[JUDGED] eyes like broken christmas lights - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +---- Forum: Battle Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=64) +---- Thread: [JUDGED] eyes like broken christmas lights (/showthread.php?tid=22136) |
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eyes like broken christmas lights - Volterra - 12-26-2015
RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Grimalkin - 12-27-2015 Somewhere on the beach, a fellow behemoth heard the call to arms, and he smiled. The spray of the ocean's rough waves and the rains falling from heavens combined to drench the stallion long ago. He stood on the open sand, preferring to feel the elements in their entirety rather than hide and skulk about the treeline - where was the fun in that? Taking shelter, hiding from that which had the potential to make one stronger - that was foolish. Certainly, hide when things became deadly so that one may live on, but simple rain and wind? Pah, thought the stallion, the giant, the titan, as he stood against the storm. The smile deepened as he turned himself to approach the beckoning call, broad hooves treading the hardened, dampened sand with ease. Sand and snow were similar, and he was a creature who enjoyed time upon both terrains, as he usually was able to traverse them with fair ease. What he didn't count on was the drag his great creamy feathers would cause when wet. However, he didn't let it stop him in accepting the challenge. Grimalkin was a youthful steed still, and though just leaving the adolescent phase of his life, he was still bound by the prideful masculine desire to pommel someone every now and again. With a deep bellow trumpeting from his lips, Grimalkin shook off what he could of the great damp that slowed his limbs down, and trotted towards this fellow titan. Eyes, which flashed green whenever lightning struck, made their quick assessment of the dark one and his companions - he could not be sure in this torrential downpour, but he thought he counted two winged things. It didn't matter. The challenge was already accepted. Rolling his bulky form into a canter, Grimalkin made to approach much like a juggernaut would - momentum would carry his motion over the sands and to his enemy, and only a greater force would be able to stop him. As he neared he assessed that this behemoth was taller than himself, but Grimalkin knew all too well that height was not everything - the sheer thickness of Grimalkin's own barrel attested to the power his comparatively stout body could muster. Grimalkin was attempting to approach the dark equine's left side, and wanted so badly to see his antlers connect with Volterra's shoulder and neck - maybe draw some blood, peel back the skin some, or at the very least bruise and make it uncomfortable for the other one to breathe. The unicorn lowered his grand, antlered crown, arching his thick, solid nape, and aimed a sharp and hard smack of the sharp prongs of his right towards his desired target, his rolling canter aimed as near the other as he could get. 1/3 attack posts 0/1 closing defence 465/800 words Magic & companion allowed @Volterra colourize-stock & larfsalot @deviantart RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Volterra - 12-29-2015
RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Grimalkin - 01-10-2016 A grunt rolled through his chest, as realisation settled upon his countenance that he was unsuccessful in his initial strike against this foe. Grimalkin's antlers came across no interference, no barriers, he did not feel the satisfying crunch of antler against flesh - which in a way, saved him from a possible strain or ache as his neck would have had to absorb the impact. As it was, the chocolate steed continued careening past this titan, a behemoth in his own rights finding his footing in the sodden earth below. The sand was churned and messy, the weight of his drenched feathers causing extra drag that he was constantly working to overcome. As long as he maintained his momentum, like a juggernaut, his destructive path would only be interrupted by resistance, by a force greater than his own power.
