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[JUDGED] Black eyes, Black Heart - Printable Version

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Black eyes, Black Heart - Morir - 08-08-2014



Blindy. Snap crackle POP and there went whatever amusement he had felt, any ounce of restraint he might have had and what little sanity he ever might have possessed. The girl was forgotten, even though her fine ass bobbed away right in front of his nose, close enough to reach out and taste should he so wish, despite the husky whispers she offered. Gone was mirth, gone was any desire to play too. Without the slightest bit of warning - though not entirely unprovoked - the blind hellion slam the brakes, spin around and charge the golden stud in a fit of icy, silent rage.

It was as though a haze had lowered over him, muffling all sound and making the world around seem distant and empty. All he could think of was the fucking looser of a horse that had managed to press the one button that would always set him off. Blinded. Loser, bastard, unwanted, useless waste of space; one by one all the old insults came flooding back as though flung at him once more, he thought himself able to hear the ring of mocking laughter in his ears (or was it just the blood rushing to his head?) and all the pent up rage from biting back those long years rushed over him at once.

He didn't scream, didn't shriek in rage; he didn't have the sense to, because all his focus suddenly lay with the bastard up ahead. Uttering neither challenge nor threat Morir pointed his spears at the wiggling fat of Thranduil's buttocks and heaved himself forward, fully intending to drive the black horns as far up the ass as he could. The temper Dröm had feared so was suddenly there in all its cold glory, plain for all to see; and damned be the one who tried to stop him because Morir wanted to kill this asshat and wouldn't cease until he had made him a few more holes for the golden prat to spew crap from.


________________________

ooc: Continued from here Set in Threshold, it is daytime yet little light, rainy and wet with lots of slippery leaves. 800 words max, 3 posts + closing defense.

WC: 332
PC: 1/3 + Close

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"




RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Thranduil - 08-08-2014





Plans were forming for the sweet tasting vengeance, getting his mind off the mud still dripping from his gold chest. With distance growing between him and the lovely couple, the twin horned gained more reassurance. That ignorant brute would see words could stand taller than even he.

A plan was settled, and mind determined, so the gold continued his slow canter out of the pines of the Threshold. Home free and easy sailing. That was till the ground began to tremble, and splashes began to echo off the trees. Harks pull back for not all was right, something, or someone was moving behind him, and they weren’t out for a Sunday stroll. Smirk began to slip down, and mind swirled. Golden limbs slowed to a skipping halt. Watch out! Cloven hooves slipped on wet leaves that littered the ground. Limbs spread out and caught the golden boy but he was left locked, half turned, and unprepared to find that dark charging unicorn barreling towards him.

Heart pounded. He was fit, strong, and youthful, but that creature was younger and taller. Not to mention it had been years since the blood lust flowed through those gold veins. For the first time a teaspoon of fear, dropped into Thranduil’s body, and trembled down his spine. The smirk of making another crack, which should be brazenly on his face was absent. Teeth grinded together, harks slipped behind twin horns, and a front cloven hoof raised to turn back straight and hightail it away from this mess. This was not the plan. A full out brawl was not in his style, running from consequences, that was his style. The only thing running right now though was time, and three black blades. Head tossed to look through the thick groves of trees, then back to the charging dark horse. Though Thranduil may have been more agile and able to dodge through the trees, the gold doubted he could out run that stallion’s rage. Tick. Tock.

Cornered. That’s all it took. An old look took over those gold features, and the braced limbs gained power. Another feeling seeped into that Spanish body that had been missing for oh, so long. It was arrogant, brash, and yet focused. Muscles under that thin coat trembled not with fear, but electricity. Gold dusted eyes no longer sought a way out, but only that white laced coat. Having been forced in to fight, the careless gold was reborn into a soldier’s son. If vengeance was to come a little early, who was Thranduil to grieve? More time to gloat. “Was afraid you wouldn’t like that. Have it your way then.” That gold voice spat, and the wicked grin returned once more to his lips. Mind swirled with calculation. Cloven limbs readied, and earth eyes counted down.

