the Rift


[JUDGED] There's No Blood, No Alibi[Torleik Challenge]

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
#1

The Plague was alive once more. Of course, new restrictions had been laid upon them. They lacked the freedom to hunt and pillage as they should, no, they were forced and constricted by masks by the orders of the GildedBlade. Déodat respected the Lady of the Basin, and would obey her rules. With the Plague arising his eyes turned to the outsiders, they weren’t his foes, but they weren’t his brothers driven by similar passions. The Blood Prince wasn’t one to seek thrones or power, but with the Plague’s rebirth he knew it was time, time to seize positions to ensure it’s might and strength. With the Bloodskald not arriving at the meeting ensured that the stallion wasn’t one of them, and such a valuable position as General was held by one who might oppose the Plague’s ambitions and goals. The face of the military needed to change, the tactician and ruler of their forces needed to belong to the Plague.

It almost pained him to make such a disrespectful move towards the Bloodskald, after all, he had seemed to be a decent stallion despite everything. Maybe Déodat could’ve learned to respect the stallion over time, but there wasn’t time. The bones beneath his flesh were wearing and it would only be a matter of time before his body faded into nothing.

Déodat stepped from his cave, leaving Odette carefully tucked away. The dog was too young to fight yet. She would have her day soon, but that would be a day when she was filled out and strong. She would be a ferocity on the battlefield with careful training and upbringing. The pup was still too young, and Déodat wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if harm came upon her due to his own selfish ambitions.

There was a determined look on his face as he moved slowly. The rare sight of rain poured down upon the Basin. His gaze drifted up to the sky and for a brief moment his mind went to his great defeat. Would this be another failure or would he finally rise above?

“TORLEIK!” Déodat shouted as he stopped in a clear area, “I challenge you for the title General.” The Blood Prince shifted his weight slightly, a fire lit In his eyes. Would the General watch from beyond the grave? If he was standing there would he gaze at his son with pride or disdain? The Blood Prince would be a worthy son, he would bear the name of his father well. ”Stand beside me Father, give me your strength and let me be the son you always wanted.”

[Déodat is challenging Torleik for the position of General. Torleik may also have the first attack, if you'd like.
Typical challenge rules
Setting: A clear area in the Basin. There is a downpour which makes the ground slick and wet. Temperature is warm for a northern day.
0/4
Words: 434]


"talk talk talk"

Skin to bone, steel to rust
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#2
Torleik
The beard of glory...


During his short tenure as the Basin’s general, Torleik had been hard at work putting his newfound position of power to use for the herd’s benefit. Immediately, he had set about conferring with herd members for training spars and seeking out his cousin, the Engineer, to craft warbanners that their enemies might know their defeat as synonymous with the symbol of the Basin. Of course, it had taken some time to get going, as the damnable Regime had seen fit to ambush him. Outnumbered four to one and with his companion’s safety at stake, what was he to do but allow his own capture? He’d bested Morir in single combat and won his freedom; surely those here did not still hold that against him. But he did wonder, and the thought gnawed at his insides that the fighters in the herd had no faith in him. Torleik sought to remedy that by his actions – but it seemed there was not enough time.

A haze of rain obscured the flat disc of the sun that hung drearily in the sky, the air humid and thicker than the general would have liked. Though he was irked at being prevented from working today, Torleik tried to focus on the positives of resting and spending relaxing time with Irelyn. So busy had he been of late that he’d missed her growing a few centimeters and her plumage coming in a little more maturely. She was getting older, and like a father, the rabicano stallion felt guilty for letting the details pass him by. So he watched his companion stalk a small grasshopper inside the cave they called home, a light smile on his lips, amused by the way her tail twitched to and fro.

The reverie was utterly shattered when a voice suddenly boomed out the Bloodskald’s name and Torleik’s gaze snapped up, eyes narrowed as a challenge was issued for his position. Who was the insolent maggot that saw himself worthy to dethrone the dual-horned demon so soon? Rising, a slow-burning anger kindled in his snow-drift chest, the stallion trotted forth from his cave, Irelyn taking to the sky above him. He could easily make out a figure through the thin sheets of rain that quenched the thirsty ground of the rarely-wetted Basin and his approach was direct, each step freezing a wide patch of the slick ground around his hooves.

He halted some distance in front of the slightly taller blood bay with the singular, sanguine horn, the sky darkening around them, air growing slightly colder. The general’s magic was still raw and tethered in many ways to his emotions, and though no icy storm swirled in the sky as of yet, it brooded in the air just as insult and anger incubated in Torleik’s breast.

This one.

He barely knew his name. Torleik had seen him perhaps twice at herd meetings, but nowhere else. What makes you worthy to take my place? The thought ground around in his brain like bone against bone, demanding an answer, demanding relief. It would find no satisfaction – at least not in words. “Déodat, is it?” he asked, voice as cold as the glacial hue of his eyes. “You have chosen poorly.” Such was the only warning the older male would proffer the younger; words had little place in a battle like this despite the many he could think to spit in his challenger’s face.

The rabicano didn’t need to look up to know Irelyn was wheeling overhead, agitated. Her small voice broke through the seething froth of his mind. ”What do?” she asked, aware he was angry but unsure of where this was going. The young owl-griffin had never been in combat before.

”Fight,” was his reply. He felt Irelyn steel her tiny resolve and impatiently await the commencement of battle.