The heart within the steed's chest picked up its rate, pulsing and pumping precious life-fuel across his body. It was not until a flash of ice showered down ahead that the adrenaline made its appearance - and he recalled the things he had seen before, and both wondered at and cursed their existence. Dragons, he growled to himself, though he was only familiar with the traditional belief that dragons meant fire, not frost… So it is with a bit of confusion that his feet met the icy ground, crunching heavily and slipping as all four feet struggled for purchase - his weight caused the icy to break and sink into the sand beneath soon enough, he blessed the sodden, thick feathering that clung to his legs, for without it he surely would have sliced his fetlocks on the shards of ice. His momentum was interrupted, and just as he found his balance once more he was faced with the looming hulk of Volterra to his left. A savage snarl appeared on his maw as he scrambled his legs beneath him, urging them to move desperately. He was grateful, for the sand beneath allows the ice to shift and break as his colossal weight trampled over it; he found purchase again relatively swiftly, and made to resume his juggernaut's rampage. He would not fall, he would not bow to his foe, no matter how great, strong and powerful Volterra proved to be. Grimalkin was a stubborn brute, proud and desperate to prove his capabilities to himself and the herd he had left behind. I will go north, he hummed in his mind, I will return to them a victor, he grit his teeth in grim determination. Haunches flexed, bulging muscles pushed the stallion forward as his hooves grappled at the icy sand below, even as the pale forelegs of Volterra crashed down. Close, he thought, too close, he winced as he felt the edge of Volterra's left foreleg clip his generous buttock, a bruise sure to rise swiftly and give Grimalkin an ache that would take a week to get over. Grimalkin's mind didn't stop, it kept churning, his eyes trained themselves as best they could upon the giant that was, while he came crashing down, behind him. In a snap decision, Grimalkin prayed that the dark behemoth would fall prey to his own trap and be slowed by the icy arena he had his dragon construct, and therefore allow his next strike to hit. Crown lowered, a counterweight as the back end of his body rose. Hocks were bunched up tight, coiled and ready to unleash all their strength once they reached a height that would put his hooves at the level of Volterra's chest. Then, suddenly, they uncoiled, releasing a great amount of energy in one foul swoop - a double-barrel kick delivered by his wet, slippery but still sharp hooves, aimed at the left side of his foe's chest, for that was what he guessed was nearest to him after Volterra's latest attempt to leave a mark upon his own chocolate self. @Volterra 653 words Attack 2/3 Closing defence 0/1 colourize-stock & larfsalot @deviantart RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Volterra - 01-12-2016
RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Grimalkin - 01-14-2016 Rain stung his eyes, it fell mercilessly, like wet bullets shot from the dark, pregnant clouds above. He was drenched, his hide black for the water it held, his blaze a beacon for his enemy to use to track him, his pale mane and tail a similar disadvantage in this game where stealth and cunning would certainly come in handy. But stealth and cunning was forgotten, this was a fight of strength, sweat and grit, of determination and a clash of titans in the middle of a storm. Though his feet were once upon a time as creamy in hue as his mane and tail, the strands are waterlogged and sand-laden now, and blend into the dark chocolate of his hide - becoming almost black in the storm, if not for the flashes of lightning that occasionally (thunderingly) illuminate the situation. Grimalkin shuts his eyes tight as his hocks unfurl the savage beating his hinds were unleashing at his enemy, both in concentration and an effort to reduce the amount of wet sand that might splash up into his emerald pools during the motion. He felt a connection, a slick slap against flesh, and he knows his dark pale-faced enemy is likely to be hot on his tail again. Grimalkin found what purchase he could beneath him and powered forward, as speedy as his bulky, wet mass could - which wasn't very fast, if one were to compare it to a sunny day with firm footing below. But he was spurred onwards by a determination to grow, to improve and to not get his ass handed to him. A vague sense of surprise settled on his countenance as he sensed, rather than saw, the behemoth next time. The longer legs of Volterra undoubtedly allowed him to gain on Grimalkin's evading form; it is the guttural grunt that reverberates within Volterra's chest that alert Grim to the incoming strike. Immediately the chocolate-stained-black steed dug his heels into the damp, sandy loam, his hocks scraped against the trenches that formed behind him (his haunch squealed in protest as the bruised muscle was stretched and tensed so soon after being pommelled). The legs that came swinging towards him had no marker for his eyes to track, no pale tones to tell him exactly where and when he would feel the strike that was to come - then a glint, a hint, of silver (no, he thought, diamond), glimmered amongst the muck and rain and hooves, and he flinched, a grimace that shuddered through his entire body. The reflex did as his instincts prayed it would - it saved him from potentially fatal damage, it caused his form to simultaneously brace and shudder away from the impact. Due to him applying the brakes earlier, Volterra's original aim was skewed, and he felt the impact land upon his left shoulder, however his posture encouraged the blow to roll off sooner than it otherwise would have. He felt it, certainly - it pounded the thin skin that stretched over the scapula and pinched it between diamond and bone, it stung like a bitch, and Grimalkin would have screamed had he been a man of lesser constitution - as it was, he grunted and ground his teeth in annoyance, ears pinning further down into the depths of his soaked mane and nape. A shallow cut, surrounded by hoof-shaped bruising, swelled almost immediately at the site of impact - but the sting was washed away in the downpour, as the constant thrum of rain stimulated his nerves to the point of saturation, and numbing. A savage snarl pulled back the stallion's lips, as, dragons forgotten about, he lurched forward again, an attempt to give chase to his enemy before Volterra might have had a chance to find his feet completely again. Grimalkin wanted to bite, to chew and rip and tear at the dark hide, and so he aimed for Volterra's right side, somewhere on his flank region - ideally the thin skin that folded in between the stifle and barrel - but he would settle for just about anywhere. Without hesitation, he retracted his muzzle and attempted to strike against the titan once more, this time with his chin tucked and his antlers held strong in an attempt to pommel Volterra. He aimed for the same area - the right flank - with hopes of disabling that which he viewed as his enemy's greatest arsenal. 738 words 3/3 attack posts 0/1 closing defence @Volterra colourize-stock & larfsalot @deviantart RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Volterra - 01-16-2016
[/quote] RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Grimalkin - 01-16-2016 A grim sort of satisfaction settled within the steed as his teeth clacked against flesh, not drawing blood but at least hitting, disturbing the flesh, tenderising it. When he went forth with his next strike, the same occurred - he realised his enemy had slipped by then, too caught up was he in the rush and thrill of it all to realise what an advantage he had been given. But it made him wary - his aching shoulder complained as he dug deeper in the wet, sandy base below them to ensure his footing was secure. He grit his teeth and pressed forward, hard, all the strength of his behemoth body pushing his antlers further into and across his enemy's hide, shredding it - Grimalkin was walk away from this with blood dripping into his eyes, and it was with savage and rogue delight that he flashed forward within his own mind to such a moment of triumph and glory.