Three. Two. One. Hinds shoved off to the dark horse’s left. Trajectory made. Lion tail swinging to help him balance as the golden surged forward then twisted back. Speed was not on his side, but perhaps luck was. Curving his agile body, and spinning his hips out in a pirouette, the golden hoped to dodge out of the charging blind madman’s path then swing, to pay him the backstabbing attack back. Spanish neck snaked out ready to aim those vicious fangs. Half way lifted, and curved it all seemed so well. That was, until cold pierced the fire and froze time. Searing heat stabbed his left hip. Burning and burning, then freezing. Ice like pricks felt like millions of blades diving into his open flesh. Like flies on a carcass it seized every crevice of the wound and devoured the tender meat. Those black horns had cut deeply into the left golden hip, then slid, growing shallower towards his lion tail, due to the black devil’s momentum. It had been ages, years in fact, since that golden hide was pierced by a blade so maliciously welded, and it made an utterly unfathomable shock.

It was too late though, the path was chosen, and the golden dragged his swirling head and seizing hip with him. While the remembrance of the levels of pain washed over him so too did that vengeful, warrior spirit roar in his chest. The smells, pain, and revenge were surging back into the golden’s memory, and it guided him and armed his spirit. Twisting in a pain driven speed the Spanish neck stretched out, and leveled. Wet leaves underfoot may cause him to slip, or the speed of the black to surge the target out of reach, so that only the hot blood on that gold’s teeth could bring confirmation. Teeth bared, heart racing, and mind reeling the golden sought out that black flesh. Mud slinging was a minor charge, but now it was personal. Now red ran onto gold.

OOC :: eta- Injury list below was wrong, sorry!
TAG :: @[Morir
WC :: 798 (<--hardest part XD )
Attack :: 1/3
INJURIES :: -Three deep gashes in mid-hip, gets more shallow towards tail
SUMMARY :: Spinning left and slipping of leaves sees Morir. Waits till last second, surges forward but curves back in, like a U turn, to try and bite Morir's barrel, back or hip.
"speech"

Mud will wash,
Blood will not.
Image by the AMAZING Vossity



RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Morir - 08-09-2014



The beast didn't reply. There was no room in his mind for clever exchanges anymore, no space left for anything but rage. It was quite senseless really, because he had heard the insult so many times before. On a good day he might even have turned around and just walked away, preferring to ignore anyone that was brazen enough to call him out on his greatest weakness and flaw. This... wasn't a good day. Between the rush of wind that kept tugging at the tangled mess of hair, rain that pelted the ebony skin and the rudeness of a complete stranger for no good reason at all his patience had worn thin.

This time his rage won out. Unfortunate though it was that he couldn't carve out a new shit-hole for the silver-tongued cur it was still incredibly gratifying to feel how the sharp tip of his longest horn penetrated skin and sunk deep into the quivering flesh. The sound it made was horrible, a sickening smack that echoed hollow and dull in his ears; blood sprayed across the bone of his mask, staining ivory with desaturated crimson splatter that quickly began to run when mixed with the rain. It dripped down across his muzzle and spread its pungent taste to the tongue, sent shiver after shiver down the spine of mingled disgust and elation. The sensation was incredible, pride and pleasure and even more rage surged through every fiber of the massive boy, so intense it made his loins ache and pound with arousal. Rain-soaked skin rippled as the muscles of the neck swelled, bracing to receive the clash that might otherwise have twisted the head in dangerous angles. The impact was jarring, rattling his senses enough to make him unsure where exactly the assault had landed - not that he cared. The entirety of the other stallion was his target, he was coming for blood and pain and as much gore as he could manage - and if he by chance got to put an end to Thranduil's life in the process it would only be a bonus. Morir would take the haunting of his spirit over the living breathing thing any day.

