. You wheel with malicious glee, expecting to find your opponent on the forest floor, but to your shock, he is still on his feet. Naïve boy, you thought victory would come so soon…as it is, the sight of him standing there incenses you all over again.

Once more, you lunge at him, every muscle in your body straining for vengeance. This time though, you are wary of your enemy’s horns. You send your hooves before you, launching at the demon in a half-rear as flinty feet seek his already-tender shoulder. While you don’t dare bring your head close enough to his to rip at his ears, your teeth are bared fiercely. “You,” you snarl, as you bring your hooves down, reaching for his right shoulder, “you think you own everything!” Your voice rises to a frenzied pitch, and the glint in your eye borders on maniacal as you spit, “Well, I’ve got news for you, scum! YOU DON’T OWN ME!

WC: 604

2/3 attacks, 0/1 closing defense
Summary: Gull inadvertently dodges Rostislav's attack as he pivots to avoid a tree. He wheels and tries to strike at Rostislav's injured right shoulder with his hooves by lunging at him in a half-rear.

OOC: So sorry for the wait, Silk!
trouble just grew wings
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RE: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Rostislav - 08-11-2014


You know, I thought I was crazy. I've run with the crazies for awhile now, those in the Asylum. But I've never had any mental illness, no cause for worry about me going insane and lashing out at any nearby. Sure, I may be an alcoholic, but I'm certainly not a violent one. And really, I'm quite sound of mine, if I do say so myself. I cannot say the same for this crazy ass pegasus. His mad bellowing and random attack have thrown off my sense of reality. What on earth have I done? This strange creature seems to have lost his marbles and is not even close to locating the very first. I'd pity him, if I had time to think without risking my head getting lopped off.

Well, technically he hasn't tried that quite yet. After slamming into my shoulder, he continues past me, and I spin toward him. I see in my peripheral vision that he is headed straight for a tree. Well that's his problem, not mine. That, and clearly this is just more evidence that he is loco en la cabeza. As he retreats I try to strike him with my front hooves, the heavy flints striking out at his pinkish grey flesh. As he swerves to avoid hitting the tree, however, he moves out of the path of my hooves. I curse under my breath in frustration as my limbs plummet to the ground, landing with a hard thud. Luckily the ground is not too hard, so it absorbs some of the shock, and the strain is not too great on my legs. Goddamnit.. who knew the tree would end up assisting the winged beast instead of harming him. Maybe if he'd hit it.. he wouldn't be wheeling on me and attacking me once again.

Now it is my turn to face flying hooves. He's quicker on his feet than I might have guessed, and those flints are coming down at my already injured shoulder fast. Just as before, I try to side step out of the way, away from him. It helps a little, but he still makes contact, slicing skin from my shoulder like peeling an apple. I let out a pained hiss as the air meets exposed flesh. In my mind I try to tell myself it's not the worst wound I've ever had, to man up, but that doesn't make it sting any less. I take another step to the side, and his hooves fall from me to the ground just as mine had - except his have been far more successful.

What surprises me is that he speaks, or rather, screams at me. This young pegasus accuses me of trying to own him, own everything. Confused as fuck that's what I am. All I want to try is to to not get carved up by this weirdo. I jerk my head back toward him and bellow back, "I'm not trying to own ANYONE!" My voice colored with frustration, and tinted with confusion, if his ears are good enough to catch it. As soon as the words leave my mouth, my body is closing the distance between us. Provided he doesn't manage to escape me again, I hope that my teeth, spread wide, will latch onto his throat, neck - something. I don't really want to mortally wound him, but if I can someone get him to back off, via attack as seems necessary, then I have to do what I have to do. Clearly this child needs someone to help him clear this head, maybe a little therapy. Maybe, maybe, I'd offer to help, but I'm sort of in the middle of defending myself from a lunatic. Can I help myself if I'm really going for the throat? Maybe we can talk this out when I'm sure I'm not at risk of death or serious injury.

2/3
646 words
@[Gull]
Sorry about the wait! Hooves scrape Rosti's already injured shoulder, he attacks Gull with his teeth, going for throat or neck since that's what is closest when Gull lands.


