the Rift


[JUDGED] Iron Indignation [Training Spar]

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#1


Conquest was measured by the triumphs, by the victories, achievements made by the whole – and no matter how many times he’d managed to seethe, to smolder, to devastate and ruin, if the rest of his harem couldn’t grasp hold of domination, they’d never learn the meaning of annihilation, supremacy, domination. So the Lord held two roles, and sought to regrow, to mend, to restore his fractured army, to unwind it’s crippled bombardments and aid the swing of its upheaval and escalation, otherwise, what would be their ultimate future? To watch and witness the paralyzing collapse of the many, while only a capable few acknowledged their abilities to distort, to disfigure and misshapen? To become an endless reflection of defeat and anguish, to revitalize only to observe faltering, stumbling, crashing and burning all over again? Gone were the days of their wasted fortitude, of their squandered, misdirected, misused capacities and powers, precision was a must, prowess a certainty; no enemies quivered or quavered when multitudes of monsters fell from mere blemishes, from bare anguish, from the first sight of blood. If they were proud, if they were violent, intoxicating, beguiling and ensnaring, they needed to display it for the world to see, shake, and fear. The Basin would evolve with its force, ferocity, and ambition, or suffer the consequences.

The first patriot was to be the GildedBlade, Illynx.

What would a leader be without their wiles, without their artifices, without their supremacy? Another augured, fallen crown, with just one chink in the armor, felled and forsaken, freed of thorns, throne and livelihood? Not remembered for their glossed, gleaming successes, but the crippling defeat of their designs, the fumbled, staggering stretch of their resilience? Perhaps, through loyalty, through adherence, through allegiance to the empire, to the sovereignty of the Aurora, he intended to forge a practicing barrage upon her, to ensure, certify, secure she contained enough aptitude, strength, adeptness to subdue opponents.

Deimos called out the golden mare amidst the deep valley of their homeland, along the opulence of dawn striking against the shadows of caves, frost and rime. The hot spring’s sulfer scent wafted nearby, but the Tallsun’s strife deemed it too hot for relaxation and relief, and the rise of his bloodshed, of his brutality, didn’t permit him anything but the gruff distinction of skirmishes, insurrection and revolution. If she were wise, if she was bold, if she was daring and valiant, she’d come and untangle her own woven path of treachery. The Reaper’s voice echoed over the lower rungs of the gully, commanded and demanded the brimming, brewing tempest and turbulence. “Begin.”


[Traditional training spar. Intro post – 433 words. 0/3 + 0/1 magic used.
I’ll be making OOC comments after Illynx’s first post. :D
Setting: Late Tallsun. Dawn within the Aurora Basin. Set in the valley, towards several shallow caves and the hot springs.
You have first move, lovely~ @[Illynx] ]





Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
#2
illynx,
Her head was with her today; the lost battle with Smoke had taught her much in the ways of modesty, and the Reaper's own prowess was renowned far and wide across the land, a name to send babes quivering back to their mother's bellies. She was not afraid, simply aware that she was standing toe to toe with a man who had earned his place among their ranks of warriors; despite her crippled ego in regards to the Lady Psyche, she was not daft enough to let her jilted spirit override the need for her to prove herself. Unlike her companion of so many years, the Lord Deimos had never witnessed the Gilded Blade in battle, and with no tried and true history of conquest between the pair of them, this spar would be the first door pried open to his knowledge of her, a woman who had remained an unused weapon that gleamed venomously in the shadows much of her life until now, the weight of her crown pressing her to prove herself to those around her.

"Begin," said death's usher, and her golden eyes were torn from his own azure pools as her body lunged into motion, normally feminine features contorted into her less than womanly grimace of contemplation that seemed to overwhelm her whenever captured in the heat of a battle. Streams of ebony locks cascaded behind her as she drove hard to the left of the man before her, utilizing her speed to dash quickly along his side, slowing her momentum as she reached where she assumed his middle section would be. Feinting as if she would strike out with the blade of her namesake, the mare's head pulled towards his frame even as her hind end pivoted around to send her hooves out towards his charcoal flesh; it was a bold move to not open with her golden dagger, forelegs spread for grip and sliding ever so slightly on the dew-laden grass of the Valley that shimmered beneath the bloody rise of the sun, but it would seem her Gods were with her on this day as she did not tumble down into the arms of the emerald sea.

No pause was given the Reaper, no hesitation to affirm that her aim had been true; her golden spine straightens and she is moving as soon as her hooves are on the ground, a rushing, muddy river over a bed of gold that dashes away several paces from his left flank to avoid the penetration of his sapphire dipped horn. Still braced for an impact, knowing that he wouldn't just stand there and take her blows freely though she was quite secure in the speed of her movements, her dock was drawn tightly to her rump to keep her long and rippling tail from the clutches of his teeth as best as she could- futile, perhaps, but she was quite proud of her physical blessings, especially her black locks.