The thought did not linger long, for he was reminded of his present predicament with an abrupt trip, an overbalance - as Volterra regained ground and swung out of his reach, Grimalkin tipped heavily onto his forehand, fatigue affecting almost every one of his muscles (suddenly his antlers had become cumbersome and heavy after the strain of pressing his bulk into Volterra's rump). The toll of the fight slowed him considerably, adding to the aches and the heavy sand that dragged at his feet. Frustration curdled as he could see the pale-faced son-of-a-bitch coming at him with teeth bared but he just couldn’t move fast enough to get out of his way. Volterra's teeth pinched just the skin that Grim had been aiming for upon the black brute earlier: those delicate folds just above the stifle, sensitive and prone to swell at the slightest insult; Grimalkin knew he would be walking crooked for a week, even as he pushed off with his hinds sliding (but not falling) beneath him, managing to tear free before Volterra could rip the skin open and paint his socks red. He thought it was done then, that the stallions had had their scuffle, their dance in wind and storm and rain, and would now part ways. But it wasn't done - what the fu- - the thought wasn't even allowed to gain traction in his mind as suddenly a flash of crimson and a slash of pain opened across his spine. Grimalkin - the juggernaut once more - bowed his great crown and pushed forward, his shoulder, his rump and now his back screaming at him to end it, stop it, remove the pain, the agony. His sudden movement must have worked, for the dragon, the pesky flying lizard, was soon dislodged, leaving him with more scratches and slashes to let the rain wash and numb - for now, it just felt like his entire top half was on fire with pain. He came to a stop as he heard the voice of the stallion, his enemy for tonight, his nemesis, speak, three simple words of compliment. Breaths were dragging themselves through his lungs, his entire body seemed to ache, every cut was alive with fire and blood on him - and yet, this stallion thought he had done well? Well would have been breaking your little lizard friend's neck, Grimalkin thought sourly, though he was ever the gentleman outwardly. Allowing himself several moments to gather his breath, to grit his teeth against the aches that decorated his body, the great chocolate behemoth nodded his crown to the other, and murmured with his low, gravelly tones and heavily accented words; "You too." @Volterra 606 words 1/1 closing defence colourize-stock & larfsalot @deviantart RE: eyes like broken christmas lights - Official - 02-04-2016 By my verdict: VOLTERRA is the winner!