Seconds dragged by, the passage of time seemingly slogging through the mud that was quickly forming around them, each tick of the universal clock feeling longer than the last as Torleik sized up his opponent. Déodat looked faster, but not stronger. It would be rather like fighting Ulrik, he decided. The stockier male dug his back hooves into the mud, stomping a foreleg angrily against the ground and causing a sudden formation of ice beneath that hoof. Springing forward, Torleik closed the gap between them and charged at Déodat head-on, rising on his hind legs and kicking both front hooves violently at the challenger’s face, intending to strike him viciously in the head and break his horn if possible.


"talk talk talk"

----------------------------------------------------------------
WC: 755 | (1/4)

Torleik charges at Deodat's front, rearing and trying to strike Deodat's face with his forelegs/front hooves.

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

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
#3

Torleik came, just as Déodat predicted. He snorted as could feel his heart in his chest began to pump vigorously. The Blood Prince met his opponent’s gaze and raised his head. Words passed from the General’s lips, but he was given no response to his question. Did the name really matter? Would it make a difference when one of them left this field with their tails between their legs? His threats meant nothing. Words would get the Bloodskald nowhere on the battlefield, and all Déodat gave him was a snort of disdain. He would take the words spoken at him and shove them back down the general’s throat and watch him choke on his threats.

His opponent came charging toward him, the sounds of his hoof beats ringing in his ears. Déodat prepared himself for the oncoming blows. Anticipation ran through his veins as he felt that familiar feeling of adrenaline consume him. His muscles tensed as he watched his charging foe. Each beat drew him closer and closer, and he could feel that craving for blood rising up inside of him. Regardless of his motives, no matter what may happen before him Déodat would ensure this stallion would bleedThat was what he had been crafted for, the General’s son, born in bloodshed and bred for battle.

As Torleik drew in front of him, the Blood Prince launched himself up onto his hind legs. Before he could reach his full height, Torleik’s hooves upon his chest, drawing him backed toward the ground. Pain shot through his frame as he felt the weight of his opponent upon him. Surely that area would bruise and he hoped nothing within him was broken from the blow. That familiar battle rage came to him, and embraced him like an old friend. Together they would vanquish the enemy before him.

A bellow escaped from Déodat’s as he lowered himself to the ground and flung himself toward his opponent head on. This stallion would crumble beneath his hooves, he would fucking die. For a moment, it wasn’t the rabicano figure of Torleik, but the general that had slaughtered his father, Confutatis, the mare that defiled his homeland, and any other face that Déodat sought to destroy. The bastard’s skull will be beaten into the ground, and his blood will wash away with the stream of rainwater. He lost himself in his bloodlust, craving not the power from the battle, but the river of red.

With his teeth came his horn and Déodat lowered his head and aimed to drive his horn into his opponent’s throat, to drive it deep into Torleik’s neck. I will not fail! I will not fail! He thought to himself. The same words he had chanted to himself as he charged to the equines for their aid. Time and time again he had faced failure in the times he so desperately needed to succeed. It was time for him to be adorned in the crown of victory. It was time for his foes to fall before him drowning in their blood. It was time for him to be the son his father desired. The General was with him, he could feel the presence of his father beside him on the battlefield.

Déodat maneuvered his body to the left of his foe. He drove his hindlegs into the group beneath and shot himself forward aiming for his foe’s left side. With a swift stop he took his right legs and tried to thrust his shoulder into the smaller stallion’s side. Surely his foe was quicker, but Déodat knew what might lay within his carefully sculpted body. Days of consistent patrol and training weren't in vain. That ass his cousin so often made fun of certainly had it’s uses he humored to himself for but a moment.

Off to his right there was the sound of barking and it didn’t quite register what precisely was going on. Before he could properly make out the shape, a small white figure came running towards the brawlers. Odette went for Torleik’s left ankle and reached out her jaws to snap and pull at whatever she could. Loud yaps escaped from her lips.

Odette, get the hell out of here you stupid do! Déodat screamed through their mental bond. This didn’t waver the child in the slightest as she charged away from the other stallion’s ankles and continued to yap at both Torleik and Irelyn.

[Words: 737
1/4
Summary: Déodat gets smacked in the chest with Torleik's hooves. He charges at Torleik trying to snap his teeth at wherever he can and then lowers his head to try and stab in him the neck. Afterward he tries and maneuver himself toward Torleik's right where he tries and thrust his shoulder into the other stallion's side. Odette appears having sensed trouble through Déodat's bond and lunges at Torleik's ankles.]
"talk talk talk"

Skin to bone, steel to rust
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#4
Torleik
The beard of glory...


Déodat misunderstood: Even if Torleik lost, he would come after this usurper again and again, never letting the younger stallion rest in his stolen position. He would make Déodat’s life utter hell; keep him bleeding and bruised and looking over his shoulder, wondering when the inevitable attack would come next. The dual-horned demon would not abate until he had regained what had been stolen from him, should he fail here.

Chunks of half-frozen mud flew like into the air like exploding shrapnel as Torleik charged towards his opponent, each angry purchase of his hooves on the ground squelching in the thick soup of dirt and rain. Wet schlocks smacked like afterthoughts when each hoof pulled away again, energy expended just to move quickly in this terrain. At the desired proximity, the Bloodskald reared and kicked out his front legs, grunting in frustration when he missed the traitor’s face. Déodat’s chest was a much meatier target, not as fragile and brittle as the skull or horn and much less satisfying to pound into. His cold anger took the magic singing in the general’s blood as a consociate, the two working in tandem to drop the temperature in the immediate vicinity, the raindrops beginning to freeze and bite at the combatants’ skin with every impact.

