"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
Helovia Info
Helovia opened in February 2012! We are an active fantasy equine RPG
Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.
Site Wide Plots
Kaos :: The Beginning of the End ☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.
Kisamoa :: A New Kind of Kaos ☼ - 3/2017 - Kisamoa asks Helovians to help him restore the Spectral Marsh. Which side will you choose?
Invasions :: All Out War ☼ - 5/2/16 - New layout and the brand new invasion rules are up! Thank you for your patience and we look forward to getting started with this new adventure.
The Rift :: Gods Do Die ☼ - 8/2015 - Helovia Gods are saving the Rift from corrupt gods! Can Helovians band together against these foreign deities?
The Literal Ship ☼ - 2/8/15 - Oh no! You have to pair up for Valentine's day!
Sky Island :: Murder ☼ - 10/25/14 - Vesta has been found dead on the island, and the gods have called to you to solve the murder!
Sky Island :: Peace ☼ - 7/7/14 - An island has appeared in the sky! Clouds carry Helovians from the Veins to the sky.
Restoration :: We Welcome the Dawn ☼ - 9/21/13 - The sun has finally risen on this day, giving the land new light, but the Time God and the Sun God have yet to be seen.
Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot ☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.
☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.
Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot ☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.
Doppleganger Plot ☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.
ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.
Cotm
Character of the Month for
June, 2017
WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!
Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.
05-31-2014, 06:38 PM (This post was last modified: 07-06-2014, 10:23 AM by Official.)
They are interrupted from their little game ------- aloof, abhorrent, her skull twists up, drawing herself to full height, but nevertheless she is dwarfed by the leviathan come to greet her. Or, rather, the fat doorman, come to chase her off. Her name is spat, a curse, from between yellowed teeth; his ears are flattened, pinned, promises of vengeance {does she know him?} Apparently she does -- he must be one of her many enemies, the unnamed, the lowly, who rise in oblivious masses when she dares to call out, question, and make demands.
She cares naught for the oppression she met ---- ugly faces, scowls and frowns, she is familiar with {she is a queen royalty of the worst sort after all} and her gluttonous appetite often finds itself at odds with the peasants who mill, vulgar, beneath her ashen feet. No, her frustrations lie in the masses before her; a blockade, wall of defiance lying between her and her aspirations, her domineering plans of ultimatums -- how does she conquer, when she is set out alone, and must face down warlords and bitter bitches? Their promises, their vows of virtue, ring on hollow ears; she becomes oblivious, ensnared within the tangled nest of her own thoughts, lips twisting wryly.
They are wise to ward her away, but if they think she will give in so demurely, they are wrong.
"You know nothing." They roll, easy, soft, off her venomous tongue -- he is steadfast, resolute in his beliefs, in his word of justice and law; she is not, she is poison, the viper coiled, tensed to strike. Nostrils flare, delicate cusping; her neck arches, muscles firing up beneath oiled skin, a smile gracing her idle lips. "I would will to speak to your leader, Archibald."
There is a growling -- a brewing of a storm, the savagery of fangs, and the sovereign does not twitch, nor shift, instead shifting her imperious gaze to the bitch stationed {loyal little beast} at her companion's side; no hint of emotion embroiders, fashions itself, upon her dry features. A dog. Of course there would be one -- her own little mongrel lingers in the shadows, crepuscular creature watching on in silence.
Her line of sight flashes upwards, towards the sinking sun. Dusk washes everything in scarlet, crimson, bloodbath reds. Soon enough true salt would be on the ground.
The ground is hard, but has enough give from last night's rains it has some give; while the trees are close, they provide sufficient space for manoeuvring. Shattered fragmentations of the once-mighty wall lay to rest, crumbled, giving danger to those not watching their feet; fortunately, she has sufficient practice in this sort of precarious footing. Eyelids dance, flutter, across yellow orbs -- "I demand a trial with your king for passageway to the Edge."
Challenge: For entry to the World's Edge.
Setting: By the glass wall, just outside of the World Edge territory. It's very close to sunset, so there is a possibility the sun will sink down during the fight; the footing is hard, but with a bit of give. Some shattered glass fragments.
