"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.
Bellona To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.
The shadowed woods are eerily quiet for such a beautiful day. Sun glints off the surface of the water, obscuring the reflections of the two winged beasts facing off across the basin. Both appear to of some genetic experiment; the vixen shows off a striking resemblance to a peacock, and the stag not only has wings, but antlers as well. The pair are truly a sight to behold, and the red pool next to them only adds to their magnificence.
The winged fae is uncertain as to why she has chosen this stallion as an opponent -- be it convenience or her overwhelming need to partake in battle -- but it is far too late to back out now. Her mind has already conjured up the memories to aid her in this conquest. War is not a foreign concept to the chieftess, and the peahen starts to dance as her heart rate quickens. The instincts that take over when a threat is near sink in, and every fibre of the hybrid's being is screaming, fight!
Tossing her sapphire crown in a challenge, her eyes wild and her feathers erect, the hybrid prepares to strike. She thrusts her wings back as her body plunges forwards, aiming to gain momentum as she charges across the moss-infested ground to meet the stallion. The bird relies on her legs to close the gap between them; she wants to keep her wings free to act as weapons if they meet. Although her movements are swift there is no doubt that the barred stag has had enough time to move. Be it to rise up and meet her or to jump to the side, the maiden is prepared to follow through with her assault.
She lifts her front half off of the ground as she nears the spot where the stallion had once been, aiming to drive her right knee into his broad chest if he has not changed his position. Her amber orbs reflect the light of the flame that envelopes his flying instruments, but she is not fazed by the threat they pose. All of her attention is focused on the task of locking her legs with his; there is no time to worry about singeing her precious feathers.
The momentum from her gallop propels the vixen forwards, ultimately causing her rouge breast to ram into the brute's throat if he has not reacted to her advance yet. If she has been successful in wrapping her legs around his right pillar, she attempts an extra measure in ensuring that he does not escape her clutches, utilizing the powerful appendages that hang at her sides.
Muscular green shoulders move effortlessly to thrust her wings towards the dun, catching the sun's glare as they do so. The beautiful members of her body shine with metallic radiance as they try their luck at beating against his horned head. The colorful bird expects to feel some pain that the jarring of bone against bone will cause, but she deems the harm to herself necessary. Sacrifices would have to be made if she were to leave the battlefield victorious today.
Rose colored primary feathers obscure the mare's view of the gnarled fir and bloody basin, but she is indifferent to the change of scenery. Her mind is somewhere far away from here right now; it is only her body that acts and reacts to the chaos that has enveloped the forest.
Delicate green audits take in the sound of churning wings, but her intellect filters the noise until it becomes the roar of a river.
Chocolate hooves beat against the damp ground, but her imagination replaces the mossy earth with a lush bank.
Pale orange eyes lock onto her opponent, but it is not a golden warrior that she sees before her: it is man with his cruel spear. Man that has spilled her people's blood into the river. Man that has left her to die as the last of her kind. But it is man that will feel her fury. And she will enjoy it.
"Talk talk talk."
This is an out of character training spar between Bellona and Gaucho. Aud has granted me permission to assume that Gaucho has agreed to this spar, and that he is preparing for Bellona's attack.
WC: 676 || Attack 1/4 Restrictions: Magic and Companions are allowed. Time Limit: As Aud is currently away on a camping trip and I am studying for my exams, no time limit will be implemented. Setting: By the red pool in the Deep Forest. The climate is humid, the ground slightly damp and covered in moss, and a light breeze rolls across the basin every so often. The sun is directly above the water, causing light to reflect off the surface.
I'M THE END OF A HITCHCOCK MOVIE A LITTLE DARK AND A LOT CONFUSING.
The would-be bird was an eye-full, as she danced the prelude to the battle they were about to compose. His dark gaze hungrily took in the contours of her frame - a build not so distant from his own, yet painted much more brightly. Her colouring made his few markings look merely like finger paint, and done poorly at that. For some reason he thought she might taste sweet, if his lips ever locked onto her skin. Likely this was just his mind responding to the suggestiveness of her colourful appearance, but that did not prevent drool to begin to pool in his mouth.