A crazed sort of look rolled in Déodat’s eyes, Torleik recognizing the signs of an all-consuming bloodlust. It was a sight he knew well, a feeling he had known well – but no longer. Such a blood-craze in a duel like this was for the young who needed insanity to push them into the realm of success, who lacked skill to best their opponent with fundamentals and precision. Uncontrolled rage made rash decisions, acted before strategy, focused only on the end goal of a crushing victory.

Torleik would not let his anger be his undoing. No, he would channel the arctic fury into Déodat’s resounding defeat, and when his opponent lay beaten and broken on the ground, the Bloodskald would put a hoof to his neck and make him beg for mercy. Then he would let his anger rule him in that singular moment of triumph. But such thoughts were for later, as the pressing matter of Déodat’s counterattacks demanded his attention now. A sharp, resounding clack indicated an attempted bite, though Torleik did not feel the damage.

The proximity of their bodies did not allow the stockier rabicano to easily dodge his opponent’s long, spiraled hematic horn. The darker stallion jerked his head and body to the right and he gritted his teeth in pain when the tip of the sharp weapon lacerated a jagged line on the left side of his neck. The blood offering his rent flesh submitted to the open air was quickly washed away by the rain - or what remained of it. The moisture that fell from the pregnant clouds above was steadily being transformed into hail and shards of ice as this battle continued, the brunt of the frigid projectiles directed towards the blood bay as much as Torleik thought he could will them. His success was debatable as the ice storm simply continued to pick up strength all around them, seemingly indifferent to the souls present within its radius of impact.

A sense of muted alarm broke through the slight haze that covered his mind, Irelyn anxiously swooping down to assess the damage to her bonded and delivering her fear and anger directly into Torleik’s consciousness. No command could be issued to his owl-griffin just yet; he snarled in pain and frustration when Déodat’s body slammed into his, knocking him to the side and pushing the breath out of his lungs for a moment. The rabicano dropped his head to offer a smaller target and steal a few precious seconds to regain the air robbed from him, seeing between the taller stallion’s legs that a white, furry blur was charging towards the both of them.

”Irelyn! Attack!”

He had no time to deal with this fool’s pup of a companion! Torleik yanked his hoof up as the hound tried to snipe a bite of flesh, driving it back down towards her bonded’s nearest ankle, wishing to crush the joint beneath his solid, heavier mass. Almost simultaneously, the Bloodskald turned his head in the direction of the blood bay, horns already lowered, and snapped his head upwards. He desired to catch Déodat under the chin and pierce where jaw and neck became one, a vascular, dangerous area to injure. A screech told his ears that Irelyn was obeying, though he could not see her swooping down towards the white pup, front talons extended with desire to dig into the hound’s soft body.

She would hopefully keep the creature occupied while he dealt with its larger bond-mate.


"talk talk talk"


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[[WC: 795 | (2/4)

Torleik uses his active magic to create a slowly building storm of hail/icy sleet. He attempts to stomp on the ankle of one of Deo's forelegs and then headbutt Deo's throat/jaw with his horns from beneath. Irelyn tries to swoop down and attack Odette to keep the hound occupied and away from the battle.]]

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

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
#5

There was no ripe flesh that met his jaws, only the empty taste and feeling of air. This left a sense of dissatisfaction and frustration behind. That feeling dissipated as he watched his horn pierce through the Bloodskald’s flesh. No red stained his horn, it was washed away by the downfall from above. Déodat took note as the rain began to solidify and pelt him with shards of hard ice. Despite the pain shooting through his frame with each solid chunk slamming into his back and rear, he managed to keep any grunts and groans from escaping from his lip. The Blood Prince wouldn’t let his foe have the satisfaction of knowing his pain, especially when so much more waited for him. A bit of hail never killed anyone, not even the kind summoned by magic.

As he carried himself toward his opponent, he felt his shoulder smash into his opponent’s side, sending yet another wave of satisfaction through him. With his blow came a wave of mild pain within his shoulder from using such force. Even with his own pain and potential bruise, there was that delight from knocking the very wind from Torleik. That was only the beginning, Déodat would hail down blows until his opponent breathed no more. Reality lurked at the back of his blood crazed mind. This stallion was his brother and a valuable warrior to the Basin. In that moment he accepted that perhaps, death wouldn't be a viable option for the Bloodskald, maiming on the other hand was a bit more plausible. He could knock the horn from his head, surely Odette would enjoy chewing on it.

The stallion circled about his opponent toward his right as Torleik caught his breath. He watched as the stallion’s hoof came out after his own ankle as he was passing around his opponent towards the right. His foes hoof just barely missed own ankle as he sought to draw to Torleik’s right side. Odette had maneuvered herself out of the way as the Bloodskald flung out his hind hoof.

As his opponent’s hooves came his horns, and Déodat maneuvered his face downward, only to find Torleik’s horns scraping up his right cheek, barely beneath his eye. Blood began to pour from the wound and it was joined by a feeling of sharp and defined pain. There would be at least one scar from this battle it seemed. It would simply be a reminder of his foe’s defeat and every time he would gaze at Déodat’s face it would mock the blow he received to his face.

