the Rift


[JUDGED] cavalier youth

Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#1



t y r a d o n

FIRE AND BLOOD!

The cave glimmers like a promise, and as the beast gets closer he sees his own rugged features reflected back at him.

His massive frame shifts through the cavern, hooves creating a series of heavy thunks on the stone ground. Cynder glides above him, her emerald scales glittering magnificently in the half-light of the crystal room. Her flame-tail illuminates the embedded gems, and she curiously lands on a ledge to examine the precious stones. She digs her claws into the edge of one of the gems, attempting to prise it free, but finds it stuck fast. She chirrups her displeasure, and opens her vicious jaws to release a red-hot plume of flame. It tickles the gems, but even as she shuts her greedy maw and cuts off the fire, the crystals remain unharmed and glittering innocently in the walls. With a huff of disgust, the dragoness takes flight, circling to land neatly on Tyradon's muscular rump.

The beast reaches the centre of the cave, glancing down at the floor beneath him. It is glasslike and reflective, with a possibility of slippiness. His tangled tail whips his powerful flanks as he stands and turns to the entrance to the cavern, ensuring he cannot be taken by surprise by a coward's attack from the rear. He is spoiling for a fight; he hungers to test himself against the natives of Helovia, to ensure he keeps in top condition for the battles that will undoubtedly follow. When he and Confutatis' plans come to fruition - when they launch their takeover and slicken the ground with blood - he will need to be in top shape. The warlord's thick neck arches, a steaming breath fleeing his nostrils as he waits; he half-hopes it is an abomination that he can pound the life out of, rather than having to restrain himself against a fellow equine. His teeth gnash in preparation and one plate-sized hoof paws at the ground, Cynder's wings spreading to release a screech of anticipation.

Today, somebody will burn.

""

____________________

@[Déodat]

Usual 800 words, magic and companions fine to use, set in the Crystal Cavern. You can go first if you want C:

0/3


[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]

Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx
#2
déodat,

The Blood Prince was hungry, a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied with food. No, it was deeper rooted. It had been far too long since he had tasted of a weaklings blood. Many months had passed since he felt the sword of his enemy penetrate his flesh. He was an agitated tiger trapped within a stone cage. Alongside this agitation was an unquenchable rage. Someone or something had to taste of his wrath or he would surely burst. The rage pent up inside was growing with each passing second and couldn’t be contained. He moved with a deadly grace. The very expression written upon his face could kill with a single glance. His eyes revealed the very fire within his soul.

Around him the cavern walls began to grow decorated with vivid stones. Déodat paid them no mind as he continued on forward. The scent of another filled his nostrils. It was foreign and strange. He stepped toward them, his hoofbeats echoing off making a soft clip clop sound. A short distance away stood an equine, a piece of hornless filth. At the creatures side was a scaled monster. Such a shame proud beasts like that would tie their souls to the polluted blood of equines. Proud creatures deserved so much more. They deserved the pure blood of the unicorn, untainted by the blood of birds, and without the defect inherited by equines. This creature was proud, that much the Blood Prince could see. Whether his strength matched his arrogance was to be seen.

Déodat snorted and pawed the ground slowly, and he gave out a snort. If his opponent was to give a show, so would he. The Blood Prince gave out a loud neigh, a battle cry, a song of raging passion and wicked bloodlust. An excitement sweltered up beside the rage. Blood would be spilled and the prince and the rodent would clash. Unlike the Basin, which had shown its weakness, the Blood Prince would rise above and grind his opponents bones to dust and make the sky rain blood instead of rain.

For a moment he simply waited to see if the opposing brute would take the first strike. When none came, Déodat seized the opportunity. With a burning hunger in his eyes he lunged forward. The sound of hoofbeats rang throughout the air alongside his soft breaths. Slowly he lowered his horn, and as he drew closer to his opponent, he thrust his head upward in an attempt to slice up starting at the other stallion’s breast.