Other: All the regular challenge stuff -- four posts and whatnot, magic and companions allowed! Best of luck Brit, and nothing personal! ♥♥
06-02-2014, 02:09 AM (This post was last modified: 06-02-2014, 02:12 AM by Kaj.)
Kaj</style>
we're two steps from hell
with courageous hearts
our war drums into battle
She’d had the most beautiful blue eyes. Kaj had melted beneath them when she'd been born, had shamelessly bent knee to her, had dedicated his life and soul to keeping her safe. It was a world too harsh and cruel for her, and she had departed, a disease he could not fight for her stealing away her light. Aniela… He would have given anything to have her back. As he strode onto the field of battle, eyes distant and cold, he couldn’t help but think of her. This demonic descendant had tried to rip away two beautiful, innocent souls from the world. He saw in them Aniela. Kaj had never been one to stand for those who preyed upon untainted foals, flickering flames meant to be sheltered and protected. It had driven him to this moment in time once before, a fight of rage and revenge in the name of Aaron’s sister, against the blows of Tonka. However it seemed the beaten welp had called out to the Alpha, and her game he would play. He would entertain her childish demands, but in his heart he would bear arms and unsheathe his sword in the name of those who could not. In the memory of his sister, of Aaron’s deceased sister, of the lucky two who had managed to escape the fate he could not save them from. No, he couldn’t save them...but he could avenge them.
There is no rush to his approach, he steps with purpose, bypassing the shards of pale blue that litter the earth like immortalized teardrops. A memory, a phantom of a time when the Edge had bled for all they believed in, when they had agonized every day over the fight they had to engage in for the mere right to live. Kaj had sheltered them, had given them a place to return to, a place to live. He had sworn to them safety, peace; promised that they shall never in his rule spill their blood before himself. He is no immortal foe, no unbeatable guardian of stone and machinery. It is he who will bleed for his people, for he would sooner die than force them to fight in fear and desperation once more. Peace, he had advocated, with blood on his hooves and teeth, memories of his service. Sworn to them that he would be their Champion, that he would fall first on the frontlines, would sacrifice his life so that they may live on. He faces the demoness and the air is silent, still, trembling in anticipation as the opponents are granted sight of one another. Light fades around them, reminiscent to the moonless arena he had faced down Tonka in. Carmine paints the skies, leaving them destitute in the waning visibility, heralding the blood that shall be spilled on this day. Anger boils within, and he sickly prays that it shall fall like rain from the sack of flesh she dares to call a body.
Those who have gathered are bypassed, moving among and through them to stand before the mare that smells as foul as the goals clustered in her empty head. It is hard to block his nares against the stench, but he has faced down beasts far worse than this facade she wears like a puppet, and he is no stranger to the revolting waves that exude from her smaller bodice. A wing is shifted, gestured towards those that gather behind. Disperse. Fall back. "Confutatis. You seek my blood for entrance to my lands. Very well." Her challenge has been accepted. Arctic daggers squint into her features, wings widening, stance becoming threatening. "But know this, cur, even if I fall on this day...your Basin friends will know of you. You will pay for your crimes. Now come, let us play your child’s game." Pale mane glows in shades of blood and rose glints off white-gold flanks, drenched in the effects of the slaughter to come.
She will not take his throne. She will not rule his brethren. The Storm Bringer would sooner burn for eternity in the flames of the Heart than let her command them to their deaths, destroy their independence. Teeth bare themselves and harks flatten, watching as the sun sinks and she blends like smoke, vaporizing beneath his gaze. The shadow to his light. In his mind he sees them; kin that he must win for. Hears Resplendence's soft words, the echo of Quilyan calling him brother, the faultless loyalty in Cheveyo's gaze, the gratitude in Aaron's features, the warmth of Vikram's shoulder, the soft croon of Mirage's support, the affectionate teasing of Maskan...the trusting, adoring smile of his Sunshower.
Lay your faith in me, geliefden. Fight beside me. Lend me your courage, your heart. I will not leave you behind.