Rostislav
more than a drunken fool
x - x



RE: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Gull - 08-24-2014

Gull
To your surprise, the beast actually has an answer for you. You didn’t expect him to engage, and you certainly didn’t expect his response to be flat-out denial. Of course he’s trying to own everyone! It’s what his kind does! Still, the sound of his voice—gruff, and oddly so normal—startles you. Since when did the enemy try to pretend that he was anything but the bad guy? His weren’t the kind to hide behind excuses; they were the kind to hide behind those glorified sticks on their heads as they gouged out eyes and ripped through flesh. It’s a good thing that you don’t really have enough time to process it all right now, or this sort of contradiction just might have sent your brain into overload. Instead, your thoughts (precious few that they number) are directed at your opponent’s position…especially now that he’s charging you.

It is the second move that the unicorn has made to attack you, and while you knew that he wouldn’t just stand there and accept your beating hooves with a smile and a “thank you, come again!” it makes your blood boil to watch him fight back. If his words had a chance of defying anything you’d been taught about his kind (namely, that unicorns are power-hungry, bloodthirsty murderers who don’t care whether they are in the right or in the wrong), your opponent’s actions erase that possibility with the few short strides it takes to reach you. With every heavy hoofbeat, he’s proving it all true—they’re blind and violent butchers, the lot of them!

Anyway, before he has the chance to point the business end of his horns at you again, you spring away from him, throwing your weight back on your hind legs and pitching your front end to his right. You fully intend to have another crack at that shoulder, because this time, you’ll put him on the ground, and once he’s there, he’ll never get up. But he is too close, and too quick. At the last second, you see his neck snake, and his mouth opens, filthy yellow teeth fixed to clamp down on your throat.

For the first time in your six years, a unicorn’s rage mars your hide.

Your half-completed leap to your left may have saved your life, because instead of closing down on your jugular vein, the brute’s incisors only pinch a fold of skin beneath your neck and nick your flesh. A thin red necktie decorates your white throat, but only for a moment. In seconds, a sharp jab and a gush of blood turn the trickle into a crimson apron. While his teeth may have missed their target, the spikes on his face have left their mark on the bottom of your jaw. As you threw your head out of the way of his onslaught, three dark spikes lodged beneath your face, from your chin to your jaw, tearing the tender underside.

KILLER! you screech, seeing the blood dripping down your chest and into the grass. Fury and shock are both evident in your face: fury for the apparent reasons, and shock…shock for the boldness of his attack. You are no stranger to brutality; you have seen the scars that the survivors bear, and you have heard the raspy whisper of a voice box nearly ripped out. But to see this beast lunge for your throat…though you’ve been raised to expect nothing less from his kind, it’s still sinking in that he just tried to kill you.

You won’t give him another chance. In fact, you’d like to return the favor. With a bellow of pain and anger, you hurl yourself to your left, aiming the weight of your entire body at his twice-injured shoulder. You have no patience for his counterattacks, and should you fall on him in your decidedly unrefined strategy, then fall you will. Anything that’s enough to send him crashing to the earth is good enough for you. You just want him dead.

@[Rostislav]

WC:667

3/3 attacks, 0/1 closing defense
Summary: Gull tries to dodge Rostislav’s charge by throwing his weight back and to Rostislav’s right, but as he throws his head in the air, Rostislav’s teeth nick his throat and Rostislav’s face spikes tear into the flesh beneath Gull’s jaw. Enraged, Gull throws his entire weight to his left in an attempt to “sweep the leg” and topple his opponent. (Karate Kid reference anyone?)

OOC: I think this is the wait to top all waits so far! Thankfully, the end is in sight :D
trouble just grew wings
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RE: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Rostislav - 08-31-2014


I swear, I swear I'm not trying to kill him. I just want him to stop trying to kill me. If I thought that he might gain some sanity and stop, I would back off and give the man some breathing space. But he doesn't seem to be able to stop, and of course, defending myself (or attacking, as he sees it) is just proving his point. My teeth do less damage than I'd hope, only pinching his neck, as if I'm kindly giving him a scratch in a hard to reach spot. It's probably for the best though, that he's jumped away. When I pull away, though, I see that his own blood is decorating the once pale neck. When I retreat, I feel blood trickle from the spikes on my face down to the scar that crosses my nasal bone. It rides the ridges, coloring the hairs and the scar tissue, filling crevices. His head still in the air, I can better see that my spikes have torn at the underside of his skull. I wince as I back away from him, thinking to myself that it is an injury that must really hurt, and I don't envy him.

As I step back I find myself putting more weight on my left, uninjured side. I groan quietly, under my breath. This young pegasus keeps ramming my same shoulder, and it is taking a toll on my endurance and stability. Even if he has a little more to show for our fight, I think I may be more worse for the wear. He is younger and more agile than I am, with no beer belly to weigh him down. I have no doubt his stamina for another attack, and he doesn't surprise me as he comes at me again.