"Speech speech speech"


[1/3
0/1
Summary:
1. Déodat lunges forward and tries to slice upward beginning at Tyradon's neck.]


image credits
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#3



t y r a d o n

FIRE AND BLOOD!

"Someone coming."

His dragon's mental voice jerks him from his reverie of preparation, and immediately he is alert; ears pivot, searching for any sign of approaching hoofbeats, any sign of a surprise attack. Then he sees who his opponent will be, and his ears slam backwards, losing themselves in his mane. His silver eyes flash with unadulterated fury, a bellow of loathing escaping his clenched jaws. Cynder shrieks, her serpentine neck lifting high as she bugles her own battlecry into the caverns, her flame-tipped tail lashing with such vigour that her bestial bonded can feel the hair on his back burning to ash.

The abomination looses his own war-cry, and Tyradon sends a stallion's scream of authority into the heavens. One massive hoof collides with the stone ground below with a deafening crack, his tail smacking his flanks. He wants to kill - he needs to. To calm himself - as only fools rush in - he quickly drinks in the other's appearance; marginally smaller than himself, although not enough for it to be noteworthy. That in itself is remarkable, as the warlord has grown accustomed to unicorns being dainty, fragile little things, not titans to match his own gargantuan size. Then, of course, there is the horn - that hideous spike of a stunted mind. His swift assessment complete, the crownless king lunges forwards at the same time his opponent does - he sees the other's skull dip, sees that ugly shard of a mongrel lower like a javelin. Tyradon throws his weight to his left, but his massive size ensures agility isn't his strong suit; he feels the horn rasp through his flesh, creating a long, deep laceration on his heavily muscled right shoulder. Blood oozes, pain spasms, and hatred reigns.

Begrudingly, he thinks that a horn - foul as it is - is a useful tool to have.

But he cuts that train of thought off like a weed; he has no respect for the horned mutts, or their repugnant pretuberances. They think they are so superior because of that shard atop their skulls - as much as Tyradon loathes pegasi, he holds a special circle of hatred within his soul for unicorns, and he will see to it that this particular unicorn flees this battle with his tail between his legs like a kicked dog. He has no concept of mercy, of pulling his punches because this is a spar; if he sees an opening, a possibility to rid the world of one of its vermin, then he will seize it like a starving man. Already he is picturing the other stallion's skull, mounted like a trophy in the cave he has made his home; he pictures the flesh peeling away under the searing heat of his war-dragon's fire, leaving naught but the bare bones of the creature beneath.

He pictures death to this unicorn - this man who he doesn't know, who has done nothing to irk him aside from being born. He pictures it, because it is all he knows.

Cynder shrieks her fury as she feels her bonded's pain, throwing herself upwards and circling the battling horses like a sentinel, waiting for her moment to strike. The light of her flaming tail bounces off the crystals that dot the walls, and the leviathan narrows his eyes marginally against the glare. Tyradon continues to barrel forwards until he is hopefully running parallel to the unicorn, right side to right side. He arrests the momentum in his forequarters, using his front hooves as pivots; his hindlegs continue to swing to his left around them, until he hopes to face Déodat's right side in a T-shape. The warmaster throws his weight forwards, using every ounce of power in his muscled hindquarters to give him the force of a freight train as he aims to crash his thick chest into his opponent's right ribcage, leading slightly with the left side to lessen any contact with his now-injured right shoulder. He hopes to unbalance his marginally smaller foe, to crush him, to dominate him. His jaws do not sit idle; simultaneously to his charge, his teeth snap forwards in the hope of peppering Déodat's right side and back with bites, ears lost in the thick black folds of his mane as he launches nip after nip in the direction of his foe.

Cynder bellows her approval, a sound that echoes in the confined space. Like her bestial bonded, she is picturing the kill, the wanton slaughter of this horned creature - her mind has been so warped during its time tied to Tyradon that she knows naught but the hatred that flows through him like molten fire, and knows only that she likes it.