All the while, Odette dealt with Irelyn. A loud yelp escaped from her lips as she felt both her bonded’s pain and her own as Irelyn’s claws sunk into her flesh. The white pup leapt upward and sought to grasp onto the griffin’s wing and pull her down with her. All the bloodlust pulsating through Déodat fed her own hunger, she wished to see the griffin’s blood pour out at her feet. In her predatory and instinctual mind, this glorified flying house cat was simply one thing, prey. Killing was melded into her very bones, Odette was bred to hunt, and so hunt she would.

Déodat’s bond with little Odette allowed him to see into her young mind, and for but a moment it pained him. The sweet natured girl had become a blood crazed beast simply because of him. He had longed for her to be a deadly hound of war, and here she was, fighting relentlessly for a cause that could very well blow up in their face.

”Don’t kill the griffin,” Déodat commanded to Odette. ”It fights for it’s own bonded.” Whether Odette heard or not, she gave no notion of such a thing as she continued to pursue her foe. His own attention snapped back to Torleik, he flicked his tail and he smashed his hoof into the earth, releasing a rattling earthquake hoping to throw his opponent off his feet. Even if he saw no fruit to his efforts there was still a slight smugness to the action. If the Bloodskald would use tiny shards of ice to bruise his flesh then he would use his own tricks.
Déodat himself was slightly thrown by the earthquake, but he still maneuvered his body so he would be attempting to drive himself forward at a perpendicular angle. He lowered his horn and sought to drive it deep into the other stallion’s ribs whilst Torleik was hopefully distracted by the earthquake occurring beneath his feet.

[2/4
WC: 757
Summary: Odette leaps up at Irleyn and tries to grab her wing. Déodat uses war stomp, and manuevers his body so he was facing Torleik perpendicular and charged forward while the earth was rattling hoping to drive his horn into Torleik's ribcage. ]
"talk talk talk"

Skin to bone, steel to rust
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#6
Torleik
The beard of glory...


Had Torleik known Déodat’s momentary belief that they were brothers in some twisted, part-of-the-same-collective sense, he’d have spat whatever mixture of cruor and saliva swam in his maw straight into the Blood Prince’s face.

Brothers?

Never.

He would renounce this place before considering himself a comrade in any sense to this crazed, violent, power-obsessed maniac. And it made Torleik wonder, in those strangely lucid moments between pain and oxygen deprivation from Déodat’s body slam, what he was really fighting for. Though he had no way of knowing where his opponent’s thoughts lay, his own were coincidentally travelling a similar, parallel path. This stallion the Bloodskald was battling was supposed to be part of his herd, part of their home, fighting for the protection and sustainability of the Basin.

Kick. Déodat had circled around and Torleik wanted to crush an ankle. How satisfying that would be to cripple this bastard and end the fight right here. The Andalusian’s agility, unsurprisingly, allowed him to avoid the maiming blow and anger surged within the Friesian. Die, the violent thought in his head snarled as Torleik snapped his crown up towards the sky, wishing to feel the pleasure of innervated, sanguineous flesh halting the momentum of his horns as he gored his enemy’s neck, imbruing them with Déodat’s filthy lifeblood.

It was not to be.

The tip of his necrotic-runed weapon caught his opponent’s cheek and fate spared Déodat’s eye from being skewered like a rotten peach. Shame. Blind fool anyhow. The though barely registered in his mind as the Bloodskald was distracted by Irelyn’s pain crashing through their bond.

Oh gods! He felt saliva rush into his mouth, wave of vomitus nausea plummeting like a heavy stone into his gut as he turned to search out his companion. The hound had sunk her teeth into the meaty part of the owl-griffin’s wing, an agonizing wound compounded by her inability to escape Odette’s grip.

”!! No!” came Irelyn's simple, instinctual thought through their link and Torleik took a step towards the smaller fight. Panic of her own and rage from her bonded catalyzed the unreliable, budding magic Irelyn held within and the edges of her wings, beak and talons suddenly erupted in molten, dripping, liquid fire. The dual-horned demon hoped that magic would irreparably sear the inside of that foul hound’s filthy maw for harming Irelyn, and he felt a swelling of pride deep in his chest watching her peck at Odette’s eyes with intent to procure release while simultaneously trying to blind the dog.

No more of his attention was allowed to be diverted to the companions’ separate battle once Déodat’s little tantrum stomp rocked the earth. Torleik’s head snapped around to see his more agile opponent charging once more as the ground shook all around them, head down and horn aimed for what the rabicano assumed was his middle. Did this usurper really think him so untested that being unbalanced would make him incapable of defending himself at all? Time was short, but his strategy was sound. Struggling to keep decent footing, the downfall of being a unicorn with solid hooves that could not flex and grip as other unicorns’ did, Torleik waited until the last possible moment to rip his front half up from the ground and rear high. The white-hot pain that lanced across his underbelly from the slice of Déodat’s horn did not distract him from his objective: bicycling his forelegs, the dual-horned demon sought to pummel the blood bay’s crown – and again attempt to break the bastard’s horn.