---
Attack: 0/4
Word Count: 800
Translations: Geliefden ;; beloveds, most valued ones
Notes: Fun with italics this round ♥ @[Confutatis] has initial attack. Good luck as well, Wanda!
He arrives ------ the noble prince, crowned with honor and loyalty. Whereas he is the knight, armored gold, she is the black dragon of the tower, come flying to devour and consume his commendable devotion; her breath acid, her wings destruction, her teeth swords to crunch and clench and demolish. It is her duty, her line of work; what is she but a machine of war, scarred hellion born and bred for domination? There is no room for doubt, self-worry and hesitation – her song is a hymn of death and ruin, and to turn back would leave her only as a coward.
But she defends nothing, either; no fragmentations of honor {no princess} lies in the turret she guards, no facades of loyalty or shreds of humanity. Her conflict is her own, brewing from her damning narcissism; not for Tyradon, not for Morir, not for Morana or Sheba does she challenge and concoct plans of diabolical intent, but only for her skull-like face and the haunting memory of an empire she once ruled.
She wants it.
Without power, supremacy and sovereignty – she is lost, a skulking creature of shadows and midnight. A threat, but only that -- a fox among wolves, a cub among lions. Yet she feels it – a stirring in her veins as she faces down the paladin, a fragile blossoming of hope, a rush of aching familiarity she finds only on the battlefield. I can win. There is chance here, a gamble, however unlikely, that she might be able to regain her shredded abilities, to forge new plans from the old, to make up for her mistakes and shortcomings, to become victorious where she has failed again and again.
I will not fail.
Armor slithers into being, materializing upon her ebon coat.
Her mongrel cavorts, on the edge of the clearing, sneaking, sliding, prepared to do their regular strategy [as they do in every fight] – he gathers his illusions, slender blades poised to cut, slice, at the intimately fragile mind. The yako breathes life into sinful visions, a life of monstrous rot; in his mind’s eye, he crafts a delightful imagery, a richly woven tapestry of those around them falling to the nefarious sorcery of his companion. Gangrene springs into demonic being upon Lakota’s face – flowers of desecration, putrid and oozing, against Archibald’s coat – Ktulu’s eyes slithering, sliding from her face, fallen prey to destruction – Merida’s muzzle disintegrating, moist darkness, as muscles peels and stripes from bone – Cheveyo’s legs crumbling, crumpling beneath her. They are decomposing, withering before Kaj’s very eyes [if the attack works] and only when the details are strenuously perfected are they unleashed, a maelstrom of malice, towards the king of the World’s Edge.
In tune to her mongrel’s mind, the succubus springs into a canter, ears pinning, muscles seething beneath her charcoal coat – teeth bared, nostrils flared, just as Mongrel’s meticulously detailed visions are sprung forth.
The World Eater shifts her path in an attempt to charge Kaj head-on, re-aligning herself in order to [hopefully] bring her right shoulder to his right shoulder. As she – with any luck – approaches, she braces herself and shifts her forelegs upwards into a small “rear”, hoping to scrape her right hoof down the bony shin of Kaj’s right foreleg. Simultaneous to her lunge, she twists up her neck, hoping to bite down on his right eye or cheek – to account for differences in height, she stretches a touch more than usual.
Of course, the wicked beast realizes she will find little purchase there, but nonetheless she would hope in doing so her ravenous, foaming mouth would be able to inflict appropriate damage, no matter how brief contact might be.
For her rabid mouth slavers; acid pouring from her mouth, bringing the fresh scent of blood and infection into the dead air.
Following this abrupt, swift movement, she attempts to spring away to her left, carrying her momentum to the best of her abilities – her right hind leg cowkicks towards his right foreleg’s joint. A well-placed hit there, she knew, could easily fracture or even break the joint; if the gods were on her side, he would fall today, another conquest, her first Helovian one.
And yet, despite her ease, despite her contentment found in combat, she finds herself lacking… something pivotal. She can taste it, even bitterer than the infectious spittle dripping from her lips; a notch in her armor, a scale missing {a weak spot}.