Drawing back around to the left, her back hooves bite into the night-chilled earth as her fore-end rises from the ground several inches to allow her to lunge back around towards Deimos, hoping that he had assumed she would continue forward away from him and would be open to an assault on his nearest shoulder or the ribs; attempting to avoid any punctures to his velvet coat, her horn is angled to smack rather than pierce.

It does not mean she holds back any on the force of the blow. For Psyche, she thinks, I will show this man why I was given my crown.

[1/3 : 604 words; woot woot ]
intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire

image credits
Table By Neo
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#3


The rigor of sieges allowed him to show his true art, painting the battlefield with his heathen brushstrokes, with his molten, infernal haze, a bloody tapestry, an ichored canvas, elegance and machinations through insurrection, violence, and brutality. He relished in the ambience, in the resonance, in the relentless persecution of others, eternally aiming to unravel, through unholy ferocity, nefarious barbs, and merciless assaults. Unfortunately, when sparring with his own brethren, he couldn’t afford the complete, distorted grandeur of his vigor, of his mutiny, of his barbarity, and so they were shown pieces, snippets, and fragments of his prowess – rarely, unless truly irked and incised, would he layer and lacquer his patriots in the whole fortitude of his loathing and contempt. Even Illynx, battering his loyalty, his adherence, in front of a massive crowd, couldn’t sway him to entirely ruin her, lead her into the void of withering corpses, drying, decaying flesh, and warped, bleached bones. He’d play the role of General again, schooling his soldiers, unfolding the practice of his oeuvre until they too seemingly mastered the role, the conviction, the study of savagery.

She followed his command, polished the Basin floor with swift, quick motions, and he, the silent tempest, awaited the rush of the storm. Tricky and conniving, she seemingly sought to transfix and delude, a pointed dagger thrust towards his left barrel, while the reach of her hind pivoted to find purchase on his frame – instinct drove him towards the right, to avoid the slash of her sword, the puncture of her malice. He wasn’t saved from the feint, and the blow of her hooves bruised upon his left shoulder, pummeling and unwinding, a force that billowed and pervaded across his mind. Foolish, to be seared into believing a rapier was going to descend upon his flesh, when it was her hooves that mustered the true attack. He clenched his jaw, briefly, felt the enamel of his ivories sink into their bottom layers in one burst of frustration, before he was forced to resume the defense of his figure.

The gilded lady came again, drawing towards his left once more, displaying her sword for the second time, and the beast pondered whether she was going to truly wield it. Was she an asp, like her predecessor, sliding over the ice and rime, wielding lies and specious qualities, amidst her movements? Her motions held true, this time, and he tucked the notion in the back of his mind, into the designed ruses and diligent schemes. No more pretenses, no more duplicity, gesturing towards his left shoulder with her golden cutlass, and he strived to swerve right again, leaning more heavily on his right side as the left still suffered from the previous, aching blow. However, instead of a cut, a piercing, puncturing laceration, he felt the brief, stinging smack of the horn upon his already punishing bruise.

Was she also not intending to maim him?

Rather than muddle in the murk and mire of confusion, he grasped hold of the opportunity to prove his own convictions, precision and might. Seeking purchase on the dewy, frost-laden grass, he leaned back upon his left (his shoulder yearned to argue with him on that particular choice; it was ignored with a reticent brow and a swarming buzz of pain), and aimed to collide his frame with her right side. Though around the same height, she was far more lithe, limber, and sleek than he, and the depths of his strategy embarked upon the idea that his stature could be enough to impact hers: perhaps toss her amongst the cold valley of the Basin, flicker and fold upon the earth. Amidst his sudden force, he also intended to ensnare his ivories along the flesh of her neck (upon the right portion of her crest, to bend and fold against his power).


[Deimos is using the buffs BULK and SWIFT.
639 words. 1/3 + 0/1 magic used.
Deceived by Illynx’s first move, Deimos swerves right to avoid her horn, and still ends up getting hit by her kick in his left shoulder. Frustrated, he has to defend himself soon thereafter, and he motions right once more as she seeks to use her horn on his flesh. He feels the smack of her horn against his left shoulder again, and the already forming bruise ensures he feels the sting even stronger.

For his own opportunity, Deimos uses their close proximity to lean upon his left side again, despite the aches and pains, and intends to use his bulk and collide into her smaller frame. He also reaches out to nip the right side of her crest.]

OOC Comments:
Woohoo, training spar time! Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to support my fellow Basiner, and also help with my own writing. ☺

First things first: what you did well. I like the steel and fortitude of Illynx, the composure, the resolve, and the determination. You outline her methods, motivations and convictions well, describing her prior experiences, and allowing us to see her thoughts on the manner of this upcoming skirmish. We know she’s not a shrinking violet, and that comes across to your audience.