And if that did not succeed, the Bloodskald had a secondary plan. Dropping his considerably muscular weight from above like the booming force of a vicious thunderclap, Torleik desired to crush Déodat’s back with the impact. It would be painful, slamming a freshly opened wound into the more lithe body beneath him, but no physical pain would prise from the demon his desire to win.



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[[WC: 655 | (3/4)

Irelyn's molten dagger ability coats the tips of her wings, beak and talons in liquid fire, which she uses to try to get Odette to let her go. She pecks at Odette's eyes with her fire-coated beak, trying to blind her. Torleik rears when Deo attacks, trying to kick him in the head. Torleik drops from his rear, trying to fall on Deo's back and cause damage that way.]]


"talk talk talk"

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

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
#7

There was pain searing his being, but it wasn’t his own. Odette released a blood curdling yelp of pain and Déodat’s gaze flickered over to her, distracted by her cries of agony. Irelyn’s magic hadn’t damaged her mouth, but several droplets of molten heat fell upon her face and the griffin’s beak had multiple times struck the pup’s right eye. Passionate rage pulsated through Déodat’s being at the griffin. He would crush her skull against the rocks, should he lose the glorified chicken would be the first to die.

“Run!” Déodat screeched into his bonded’s mind. “Get the hell away from here! Go find Lena, go find her and she will help you.”. Odette was leaping up to swipe her claws up at the griffin once again. He could feel her terror, and even the regret burning inside of her. This was the pup that regarded every creature as a friend, she never would’ve harmed another being unless it threatened herself or others, and here she was, damaged before she was even six months old. Whether her eye could be saved was something to be revealed later. It would be a lesson to her, and it would taint the innocent affection aimed at others. If his mind was polluted with rage and bloodlust, surely the stallion would’ve felt pained by the drastic turn of events in his bonded’s life. She was still a child and she was being thrust out into the battlefield. No glory, no honor, no fucking title was worth the death of his closest friend and confidant, the closest thing he had to family. Yet, he remembered he had family now. Mirabella flashed into his mind. His beloved daughter, his greatest treasure and pride, and in that moment he found his motivation. It wasn’t the Plague, it was Mira, his child and only blood that remained beyond his cousin.

Déodat dragged his thoughts back to the battle as Odette gave one last howl before finally charging away from the battle. Images of his daughter still danced at the edge . As he drew nearer to his opponent, there was no cracking of ribs or shattering of bone. Instead there was the carving of flesh. It left him hollow and unsatisfied. One thing Déodat knew, was that things that came up, must come down. No matter how swift he believed himself, there wasn’t any way to fully avoid the oncoming blow. He felt his opponent’s weight slam down onto his hindquarters, sending a shot of pain. The wet ground beneath him and his charging gait caused Déodat slide forward slightly. Mud sprayed up onto his body and his scrambled to gain his footing, which simply caused him to slide forward even further. For the briefest of moments, panic flooded his mind and body at the fear of collapsing onto the ground.

As he finally managed to come to a halt and regain his footing, he could feel pain in his shoulder and blood oozing from the wound on his face. His breaths were coming in ragged and his strength was fading quickly. The time for the victor to be crowned was nearing, and Déodat intended to be the one to walk away with the title. Rain continued to pour down and his body dripped with a mixture of water droplets and sweat. The cold downpour prevented his body from overheating, an appreciated aspect for his physical state.

Déodat surged forward towards Torleik once again. Mud flew up around his feet and caked his legs and chest as he sought to draw closer and closer. He lowered his horn, to give the illusion of him seeking to impale the stallion in the face. Once he hopefully drew up to the stallion he flung himself up into the air, mocking the General’s previous assaults upon his horn. Déodat released a soft growl of hatred, seeking to shatter the stallion’s horn, and make him a disgrace to the rest of the Basin. If he couldn’t shatter his horns, then Déo would settle for the stallion’s face.

One horn will be for Odette’s eye, the other for Mirabella’s honor. My child will not be the daughter of a failure He thought to himself with a wild craving for the shards of horn. All the pain surging through his own body, and the pain that still resonated from Odette, was channeled into his rage and hatred. Any previous attempts at respect toward the Bloodskald died away and Déodat decided then and there, he wouldn’t rest until the title of General was his.

[3/4
Words: 750
Summary: Déodat charges again towards Torleik, making it seem like he was going to try and impale him again only to mimic his opponent and rear up and try and shatter his horns or damage Torleik's face.]
"talk talk talk"

Skin to bone, steel to rust
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#8
Torleik
The beard of glory...


Odette’s yelp demanded both stallions’ attention; such was the raw pain in the vocalization of her injury. Torleik felt tendrils of guilt slither up the pedestal of pride Irelyn’s attack had set within his chest, wet, oily things that made him feel dirty inside. They were but children, these two companions; children should not bleed and suffer for the foolish pride of their bonded. He wished he could have saved the pup from potential maiming, wished that Irelyn could have simply kept the hound distracted and not gotten herself caught, wished that none of this had to be as it was. Déodat’s challenge he could live with, but bloodshed and the heavy price it exacted from those who engaged in the violent practice were not lessons these younglings needed to learn so early in their still-forming lives. Relief that Irelyn was finally released washed over his frayed nerves like an arctic balm, only to be replaced with a sense of urgency.

”Are you wounded? Bleeding?” the Bloodskald demanded while Déodat’s attention was taken by his own companion. It was a foolish, if rhetorical question, but he was not considering the most logical forms of discourse at the current point in time.