No matter the outcome, her scars, once worn so proudly, have become falsities – she is no mother of war, not as she once was.
She is becoming little and less — {a broken down broodmare?}
She cannot; she cannot lie still, lay down her head to rest, nor submit; FUCK them if they thought she were to relent.
I AM A QUEEN.
1 / 4 + 0/1
WC: 800
Note to the Judge: All my word counts are based on Microsoft Office's given WC, although on other sites this exceeded 800 (it was 834 instead.)
@[Kaj] [Would you like to be tagged? I don't need to be, for future reference ^^ ]
06-07-2014, 08:02 PM (This post was last modified: 06-07-2014, 08:02 PM by Kaj.)
Kaj</style>
we're two steps from hell
with courageous hearts
our war drums into battle
Like the legs of a centipede her armor emerges, sliding across blackened skin in violent ivory contrast, glowing softly in the fading light. Briefly the King's appreciative of the color of bones, for the she-wolf previously had the advantage of color in the dimness. She's silent in her thoughts, in the madness that ravages her mind, and if Kaj were not so determined to defeat the sickened quasi-ruler with the milky eye and haunted features, perhaps he could have summoned pity for her. Instead he presses his chin down, against the warm solid feel of his own armor, of the glass Kahlua had woven directly upon him so long ago. No. There will be no pity for this deranged filly playing in Kaj's shadow. She desires only to ruin, to wreck and demolish until she can hail herself ruler on a throne of slaughtered bodies, sheep in the chutes to sacrifice their lives unwillingly. Those bodies will never accumulate beneath her. It is his main drive, to remember all those who relied on him and know he must shield them from that fate.
Her game begins, accompanying it the sinking of magic into his mind, stomach churning and throat tightening at the images conjured for him. Instinct rips into him like a visceral being, demanding he help his brethren. Already he had failed them. Would her throne begin with him, a forever testament to how he had led those trusting sheep to her slaughterhouse? Body is paralyzed with horror, yet his mind struggles, confused. There are no screams. In all his seasons, crafting sorrow in rivers of blood on battlefields, there was never a death as horrific as those shown that weren't accompanied by a maelstrom of shrieking. It's a trick, the same illusions Mirage had loved to employ. Mirage...! Understanding overtakes him, images shattering.
Across ground glinting with shards in lackluster lighting she charges, and he finally sees her again. Anger's like venom in his veins as he imagines the torture she could inflict with her whelp's powers, vividly recalls Resplendence and Kahlua screaming horrifically in the Sanctuary, subjected to what he'd just seen. With a jerk of limbs he lunges into a hurried gait to meet her, slower due to mass but face set with fury at the mere thought of her potential torture methods.
Body remembers before mind as she coils. It's a trick he won't fall for again, not after he suffered through a blow far fiercer than her limbs could manage from Maskan. Inwardly he curses that she's faster than his mentor, practically seeing the moves before they transpire. The King's too large to effectively evade in time, and so ceases his attempt at movement in favor of reacting. Shifts his weight onto hefty hindquarters, swinging his forelegs to the left, away from the blow Maskan had once landed. Her skull-face is a beacon in the shadows, mouth gaping. Moving with the motion of his front half, head swings to his left, uncomfortable with letting Confutatis out of sight. Let her bite upon the protective glass, break her jaw upon the armor forged by those she wished to rule and ruin. Agile he may be but he's earthbound in moments, aware speed isn't on his side as forelegs touch down, facing more to his left. Turns towards the flash of her armor in the dimness, shifting awkward, uncooperative limbs that fight the sudden contradicting change of direction.
He's right about the sightlessness, blind to her kick as he turns, pain flourishing up the lower joint of his right foreleg's knee, scraping and bleeding. Eyes tighten alongside a strangled grunt, leaning weight off the limb almost immediately as he continues to turn in awkward left-limb dependent contortion to his right, surging after Confutatis. Jaw is clenched as he hunts her, there's no longer any thought but taking her down. Mindless in all but what's been drilled into his mind since youth; experience.