""

____________________


775/800

Summary: Darts to his left, then turns to try and face Deo's right side. Charges forwards, trying to slam his chest into Deo's right ribcage whilst he aims bites at his side and back.

1/3


[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]

Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx
#4
déodat,

Both of their battle cries filled the air with a harmony of rage, and it was a beautiful sound to the Blood Prince’s ears. It meant war was at hand. Déodat can see his opponent coming and toward them. The beast stepped to the left, but not far enough to his own pleasure. Déodat felt his horn pierce through skin and he could see the blood on the tip of his horn. Finally he was finding release for his built up rage. The Blood Prince also was being given the opportunity to bleed out a vermin hornless. Every fiber of his being felt only sheer hatred toward the black beast, an unadulterated hatred that was aimed specifically at his opponent’s kind. Equines were liars, betrayers, and defective. The lies of the equine clan had proven that when his clan fell to their enemies. Whether this beast was one of them or not mattered little, he was of the same kind and had the same polluted blood pumping through his veins.

A loud screech escaped from the dragon’s lips. Was the connection between the bonded pair as deep as that? Did they truly feel the same burning pain? Good, Déodat decided. The reptile deserved the suffering. It had been the one foolish enough to bind it’s soul to the lesser beings of the world. May it die beside it’s dull beast of a soul mate. At some point the Blood Prince decided he would have to go after the dragon. The glare it’s tail caused made him have to narrow his eyes slightly to prevent the glow from fully blinding him.

The equine continued to charge forward, and Déodat glanced over at the other beast they began to stand parallel to one another. He could see his opponent beginning to shift, and Déodat used his slightly smaller stature to his advantage and attempted to increase his speed slightly. This didn’t benefit him much in the end as he felt the black beast smash into the lower portion of his ribs and teeth sink into his back. Déodat felt himself stumble to the side and for a split second panic filled him at the thought of collapsing at the feet of this behemoth. Once he had regained composure he felt a fiery passion burning up inside. Hatred was turning into pure loathing. This equine would get on his knees. What had once been a simple need to release rage became so much more. This was becoming a battle for pride. This stallion wouldn’t forget his face. If they were ever to meet again, Déodat would ensure so much fear was stricken into this creature that it would make the behemoth piss himself with terror.

Despite his near fall, Déodat turned his body so then he was hopefully facing his opponent, if his opponent hadn’t moved he would be standing rather than face to face, slightly to the right. A snort escaped from his lips and he pawed at the ground slightly, a taunt and a jeer as a slow smirked passed over his lips, even a creature as simple as an equine could pick up on the message. Is that all you’ve got? Déodat was enraged, but it didn’t cloud his mind or judgment, it simply motivated him. There was a single purpose behind such a taunt, to get his enemy so pissed off his judgment was clouded. To some that may be regarded as a dirty tactic, but any honor he once had died alongside his family and friends.

Once his taunt ceased, Déodat lunged forward heading toward the stallion’s right side. He turned his head as he ran and raised it slightly aiming for the slightly taller stallion’s face. Soon this fool would see that no warrior could fight without a sword. The behemoth of course had his snake, but that creature wasn’t an asset he had been born with, the might was the dragon not his. All this beast had was tooth, hoof, and his size. Déodat had all that and more. His horn was both crown and weapon. It told of his right to rule and had been a weapon in many a battle. Without it he would be no better than his opponent, and that also made him careful with it. Such a treasure needed to be protected with great care.

After aiming his aiming his horn toward his opponent he swerved his body to the left, so then his hindquarters would hopefully be aimed toward the other stallion. With every force he had, he lifted himself up onto hindlegs and flung out both of his hooves aiming toward his opponent’s right shoulder.


[
2/3
0/1
WC: 776
Summary:
1. Déodat nearly stumbles and then turns to face his opponent standing slightly to the right. He then lunges forward turning his head hoping to strike at his opponent's face.
2. After lunging he turns around and then attempts to kick Tyra.]
"Speech speech speech"


image credits
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#5



t y r a d o n

FIRE AND BLOOD!