Now, some things that stood out to me that could perhaps be corrected or enhanced:

Word Choice. You need to be very careful with how you lay out your attacks, because one slip-up (trust me, been there, done that) could earn you borderline-powerplay deductions, and we don’t want that to happen.

For instance: Streams of ebony locks cascaded behind her as she drove hard to the left of the man before her, utilizing her speed to dash quickly along his side, slowing her momentum as she reached where she assumed his middle section would be. You say “reached” his middle section, but that should be up to the other roleplayer to determine if she actually made it to his barrel or not. Instead of “reached”, you could fix the sentence to say: Streams of ebony locks cascaded behind her as she drove hard to the left of the man before her, utilizing her speed to dash quickly along his side, slowing her momentum as she intended to reach where she assumed his middle section would be. Fixing that one little line with showing or displaying that she’s trying to get to that area can alleviate you from possible deductions.

Description of Attacks. I had a really hard time following some particular motions and movements because either they lacked a specific direction, had a direction but got lost in reading the entire sentence, or I just got confused (which, sadly, happens a lot).

As an example: Feinting as if she would strike out with the blade of her namesake, the mare's head pulled towards his frame even as her hind end pivoted around to send her hooves out towards his charcoal flesh; it was a bold move to not open with her golden dagger, forelegs spread for grip and sliding ever so slightly on the dew-laden grass of the Valley that shimmered beneath the bloody rise of the sun, but it would seem her Gods were with her on this day as she did not tumble down into the arms of the emerald sea. This sentence is really long, which, granted, I do a lot of too (I’m guilty!), but it also had my head swimming trying to find what I needed to decipher. You have a lot going on in one sentence, from feinting, to pulling her head towards his frame, to pivoting her hind end around, boldness and forelegs gripping, and it kept running and going and my head went @___@. I have to remind myself, especially in battles, to shorten and simplify. Don’t be afraid to split some pieces up – it’ll still keep the speed of the battle, and also make it easier to comprehend. When you re-read, if something sounds like it just keeps running and running, its time to restructure.

Another instance: Drawing back around to the left, her back hooves bite into the night-chilled earth as her fore-end rises from the ground several inches to allow her to lunge back around towards Deimos, hoping that he had assumed she would continue forward away from him and would be open to an assault on his nearest shoulder or the ribs; attempting to avoid any punctures to his velvet coat, her horn is angled to smack rather than pierce. where I was confused with the lack of directions (also what is a fore-end?). Your first attack had them, but this one only seemed to indicate left at the beginning of the sentence, but I wasn’t sure whose left. I was forced to assume you meant Deimos’, and took the actions from there. You want to ensure clarity. Include those directions all the time, every time!

Whoosh, I think that’s it! Looking forward to your next post. ☺ Please don't hesitate to PM or Skype me if anything was unclear or confusing.





Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
#4
illynx,
Rap-tap!, the song of her hooves against sinew, her smirk almost palpable in the air in her pleasure at having properly designed her false sword strike. Despite their dramatic first experiences together, it was pleasant to show him that she was not all shrill words and accusations, a woman who had learned well in her years upon the earth; surely it was to be expected. She had lived longer than the ebony devil had, and while her conquests were not as numerous or far told as his own, she had always been of fighting spirit and had spent most of her childhood in endless combat with the hornless children of her birthplace; it had made her strong and treacherous in many ways, a blistering ball of fire that scalded any and all who stood in her path.

Glinting and full of her proverbial flame, her golden eyes are narrow as her horn nears the same damaged shoulder, the war song of keratin on flesh meeting her flattened ears and extending the dark smile upon her lips. Feeling the tempo of her heart rise at the sound of the impact, she succumbs to the rhythm of the sonata that Deimos and she played together, their hooves a throbbing bass-line and the whistles of their bodies as they broke the air into pieces the lilting song of a soprano; it was a dance of devilish delight, Illynx sipping lightly off of the battle high even as his damaged shoulder slammed itself into her stream-lined frame. Hardened by the testosterone that flooded his veins, the weight of his body dimpled the gold-streaked flesh that covered her rib cage, pushing her carefully balanced breath from her lungs in an audible whoosh that left the tingle of white light burning through the corner of her eyes.

Snaking her head low for balance as she was brutally forced to the right, her metallic limbs flog the earth for grip as the white grasp of the man clenches her flesh and mane in a single hold. The bruises are instant from the simultaneous blows; a low growl escaping her lips as she feels a few strands of her precious mane snap under the pressure of his incisors, the partially breathless bitch lunges back towards the grasp of the devil. With any luck and swiftness on her behalf, her right shoulder would meet with his receding teeth, the irony of the action regardless of its outcome sending a thrill of humor through her, granting her something to focus on something other than the pleading that came from her bruised ribs. He wants a taste of me - let him have it! she thinks to herself, a barking laugh choked back down her throat that presented itself as a partially deranged gurgle on the disturbed morning air. Her crown pivots around to place her golden horn between herself and his much longer weapon, hopefully a deterrent for any strikes he may attempt to rain down on her should her returning shove fail to find it's purchase and keep him too preoccupied with ringing teeth to worry about further ravaging her bruised neck.