The thought of tearing those feather-stalks from her withers - to see if they resembled hair or true feathers, was just as enticing. Of course he meant no real harm to the would-be bird, but she had agreed to this dance knowing that it was not in his nature to 'go easy', as they say. Besides, the warrior wanted a true spar, not just some game of cat and mouse. Were he to go easy on her, he would be cheating them both, for within her rouge breast, a warrior's heart beat as well.
He noted with every step of her chocolate hooves, how fluid her movements were. Mentally, he stored this piece of information, strategically acknowledging that she would likely be faster on the ground than he. Even so, that speed would surely come at a price. Even were she able to collide with his flesh, he wondered how hard of a punch she would pack. Although ... there could easily be magic, hidden beneath that rainbow hide.
As she began to move around the crimson pool currently separating the two, Gaucho's muscles began to coil beneath his dun coat. There was little time for thought, given the shrinking distance between the two - but as we all know, Gaucho has never been much of a thinker. The primitive cogs of his brain churned just fast enough to devise a plan. The thick muscles of his hindquarters and thighs tightened as he lunged forward. Black wings spread easily from his sides, and rose to nearly touch behind his back. His forelegs stretched before him, pulling the dun closer to the hybrid beauty, before neatly curling to his chest, as his hind legs in tandem with his wings, kicked off from the supple mossy earth. Normally, one stride would not be nearly enough to send the stallion over top the tall girl, but his flight was not aided merely by muscle: As his wings clapped downwards, an arc of fire shot from the already smouldering flame-tipped feathers. The heat released from the blast was caught by his open wings, lifting him high enough into the air to clear the would-be bird. Meanwhile below, his flames raced forward with a radius of 30ft. His intent was not simply to avoid her charge, but also to demonstrate her foolishness. They were creatures of the air - and perhaps just as obviously, Gaucho was also a creature of fire. Flames burned from his shoulders to his wingtips, and around his hooves. Although she likely could not sense that the fire was heatless from her position across the pool, surely she did not think it was simply for show? Well. She would soon learn the error of misreading such an obvious obstacle. Although the WildFire was unsure if the rainbow-warrior would be able to recalculate her current trajectory to avoid the flames, he doubted it. Perhaps she would jump in the pool to mitigate any burns she received. He would like to see that.
Grinning at the thought of the bird soaking wet, Gaucho angled his body downwards, to complete what would have looked like an extended fire-aided glide. His dark flame-soaked hooves slammed into the soft moss, pounding it down, but not igniting it. His hindquarters swung around easily, so that his stormy gaze could search out what had become of his opponent. In his antlers, Mara glided down his thick neck to a small button on the leather collar that sat on his blue-striped shoulders. With a pleasant hiss, she compressed the device, causing sharpened spikes of bone to protrude 2 inches. Pulling herself back up to her perch, Mara's black eyes began to seek out the peacock. The snake was slightly disappointed that the bird hadn't brought a friend for her to play with. Mara always preferred to have her own target, rather than to target Gaucho's.
"Gaucho over here." He called mockingly, although his deep voice held no malice. He only meant to instigate the bird into further action. Although if she took offense, that could lead her to make a mistake - one that the WildFire would surely point out.
WC:800
Attack: 1/4 Teaching Notes
Alright! Remember that what the judges are looking for, is realism, emotion, prose, and readability. If you haven't, have a look at the rubric here. When I was judging, I would have this open at all times once I had made all of my notes when evaluating scores.
You had a few grammatical errors, dropped words and what not ("Both appear to of some genetic experiment"). Nothing major, but no sense losing a point over them!
This line caught me a little off guard: Her amber orbs reflect the light of the flame that envelopes his flying instruments, but she is not fazed by the threat they pose. If I were judging, I might consider this a strike against realism. You state that she wants to keep her wings free to use them as weapons, and yet she isn't worried about them being immediately burned? Unless you state (and you could have, given that this is an OOC fight and I gave you free rein) that she knew the flames on his wings were harmless, this reaction seems strange. His wings are very wide, and the entire top portion is on fire. Even if I wrote my character running directly at them, it feels unrealistic to say that she isn't worried at all about being burned.