Bites rain down, each one sending a jolt of satisfaction through the dragon king's bloodstream. His chest, too, finds its mark, but unfortunately he fails in bringing the vermin to his knees. The stumble isn't enough, although it does send a small spasm of pleasure through him. Tyradon expects absolute submission; he will settle for nothing less, and Cynder sends images of unicorn throats ripped open, mongrel blood staining the stone ground. His foe turns to face him, and the leviathan twists marginally to the left, to ensure they are fully face-to-face and Déodat hopefully is no longer angled towards the beast's right side.

He expects an immediate attack, but none comes; instead the other stallion attempts to taunt, to rile the black beast into a frenzy. It fails - the warbringer's mind is too controlled, his concentration too immense, for him to allow himself to be distracted. He simply quirks a brow, scarred face expressionless, betraying no emotion - even his bubbling hatred is trapped beneath the surface, allowed to simmer but not to show, save for the cold determination behind his silver eyes. If this is the despicable lengths the stunted-minded creature will go to in order to gain an advantage, then the warlord takes it as a compliment, a testiment to his evidently formidable appearance and talents.

In his mind, he sees Cynder crossing to the far side of the cave, behind their opponent; like a chess piece she takes her position, circling like a vulture as she awaits Tyradon's command to strike.

The scum comes at him, that hideous tool of his wielded like a grotesque pillar atop his head; the beast hauls his rippling form a step to his right, feeling the tip of the horn rasp across his left cheek. It narrowly misses his eye, and leaves a bloody trail of destruction across the taut flesh of his skull, crimson oozing down the lines of his face and into the puckered scar from his previous unicorn encounter. That too-familiar pain spasms, and the hellion sends a mental scream to his war-dragon; NOW! Silently, an angel of death, the demonic reptile swoops, approaching from behind the unicorn until the very last moment, when she performs a half-circle to try and fly beneath Déodat's right side. Her canvas wings pivot to slow herself and she seeks to take advantage of his blind spot to attack unannounced, whilst he is attacking Tyradon's face; her head twists to her left, mouth gaping, and her bonded can feel her macabre pleasure as an orange belch of fire blooms from between her ravenous jaws. She directs the torrent at the area that hangs beneath the unicorn's thighs, red-hot tongues of flame seeking to ravage the stallion's genitals and ensure the vermin never again feels the satisfaction of a woman beneath him, or sates the desires of his loins by thrusting another hideous horned offspring into a willing womb. Her jaws slam shut with a snick and she redoubles her speed, hoping to fly out from beneath the abomination before he can trample her, flame-tail thrashing like a serpentine rudder beneath her in the hope of dragging the fiery tip across his underbelly as she retreats.

If she can geld one member of the lesser species, purge him with her flame, then it is a job well done for the dragoness.

His opponent turns, but his movement is not instantaneous and Tyradon seizes the chance to lunge forwards and to his right, causing his foe's hindhooves to clatter into his heavily-muscled right flank instead. It aches and the thick sinews bruise and tense, but the leviathan forces aside the pain for now as he seeks to run parallel with Déodat, facing the same way with his right side to Déodat's left. He hopes to seize advantage of the time it should take for his opponent to return his hooves to the ground, and he throws his weight to the right; he aims to crash his right shoulder into his foe's left one, trying to push the creature over sideways. His bloodstained skull twists to his right, aiming bites towards the left side of Déodat's face, hoping to pepper the region with more sharp nips to cause as much pain as he possibly can.

The warlord's breath comes in even huffs, only slightly haggard from the exertion; he prides himself on his stamina, but the heavy bleeding on his face is sending constant stabs of pain through his body. He cares little, though, so focused is he on ending this foul creature that has chosen to tangle with him. He feels no anger, no joy, only detatched determination to rise victorious - and, if he can, do his part to rid Helovia of its gruesome infestation.