She is not finished in her barrage, however, breath regained in the moments that had passed since it was so informally ripped from her lungs though her head still rang from the impact of their bodies. Her hind end swings about to send a cow kick to her right, golden limbs a blur as they dart outwards in hunger for another scintillating addition to their battle song; she hoped they would land on either his flank or the back half of his barrel, but there was no assurance that he would linger as close as he had been to her to warrant a solid strike.

[ 2/3 : 634 words; boss. ]
intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire

image credits
Table By Neo
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#5


The rush, the tempo, the beat, the spinning serenade of the archaic dais of war sparked and incensed his control. It called in rapid singsong, a meticulous, vibrant crooning, a harsh, raucous din flooding his senses, barbaric twangs and resonance of monstrosity. It asked for bloodshed, it yearned for calamity, for animosity, for deliberate streaks of savage upheaval, when the crisp, infidel action of bone meeting bone unraveled, where flesh ripped away from sinew, tendons, and muscles, strangled, smothered, and suffocated in the harpooning display of satanic reverie. A haunting, lilting void, composed into hallowed decibels, shrieks and howls, murmured in the depths and fathoms of his enticed ears, for gallows, for domination, for supremacy and derision. A devilish, siren hymn to snap her neck, to flail her skin, to grind every last morsel of her figure into the ground, where it would be laid to rest amongst the chilling valley. But the opportunities hastened and flew by, composure and restraints, taut, rigid restrictions upon his wayfaring soul, upon his loyal creeds, upon his lone virtues and benedictions, disregarded the bids of bloodthirsty warbles.

Instead, Deimos focused upon the frosty ground, the scrape of his teeth against her nape, the sudden, stinging rush of pain as she shoved her body upwards and met his parted jaw. The open maw was swiftly forced back into place, a nefarious click as enamel bore upon enamel, and he twisted his cranium right, shaking the meddlesome disturbance away, hoping to force the cursed onslaught of aches and anguish off into the distance. Moving towards the right, though slowed and dawdling due to the shambled left shoulder, saved him from the serrated edge of her sword, and the true ferocity and might of her following assault; the kick landed upon his left haunch, glancing off the end with a piercing, bruising formulation.

However, as he drifted, his frustration rose, clambering higher and higher until the depths of its vexation hastened towards his barbaric reticence, and the old ditty of chaos returned. It rang in clear, elegiac decibels, strung and curled, coiled and beguiled, smothering the length of his calculations into a swarming fathom of authority, promising, bewitching: show her. Coaxing, gliding, annihilating, a zealous, ferocious whisper in his ear: display the demonic fortitude of your wake, keen the ravaging manifest of your precision, and in one fell swoop, he gathered the ruminations of his satanic necromancy. A maddening pulse, gliding with his movements as he attempted to reach her right side again, not as swift, not as fast (for the injuries plagued, but the feelings were unrelenting), and he tried to swing the lacerating edge of his sword into her right flank. Infused in the loathing tempest was the toiling multitude of power, of demise, of quietus, singeing the brim of the lengthy rapier – though his intentions were not to summon a sudden slaughter or a quick execution. Instead, it built the legacy of his power, of his fortitude, of his malice and menace, and how, despite still being in the safety of his kingdom, she should never underestimate his prowess. He was the beast to be feared.

[Deimos is using the buffs SWIFT and BULK.
523 words. 2/3 posts + 1/1 magic used.
As he bites into her neck, the rush of her body lunging upwards causes his jaw to snap back into place, and he tosses his head, and body, towards the right, attempting to shake off the pain. Due to this prior movement, he avoids the point of her horn, but not her kick: it lands upon his left haunch and glances off the end of his flesh, another bruised portion of his body.

Frustrated, he channels his deadly magic into his movements, and attempts to reach her right side again. He swings his horn, funneling the deadly energy into it, towards her right flank.]

OOC Comments:

Yay, another post down. I’ll follow the same formula I had from before. ;D

I liked her emotion again, all of it is so very Illynx. From her barking, mad laughter, dark smiles, to wanting to show him that she’s capable, were all very nicely executed. I also noticed you attempted to simplify your sentences. Instead of stretching them out and putting way too many actions into one phrase, you’ve spaced them out nicely. Thank you.

Now, to work on.