This line: ....ultimately causing her rouge breast to ram into the brute's throat if he has not reacted to her advance yet. is not powerplay, but it reads very declarative. In writing spar posts, it is almost always a good idea to write out attacks in the least declarative way possible, lest you forget a word, or let something slip, and do powerplay. For instance, this sentence could have been written: ...which would likely cause her rouge breast to ram into the brute's throat if he had not reacted to her advance yet. Then again, I was always a real stickler about PP, so I'm really sensitive about things like this. So while it isn't PP, my advice is just to avoid wording like that whenever possible :)
Pale orange eyes lock onto her opponent, but it is not a golden warrior that she sees before her: it is man with his cruel spear. Man that has spilled her people's blood into the river. Man that has left her to die as the last of her kind. But it is man that will feel her fury. And she will enjoy it. SO GOOD.
Overall, I think you did a really great job of #1 describing the scenery and #2 explaining where Gaucho and Bellona are in relation to each other, and the surrounding terrain. This is SUPER important. All too often, people rely on an OOC note entitled "Setting" to describe where their characters are (you do this as well, but importantly, all of your details were in your post as well). This was richly retailed, without going overboard. Also, given that this is OOC and anything can happen, you've done a really good job of setting the stage for why Gaucho and Bellona are here.
Some advice: make sure you look at Gaucho's profile/stats, so that you have a good idea of how to react to him. Knowing how his magic works (and its restrictions), what companion he has and what she can do, what items he has, and what his stats are, will all come in handy in replying.
Bellona To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.
Pale orange pools start to run dry from the closeness of the flame, and the peahen is pulled from her vivid memories as the brute's magic closes in on her. The warrior's legs do not find their target and instead churn the air in front of her, and the giant of a stallion has managed to fly over her feathered weapons. Disgusted with her failure, anger begins to coat the walls of her architecture like an ugly paint, but there is no time to reprimand herself. Where the black-laced warrior had just been, an explosion of flame is starting to erupt. The heat from the attack licks at her falling hooves before she can react. The bird thrusts her wings downwards in desperation, but she is too slow. A hot burst of wind sends her green locks flying in all directions, stinging her dry eyes as they slap against her face. The peahen has managed to get her front end above the blaze, but her hind legs do not make it to safety. Her legs blister and her striped hide cracks as the fire delivers its devilish kiss; her abdomen is not exempt from such affection, and the red of her belly glistens at the touch of the flame. A scream tears free from the maiden's lungs and her involuntarily cry of pain is followed by one of murder.
She is on fire, a flying torch, and her insides burn as hotly with outrage as her outsides do with unbearable pain. Her eyes are wild with equal parts hatred and fear, and finally the airborne creature finds a shade of red that she is happy to see.
The bird plummets towards the bloody pool like a comet, her tail ablaze and streaking behind her. Her burning hide is put out as soon as she is underneath the surface, and the sound of crisping flesh is muted as fluid fills her ears. Her back legs are able to function well enough to push the maiden upwards, but it takes everything she has not to gasp out before she breaks the surface. Now that she has put out the flames afflicting her hide, the flames in her heart burn brighter.
Dispelling the water from her naves with a snort, the singed feathers at her wither floating on the water, she pulls herself to shore. Her movements are stiff and laced with pain, and she uses her feathered members as paddles to lessen the strain on her limbs. When her forehooves dig into the mossy earth, the barbecued bird fans her wings at her side. Her hind end is still submerged, the cool liquid dulling the torture of her rear-most supports as she dries her instruments. Turning her stained head to locate the horned demon, she studies his figure, tracking his movements. She notes that he is a tall brute, but not a particularly lean one. His horned crown requires a thick neck to carry it, and his blue-streaked shoulders ripple with the muscles that are characteristic to those of the winged variety. If Bellona didn't loathe him for what he had done to her, she might have appreciated the stag a lot more.
His taunt does not fall upon deaf ears, and she snaps back at him, "Well, Bellona is over here!" But she is soon to join you.
Deeming her wings dry enough for flight, the vixen drags the rest of her body onto the mossy ground, where she is pleasantly surprised to find that her legs are handling her weight quite well. The beautiful lady is not as vain as one might think, and she does not pause to shed a tear over her blistered rump. Instead, she prepares to strike again, but this time she knows that her opponent is not all for show; looking at him now, she can see that almost every piece of him has some sort of weapon waiting to be revealed. She hadn’t even noticed the damned snake that was coiled around his horns.