""

____________________


791/800

Summary: Whilst Deo is attacking Tyra's face, Cynder tries to swoop beneath his right side and set Deo Junior on fire. Tries to run parallel with Deo and tries to crash his right shoulder into his left, whilst trying to bite his face.

Also I wasn't sure if Deo attacked with his forelegs or hindlegs? As you say you hope his hindquarters would be facing Tyra, but then that he lifts onto his hindlegs? I figured you meant he kicked out with his hindlegs so I hope I understood properly <33

2/3


[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]

Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx
#6
déodat,


There was no reaction from the beast, a slight disappointment really, it would’ve brought great pleasure to see the brute seethe with rage. Déodat remained oblivious to the serpent flying behind him, his focus was far too heavily set upon the equine, and so far the creature hadn’t done more than shriek. Of course he wouldn’t underestimate the power of such a thing, the Blood Prince knew full well what sort of damage a dragon’s fire could inflict.

As the Blood Prince charged at his opponent, he could feel his crown once again began to break skin. May it be a permanent reminder to the mongrel of this battle. Sweet satisfaction rolled inside of him. Every time this brute gazed at his reflection he would see the scar. A tattoo upon his flesh., one could even goes as far as to say an autograph from Déodat. This brute should be thanking him for the mark, it meant he gave enough shits inflict such pain. Not everyone could say they had dueled the soldier from the north. Though his pleasurable thoughts ceased as he heard the sounds of wings, and dared to glance over and saw nothing, but his sense of hearing helped him decipher the location of the beast. She was beneath him, and not only that she was nearing places, that may not often be used, but most definitely needed to remain in tact. In a desperate attempt to save his precious manhood, he flung up his hindquarters slightly in a half-buck. Pain shot through his back from the previous blows he had received. Much to his sheer relief, the flames simply singed fur along the inside of his legs. Baby Déo still had hope of being born.

Relief washed over him as he watched the serpentine lady flee from his underside. There would be no further attempts at his groin it seemed. At least he hoped so. Never had he encountered an opponent set on castrating him. It was peculiar thought and very well would make a humorous story in the future. That was the future though, and this was the present. In the present, it made Déodat feel, full of utter contempt toward the stallion, whether he ordered such a thing or not. Only the weakest of men would strike at something so precious. This just made him desire to crush the rodent even more.

Again a wave of delight hit him as he felt his hooves hit flesh. It wasn’t the weak spot he had aimed for, but Déodat would take what he had been given and be content with the blow. He could hear the sound of his hooves hitting the stones, making a soft clack. His opponent was coming toward him and with the small amount of time he had, Déodat flung himself forward barely missing the hulking frame that had been heading toward him. The Blood Prince could feel his breaths coming in heavily. It had been far too long since he had exerted himself in such a way. The spots that had been bitten and bruised were beginning to ache. His muscles and lungs cried out for rest. But he wasn’t to the point of sheer exhaustion yet. There was still more left within him and Déodat wasn’t finished with his foe. Bleeding or not, the equine wasn’t dead and that was the only form of equine he could truly appreciate.

Déodat steered his body back toward the stallion so then he was coming up from the side. Something inside him set on this being the final blow and the final opportunity to conquer and subjugate. He headed straight for his opponent once more, hoping he would be charging at his opponent heading toward his large sides. This would be it! This would be the final blow and he hoped to watch the monster before him collapse onto the floor dead. Or even better, have the prideful brute fall onto his knees and beg for mercy. As he hopefully drew closer to his opponent’s side he shifted his gait from a canter to a gallop hoping to embed his horn into the brute’s right ribcage. Déodat wasn’t a mindless killer. A soldier with no opposition to death, but perhaps he would let the brute run away. That portion of him that sought domination cried out in protest, but his mind flew back to the skyrats and hornless who had helped him. Would killing a capable soldier benefit them in defeating the wraith’s? No, it wouldn’t. Mortally wounding him on the other hand would leave him alive and still give Déo the pleasure of crushing him beneath his hoof.