Anatomy. There’s this moment: With any luck and swiftness on her behalf, her right shoulder would meet with his receding teeth, the irony of the action regardless of its outcome sending a thrill of humor through her, granting her something to focus on something other than the pleading that came from her bruised ribs. that left me confused. Deimos was aiming for her crest, which is the top of her neck. The shoulder is further down their body, as displayed here. Unless she is defying the laws of body formation, there is no way she could raise her shoulder to his jaw. You don’t state her moving upwards, which would make more sense (her having to lower her head, going upward in sort of a bounce motion, and even then, it would likely be the lower portion of her neck or withers hitting against him). Make sure that when you’re using defense maneuvers and tactics, and turning them into attacks (which I enjoyed), that they make sense.

Pain. You have the basic evidence that she suffers from Deimos’ attacks. Hardened by the testosterone that flooded his veins, the weight of his body dimpled the gold-streaked flesh that covered her rib cage, pushing her carefully balanced breath from her lungs in an audible whoosh that left the tingle of white light burning through the corner of her eyes. or The bruises are instant from the simultaneous blows; a low growl escaping her lips as she feels a few strands of her precious mane snap under the pressure of his incisors, the partially breathless bitch lunges back towards the grasp of the devil.. But I don’t see it afterwards. Being bruised and shoved around should leave her feeling a bit more haggard, not as quick or fast, labored and damaged in her movements. I’ve learned my lesson many a times over that you have to keep mentioning their anguish, their torment, their suffering to keep up with the realism. You may have blinding, white-hot pain, but – it doesn’t diffuse quickly thereafter.

Mention it in her movements, her attacks, her defenses. It needs to stay with her throughout the fight (unless she manages to find a way to heal herself ;D) to maintain authenticity and reality. Has she been slowed down? Can she move or maneuver as rapidly as before? Which side hurts to put weight upon? How is she hindered?

I think that about covers it. Good luck!






Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
#6
illynx,
It was fun to the wench, to writhe and wriggle in the throes of the most carnal form of dance known to her kind, though it still had not bled amusement upon her face; contorted, ugly, her features were sharp with concentration, no room in her heart for error in this fight. It was merely a practice session, not a true battle by any means, but never had a fight been so important to her. Even her virgin appearance as Lady of the Aurora Basin in the invasion upon the Edge had meant so much to golden laced mare, and her intent was writ across every inch of her slender frame. This man had not only been her senior among the ranks of warriors within their nefarious fold, but he had since then made himself a gleaming target on her field of vision, an impostor among the line of kings that had led their grand people. She would hold her tongue, to be assured, for the devil was apparently not the sort to hear words - more narrow minded than even herself, she found that every encounter she had held with the ebony bastard had left her with a sour taste in her mouth.

This experience with the Gilded Blade would return the element of unhappiness that he had sundered her with.

Her horn waved uselessly in the air like a maestro's baton as her upper shoulder sent his obsidian jaws clicking back together, the bruise formed upon the flesh from the impact flaring brightly as the throbs in her upper nape from where his teeth had met her flesh only moments before. Glee filled her at the sensation despite the lull of pain pressing in upon her, widening her temporary and baleful grin at the simple idea of the assault as her hooves struck true upon his muscular left thigh. She hoped it ripped the velvet hair from his skin, but such observations would have to wait - it would seem the Reaper had lost his control somewhere in between the clack of his enamels and the impact of her hind legs.

A ripple crossed the air and raised her curiosities, the bitch chancing a quick glance at the deep azure gaze of the stallion to find that it was devoid of what minute flickers of life had existed within them before. Ribs aching from the excursion of the cow kick, she couldn't manage to scuttle to the side fast enough despite her displeasure for the blatant sin that he was about to commit upon her. Her golden eyes blazed and narrowed, the pace of the unicorn duo's symphony suddenly catastrophically fast as the throbbing of her heart against her chest. The few seconds it took for the sapphire emblazoned horn to reach her flesh felt like an eternity in slow motion, and what struck her was even worse than the foreboding.

Vainly (she assumed) casting her own golden namesake to the side in hopes of gouging those hideously devoid eyes before he could touch her with his sinful rapier, the cries of her injured nape a faint noise to the true sound of horror that broke from her lips as she felt her already injured right side die at the cold, slithering touch. It was a sound of outrage, of agony, and she funneled all of her temporary terror and now full blown hate into the noise as it rose through the early morning, burning the pink tinged sky with it's atrocious lilt.

Crawling aside as the sensation rippled through her brain stem, golden legs dragging languorously through the heavy emerald grasses of her home even as she felt the limbs on her right side lose their ability to hold her weight. Dropping to her knees to avoid the embarrassment of completely collapsing, she feels the shudders rack her body; more painful than the talons of the dragon, the pain of finding her family broken and bloody on the late spring floor of the Edge, or the loss of her savior the Empress, Illynx raises her proud and watery eyes through the putrid agony to glare wickedly at the beast even while grasped in the throes of his disgusting lack of self control.

Mother fucking contemptible wretch, her brain gasped through the sensations seemingly shredding her to pieces, hoping it bled through the agonized disfigurements of her features and to her eyes that bore into his face, that he saw retribution written clearly in their metallic gleam.