The way Ireyln held her wing out told him the answer, but to his little owl-griffin’s credit, she tried to put on a brave face for him. ”Ow. No…fly…?” she asked tremulously, not understanding why she couldn’t get liftoff, why it hurt so much. His heart ached, replete with love over her toughness and desire to remain useful, but he couldn’t allow her to stay.

”Hide, Irelyn,” he begged, mental voice strained and hoarse. ”Get away from here. Away from him.” She wasn’t moving. ”GO!” Torleik thundered harshly, feeling his heart crack when her pain and fear amplified, not comprehending why he was so angry with her when she thought she’d done well. But it could not be helped, not now, not when this deranged bastard was charging at him again, giving Torleik a new way to bleed. A satisfied, pained grunt escaped the Bloodskald’s chest as he bodyslammed Déodat’s insubordinate ass, forcing the single-horned stallion to scramble for purchase on the slick, unforgiving terrain. As his enemy was tiring, so was the Bloodskald, and the raging ice storm around them was slowly lessening, the sharp shards of hail and ice softening to a wet, cold, slushy kind of sleet that stung far less than its more solid brethren.

For a moment, Torleik hung his head, gaze downcast, and he snorted. He had utterly forgotten about his seemingly endless ability to freeze the ground around his hooves. Little good it did him here, he mused, the world around him fading out, external sound disappearing, sensation dropping away from his brain’s interpretation of his own body. The dual-horned demon could hear his own breathing, his heartbeat, the groan of his wearied muscles. He was tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and he wanted it to end.

Something told him this battle approached its nadir, the decrescendo that would crown victory and spawn spurned defeat, and he was so close he could almost taste it.

Or was that the blood in his mouth?

Raising his glacial eyes, crystalline cold fire burned within the topaz orbs that watched and calculated his enemy’s approach. I’m done with you, dammit. Let’s end this, he growled inside, dark lips forming a grim line above his bearded chin. Torleik stood his ground as Déodat charged, seeking to bluff the more agile stallion into a maneuver more inventive than a straight charge – with which he’d regaled this audience of one multiple times now. Show me something new, he grunted, the demand unheard – yet seemingly obeyed when the blood bay suddenly drew his form up and into the air, kicking out with his hooves as Torleik had in the very recent past.

The stockier male had already resigned himself to absorbing pain every time Déodat drew near and felt no trepidation when hooves flashed towards his skull. Lowering his head quickly and shifting his weight to his hind legs, Torleik grunted audibly when he felt the tip of his right horn chip off and one of his opponent’s hooves connect with his neck. It didn’t matter, the damage to his horn, the pain, because all he desired was to skewer Déodat’s soft, cowardly underbelly that was so deliciously exposed by trying this attack head on.

Tensing and pushing with all of his might from his back legs, Torleik drove his body forward, intending to leap horns-first into the blood bay’s belly with all of his might and momentum. He would gut the bastard for all he was worth and watch his entrails coat the ground.


"talk talk talk"

---------------------------------------------------------
[[WC: 786 | (4/4)

Torleik waits until Deo rears before launching himself, head lowered and horns first, towards Deo's exposed belly.]]

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

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Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

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
#9

Déodat paid no mind to the fleeing griffin, he had no interest in harming a babe. Not even in the midst of his blood crazed mind would he consider slaying a child. Over and over Odette’s pained yelps ran through his mind, the agony she must be enduring. He would ensure the Bloodskald would pay for his bonded’s crimes, regardless of the damage the white pup had inflicted upon the other companion. A damaged wing would heal, a blinded eye would be an eternal injury. Of course, the pup was still young and could adapt to vision through one eye, but he knew such scars changed an individual. Today Odette’s innocence had died, and all he could hope was that the white pup didn’t perish with it.

As he came toward his foe Déodat could see the grim expression up on his face, but his focus diverted to other things as his body rose into the air. Beneath one hoof struck a tip of horn, the other the stallion’s neck. Not precisely a satisfying blow, but he had no time to dwell on that face. Moments later Torleik flung himself toward him and as the Blood Prince was lowering himself to the ground, he felt horns dig into his flesh. They dug into an area slightly below his girth. All he could feel was pain fill his frame, pain that surpassed his hurting shoulder and ass, and the wound below his eye. It came down on him like a landslide, he was dying. It hadn’t even registered in his ears that an agonized scream passed from his lips. Without another thought he flung himself off of Torleik’s horns and down onto the ground.

What sweet irony it was as blood ran from the two holes in his flesh, in that moment he truly was the Blood Prince. If he was to die, then he would drag Torleik down into hell’s fire with him. Déodat came at his foe, swinging his horn left to right, aiming to simply destroy his neck. It was the evident recklessness of a man that believed himself condemned.

Life was slipping away swiftly as the blood poured out from his wound and he knew he would have to find a healer, and fast. Hopefully Odette had managed to find Lena to tend to her, and he would call for the time mender with his last breath if he had to. Déodat knew death was failure, but he could die satisfied that it was where he truly belonged, on a field of battle.

After swinging his horn this way and that, the Blood Prince drove it forward, trying to dig it deep into Torleik’s neck. The expression on his face and light in his eyes had lost the blood crazed rage, in it’s place was an emptiness so deep that it’s depths couldn’t be found. Mirabella danced in the back of his mind, the little filly he may never see grown.