Weight focused on his left foreleg he kicks forward into the fastest gait he can manage as he pursues her, lunging towards the hindquarters that had last been facing him. Aims to slam his left shoulder into her vulnerable right flank, head ducked low to accommodate his height as he gratefully shoves to the left, resounding ache in his knee persistent as the vulnerable joint spasms and stiffens. Left wing is shifted aloft to avoid getting caught between their bodies. Jaw opens to return her failed bite, eyeing the unguarded section past her right crest, thanking the length of his body as he stretches to potentially clamp down on it. Hopes her blinded right eye will prevent her from reacting to him fast enough, unashamed to take advantage of her disability if she'd dared to try to take over his family. She deserved worse.
---
Attack: 1/4
Word Count: 800
Translations: None
Personal Notes: Injuries: Swelling/stiffening right knee joint, scraped and bleeding
They are united – dark thoughts, the storm over the sea, a chaotic roil of thunder and tsunami waves. In the mongrel’s mind, lapping, wicked waves, and her the barren shore, she recognizes the body which floats up from the salty waters – gruesome, twisted facial features, bloated by the ocean: the King. It’s the yako’s warning, his promise of hallucinations and vulgar visions; limited as he may be in his abilities, he nevertheless has a nefarious magic flowing through his veins, something to be dreaded.
Time to move.
She is cataclysmic, pernicious – but despite her best efforts, a compilation of constant tedium and failure to carry out what she has forged herself to be through war and blood, it seems today will be no different than her other days of days. Once again, her shortcomings swift become direly clear – her charge is weak, pitiful, as her opponent pivots, dances aside with felid grace. Hooves dig into the soil, finding purchase easily on the ground [her right foreleg’s coronet lightly scrapes something, although what it might be she is unsure of; nor does she pay any heed to the slight injury.] Convoluted, insidious thoughts seep and creep through her fractured skull – a reverent thanks to the gods for the reasonable footing, but she cannot find it within her to thank them for a chance of success.
Poisonous slaver drips from her acidic mouth, slender ropes coming to sting and speckle her neck and throat as her head swings upwards; yet due to Kaj’s movement away, she finds her teeth cracking on hard glass, skating off, unable to find a grip. It’s a peculiar, unwarranted sensation, this; she had been expecting tender flesh and warped sinew, the tang of copper suffusing her taste buds, but not a sheathe of unyielding crystal. Coward, she thinks, fucking invertebrate – among with a few other choice words of which shall be unprintable. Never mind that she, too, wears armor.
They are not done working as a team. Her mongrel, as she moves on by, unwilling to halt her momentum, coaxes into being another illusion. As with before, his abilities are crudely curbed – he focuses on the visual aspects of his hallucinations, rather than auditory or sensory. In the space of a few seconds, the mongrel, crouched in the luscious grass at the edge of the fight, lets spring forth a second vision; this time, the attack aimed at Kaj is to remove Confutatis from the scene, as if she has turned invisible. He scrapes, peels her away from the clearing, leaving no trace of her, while in reality she remains just in front of Kaj, having the slightest upper hand in speed over the clumsily large Andalusian-Percheron half-breed.
Due to the communication, the thick wires of thought and prevailing egocentrism that ties them together, the harlot world-eater is vaguely aware of her yako’s doings; but it does little to change her approach in attacks. A surge of electric excitement circulates through her wicked veins, a flicker of amiable surprise at Mongrel’s incentive; perhaps this could do something to turn the tide which threatens to drown them, a storm of BAD LUCK.
The dragon fleeing from the knight {how poetic} ------- or rather, simply garnering a moment of peace to be found in the pounding of muscle under rippling armor. It chews into her, the vertebrae of her second spine, dew-drops of scarlet coalescing on white bone; the pain, she is used to. Better this torment than the pitiful anguish of uncertainty and anxiety – hesitation can kill on the battleground, or worse, imprison her.
She will not become the captive of some valiant old asshole, who thinks he’s doing the herd a favor by locking her up – since if she fails, she doubts she will simply waltz out of this wall of stone-faced warriors.