[ 3/3 ; 761 ]
intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire

image credits
Table By Neo
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#7


The heated bolero stoked a meticulous, haunting beat, a crescendo of fortitude, a din of might, a resonating, pulsing, pervading stroke of rapacious rapture in the heart of their valley. It clung to the shackles of his Lucifer iniquities, unabashed, unrepentant, undaunted by the flare of banshee eyes or the malice contained amongst the vast corridors of her sinister stare – only an added number to the assembled masses who’d sneered at him in the same way. As he neared, as he set to display his dominion, she attempted one last sliver of hope and ingenuity, and he couldn’t yield from it. The minutest motion shackled his movements, swinging his head to the right for a few moments of precious time, taking her golden spear along the left portion of his nape, slicing skin, flesh, sinew and hair, the reeling persistence of pain searing across his eyes once more.

He’d wanted to show her his capabilities, his prowess, his power and mastery, fuel and channel it into understanding, comprehension. Death smothering trespassers, annihilation strangling the inept, the inane, the weak and the foolish, persuading breaths and beats to cease, for calamity to rise, for acrimony to simmer, brim, froth and foam, and perhaps, for her to truly decipher and fathom the depths of his ruthlessness. She was only saved by the glacial twists of their herd, of her dedication to their cadre, of her loyalty to the branches and boughs, the caverns and lake. Never rendered a full attack, not a slaughter, not a massacre, but the quiver of a heart line narrowed, taut and rigid, somehow became twisted into a ridiculous display. Her spark of outrage, her cry of indignation, spiraling them back to where they’d started, spouting nonsense and ignorance into the void of icy skies.

The GildedBlade dropped to her knees amongst the frosty wake, and if he were younger, a bit more brazen, he would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he ceased all movement and stared as her flaxen frame withered into the grounds, and considered his next actions. Had he truly unraveled her into such a fiendish state? He’d given Faelene and Arah the same sentiments, the same orchestration of power in the past, to which neither had cowered, fumbled or coiled into the earth. She’d delivered him blow upon blow, and the stinging barbs of aches and pains were still a dominating force, flashing each time he made one calculated stride (his haunches, his shoulder, and now his neck). Was this the full weight of her endurance, mettle and resilience? Was this a Queen of the Basin, pushed to her floor by a minute demonstration?

If she were any other creature, he would have ended her there.

A quick strike to the skull, a shove to the ground, a rising of daggers and puncturing blades, one sinister plunge of his rapier – the notion and motion would have been easy, effortless. But for another day, like all the passing hours (trespassers flung to their deaths, battles waged and scorned, herds defended time and time again), he saved her.

He didn’t attack, he didn’t assail, he didn’t assault. Instead, his movements, ghostly, slow, writhing things mauled and bludgeoned by her prior vexations, advanced towards her dropped frame, ignoring the layers of menace directed by her gaze. The deep, piercing slate of his vocals rang out over the battlefield, one solid command poised from the depths of his immorality, all he could muster from his aching jaw. “Get up.” He offered his injured, bruised left shoulder, tucking, storing, contorting the acrid rise of his enchantments into the gulley of his sinister veins, for another time, another place, where it could strive to annihilate again. The Reaper’s cranium gestured once towards the hot springs (rewarded with the crush of pain along his neck), a sudden spout of divinity amongst all their parallels of debauchery and satanic reverie. Along the heated grandeur, she could ease her wounds, and likely unleash her temper (and he could ignore it again, continue reviewing the art of cycles and idiocy), provide some temporary relief in the constant, unwinding storm she seemed to cultivate. Their points had been made, disassembled, and then disregarded.


[Deimos is using the buffs BULK and SWIFT.
698 words. 3/3 posts. 1/1 magic used.
As he nears Illynx to unwind his assault, he cannot miss her horn. He manages to swing his head towards the right, and the tip of her serrated edge scores along the left side of his nape, pulling off hair and skin, leaving a streak of pain and blood.

However, instead of attacking her fallen form, he tells her to get up and offers to take her to the hot springs close by. No attack is given.

Injuries: Severely bruised left shoulder, jaw, and haunch. The left side of his nape has also had hair torn off, and is left bleeding.]

OOC Comments:
Yikes, sorry this took so long!

To start off, Illynx’s emotions are still wonderful. She’s so irritated, and it comes across smoothly. You’ve also taken my critique from our prior posts and built in her pain, ensuring that its still there, and managing to describe the effects of Deimos’ magic upon her very convincingly.

So, what we still need to work on.

Taking more damage than necessary. There’s a fine line between how to measure attacks and how severe the damage should be, and I try to consider that in a spar, it shouldn’t be as much (unless it gets very heated), especially if its stated as such. I made sure to explicitly describe that Deimos did not get her a full dose, but we have Illynx now collapsing on the ground.