Feeling how the horn cut through layers of skin and meat as the other moved on Morir tried to slow down, to halt and throw himself after his prey with the single-mindedness of a freight-train. A feral growl of furious impatience roiled from his throat when the giant cloves dug into the ground to stop the onslaught and bring himself around, only to feel them slip and slide on the wet leaves. Blind to the surroundings and any obstacles in the way he banged into a tree as he turned towards the left, bouncing back with a grunt of discomfort at his own aching ribs; then the feet found traction and he was off again, hounding after the quarry in a rapid gallop that devoured distance with every giant leap. His reckless blundering around had served to bring him out of range though; Morir heard a whoosh of air and clack of teeth as a retort missed the skin of his left flank by inches, close enough that his mind reeled with shock and fury and a ghost of the pain he might have had to feel.

So the bastard dared to reciprocate? That was fine by him because the blinded brute had no plans on going easy, mercy had been erased from his vocabulary and it was only right and just that the disgusting little loudmouth struggled before he fell.

Displeasure and hate continued to rumble in the deep chest as Morir pounced again, following after the sound of labored breathing, struggling feet and the metallic scent of blood that permeated the air. Once again he lowered the horns to attack from behind, seeing nothing wrong with using a tactic that appeared to work; he was not a trained warrior, there were no elegant tactics or fancy strategies to guide him in his moves. There was only bloodlust and a stubborn, bull-headed desire to really maul that flabby ass as much as he could manage. It was with sadistic glee the death-masked stag tried to aim at the bloodied part of the others body once more, he was aching to hear Thranduil scream out in pain and terror at the sight, the touch, the approach of him, Morir, the Undertaker come to bury him for every lie, slight and offense ever made.

And boy, did the gold have dues to pay there.

__________________

PC: 2/3 + closing defense.
WC: 756
OOC: Morir skid to a halt and turn to the left to pursue Thranduil, avoiding the bite. Running after he tries to attack from behind with his horns again, hoping to hit the injured hip again.

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"




RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Thranduil - 08-10-2014


Air. All he caught was air. The powerful spirit that had swelled in that golden body was swept away. Stolen by the very air that had rushed through his open maw. It seemed to last an eternity, but this battle was falling apart in a matter of seconds.

Golden body had been so sure of tangible revenge had it had barred all pain from leaking into his mind. The rush, the blood lust, all had protected the golden mind a little longer, but that attack backfired. With body still in the momentum, lunging and twisting, there was no stopping it from lengthening, and so pulling that shocked hip flesh into awakening. Breath caught. Stabbing pain flared like wildfire through his mind and nerves. Whole golden body felt the blow and it shriveled at the face of its unfamiliar harshness. It was not that he was new to battle, or that the wound was so great for after all, it was only three medium slashes, hardly a mortal wound. The magnified effects came instead from his mind. You see, for so long, had worked hard on the ego, and pride of the gold. So the pain seizing that witty Thranduil, that pain came not just from slashes on his hip, but also from his wounded golden pride.

Front cloven hooves, who had been ready to land the gold solidly, now were sidetracked, and disoriented. They landed on earth, but that’s where all really went awry. Not only did those proud gold legs fail to lock, but landing in the mud and wet leaves, they slid, sending the front half of the twin horned down to the ground. Wound, burning from being exposed to that sharp air, cinched up the gold’s hind leg and so came crashing down too.

Mind was spinning, putting out fires. Truth would roar in a flame. Fear, a word not to be spoken lightly, was creeping in again. It whispered so hatefully: he was not fit. You only need more practice. He was not fast enough. Only due to the wound. He would loose. Only if you lay down like this. That woke him up. That, and a deep tremble in the earth. Gold harks lifted and pulled his earth eyes to the sight. The black brute reeling from slamming into a tree. Deep inside that golden chest, a chuckle ragged in his haunting breath. It was the spark needed to start the engine again, and the water to wash away the flames of truth once more. This constant fight, truth versus ego, was proving just as tricky as the current battle. Brow rose though as the elken skull twisted back in his direction. Harks pinned as the gold pulled his mud splattered, grounded body back together.