It was a bitter compromise, but admittedly Déo hated wraiths more than his opponent.

[WC: 790
3/3 0/1
Summary: Déo charges forward in hopes of embedding his horn into Tyra's side.

Oh my, I am so sorry about that. You deciphered it perfectly, I just didn't proof read it =I]
"Speech speech speech"


image credits
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#7



t y r a d o n

FIRE AND BLOOD!

Coward!

Cynder's voice rings in his head, a dragon's shriek fleeing her jaws as she fails to do anything but scorch fur - he keeps his manhood, able to forward his repugnant bloodline. The beast, too, is left frustrated as the vermin avoids his barrage of attacks, and he allows a hiss of disgust to flee his clenched teeth as they snap shut on naught but air; he nips his tongue between them, and feels the crushing pain shoot through his mouth. He stumbles in the absence of the unicorn's body, and as he regains his balance he feels a tightening in the hard muscle of a foreleg, the swift movement jarring the tense area. Hatred boils, tail lashing against his flanks and ears pinning as he seizes the opportunity to drag a rasping breath into his burning lungs - the slippery little fucker is giving as good as he gets. Tyradon vastly prefers the ones that simply bow, beg for his mercy and submit to their maker as he spills the blood from their delicate throats - he loathes the ones who insist on fighting back, despite the futility of it.

It is like a cockroach standing up to a lion - no matter how much of a fight it puts up, it will be crushed.

Sweat coats the stallion's muscular neck and beads between his heaving thighs as he follows the creature's movements, watching him run towards him with that thing angled towards his right side - with a feral snarl of concentration the hellion lunges forwards, feeling Déodat pass behind him an inch away from skewering his backside. Tyradon loses no time in throwing his weight forwards onto his forelegs, wincing at the spasm of pain from his earlier shoulder wounds; his hindhooves unfurl like pistons from beneath his quarters and kick sharply behind him, aiming to slam his opponent squarely in the right ribcage. He hopes Déodat will not be able to arrest his forwards momentum in time to dodge out of the way, and wants to feel his heavy draft hooves shatter the bones of the lesser man - the massive feathered plates erupt from beneath him with the force of a freight train, with maximum damage intended. He wants to hear the screams as fragments of bone pierce heaving lungs, he wants to watch the blood bubble out of the abomination's mouth and see the light die in his eyes.

"End him," he mentally demands of Cynder and, like any good soldier, she obeys.

She does not go for the same area; this time the emerald war-dragon soars towards Déodat's face, flying low and aiming to come up from below, so as to avoid that hideous horn of his. Her limbs gape and she aims to grip firmly around the unicorn's face, her right forepaw seeking to sink its feral claws into Déodat's left eye, and her left one into his right. The honed, razor-sharp talons of her hooked fingers hope to rip those beautiful blue orbs free from their sockets, to leave the scum blind and howling. Her jaws do not sit idle, either, and another white-hot torrent of flame escapes them, seeking to set the man's forelock alight as well as scorch the entirety of his handsome face - perhaps she can even melt his horn, see if she can render him normal. Her flame-tail flicks upwards, hoping to hook beneath the vermin's chin and burn that, too. Tyradon can feel her pulsing rage, throbbing like a heartbeat in his mind; she is not as controlled as he, perhaps due to her newly-regressed age and mental state. She is reckless and dangerous, and revels in the simple pleasure of battle, in the spilling of blood and ending of lives - her bonded is more battle-worn, more hardened to the excitement of war. He sees it as his duty, now, more than an enjoyable passtime; Nieque placed him on this earth and gave him his dragon and his magic so he could purge, exterminate the vermin and ensure the purity of the equine race. It is a job; a calling.

That isn't to say he doesn't enjoy it, though. And when Déodat's head rolls by his feet, he will give himself a moment of macabre pleasure.