What does - sort of - surprise me is his scream as he moves toward me. 'KILLER!' I shake my head, low to the ground as I feel weariness sweep through me. I grunt at him, just loud enough for his ears to catch. "I'm not." But will he hear me when his ears are buzzing and mind racing with rage? I see red and white flash as he lunges at me, but I'm too slow to prepare myself. The stallion slams into me, and although he hits my better shoulder, I'm already unbalanced and I feel myself thrown off to the side. As my body moves to my right, I try to catch myself, but my right shoulder is too sore and my forelegs buckle I go down to my knees. I scramble to my feet again, cuts on my knees and now my left shoulder is likely to bruise as well. A grunt as I stagger a little, trying to get going again for my last attack.

My staggering has put me far enough from the boy that I think perhaps I can pull this off. I sure hope this isn't a stupid idea... I turn slightly and my hindquarters bunch, undamaged muscles tightening in my big ass to lift my back legs into the hair, hooves flying blindly at the pegasus. I hope that his rage somehow slows him or distracts him from my onslaught. If I'm lucky, my hooves may hit his shoulder or his barrel, maybe bruising some muscles or ribs - could I possibly knick a wing? Anything to get this nonsense to stop. As I lash out, I call louder now over my shoulder. "Stop this madness! I'm not what you think I am!" If only we can stop this, perhaps I can explain to him that I'm not a murderer, a killer, trying to own anyone. I've never killed anyone in my life, even being Russian! But he's not really giving me a chance, is he?

3/3
631 words
@[Gull]
Sorry again about the wait :) Rosti gets slammed and because he's off balance, he falls to his front knees. He gets up and staggers to the side away from Gull, then turns a little more to buck and try to kick Gull in the side.


Rostislav
more than a drunken fool
x - x



RE: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Gull - 09-21-2014

Gull
It’s funny, the way time seems to move in the heat of a battle. It passes in a series of short bursts and never-ending moments in turn, distorting your sense of reality. Such is the case when you see your enemy stagger under the blow of your hooves. As you watch with maniacal glee, time seems to slow, and one knee, then two, slam into the ground. An insane bellow swells above your head, and with brief surprise, you register that it is your own voice, clamoring in triumph over your fallen foe. Instinctively, you begin to rise on your back legs, snapping your wings out wide—he will see the full glory of your forefathers as you deliver the death blow!

But today, it is not to be. With startling abruptness, time seems to speed up, and there isn’t time for anything but a cold dash of sickening horror as the unicorn regains his footing, wheels, and sends his back legs flying towards you. His words are lost in the gut-wrenching contact between hoof and wing. You scream in pain as his flying feet push your outstretched wing backwards, straining the muscle past its normal extension. Knocked off balance by the force of the blow and your unsteady position, you land clumsily, cradling your injured wing to your side and thundering curses. A swift backward glance reveals that this wound is different than the last; there is no blood, only a few missing feathers, but it hurts like nothing else. “YOU!” The shriek is forceful, accusatory. How dare he! Not only has he taken your blood, but now he threatens your flight? You’ll kill him!

And that’s what you intend as you stagger towards him, but the sharp pain in your wing muscle and the blood that you’ve lost are beginning to take their toll. Your vision blurs, and you find that you can’t focus on his face…what’s happening? Shaking your head drunkenly, you swear, but it’s no use. Dizzily, you grind to a halt in front of him—that is, if he hasn’t moved from where you last saw him. It’s a little hard to tell when you’re lightheaded like this, but you want him to know that this isn’t over. “Remember me, scum,” you hiss, teeth bared, “Because one day, I’m going to find you…and I’m going to kill you.” With that, you stumble into the woods, nursing your tender wing. He will pay for this, you promise him that.


WC: 413

3/3 attacks, 1/1 closing defense
Summary: Gull begins to rear up when Rosti stumbles, but doesn't anticipate that his opponent will regain his footing and strike out at him. His wing is hit and pushed backwards into a painful overextension by Rosti's kick. Dizzy from the pain, he threatens Rosti before staggering off into the woods.

OOC: Lovely spar, Silk!
trouble just grew wings
Image Credit



RE: Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya... - Official - 10-07-2014

By my verdict: GULL is the winner!