It was dangerous and stupid, but it was also, clever, and bold. The style of the golden was placed in his plans as he shifted to face the attack, still lying down. When finished the tri horned was nearly upon him, but the golden was calculating and resilient once more. Those feelings maybe more fragile than before due to his fall, but that golden son was determined he would not be on his knees much longer. Hinds were first. Seconds gained acceptance of the pain that tender hip held, and so though a struggle, especially with the slippery leaves and mud, they answered his will readily. His front though did not join them. Closer and closer the black roared. A front leg struck out and raised the golden halfway, the other supported its half raised weight. This lifted him, hopefully above the rolling hooves, but not the legs. What was he waiting for? Then head tucked to a muddy chest, and twin horns flashed out in a show of sharpened blades and leveled. Any other horse could have seen them and known the spears awaiting them, but, with a smirk, the gold reminds you, the black is blind.

Head being tucked, sight was difficult. The golden could not be sure where exactly those hidden knives would hit (if at all). He would not get this possibly deadly attack free: pain must be paid. You can't expect to lay on the ground before a charging blind horse and not get hit. The golden, had accepted the price. Payment came due. A black knee flashed under the golden sight and in its gait lifted and slammed into the lower plain of the gold’s head. The punch sent the golden head flying upwards as his face reverberated in numbness, and then pounded with ache. A warm trickle told of broken skin. Chaos flew. Golden youth was braced for impact, but would it come now that he was reeling from another blow, and the black was warned of his position?


OOC ::
TAG :: @[Morir
WC :: 795
Attack :: 2/3
INJURIES :: -Three deep gashes in mid-hip, gets more shallow towards tail-Bruised on front mid to lower half of face-small cut on mid front of face
SUMMARY :: Not catching Morir makes Thranduil unsteady, combined with the slippery ground he falls. On the ground he turns towards the charging Morir. Hinds stand back up, front half way stands (hopefully keeping him from getting a hoof in the face, but not a leg), and then he tucks his head to point out his horns. One of Morir's front knees punches him about mid way on the front of his face.
"speech"

Posting Poetics
Image by the AMAZING Vossity



RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Morir - 08-10-2014



His horns missed the intended target. Morir in his thoughtless, enraged state couldn't for his life figure out why the three, long, dangerous prongs attached to his face hadn't been shoved up the ass of the gum-flapping man-whore daring to call himself a stallion. He would have been quite content to keep running, chasing after shadows, if his front leg hadn't suddenly slammed into something hard on the ground, nearly toppling him in the process. As it was, his inbred agility saved him from a complete face-plant into the wet loam; he jerked the heavy neck upwards and was able to dig the hind legs firmly under himself before leaping, so that he soared over the dangerous tops of Thranduil's horns without ever noticing they were there. He felt the bruised ribs ache as he landed and blamed it on the opponent; if he hadn't run off instead of stay still and let Morir kill him he would never have slammed into that tree.

The only good thing about this whole stumbling, jumping and tripping affair was that now he knew exactly where the bastard was hiding. "Cowering on the ground suits you, you fucking snake!" he howled and barreled around, pivoting around his fronts until he faced the fallen horse. "Now stay there and eat my hooves! Blindy, blindy, I'll make you blind too and then I will fuck your ass until you taste blood!" As he screamed the tall, black demon of a horse leaped again, up and forth like a fox hunting in snow with sharp cloven hooves aimed for the spine of his opponent. If he could hit the head, all the better; he'd bash the others brains in, kill him and throw him about like he had that rabbit last winter. No way he would end up frightened by his murdered victim this time, no! He would dance upon the corpse until every bone had been buried deep in the ground, until the very ghost of this person's memory was forgotten and erased. No one would ever taunt Morir about his blindness and walk away without regretting it. Ever.

Regardless of whether his assault had hit flesh or not, Morir reared back up and slammed his hooves down again, and again, pummeling earth and flesh alike in his insane desire to murder his target. Should the other scramble up on his feet again Morir would be after him in an instant, baring teeth and slashing horns until the other was a bleeding mess.

"Bow and beg for mercy!" he screamed, looking completely deranged as he snapped the air, head tossing up and down so that soaked tresses whipped and snatched in the wind. He was foaming now from the effort of the continuous movements, white lather forming at every crevice of the body; the elbows, neck and groin, even by the corners of the mouth where the dripping blood from the mask dyed it a horrible shade if pink. "Or if you want to live, run! Run and make sure to live fast, because one day I will find you and make you regret that your bitch of a mother ever crapped you out into this world!"