Hind hooves come springing off the ground and lash out at his chest, and she packs as much power as possible into the attack. Once this movement is smoothly executed, she feels the pounding of his hooves through the soil, reverberating a dull warning – but there is only a whirlwind of shadows and ghosts in her right eye. The first teeth of panic sinks into her skull; she resists the urge to flail out, instead seeking out the threads connecting two cerebellums.
She is aided by Mongrel’s eyes, but TOO LATE.
A massive shoulder smashes against her right flank, shoving her aside like a man shouldering aside a child; teeth bared in macabre mockery, she stumbles, her head swinging low to balance herself. Due to this lowering of her crest, Kaj’s teeth only catch a few strands of ashen, nerve-dead mane.
Magic, black and thick, seeps, Machiavellian in design, towards him, dripping, oozing from her pores like malice.
Rot and ashes, decay and destruction.
2 / 4 + 0/1
WC: 800
Note to the Judge: All my word counts are based on Microsoft Office's given WC, although on other sites this exceeded 800 (it was 834 instead.)
Like the lion he embodies he hunts her, pounding the earth with massive hooves, ever careful of the glass strewn across the ground that desires to further injure the leg his prey had struck. There is a level of brief confusion as her form flickers and disappears into the shadows, but the whelp has focused solely on his vision. His senses are his greatest attribute in that moment, relying on everything else, focusing as intently as he could on his hearing and the echo of vibrations against his frogs. He knows at that point what magic the creature can employ, knows how to dispel it as he'd forcibly done previously. The golden king fights the hold the vermin has on him, struggles to see her form flicker like a bad signal in front of his eyes. Greater stride carries him to her, and he's grateful for the length of his frame and the structure of his body as throbbing limb is relieved from the duties of extended time chasing after the faster hyena. There is a sick desire to feel her flesh against his own, to feel her armor crack against his blows and expose the softness of her flesh, like the underbelly of a porcupine. He wants to feel her blow for blow, to take a violent awareness of her body as he forces it into submission. There's no incentive for him to draw his magic, however much it may help him. No, he wants to destroy her with only the strength of his body and the determination in his heart. He wants her to bleed before those who avidly watch, wants to stand above her body in triumph, show that he's not to be underestimated.
Such thoughts surge through his head like live-wires, synapses flaring. They're momentary, ephemeral, creating in his blood a stirring that powers his lunging for her hide. There's only the desire to kill, to protect, an instinct driven into his skull like an iron spike. Protect your mage. Hindquarters bunch, eyes already set upon the area with his target having been her flank. Kicking off to the right he grunts at the resounding flare of stiff agony in his leg even as on the next stride he is swerving back towards her, undaunted by her pathetic attempt. Is she realizing now that she is hunted, that her time is coming to an end? Soon she'll be cornered, treed, and his hounds will tear into her flesh to take their revenge in quarters of meat and bone. As forelegs leave earth he watches, sickly pleased, as she recoils too late upon realizing his presence. Her whelp cannot save her from her own physical disability, and as weight is thrown to the left and impact begins, Kaj feels amused.
Yes, there's the slam of their bodies, the pleasant ache of impact spreading through one muscled golden shoulder. She goes careening even as teeth snag her mane, ripping tendrils free that he spits out in disgust. He will not have any piece of her tainting him, will not so much as taste the disease that crawls on every surface of her bodice. As he last notes in moments before an attack must form and reaction take place, her smaller frame is tilted to their right, no longer parallel to his own. Momentum cannot be stopped even as she skids from his blow, and a decision is made long before the prickle of tell-tale magical presence touches his nape. On the next stilted stride following impact he rises, thrusting forth on thick hindquarters as he hopes to momentarily tower above her. Fighting Maskan, such a move was sure defeat, but Confutatis was far smaller, and he doesn't fear she can upset him enough as he attempts to pass her to endanger him to a point of no return. He'll make Maskan proud. He'll show Mirage that the Edge wouldn't fall simply because its leader was not overpowered with hoards of magic and abilities.