His hooves return to the ground and he turns, not willing to let the unicorn have a free shot at his rear end; his breath comes in quick draughts and froth coats the corner of his muzzle, exhaustion plaguing every hardened muscle. The warlord's blood is pumping; it has been eight long months since a unicorn last fought back against the inevitable, and it has tested him well. And, if the jade death in the form of his war-dragon can permanently scar the creature's foul facade, then he will be a happy man indeed.

""

____________________


799/800

Summary: Moves forwards and tries to kick Deo in the right ribcage with his hindlegs. Cynder tries to gouge his eyes out with her claws and set his face on fire.

Don't worry about it! Great fight <33

3/3


[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]

Déodat Posts: 174
Absent Abyss atk: 3.5 | def: 10 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 hands :: 12 HP: 67.5 | Buff: NOVICE
Odette :: White German Shepherd :: None Minx
#8
déodat,

There was no satisfying sword meeting flesh. Instead, he brushed by the stallion by mere inches. Frustration and rage sweltered up inside of him. How could this fucking behemoth escape from his horn? There was no time to dwell on such things. Later he could brood and let his pride fester a bit. His body was tiring and he knew he would only be a matter of time before it would be reaching exhaustion and running upon adrenaline alone. He felt himself bolt onward and the blow of his opponent’s hooves graze across his tail. Silent relief hit him at the thought of having those two clubs strike into his flesh. Those would be wounds that most definitely would hurt in the morning and probably for several mornings afterward. As the stallion drew passed his opponent, he realized it may be slightly difficult to stop. Coming to a screeching halt would be foolish he knew, but he better stop soon since a wall was waiting to greet him. All at once Déodat slammed down his hooves and he felt himself skid forward from the slick stones beneath, and the force caused him to trip slightly. His right front leg fell down toward the stones below and a good portion of his weight fell upon that single knee. Pain shot through him and he winced. Such a position left him vulnerable, so he swiftly pushed himself up. Again a wave of pain hit, but this time in his back from the bruises that had formed.

Sweat dripped down his sides and his breaths were coming in heavily. A decision was coming and he knew the time to end it would be soon. Déodat was the soldier who was relentless and bold upon the battlefield. He wouldn’t bow unless his neck was spilling out blood and his lungs had given out their final breath. At the same time, there were battles worth fighting until the very end, and others that must end while he was ahead, and this particular spar was one that was destined to end before a death. Truly it was disappointing to leave this hornless pauper to wander another day. There would be another dawn to give the brute the guillotine. His horn would be given the glory of letting the monster’s head roll. For now though, he would let the beast live for the sake of survival and any chance at winning the war against the beasts.

As much as the Blood Prince wished for the call of war to end for the moment, it wasn’t. The serpentine creature wasn’t through with him, and he saw it coming. As the creature came toward his face he lowered his head and he could feel the heat of it’s foul flame above his head. Instinct screamed for him to retaliate and desecrate the beast into carrion and be food for the vultures. One day Déodat would slay the foul snake, this he vowed upon the blood of his father. One day this behemoth and it’s dragon would all into his grasp.

“Enough,” Déodat commanded glaring at him, his voice laced with breathiness due to his oncoming exhaustion. “I’ll let you go hornless, only because I hate those damned wraiths more than you.” With that, he trotted off down another passage way. His ears turned behind him in case his foe chose to come upon him once more.

"Speech speech speech"

[WC: 567
3/3 1/1]

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

By my verdict: DEODAT is the winner!