The rain was not cold enough to extinguish his fire, the wind not strong enough to blow away his rage. He was a mad ghost, a spirit of vengeance and he would collect the dues in the name of all the bullied, oppressed, weak and helpless - and he would do it all for his own sake, so that his blood-thirst might be slaked.

_______________________
PC: 3/3 + Closing defense
WC: 595
Ooc: Morir jumps over Thranduil's head and avoids the horns, lands, turn around and make a second jump to stomp on him with his forelegs. Then he rears back up and slam down repeatedly, ready to chase after should Thran get up and try to run.


"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"




RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Thranduil - 08-10-2014


Horns did not pierce black skin. A shadow soars overhead. Head was still reeling the disorientation of no body impaled on his horns, inability to find his breath, and the sudden darkness. Only when hooves splashed behind him did sense return. Spanish neck twists them around to see the black devil spinning, his yelling, too much of a roar came swimming in his ears. Heart reflected the flutter of confusion at how the black got behind him unscathed. Shock of missing his target that arose from the first miss, now, with the second, slide into confusion. Shit. The damn horse was blind, it didn’t mean he had wings. Stillness ended quickly when the tri horns once again aimed his way.

Front mud covered legs scrambled, pulling the front of the golden to meet his already standing hips. The warrior spirit and high elegance in his steps are gone as the gold sees that black creature come like a bouncing rabbit towards him. Hips, which had locked, were stubborn and slow. The golden stepped to the left, seeking to clear the charger’s path but exposing his tender hip in the struggle. Inward groaning (for he would never do so out loud) tumbled through his head at the searing agony now swirling about his hips from being slashed and slammed to the ground. It was the moment’s hesitation to collect himself together that doomed his hopeful quick escape.

Muddied black hoof slammed down onto his left hip, just a little shy of his brown dorsal stripe. Twin horned head threw itself trying to hold them up, but it was not enough. Once again, into the mud the gold fell. Like the hit to his head, his hip now reverberated in shocking numbness before spinning out in a dizzy fall of freezing agony. Sharp places on the black’s wild hooves had cut yet another place perpendicular to the three slashes on the golden coat. The pounding it received mangling the flesh on his previous wound to leave the area a complete, bloody, muddy wreck. There was no time to mourn the loss of his unscarred coat.

Miraculously fore limbs still stood. It was the only blessing he received so far in this battle. There was no more bravo in those gold dusted eyes. They were gazed and distanced: knowing only they had to get this mangled son away. Sound reached those low harks of the black devil landing from his great leap. Time to go. Eyes closed as shoulder pulled at his back. Eyes flew back open as like a stabbing blade shot up his back as body protested, but it came. A splash echoed behind him and the earth gave a mighty shutter. It was close. Biting his cheek the gold moved forward to the left of where he had laid.

The golden stopped behind the first tree. In all his splashing raging the gold hoped the black would not have heard him get up and leave. The stallion should be blinding his other senses by the whirlwind of rage that possessed him. It was time to leave the mad brute to his crazy. With all his weight on three limbs, the gold tried to spare moving his left hip. Then that black devil’s tongue spoke. Bow and beg. It sparked him. Lips peeled back. Breath came ragged, but no. The fire in him was shut down. Leave that lunatic for another day. Again, behind his tree the gold went to move forward, for soon the black would find him. Oh, but that black devil spoke again, and knew not what he spoke.

Another spark and his world was ablaze. Tauriel, his mother. Memories slammed him. Heart roared to life. Fucking piece of shit. Even if he fell a thousand times, that devil would pay in blood for every word. Twin horned head flung high to try and find the stallion from behind the tree. This was not pride. This was rage. It took over him, consumed him. It would take all he had, but that sin would not go unanswered, not in Tauriel’s name. Teeth grinding, shoulders pulled at his mangled back limbs, stabbing pain surging from them in protest, but all they were granted is a growl deeper than a wolf’s in answer. Gold body surges to black, gait just as mangled and ruined as his body, but got him there still in a burning rage. He would see that black in mud for that insult. Keeping note of where the tri-horns swung the gold hoped to pull up to the beast’s back or hip. Then he rose up. Pain electrocuted through him and could no longer be contained, so came roaring wild and fierce cry from his lips. Hooves lashed out, earth eyes a fire for a black coat.