GULL
Realism [+1]
:: You are about to slam into the unicorn head-on Careful about statements like this. I know you have to set up the scene somehow, but in the time that Gull is charging Rostislav could have seen him and repositioned himself.
:: For in truth, this ugly creature is your first unicorn. Wasn’t even sure what category to put this at first, it just caught me off guard when I read it. After your first post about how much he hated unicorns, I was under the impression he had seen one before. In reading on and checking his history, I see it is otherwise, but that being the case I would have thought him to be less certain that Rostislav was a unicorn upon first seeing him. Just a sort of continuity issue for me.
:: throwing your weight back on your hind legs and pitching your front end to his right. Always make sure you’re ‘trying’ to do things in relation to your opponent, not actually doing them. Try to pitch to his right.
:: In your final post, I can appreciate that you had to find a way to stop Gull from attacking, but be mindful of the comment about his blood loss causing him to be woozy. An adult horse can lose about 2 gallons of blood before any sort of shock starts to set in, and the small cuts that he got from Rosti shouldn’t have caused that much blood loss.
:: I absolutely loved how you took the damage in your final post- I would have liked to see a lot more mention and consideration of his wings throughout the fight. They’re large and bulky, so it’s good to keep them in mind as you write.


Emotion [+2]
:: Panic rises in your chest as your so-called instinct suddenly decides to abandon ship, screaming at you to do something! on its way out. Funny! Love this.
:: I love the way you’ve set up Gull’s emotions and reasons for fighting in the first post and then followed through with this into your second post where he is thinking about how he thought unicorns were huge monsters. Great!
:: Your emotion throughout is fantastic- Gull’s constant hatred for crimes that Rosti didn’t commit are fantastically written and portrayed and I can really connect those feelings with Gull’s hectic attacks.


Prose [+4]
:: There he was, enjoying a beautiful day and a nice walk in the woods, when out of the blue a stranger charges at him. Careful about switching tenses- should be ‘there he is’
:: Well written and easy to read, even in second person. Very good.


Readability [+2.5]
:: Just had to do a little bit of searching once in reference to him never seeing unicorns before. Otherwise, no comments or concerns.


Finally tally: 41 + (9.5*2) = 60HP
:: For Gull being such a new character and this being his first fight, I think you did great with him. I think you’ve got a great base to work with. I would spend some time thinking about how to improve your realism score- otherwise, great work!

*******************************************

ROSTISLAV
Realism [-1]
:: Careful about considering timing. With Gull galloping towards Rosti, and Rosti’s large mass, by the time Rosti had realized he’d been hit, recovered and decided to retaliate, and actually got himself reared up, I don’t think that Gull’s hind end would have still been around to hit.
:: I’m waiting a little longer to see how his injury actually affected him, but by the end of post 1 I’m thinking Rosti could have taken slightly more damage based on Gull’s roll.
:: After slamming into my shoulder, he continues past me, and I spin toward him. Careful about continuity- in your last post Rosti was rearing up at this point.
:: As soon as the words leave my mouth, my body is closing the distance between us. Trying to close the distance.
:: Rosti got a critical hit- I never saw you take any damage from this, only the damage from Gull.
:: The stallion slams into me, and although he hits my better shoulder, I’m confused about how Gull got to the other side of Rosti. I didn’t see in the writing anywhere that Rosti turned in a way that would have facilitated this.
:: My staggering has put me far enough from the boy that I think perhaps I can pull this off. Remember, you don’t know how far away from Gull you are- he could have moved.


Emotion [+1.5]
:: This strange creature seems to have lost his marbles and is not even close to locating the very first. Nice!
:: Rosti’s emotions were steady throughout, it’s clear that you know him well and can portray his feelings easily. I think you did a great job with his confusion about Gull’s attacks and accusations and I thought his reactions were fairly realistic to the emotions he would have been feeling.


Prose [+3]
:: Has he never seen a Rostislav before? Awesome!
:: hoping to his his back or flank as he continues on past me. Hit his.
:: And really, I'm quite sound of mine, if I do say so myself. Sound of mind.
:: I don't really want to mortally wound him, but if I can someone get him to back off, Somehow.


Readability [+2.5]
:: Had to check around one time to see if I missed something when Gull managed to hit his good shoulder. Otherwise, no comments or concerns.


Finally tally: 29 + (6*2) = 41HP
:: I’ve seen a lot better writing from you in the past- you seemed to be rushed and a little careless with your writing during this fight. If you’ve written a post but don’t feel like it’s the best you could have done, let it sit overnight and read it again the next day.