TYRADON
Realism [+2]
He arrests the momentum in his forequarters, using his front hooves as pivots; his hindlegs continue to swing to his left around them, until he hopes to face Déodat's right side in a T-shape. I'm not really sure Tyradon would have had enough time to do all of this and then still jump forward to try and attack Deo. Definitely make sure to keep in mind that Tyradon is quite large and speed is not one of his finer qualities.
 the demonic reptile swoops, approaching from behind the unicorn until the very last moment, I know Deodat has already stated his position, but since you're basically doing a counter attack this point, introducing new information to the spar that would have previously been unknown, just be cautious about giving absolute locations relative to your opponent.
She directs the torrent at the area that hangs beneath the unicorn's thighs, This was borderline power-play for me, based on the fact that it was already questionable whether the dragon would have been under Deodat or not, but I didn't necessarily count off for it. Tried to direct her flame, or tried to aim her flame might have been better choices in this case!
:: You mention taking Deodat's horn attack to the face on Tyradon's left side, but then your next injury comes on the right side. Make sure to double check your directions.
 Tyradon loses no time in throwing his weight forwards onto his forelegs, With Deodat galloping, I really don't think Tyradon would have enough time to jump forward and then kick out at him. Remember that Tyradon is fairly large and his agility and speed are only 4.
:: Overall, I thought you primarily needed to spend more time describing the damage that Tyradon took and maintaining that damage throughout the entirety of the fight. Most of Deodat's attacks were mentioned once but the damage never came into play later on in the fight.


Emotion [+2.5]
:: I thought you did a really excellent job not only writing about Tyradon's feelings, but really making me feel them. The only time I really lost it was during your defense/attack sequence in post two, as it got a little confusing and difficult to read.


Prose [+4.5]
:: You're writing was excellent and I noticed few, if any, errors. It was simply a pleasure to read. The only problem I had was the attack/defense sequence in post two. I hate to keep taking points off for it, but it was so confusing to me that it really affected every portion of the rubric.


Readability [+1.5]
:: The defense/attack sequence in the second post was very confusing to me and I spent quite a bit of time reading and re-reading to try and figure out exactly what was going on. A lot of my confusion had to do with directions, as you started by saying the attack was on the left side but later you are taking damage on the right side, but the wording was sometimes difficult to follow as well.


Finally tally: 17+10.5= 27.5HP

:: Overall, I thought you did rather well, considering the array of low dice rolls that littered the end of this fight. Other than what is written above, my primary complaint is that your font size is excessively small. I had to have the page zoomed in quite far to read the posts. Please make sure to use a table that has clearly legible font for battle, as it really improves the ease of judging.


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

DEODAT
Realism [+2]
:: I would have liked a lot more mention of Tyradon's attack and how it affected Deodat. You only gave a couple of sentences and then more-or-less ignored it for the remainder of your post. There definitely should have been some bruising affecting him.
With every force he had, he lifted himself up onto hindlegs and flung out both of his hooves aiming toward his opponent’s right shoulder. Based on the movements Deodat made, I'm reasonably certain that you meant Deodat lifted himself up onto his front legs. Definitely watch for stuff like this.
:: Tyradon wrote the buck and the dragon attack happening at the same time, as far as I could tell, but you wrote them as two very separate events. Make sure not to change what your opponent has written!
:: Remember that injuries don't just happen and then disappear, I'd love if you would have included more mention of his injuries throughout the fight, and how they were affecting him.


Emotion [+1.5]
You definitely included Deodat's emotions and what he was feeling, but I never really felt grabbed and drawn into his emotions. Try to work on Deodat's actions making the emotion real, instead of just describing them.


Prose [+3.5]
Déodat glanced over at the other beast they began to stand parallel to one another. As they began.
it meant he gave enough shits inflict such pain. To inflict such pain.
:: Other than a few mistakes such as the ones listed above, the writing was clear and mostly mistake free. There was a little bit of blandness to it from time to time, as a lot of the same words seemed to appear over and over again. I'm certainly not advocating thesaurus abuse, but a little variety can add interest for the reader. It definitely shows that you took time to thoroughly check your writing before posting!


Readability [+2]
:: No major errors. I did have to reread once or twice for some direction/movement clarification, but for the most part the fight was well written. Thank you!

Finally tally: 33+9= 42HP

:: Good job coming up with reasons that Deodat would have injured himself. Other than this, my only complaint is the small font size on your table. I had to have the page zoomed in quite far to read. In the future, just be sure to use a table with clearly legible font for ease of judging. Thank you!


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