OOC ::
TAG :: @[Morir]
WC :: 800
Attack :: 3/3
INJURIES :: -Three deep gashes in mid-hip, gets more shallow towards tail-Bruised on front mid to lower half of face-small cut on mid front of face-badly bruised (possible internal damage to muscle) on left hip above slashes-small cut leading off of the top slash going straight up towards spine, very shallow
SUMMARY :: Scrambles up before Morir's second jump and moves to the left, but one of Morir's hooves hit his left hip, sending them down to the ground. Getting back up, moves forward to behind a tree. At Morir's taunt of his mother he charges the black (didn't know where Morir would be here though so...vagueness!, but he's aiming to get to his hip or back). Then rears, crying out, and lashing out his hooves, hoping to knock Morir to the ground.
"speech"

Posting Poetics
Image by the AMAZING Vossity



RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Morir - 08-10-2014



His screams receive no reply, but the crazed stag doesn't care. The thought that his prey might have swallowed its own tongue in fright at the sight of him is encouraging, it fills him with a maddened desire to jeer and gloat. Alas, that he be too busy pummeling the ground! He feel his feet strike flesh at least once, which encourage him to keep going; the rain-soaked ground grow muddy and wet beneath his feet as he slam down again and again, the force of his rage enough to dig deep into rock and soil until the earth beneath his feet is no more than a pit of thick, pasty clay that would have made a potter pee themselves in joy.

Eventually though, it penetrates even his blood-filled skull that only earth is receiving the force of his wrath. With a final slam that splash clicks of the porridge-like muck high up onto his own chest and legs the swarthy beast freeze, stilling himself so quickly it is almost eerie. He keep the head high, chest heaving as he suck in rapid yet silent breaths; and atop the skulled head the ears are alive, listening intently for any sign of life. For some time all he can find is the landscape around himself. The wind is picking up now, likely ushering close a storm or other; it explains the rain that fall with increasing intensity, smattering against his steaming hot skin and rush in rivulets down long, muscled legs. The area is silent. The birds that aren't in hiding have quieted themselves while witnessing the battle of the giants, terrified or scornful as they stare; Morir assume the first, because it's the theory that suit him best - or at least he would have, if he'd had anything in mind at all but the insolent horse and where his ass had gone - he was aching to find it and rip it open.

Finely chiseled nostrils quiver beneath the weight of pallid bone, vibrating against the clammy skull as he draw deep, searching breaths. His upper lip lift and curl as he analyze the scents, ignoring those of rain and earth and his own sweat in favor of the sweet, salty, metallic tinge that is blood. Then, suddenly, a hoarse breath is drawn from somewhere behind him, accompanied by hooves over water-logged leaves. Sensing danger the hellion react, on the drop of a hat he heave to the right and spin, so fast on his feet that the rear end up sliding off and nearly bring him to the ground. As he does so the body of the other stallion sweep past where he had stood, sensing movement while hearing the whistling as air rush off the tips of sharp antlers.

A deep, booming laughter erupt from his chest when he realize that the other have missed again. It's a horrible sound, cackling and evil, riddled with triumph and loathing; Morir lean back on his haunches and heave himself into a rear, high, higher, highest! in the air, forelegs flailing as he dared his opponent to continue. "Are you really that eager to die, mother-fucker? Because I'm only too happy to oblige! Last chance, silver-tongue, or I'll rip your fucking tail off and wear it as a scarf!"

He prayed that the cur would be stupid enough to go on, because Morir could do this all day.
____________________________________
PC: Closing defense
WC: 566
Ooc: Landed the blow on Thran, then kept beating the ground without noticing how he slipped away. Stopped, listened for signs of where he were, heard when he moved in to strike and moved aside to the right. He spin around, slip a little but then gather himself to rear, daring Thran to keep going.