GRIMALKIN Realism [+2.5] You have a good sense of fighting mechanics with proper attacks and defenses, and a lot of good explanation, especially for little details which are easily overlooked, such as in your third post how you describe the body’s natural inclination to flinch is actually very helpful. There were some other aspects though which, though minor, added up and took your score lower than it might otherwise have been. For instance in your second post you write the timing as if the dragon froze the sand and then Volterra reared at you, however Volterra wrote it as being nearly simultaneous, so I would have liked to see it follow more along those lines. In that same post you describe Grimalkin’s hooves as being sharp, but offer no other explanation than that, and since horse hooves are not naturally sharp this seemed unrealistic. You handled the translation of dice into injury well and for the most part were descriptive of your injuries - in fact I liked seeing that you mentioned your bruise from post 2 in post 3. However your closing defense had very little detail of the injuries sustained, especially from the dragon, so it was difficult to tell if you took accurate damage or not. What I really liked was how well you continually tied in the stat/breed differences and the surroundings. You even made a point to say height didn’t always mean strength, because though Grimalkin was shorter than Volterra his strength stat was higher, and I liked how your endurance seemed to fail in your closing defense which tied in well with Volterra being stronger in endurance. You were both tied for speed and agility though, so beware when you mentioned Volterra’s speed is how he caught up to Grimalkin for his cow kick! Your surroundings were well done though, especially with detailing how Grimalkin’s heavy feathering was affected by the moisture and sand, how sand and snow had some similarities, and how the rain to some extent helped soothe his wounds. “A shallow cut, surrounded by hoof-shaped bruising, swelled almost immediately at the site of impact - but the sting was washed away in the downpour, as the constant thrum of rain stimulated his nerves to the point of saturation, and numbing.” Emotion [+0.5] Throughout this fight I never got a great sense of Grimalkin’s character. That’s he’s a warrior and he assesses his tactics well was about all I gleaned during the whole fight, and it came off very clinical without many invoked emotions. Work in tying more reaction from Grimalkin when he succeeds or fails, or what motivates him to fight (something about proving to his old homeland you wrote, but that was only one sentence and I knew nothing more about them!). I did really like the following: “Grimalkin would have screamed had he been a man of lesser constitution - as it was, he grunted and ground his teeth in annoyance, ears pinning further down into the depths of his soaked mane and nape.” Prose [+3.5] Lovely posts to read with great vocabulary, flow, and imagery. Readability [+2.5] Your posts were very readable, just some typos here and there and a couple tense changes that disrupted it. P1: “Certainly, hide when things became deadly so that one may live on…” (tense changes from prior writing) “... to pommel someone…” (pummel) P2: “...caused the icy to break…” (ice) “...enough, he…” (enough. He) “...in one foul swoop…” (fell swoop) P3: “..and blend into the dark …” (tense change) “...reverberates within Volterra's chest that alert Grim to…” (alerts) “..after being pommelled…” (pummeled) “...A savage snarl pulled back the stallion's lips, as, dragons forgotten about, he…” (too many commas) “...attempt to pommel …” (pummel) Finally tally: 36+(9*2)= 54 HP *******************************************
VOLTERRA Realism [+3.5] I felt you did very well in this fight and really enjoyed what a diversity of realism you brought with how well your attacks, defenses, timing, injury, and stat/surroundings descriptions were. Your second post in particular read very well. One thing that kept getting to me though was your constant mentions of Volterra slipping in sand. On it’s own sand is not very slippery, in fact it’s rather good at ‘gripping back’ almost and holding you, which is why you tire so easily in sand because it’s hard to push off of, since it does roll and shift, but it’s nothing like slick ice or snow or mud where you slip constantly. Even when wet, sand holds the moisture and traction well, which is why sand is such a prized landscape addition for wet areas. So I found it unrealistic to call the sand slimy or slippery, such as when you slipped on apparently nothing but the sand in post 2 (a sandy hill I could see!) and even in post 3, though at least in the latter you were coming back from an unbalancing move so that was more plausible. What you say here is a much more apt description of sand: “The wet sand sucks away some of his momentum, leading the brute to reconsider any barging attacks; these conditions steal away impetus, destroy his notions of barbaric slamming.” On a related note, you say your diamond horseshoes help hold Volterra in place for a rear because they are heavier? I’m not sure how any horseshoe would really weigh enough to help, but especially not diamond ones which would weigh less than typical metal ones. Otherwise great job, especially the tactic in your closing defense of going with the momentum of Grimalkin’s attack instead of against it to help swing you around for a counter attack! Emotion [+1] Throughout the fight I felt myself wanting more of Volterra. That he loves to fight and test himself I understood, but it seemed like a surface layer of his character and I was often left wondering what motivated him to such a degree to fight like this. Even the bond with his dragons was all very focused on proper tactic and little feeling - the red one assisted when Volterra slipped and the gold was curious, but again those were very face value emotions that didn’t really explore the bond he shared with them. “Maybe the middle of a battle is not the best time to reminisce on how fucking awesome life is. “ Prose [+4] Really beautiful writing in every post with great vocabulary, imagery and flow! “As his dragons circle above him like deadly gemstones, as the rain slicks his coat and the lightning illuminates every rugged line of his musculature, he feels so god damned alive that he thinks he could scale mountains, soar above the clouds, defeat a bear. In the absence of a bear, this hulking antlered beast will have to suffice.” Readability [+2.5] Your posts were all readable with minimal issues. P1: “His feet skid and slalom…” (this does not seem like the correct use of slalom, which is specifically defined as a race through winding obstacles) “Blood pounds through the stallion's body…” (tense change from prior writing) P3: “...and has hopefully…” (tense change) Finally tally: 48+(11*2)= 70 HP |