The hybrid is careful to take flight this time; she puts most of her weight in her front legs when she abandons the earth to join with the sky. It takes more effort for the bird to fly with water-logged wings, but it is not impossible for her to do. She tries to get above the stag -- where she thinks she will be safe from another explosion – and angles her body so that if she chooses to fall, and if he remains relatively close to where he currently is, she will land on the golden boy. And fall she does, her hooves outstretched and aiming for those great big shoulders of his. Would the pink flesh of any future scars go well with the blue?
"Talk talk talk."
WC: 796 || Attack 2/4
Thank you for the tips, Aud. I even second-guessed myself about the whole bit about ignoring the flames. Thanks for being patient, and for all the excellent advice!
I'M THE END OF A HITCHCOCK MOVIE A LITTLE DARK AND A LOT CONFUSING.
As Gaucho's formidable hind-end swung around, he was graced with precisely the sight he had been longing to see: a rainbow on fire. He hadn't seen her rise above the flames, but he had heard the scream she emitted, which caused the dun to grin childishly. It delighted him to see the beautiful creature burn by his own doing. Not because he enjoyed seeing her in pain of course, but because he knew that she was a capable warrioress, despite her fancy dress. He knew the frustration, the anger - the humiliation - that cycled through her veins, and it was this appreciation that fueled his amusement. She was like him, from years gone by. Graceful, strong, but impatient. Her decision to rush at him, unaided by magic and flight when he would surely use both, was deserving of the charred, water-logged state that she has been reduced to.
His stormy gaze watched with a masculine interest, as her moss painted rump emerged from the water. The way her coat fused together under the heat of his flames almost made it appear shiny - plasticy perhaps - and the desire to see how it felt beneath his forelegs was like palpable bubble in his throat. His gaze fell to the pink of her belly, vivaciously shaped by toned muscle, and then to her striped legs, which now pulled her from the embrace of the waters. Gaucho grunted with an impatience fueled now more by lust, rather than anticipation of battle, as his stormy gaze sought out the sunset colours of her eyes. His nostrils flared, taking in her scent as well as her tantalizing appearance. She was like a cobra - or some similar predator - who used their appearance to distract their prey. Luckily for Gaucho, who did like fighting more than sex, her physical distraction only went so far. For now anyways.
As her muscles coiled beneath her dazzling coat indicating that she was dry enough to strike again, Gaucho's smirk of amusement widened. Had the rainbow bird not learned her lesson the last time? At least she would use her wings this time - but had she so quickly forgotten the flames that lingered on his wings? Little bird, if you play with fire, you'll wind up burned. Then again, perhaps she liked the pain. Something told him that were the Sun God able to see the way in which Gaucho now used the gifts given to him, he would be amused. The God was vain, and would likely scoff at the array of colours that the mare was painted with. Gaucho was sure the God would be amused by her charred hide as well.
Shifting his weight, Gaucho began to move forwards. Sensing the plan budding in her bonded's mind, Mara hissed with laughter, as she delicately bit the tip of Gaucho's black ear. A single bead of blood emerged, hardly visible beneath the dark hairs, but it was enough to stir the magic within his veins. From his antlers, smoke began to pour, igniting once it was about a foot from his rack. The flames began to grow, and finally separate into two massive winged forms. The creatures appeared like giant eagles - nearly the size of a horse, each. Their flaming wings beat and rose above Gaucho, moving in tandem towards Bellona's figure. One aimed for her belly - as she appeared to be aimed as if to strike from above on Gaucho. The other lingered back, defensively blocking the path to Gaucho - who was casually cantering forward and away from the trio of birds.
Mara watched, unsure what the mare would do. Likely she would not fly into the flaming eagles, lest she risk burning herself again. Though, even if she did, she would find only moss beneath her.
"Why over there?" He called teasingly, as he arrived at the spot where she had pulled herself from the pool. Snorting, he dipped his head, Gaucho plucked one of her fallen feathers from the water. His dark lips wrapped around it, as he tossed his antlered skull. The feather tasted just as you would suspect - although maybe a little more smokey given it's firey expulsion from her wither. It was not sweet as he had originally supposed, but that did not mean that the rest of her wasn't. Opening his flaming-tipped wings, Gaucho danced in place next to the pool. This game was getting old. His magic had placed him at a serious advantage, but had succeeded in draining the fun out of the spar. They say the fun is in the chase, but there can be no chase between a rabbit and a tortoise.
"Come on then." He called, planting his dark hooves firmly into the moss. "Gaucho won't move."