Momentum is carried forth rather than attempting to fight in close quarters, his frame too bulky and her venomous mouth too dangerous for such tactics. As he carries through, aiming to shove her aside with the force of his forward movement should her positioning hinder him, hind legs thrust forward. Forelegs catch on earth, right knee screaming, and hindquarters bunch to return her kick, thrashing out and hoping his advantageous height will land the blow along her breast or high upon her neck. And he gallops, as fast as he can manage, even as his knee bitches at him, narrowly evaded magic making hair stand on end as he entices her to chase him. Let her pretend she's the hunter while he lures her into another trap meant to destroy her. Bleed for me, lieveling.
---
Attack: 2/4
Word Count: 800
Translations: Lieveling ;; poppet, darling
Notes: Ugh, I feel like that was crap
CONFUTATIS Realism [+4]
I really felt you had great descriptions for your attacks and defenses and especially liked the strong breed reference and use you had in your first post. You had some fantastic opening attacks - I particularly liked your strategy with the companion. I saw you mention the surroundings a bit and your timing seemed to be on for your attacks and defenses. The second post lost me a little bit more, but I’m going to score the general confusion in readability - what attacks I think you made seemed realistic. You only had a short opportunity to take injury in this fight but what you did take was appropriate. Overall an excellent job.
Emotion [+1.5]
I definitely felt Confutatis’ drive and hunger, particularly in the first post. You convey her in general just with your word choice and prose, but I would like to see more feeling and response in regards to when she misses attacks, when she lands attacks, how her feelings change over the course of the fight etc. Just more to help draw me into the moment with her, experiencing the fight as Confutatis and not someone on the side line.
Prose [+3.5]
You have beautiful writing and a distinct style that does not take away from anything. I really enjoyed it.
Readability [+1]
Although for the most part I could understand things, your first post had some typos and grammar errors in relation to sentence structure. By the second post I was a little confused as to everything that was happening. Your defense I understood and your magic attack at the very end I got, but everything else was just not very clear and I’m still not entirely sure if she attacked an additional time prior to the magic. So just watch that you don’t get too focused on word fluff and lose the reader.
Finally tally: 46+10= 56 HP
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KAJ Realism [+3]
All in all you had good responses and realistic attacks, defenses, and timing to everything. I really liked all your references to other fights and comparing them with this one, and how you really utilized their breed differences in each fight. I’d like to see more incorporation of the fact Kaj is a pegasus, since without prior knowledge, I read this fight and he seems like a normal horse. You don’t need to be flying in the air just because you have wings, but those appendages would definitely be doing something during the fight, whether helping, or hindering, or just being noted. Overall good descriptions that helped me understand the motive of your actions, even if I wasn’t always agreeing with them.
Emotion [+2]
There were moments when I could feel Kaj and his honorable desire to protect his herd, but I never felt sucked in and it’s because the emotion wasn’t weaved throughout the entire post, just given as an intro and conclusion. I want to feel with Kaj the whole time. Your second post I saw a bit more feeling as his desire to hurt her seemed to intensify, but I wanted to feel that with her vision of his friends being hurt, and I wanted to feel what Kaj was thinking and going through whenever he struck out at her, whenever he was struck, whenever he landed or missed blows etc.
Prose [+2.5]
You have some lovely writing especially when getting metaphorical. You use a nice variety of words and I find your posts overall enjoyable to read through from a prose standpoint.
Readability [-1]
I struggled with the readability in your posts and was especially confused throughout the second post and never even realized Kaj was wearing armor until you said it deflected her bite - I even went back to read your intro post, which is not usually read by judges since we start judging with the first attack post, but I could not find it mentioned anywhere. You have a few typos and grammatical errors throughout, but the brunt of the issue seems to be the dropped pronouns and generally long sentences. Don’t be afraid to say the word Kaj - if you’re too close to the word count, then cut down on the fluffy words, don’t drop the ones that make your sentences structurally sound.
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[JUDGED] Jaws and Claws [Kaj Challenge]