Thank you Hawk, this was so much fun! <3

"I embrace the thorny rose to my chest and
fall into the crimson sea
I continue dancing upon the
piled bodies until I die"




RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Thranduil - 08-10-2014



Air. It’s always just damn air. Frustration fails to grow in his chest as another blow comes to him, but this time it’s from his own doing. Earth eyes see a spin of black beneath him. It dizzied, and the top heavy golden wavered. Balance threatened, right hind moved back to catch the heavy body. Wrong move. Near all his weight on the weak side and down he went, again. It seemed all he did in spar was fall. The fire in his eyes replaced by a rush of pain as he fell to the earth. Mud splashed anew on his unrecognizable coat.

For a moment he was still there on the ground, nose resting in the muck the battling stallions had created. Coat trembling, head spinning. In all the physical wounds were not horrendous, but that is not where most of the blows landed. Even as the brute roars something else to his near deaf ears and his shadow hoovers over him, the golden can only lay, eyes closed to the world. It wasn't that he regretted any act he had done. In fact, reflection might bring him to flare out in anger for, in truth, the golden hadn't played any trick or threat. He'd only come here to gain the Basin a member. No, it was not regret that pounded his spirit. It was her remembrance. Tauriel. Could it be her memory still held such sway on the golden that he would actually break over her? The tightening of his face, said yes. That firey chestnut maiden, stolen from him. She who deserved the world, received only six feet of earth, not even the fire boat deserved of her noble class. He would tear down the world to reclaim the fame of her name, but he could not today. Today he could not defend her who gave him his life, and it destroyed a piece of him.

Crumpled form shutters, it’s time to go, before Tauriel’s son died in vain. When healed and rested, perhaps the thoughts of bringing this black devil crashing down below the very earth he stood would soothe him, but not today. Today the gold’s soul moved as it had not in many an age. It ached. Nothing could soothe it. No other rush of attack or bravo would could change that. So it was time to leave. Doing so would be punishment enough. Eyes still shut, and in a world of shiftlessness, the gold begins to pull himself up once more. Any lingering thoughts of depression over his loss were shocked out by the shear agony of that effort. He would not leave himself to find death below that blind devil’s hooves though, nor would he give him the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. So, the gold silenced himself by biting his lip. By the time he was standing, it dripping in blood with the mud.

Facing that black tri-horned head rose to its height. This was not pride though. It was not vanity or ego. All that was covered in blood and mud. No, what looked out at the black stallion was the most curious emotion in a time such as this. Head was tall, horns held straight, legs (all by the left hind) stretched out, and back flexed straight as it could manage. Eyes were calm, and distanced. It was so unusual to see it possess him. Serenity. He was covered in blood and mud and had missed every strike he made, but there the emotion lay. Like a once proud king taught brought low to the peasant’s level. A loss of the previous ignorance brought to tumbling down. Through the wreckage a ghost of his inner soul brought forth in the world through the mess. Bare, and open for all to see. But the black was blind, so the world never saw. The gold then turns, and in the mangled form body moves into the shadows. Broken body and soul moves into the darkness to heal.

OOC :: Yep! Most excellent practice!
TAG :: @[Morir
WC :: 612+
Attack :: ---
INJURIES :: -Three deep gashes in mid-hip, gets more shallow towards tail-Bruised on front mid to lower half of face-small cut on mid front of face-badly bruised (possible internal damage to muscle) on left hip above slashes-small cut leading off of the top slash going straight up towards spine, very shallow-cut on lower lip
SUMMARY :: Looses balance, and moves right hind to catch himself, left crumbles and Thranduil falls. Lays there for a while, then gets up, looks at Morir and leaves.
"speech"

Posting Poetics
Image by the AMAZING Vossity



RE: Black eyes, Black Heart - Official - 09-01-2014

By my verdict: MORIR is the winner!