WC: 799
Attack: 2/4
Teaching Notes
Let me just say that this post was beautifully written. One thing that needs to be balanced when writing spar/challenge posts, is informative action vs. actual writing. I think you do an amazing job of this. I understand her emotions, her actions, her attacks, and her positioning, without feeling like you're artificially slipping things in there, just for points. Everything flows together flawlessly, and I didn't find that I needed to re-read anything to understand what was happening. This was a really excellent post.
AMG. I drool all over lines like this, Disgusted with her failure, anger begins to coat the walls of her architecture like an ugly paint, but there is no time to reprimand herself.
Taking Damage: I think you did a good job here. You received 13.5 pts of damage from Gaucho, which, without getting a critical hit, is the most damage that he can do. So you should keep in mind, that every bit of damage you receive from him that is rolled lower than 13.5, needs to be proportionately less to the damage you just took. The description of her flying into the water to put out the flames was fantastic.
You spent quite a bit of time having her wade out of the water, shake herself off, turn to look at him, and then attack. I think all of that was very realistic, but there's nothing to stop me from saying that Gaucho used his magic again to shoot a blast at her, which, given that you've already written her as standing there, forces her to take it. Here's one thing I've learned about sparring that can help make things less complicated - try to avoid long pauses where your character isn't interacting with your opponent. In this case, as I said, if Gaucho attacks, in your next post you can't change what you already did. But it would likely be very out of character for Bellona to just...stand there, trying to get dry while Gaucho is obviously attacking. Another place to limit over-writing, is at the end of an attack, for the same reason. Once you've attack, it's usually best to not write too far ahead, because it gets you into the same sticky situation if your opponent doesn't react the way you'd expect. I think you did that very well in this post - you have her attack and then don't stipulate what happens next, so that you can react in your next post.
Ughhhhhhhhhhh. Bad luck that her attack missed again :| That sucks. It makes things less fun for both of us. Lame.
Bellona To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.
The hybrid’s rapid descent is uninterrupted until the warm breath of magic jets towards her like a geyser. The hot air pushes against her crisp figure, working itself through her feathers and causing her wings to fan open at her sides. The heat is uncomfortable on the parts of her that are burned, and her waterless pools crack wider in amazement as the smoke begins to ignite. She has no desire to feel the bite of the flame again, and the maiden works her flying instruments in an attempt to get away from Gaucho’s magic. The bird realizes that her momentum from the fall is preventing her from rising above this new threat, and panic coats her walls with a second layer of ugly paint. The flames that the warrior has come to respect have morphed into a pair of fiery pursuers, and she is running out of time to react.
Driven by the memory of the pain, the bird ends her attempts at flying above the flames and instead divulges a plan that should result in minimal burns. Pulling her wings in at her colorful sides, the bird succumbs to the pull of the earth as her body shifts so that she descends headfirst. Her eyes ache from the heat and the air as it rushes past, but they are ever watchful as she nears the first eagle. The warrior kicks out with her throbbing hinds when the spirit is almost upon her, diverting her course so that she is angled to the left of the fire. Her breast and wings pass by the flame unharmed, but she cannot say the same for her blistered flank. The peahen suppresses a scream as the skin stretching from her right thigh to her coronet is enveloped in flame.
There is one more enemy for her to evade, and the beautiful maiden has given up on graceful tactics for the day. She does not perform a stunning pirouette, or twist her body in a backflip, or fight against his magic with some of her own. Instead she shifts her body so that she can fall behind the approaching beast, and she flinches away from the closeness of its heat against her abdomen. The warrior is unprepared to meet with the earth, however, and she reaches out with her supports at the very last second.
Chocolate hooves slam into the ground as if from the force of a freight train, and the pillars that they are attached to quake from the impact. Pain lances up each of her legs, and the weakened columns supporting her rear collapse from the strain. What is left of the blaze on her right hind limb is put out by the damp moss cloaking the earth. The peahen’s chances at walking away from this fight unhindered have dwindled to almost none, but the warrior’s fierce pride is untouched by the humiliation that will come of it. As long as the blood of her people flowed in her veins, the peahen would never lower herself to licking her wounds. Her tribe fought to the end in their last battle, and she would most certainly do the same in hers.
But this is not my last.