It’s completely your choice in reacting to an attack, but you also need to consider the weight and might behind it, and where it may leave you in scoring. Having your character collapse is usually a big no-no. I would consider it not out of the ordinary if this were a challenge or in circumstances where the damage would be greater, where the impacts would be stronger, etc. But at this point, Deimos had one more attack to go, and leaving Illynx on the ground, at his mercy, is foolish. Does it make for good drama? Absolutely. Does it seem very plausible? Eh, it could be a stretch. Ask yourself: does this make sense?

It would be the same as having your character break a leg mid-challenge/mid-spar. Do you want to give your opponent ample opportunity to crush you? Or are you gearing up for a big resurgence of strength? At this point, with only a defense to go, I would have avoided putting my character at their knees and waiting for the final blow. Had this been a challenge, neither Deimos nor myself would have hesitated to put in one more strike.

And just to be nit-picky:
Vainly (she assumed) casting her own golden namesake to the side in hopes of gouging those hideously devoid eyes before he could touch her with his sinful rapier, the cries of her injured nape a faint noise to the true sound of horror that broke from her lips as she felt her already injured right side die at the cold, slithering touch. It was a sound of outrage, of agony, and she funneled all of her temporary terror and now full blown hate into the noise as it rose through the early morning, burning the pink tinged sky with it's atrocious lilt. We know that Deimos’ attack hit, since you continue to describe the magic’s effects – but what about the edge of the horn? Did it puncture, bruise, bleed etc.? Don’t forget to describe all of the assaults occurring - otherwise it looks like a dropped attack.

For your final defense post, make sure to include all of your injuries, have Illynx reflect on them, etc. Best of luck, and thank you for allowing me this opportunity! I’ve been very pleased to see how you’ve taken my advice and applied it to your writing. :)





Illynx the GildedBlade Posts: 413
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 3
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 13 HP: 67.5 | Buff: ENDURE
Kyst :: Common Griffon :: Zapping Jab Bunnie
#8
illynx,
It was not only pain that brought her to the floor as much as it was the raging that now ensued with in her heart; at her hooves, the pieces of the life she had painstakingly painted were being buffeted across the grass by the breeze, particles of glitter dancing through the air. Surely, her side ached from the impact of horn, body, and magic, her neck was sore, and she expected Deimos to understand very little of what had sent her down into the arms of the Valley.

Inside her chest, it felt as if her heart was going to explode. At first, she accredited the sensation to the magic that had been used on her, but even in the short time it took for her to howl her outrage into the heavens, the pain from the horn grew lesser. It would seem to her, as she lay there with tears poised in the corner of her hatefully narrowed eyes, that her fall to her knees had risen from her desire to murder the man who had just dared cross the invisible boundaries that she felt should be there for her, or any others who chose to spar with the devilish black.

But she didn’t want to be like he was.

What other option did she have but to toss and turn, a child’s tantrum on the lush grasses beneath her body? It was not as if she could just bring him death and maintain any validity in her disgust of him at this moment – no, she wouldn't be a Reaper, a wrathful and useless man of decay.

She snarls most viciously as the man draws closer to her, already half way to her hooves in disgust of their proximity before his voice escapes his damnable mouth.

Get up, that wretched voice says, the one that she has blamed for the unraveling of her finest cloaks and stabbing out the feathers from all her pillows, and her dark tresses fan and spray about her even as her ribs groan savagely under the weight she has placed on them. In comparison, the bruise on her nape is child’s play, though she doubts she’ll be pleased with her new hairstyle in any way, shape, or form. She is pleased to see the red drip down the smooth black of his nape, but it does not fill the holes that have perforated her life ever since this man's rise to power; his blood could not create another Psyche for her to cling to, it could not weave for her a thicker curtain behind which to hide, and it couldn't change the facts at hand that she felt the man was more suited to his former station. It couldn't change that the pair had only fought, creating nothing for their herd in all their loathing of one another.

All she had wanted in those weeks past was a conversation, a resolution to this ugly hatred she felt towards the stallion. Instead, she had been ignored, and had been pleasantly happy to have the man accept a spar, hoping it might ease their ill will in some way. All she was returned for her efforts was this repulsive display of power to a woman who was fully aware of it's existence beforehand.

It doesn’t take her long to get back on her feet. It never has, really. She just wishes that by rising, he will fall down into whatever chasm he was born from.

I’d sooner walk out of Helovia itself with a band of fools and pegasi, she thinks to herself as makes a silent spat at his hooves, neck cringing with the sudden motion of her crown as she turned away his offered shoulder. She would normally fuss and throw her insults his way, attempt to let him see her anger, but in this case – she already knew that it would be a more useful attempt to barter with a stone. There was less soul in this ingrate than in a boulder, anyway. ”Don’t ever come near me again,” she warns, her words broken by the heaves of her sides and the sobs she barely controls, though her eyes portray the seriousness of her credence. She steps the opposite direction from the springs, her newest formulations requiring that she find the keystone that left her so weak as to succumb from an emotional overload as she just had.