May she not resent me like I resent my own father, He thought as he came in for his final stab with his horn. May you not roll in the grave with disappointment Father, because I fucked up again. Give me the strength to finish this and slay him.

[4/4
Words: 544
Summary: Déodat comes at Torleik swinging his horn around hoping to tear at his flesh. He then tries to stab it forward at his neck.

Good fight Red!]

"talk talk talk"

Skin to bone, steel to rust
[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]
Cut from the cloth, of a flag that
Bears the name of "Battle Born"
con by aihnna@dA




Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#10
Torleik
The beard of glory...


If only Torleik had been privy to the hypocrisy of Déodat’s mind. Moments ago the Blood Prince had desired to crush Irelyn’s skull against a rock – but now? Now the murderous usurper wouldn’t so much as consider harming a babe? The disgust Torleik never had the chance to feel…it was almost unfair to deprive the dual-horned rabicano of such a strong emotion. But no words ever left Déodat’s mouth and neither stallion had time to consider what sort of intentions were going through the other’s mind. Irelyn had retreated to a safe place amongst a small copse of trees, Torleik’s worry about her shoved into a corner of his consciousness currently labeled, “Later.” The rest of this battle had to be finished now and whatever damage had been done to his bonded could be dealt with afterwards. He loved Irelyn, but she would not die from that wound. Practicality demanded he triage his care for the urgency of coming out victorious in this moment.

Useful, as Torleik sized up Déodat’s attack with a clear and focused mind, seeing a beautiful opportunity emerge to perpetrate unavoidable violence on his attacker. First, however, the glacial-eyed demon had to suffer through his own pain. The shock that reverberated through his skull when Déodat’s hoof connected with one of his horns was jarring, the impact on his neck a deep and achingly painful blow. All of the pain was worth it when that singular moment Torleik had envisioned as Déodat had first reared came to fruition, and the dual-horned stallion slammed his horns into the Blood Prince’s soft underbelly. He felt the penetration, the give of tender flesh, and a satisfied, primal growl erupted from his lips in harmony with Déodat’s scream. The more lithe opponent fell away from him horns and a serendipitous moment of nothing occurred.

Let it be done… he groaned. His attacker quickly let him know his wish was to be denied, swinging his horn wildly at the black and snowdrift-white rabicano. The blood bay’s horn cut a shallow laceration across the meaty right side of Torleik’s neck, blood immediately dribbling out of the cut and running down his dark pelt with the cold rain. Exhaustion prevented the Bloodskald from crying out with any real force behind his vocals and he felt numbed to the pain; it all thrummed like a separate pulse beneath the surface of his perceptions, there, hurting, but muted.

Déodat’s last, desperate stab seemed to be happening slowly, like the lighter stallion was wading through a thick, viscous form of air or mired down in the mud they slogged through. Cringing and turning his head to the left, Torleik grunted when he felt the pointed tip of his attacker’s horn puncture his flesh before he could back away and remove the invasive shard of bone. That pain came through loud and clear and Torleik imagined he’d almost felt his flesh resist and then pop when the tip of the horn had finally pushed through the lattice of his skin. Drawing away quickly, the Bloodskald put some distance between them and lowered his head, wary, waiting to see if Déodat would come at him once more. The General hoped not; he was done. There was no point in continuing this battle. Both of their companions were wounded, both of the stallions’ bodies were cut, bruised, torn and bleeding, and none of them had anything left to give to this fight.

No more.

[[WC: 574 | Closing defense

Good fight, Selkie :) ]]


"talk talk talk"

Credits: Image by Schwartze @ DA
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#11
By my verdict: TORLEIK is the winner!

DEODAT
Realism [-2.5]
:: Surely that area would bruise and he hoped nothing within him was broken from the blow. This response to Torleik's opening attack made me stop and have to think. You don't describe the pain as incredibly great, so what makes Deodat concerned that something might be broken? I felt there was a lack of continuity between the dice roll, pain factor and emotional response. I also thought the amount of damage was fairly mild, considering the dice roll.
:: Déodat maneuvered his body to the left of his foe. Caution with statements like this. While not exactly powerplay, this can read as demanding that Torleik not move as you have stated a specific position for him to be in relative to Torleik.
:: There were a lot of attacks in your first post. Just be careful, the more attacks you try to perform the more unreasonable they become. At some point, your opponent is going to move.
:: His foes hoof just barely missed own ankle as he sought to draw to Torleik’s right side.  If Deodat was on the right, and circling towards his right, and Torleik kicked with his hind hoof, Deodat should be drawing up on Torleik's left at this point.
:: he flicked his tail and he smashed his hoof into the earth, releasing a rattling earthquake hoping to throw his opponent off his feet.  I can't find any record anywhere of Deodat having the rank magic war stomp- if he has rank magic it needs to be noted somewhere public [The secret board for the Basin, if that is where this is listed, is not good enough. Not everyone has access to that board.] or you can't use it in battle.
:: In your third post you dropped an attack- Torleik tried to battle Deodat with his hooves while he was rearing.
:: Rain continued to pour down and his body dripped with a mixture of water droplets and sweat. What happened to the hail storm?
:: In your final post, I think that the damage you took was massively too severe for the dice roll, especially considering the amount of damage you had taken prior for higher dice rolls.