Ignoring the playful words that the brute tempts her with, Bellona picks up her throbbing limbs and plants them firmly in the ground. They will not fail her a second time; not when she has a use for them. The peahen bunches up her scorched hindquarters, the taut muscle stretching the burns and causing some grief, but she tosses her head to keep her mind off of that. All she asks of her aching body is to send her off one last time, and her colorful assembly of singed parts yields to her plea.
Pushing off from the emerald-colored earth with a painful wrench of her legs, the bird takes to the air with a powerful swing of her wings. Although she yearns for a way to repay the stallion for the lessons he has given her in the magical arts, she is unequipped to do so. Flying near where the demon and his snake wait, Bellona churns the air with her color-stained sails, hovering a few feet above the bloody basin. The muscles in her breast tense as she raises her pillars in preparation; if he comes within reach of the coiled vixen, she will be ready to rise up and smash her legs against his rack, and force him into the water so that she can put his flames out for good.
"Are you scared, momauhtiani? Do you need your fire to fight your battles for you?" A vicious smile plays on her lips, and she hopes her taunt is enough to entice the stag closer so that she can drown him.
"Talk talk talk."
WC: 800 || Attack 3/4
momauhtiani -- coward
That means so much to me hear you say that, Aud! Your criticism has been fantastic, and I feel like I've learned so much from this spar and we are just approaching the halfway point. I'm not too impressed with my "trained warrior" for missing twice, but that's what I get for taking on Helovia's best fighter. :P I'm still having a great time trying to dodge attacks and take realistic damage, though!
I'M THE END OF A HITCHCOCK MOVIE A LITTLE DARK AND A LOT CONFUSING.
The putrid scent of burnt hair wafted across the bloody pond to Gaucho's dark nostrils. The smell had a tangible acrid taste, which the dun promptly tried to eradicate by snorting several times. Snot and other fluids flew from his nose; much of which coated the bone which rested on his velvety skin. The coloured-bird's beauty was not diminished though - not by Gaucho's standards. The pain which laced her movements and yet failed to hinder them, spoke of the coloured's character. The two surely shared the same soul, and in that moment of recognition, the coloured's beauty shone even more brightly than it had when the glisten of her coat was unhindered by burns. As she took to the air, holding herself against the insistent pull of gravity above the crimson ripples, Gaucho was briefly phased by a sensation of jealousy. That her body hurt and warred against her perpetual effort, while his stood untethered by injury and not even out of breath, might be applauded by some. Perhaps Sohalia might be such a candidate - for surely she would not want to see him hurt (or in such close quarters with another mare...), but Gaucho did not share that same sentiment (on either accord). His was a soul meant to be tested and tried, encapsulated in a body that cried out for pain to endure.
But jealousy was not the feeling that would stay imprinted in his primal thoughts. For while Gaucho was a foreigner to the common tongue of Helovia, he was not to the ancient language which the coloured now spoke. Back before the lands had separated, the hot rocky shores of his homeland had shared a waterway with a tribe who spoke the language now rolling off of Bellona's sapphire lips. While it might not have been her tribe, enough of the language had been passed down to Gaucho's clan, such that even after the sea became swollen, separating the lands, there were some (mostly the shamans) who spoke that ancient tongue.
"Gaucho no momauhtiani, inavva." He snarled, black ears pinning against his antlered skull. To call one such as he a coward, even in jest (were that her intention), was unacceptable. His addition of inavva, sister, was to emphasize that this mistake was one that she should have realized.
Her coiled barred knees posed no barricade to the fury that he felt broiling within his rib cage. Momauhtiani! Because she was too stupid and slow to hit him, he was a coward? He would now reconcile the pain that he should have experience sooner, had her childish stupidity not gotten the best of her.
With a loud bellow, Gaucho's dark hooves pranced neatly into place beneath himself. Tucking his own barred legs to his chest, he launched himself upwards. His black wings snapped to his flanks as flames erupted downwards. They were the same flames which had arched against the coloured earlier, but now they merely shot downwards into the crimson pool to provide lift to Gaucho's massive frame. Rising on artificial thermals, Gaucho aimed directly for Bellona's pretty red breast. His jaw was angled inwards, so that his antlers might make her disrespectful lips bleed for their crimes. And while the spiked collar around his chest might have deterred her in some way, it was possible that her own anger caused her to ignore it, just as his allowed him to ignore her chocolatey daggers.