If he stabs her in the back as she walks away, it won't be for a lack of expectation on her behalf.

[ Closing Defense : 782 Words ;
Injuries: Illynx's right side (all along ribs) is heavily bruised, her upper shoulder has a small but deep bruise, and her neck is bruised where she was bitten and she is missing a lock of hair in the same upper neck area. Knees are lightly bruised from landing on them. ]
intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire

image credits
Table By Neo
Magic/assault allowed to be used on Illynx at any time, in so far as it does not kill or seriously maim her without my permission. 

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#9


D e i m o s | I l l y n x
- - - - -
By my verdict DEIMOS is the winner.
Deimos receives 2 VP for completing a teaching spar.


ILLYNX -- post 1 (attack only)

[Realism]
+ 1| Attack: Feints, and bucks at Deimos
+ 1| Defense: Clamping her tail down so that he couldn't bite it. but she was quite proud of her physical blessings, especially her black locks. -- lol
0| Attack: Horn smack to Deimos - no mention of which side.

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion.
+ 1| Flow.
+ 1| Easy read.

DEIMOS -- post 1

[Realism]
+ 1| Injury: Illynx's kick.
+ 1| Injury: Horn attack to his side
+ 1| Attack:Tries to ram into her right side
+ 1| Attack: Bite towards her crest


[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion: THIS. Unfortunately, when sparring with his own brethren, he couldn’t afford the complete, distorted grandeur of his vigor, of his mutiny, of his barbarity, and so they were shown pieces, snippets, and fragments of his prowess – rarely, unless truly irked and incised, would he layer and lacquer his patriots in the whole fortitude of his loathing and contempt. SO GOOD.
+ 1| Flow.
+ 1| Easy read:

Illynx -- post 2

[Realism]
- 1| Injury: Getting shoved: I think your directions were off here. Deimos is on her right, she on his left. He knocks into her right shoulder, which would push her to the left, but you say right. Deimos is also using buff - but you just describe her as having the wind knocked out of her, without any pain, or attention to the buff Heather mentioned.
+ 1| Injury: Deimos' bite.
0| Attack: Shoves into Deimos' bite - Heather covered this in her comments. Had you just written that she shoved into him, I would have given you the point. However Heather was specific in her attack.
+ 1| Defense: Turns her horn inward to deter a horn attack
+ 1| Attack: Cow kicks to the right.


[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion.
+ 1| Flow.
0| Easy read:

DEIMOS -- post 2

[Realism]
+ 1| Injury: Shoulder to his teeth, during the bite.
+ 1| Injury: Cow kick hitting his left haunch.
+ 1| Attack: Horn to right side
+ 1| Attack: Magic use in horn attack.

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion.
+ 1| Flow.
+ 1| Easy read.

ILLYNX -- post 3

[Realism]
0| Injury: Horn to her side - is it bleeding? Was the cut deep?
+ 1| Injury: Great description of Deimos' magic!
0| Attack: Was this supposed to be an attack? Vainly (she assumed) casting her own golden namesake to the side in hopes of gouging those hideously devoid eyes before he could touch her with his sinful rapier. This was not spelled out obviously enough. In a judging system that is based on attacks and replies, referring to her horn as 'her golden namesake' is far too vague to be considered an attack in this context.

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion.
+ 1| Flow.
+ 1| Easy read.

DEIMOS -- post 3

[Realism]
+ 1| Injury: Illynx's horn attack before his magic.

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion.
+ 1| Flow.
+ 1| Easy read.

ILLYNX -- post 4 (defense only)

[Realism]
No final attack from Deimos, so no closing defense.


DEIMOS

[Bonus]
+ 1| Breed.
+ 1| Terrain.

[Injuries]
+1| : Least injured.

[Creativity]
Nothing of note.

Comments: Great spar Heather! I think you wrote Deimos very well here, although there were times I felt myself wanting to know more about what he thought of Illynx, etc. Great description and response to injuries that he sustained!

ILLYNX

[Bonus]
+ 1| Breed.
+ 1| Terrain.

[Injuries]
Nothing of note.

[Creativity]
Nothing of note.

Comments: I think Heather gave you really great feedback, and most of it was spot on. Using this system of sparring, you need to be really explicit about 1. Where/How you're attacking and 2. How attacks hit you. I found myself re-reading things, trying to pick out injury, or trying to decide if you were attacking or not. You can be as descriptive and metaphorical as you want when describing scenery, motivation, emotion, etc., but when it comes to attacking, clearer is better!

TOTAL
Deimos- 71
Illynx- 65

Image Credit: dirkjankraan @ Flickr


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