Emotion [0]
:: As you had plenty of words left, I would have liked to see more response to Odette's sudden presence on the battlefield. Deodat showed a lot of concern for her before the fight began, but his concern for her now seems superficial and very fleeting.
:: In your second post you say that it was painful for Deodat to realize that Odette was feeling like a killer but then say that is what Deodat wanted. I would have liked for you to build this up more. I did like the emotion I got when he was concerned about her eye, however.
:: He lowered his horn and sought to drive it deep into the other stallion’s ribs Deodat's emotions are all over the place. You just said earlier in this post that Deodat did not want to kill Torleik, but this indicates quite the opposite.
:: In the end, the very last paragraph, I finally felt like I was -almost- connecting with Deodat as his considered the possibility of his own death. Still, I felt that the emotion could have been more developed.


Prose [-2]
:: Would it make a difference when one of them left this field with their tails between their legs? Should be tail- horses only have one!
:: Before he could reach his full height, Torleik’s hooves upon his chest, drawing him backed toward the ground. Torleik's hooves -were- upon his chest and -back- toward the ground.
:: A bellow escaped from Déodat’s as he lowered himself to the ground... Deodat's what?
:: The bastard’s skull will be beaten into the ground, and his blood will wash away with the stream of rainwater. You changed tenses with this statement.
:: He drove his hindlegs into the group beneath and shot himself forward aiming for his foe’s left side. Ground beneath.
:: That ass his cousin so often made fun of certainly had it’s uses he humored to himself for but a moment. Its.
:: Odette, get the hell out of here you stupid do! Dog.
:: There were a lots of out of place commas, poorly punctuated sentences and a plethora of mistakes throughout the battle. The examples listed above are just from the first post. There were an equal number in every post following, except perhaps for the fourth one.
:: Horn vs Horns- you frequently switched between describing Torleik as having one or two horns.


Readability [+1]
:: For your first attack I thought, but was not sure until I read Torleik's response, that Deodat had tried to bite him. I would have liked more clarity.
:: It would simply be a reminder of his foe’s defeat and every time he would gaze at Déodat’s face it would mock the blow he received to his face.  I think I understand what you're trying to say, but this was really unclear.
:: The plethora of grammar and spelling mistakes sometimes make it difficult to follow or read your posts.


Finally tally: 25 + -3.5= 21.5HP

:: Overall, I felt like you didn't take very much time on editing these posts and it basically gave me the impression that you didn't really care that much about them. I would urge you to carefully reread your posts after writing them. I also would have liked more mention of Deodat's injuries throughout the fight. You rarely mentioned them after the damage was taken, which really detracted from the realism of the fight.

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

TORLEIK
Realism [0]
:: Springing forward, Torleik closed the gap between them and charged at Déodat head-on, rising on his hind legs and kicking both front hooves violently at the challenger’s face, intending to strike him viciously in the head and break his horn if possible.  Use caution with statements like this. While not exactly powerplay, it can read as forcing your opponent not to move because you demand a position for Torleik to be in relative to Deodat.
:: His cold anger took the magic singing in the general’s blood as a consociate, the two working in tandem to drop the temperature in the immediate vicinity, the raindrops beginning to freeze and bite at the combatants’ skin with every impact. Powerplay. Even though it seems reasonable that Torleik calling upon his magic would hit, there is a possibility the dice could indicate a miss and Deodat would not be affected.
:: the Bloodskald turned his head in the direction of the blood bay, horns already lowered, and snapped his head upwards. He desired to catch Déodat under the chin and pierce where jaw and neck became one Since Deodat just rammed his shoulder into Torleik's side, I think that Torleik would not be able to turn so far around and still make an effective attack. I also think his horns would have hit Deodat's side anyways, since you note that his head was already lowered.
:: I think you did a good job translating the dice roll to damage, although I would have liked to see more consideration of how Torleik's ice storm was affecting him.
:: watching her peck at Odette’s eyes with intent to procure release while simultaneously trying to blind the dog. Again, I would have preferred you slip something along the lines of 'trying' to peck at her eyes.
:: I would like to have seen a lot more mention of how Torleik's passive magic affected his ability to move about, as I would assume that trying to be agile while literally walking on ice all of the time would be difficult.


Emotion [+2]
:: I felt that Torleik's emotion was much more tangible in his second post and I felt drawn into his emotions much more. You did a good job of maintaining his personality and emotions throughout the remainder of the fight and although he isn't overtly emotional, I felt very connected to him.
:: I know that Torleik is very attached to Irelyn and concerned for her safety, I would have liked to see some mention of how knowingly sending her into battle would affect him, but I see by the third post that there is considerable concern given to her injuries which you followed through.


Prose [+4]
:: The though barely registered in his mind Thought.
:: Torleik felt tendrils of guilt slither up the pedestal of pride Irelyn’s attack had set within his chest, wet, oily things that made him feel dirty inside.  This was just worded a little awkward for me. It took me a few reads to figure out what you meant.


Readability [+2.5]
:: I had to google about one word per post, to find definitions, which was a little distracting.


Finally tally: 13.5 + 8.5 = 22HP

:: I wish that you would have mentioned more of Torleik's injuries and how they were affecting them throughout the fight. Other than when the damage initially occurred, I didn't appreciate much mention of how the pain was affecting or changing his decisions throughout the battle.





1VP is awarded to Torleik and he retains the "General" position.


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