MORIR
Realism [0]
Throughout the fight you kept the terrain mind along with the fact that it was raining. On more than one occasion Morir slipped on leaves and even went so far as to slam into a tree and take damage from it. There were a few instances where I saw powerplay. Your second attack you say that Morir is behind Thranduil instead of saying that he attempted to get behind him, however I do like that Morir decided to use the same attack twice because he is not a trained fighter. You also say that "he howled and barreled around, pivoting around his fronts until he faced the fallen horse." I would have said that he pivoted to face where the fallen horse had been to avoid being seen as powerplay.


Emotion [+2]
There was so much anger and rage in all of Morir's post that I could literally feel it. If I were a spectator and not a judge then I probably would have rooted for him throughout the fight. Some of Morir's taunts to Thranduil had me laughing out loud.

Examples:

"Now stay there and eat my hooves! Blindy, blindy, I'll make you blind too and then I will fuck your ass until you taste blood!" -- goodness, lol

"Or if you want to live, run! Run and make sure to live fast, because one day I will find you and make you regret that your bitch of a mother ever crapped you out into this world!"


Prose [-1]
There were a few spots in your posts where you shifted tense from past to present and your entire final post was written in an entirely different tense than your first posts. I also noticed some dropped letters on words.

Some examples of things I noticed:

Without the slightest bit of warning - though not entirely unprovoked - the blind hellion slammed the brakes, spin spun around and charged the golden stud in a fit of icy, silent rage.

"He feels his feet strike flesh at least once, which encourages him to keep going; the rain-soaked ground grows muddy and wet beneath his feet as he slams down again and again, the force of his rage enough to dig deep into rock and soil until the earth beneath his feet is no more than a pit of thick, pasty clay that would have made a potter pee themselves in joy."


Readability [0]
The flow in your posts was very nice, but there were some spots where the tense shifted and interrupted the flow. Also, I found that your final post being in a different tense was a bit distracting, but not enough to take away from how well it was written. Also watch out for run on sentences.

Finally tally: ----- 63 + (1*2) = 65

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THRANDUIL
Realism [+3]
Like Chan did, you kept your terrain and the fact that it was raining in mind throughout the fight. There were a few times that I noted Thranduil slipped on damp leaves or in mud. In one post you even have him fall to the ground. Falling is not ideal but, being someone who has slipped and fallen because of mud, I understood your choice. I found Thranduil's second attack to be very interesting and I found myself waiting to see if it would actually work. I thought you did a nice job taking damage from the attack. Using the noise that Morir was making toward the end of the spar as cover for Thranduil to escape was very smart. You did an excellent job of writing and conveying Thranduil's pain from his damaged hip throughout the fight. I also took note of the way Thranduil seemed to become slower as the fight went on and he grew more tired and got more beaten up.


Emotion [+1]
In your first post I could definitely feel Thranduil's panic from the unexpected attack, but it seemed to ebb away toward the end of the post. The second post I could see Thranduil's devastation of not landing the attack and thinking the fight was falling apart but I didn't really feel. I found myself looking for emotion from Thranduil and I finally got it when he began to have a conversation with himself. I could feel him psyching himself up to get moving again. When Morir insulted Thranduil's mother I finally got more of that emotion that I was looking for.


Prose [0]
Overall, your posts were good but you have a lot of fragmented sentences that made parts of your posts feel very choppy, rushed, and unpolished. Also, keep in mind to watch out for typos. Sometimes Word doesn't catch them so I would suggest writing your post then coming back to it a little while later to proof it.

Example:

There was no more bravo bravado in those gold dusted eyes. They were gazed glazed and distanced: knowing only they had to get this mangled son away.



Readability [+1]
The fragmented sentences I mentioned above interrupt the flow of the post and make it more difficult to read. I would suggest watching out for those. As the battle progressed your flow seemed to get better. You also had a sentence that I found to be confusing:

"Spanish neck snaked out ready to aim those vicious fangs. Half way lifted, and curved it all seemed so well." -- This is very oddly worded. Referring to his teeth as fangs made me look at Thranduil's profile to see if he did, indeed, have fangs and I found that he does not. When I read your summary of your attack at the very end of your post was when I realized what you were doing here.


Finally tally: ----- 34 + (5*2) - 2 (for edited posts) = 42