Well. For the moment anyways.
Gaucho felt the sharp pinch of hooves as they scraped down his neck (possibly both sides - symmetrical pain is always so hard to differentiate). While he doubted blood had been spilled, the pain was so immediate that it might as well have. Track marks of throbbing heat subsequently shot to the surface of his dark neck, suggesting immediate bruising was to follow. Grunting, Gaucho thrashed his skull as his wings beat heavily at his sides. He tried to force his spikes into and against any bit of colourful skin he could see to try and bring her down with him, as his altitude began to decrease.
Having lunged himself at Bellona, even with his artificial boost there was no chance of Gaucho remaining stationary as she was. And so, as his frame began to descend, Gaucho both felt and heard a sharp cracked - the sound of hooves on bone. Bellona had indeed found her target, and her hooves sent Gaucho's head downwards as his body was called into the pool by gravity.
Ungracefully, Gaucho's hind-end sunk into the liquid first, followed by the thwack of his large wings hitting the surface. Immediately, the dun tried to rear into the air - thrashing with his forelegs to prevent another potential knock from Bellona.
WC:799
Attack: 3/4
inavva -- sister. Teaching Notes
Again, this was so incredibly well written. The flow that you have in your posts is just wonderful, and a pleasure to read. I think you'll make it very easy on the judges! My only suggestion - and this really is nitpicky, because everything is done so well - is to expand on Bellona's emotions. You state a number of times in your posts what she's feeling, but I don't get a good sense of what it actually feels like for her. I hope that distinction is clear. Crudely, and of course your writing isn't like this, but just for the purposes of explanation, it's the difference between saying, "Gaucho was angry", and "Gaucho felt a tangible weight within his breast. It was as if the stifling anger was in fact pressing outwards against his ribs, causing this discomfort." That's the only real thing I was missing in this post, was how it felt for her to be feeling what she was, rather than just what she was feeling. Emotion is rated out of 3, and to get a 3 usually you need a post that makes someone cry (aka very difficult to achieve). But things like this will push you from a 2, to a 2.5.
Finally, your attack was rather odd. She lifts off, and is hovering above the water. Then, The muscles in her breast tense as she raises her pillars in preparation; if he comes within reach of the coiled vixen, she will be ready to rise up and smash her legs against his rack, and force him into the water so that she can put his flames out for good. - So her legs are up and ready to strike if he comes towards her. It's incredibly passive. Had you rolled another no-damage, I might have had Gaucho just standing there, watching her hover. I know I mentioned earlier about not writing too aggressively, so I hope this phrasing isn't in response to that. Next time, I would suggest having her actively try to attack, so that your opponent has something to go off of. Something like, "The muscles in her breast tense as she raises her pillars in preparation; swooping forwards, she tries to rise up and smash her legs against his rack and force him into the water so that she can put his flames out for good." As it reads now, I don't really have a good sense of her height (somewhere at head-level I'm assuming), nor do I know how far away she is. So you sort of leave it up to your opponent to take liberties when an attack is this open.
Bellona To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.
She waits for the horned demon like a snake; poised to strike. Yet for a fleeting moment the maiden isn't sure that her playful taunt is enough to draw the dun closer. The feeling is washed clean from her veins when he speaks, and her chest tightens at his words as fear grips her heart. What? The bird goes as far as to lessen the strain in her poised limbs, causing her body to travel closer to the water. Inavva. Have I found a brother?
The hybrid is suddenly no longer interested in dancing to the treacherous beat of battle -- she has already sustained a hefty amount of damage; does she really need more? She can no longer comprehend the idea of inflicting any pain on the barred brute, and the fire that raged in her heart is snuffed out almost instantly. The finger painted stallion may not be her true relative, but how can she justify warring with someone who shares the language of her ancestors? The agony that she experiences from the loss of her people is far greater than any wound that Gaucho can inflict upon her. If she cannot have her true family back, can she make amends with one that speaks their tongue?
Orange eyes watch the dancing stallion as the fire behind them fades with her rage. The chieftess is about to call out to him, to put an end to this nonsense, until he launches himself towards her. At first the warrior is confused by his assault, but understanding dawns on her like fog rolling over a field: there is still a battle to be had here, and this newfound camaraderie between them will not be enough to change that. The gleaming flame that erupts from beneath his wings causes the spark in her eyes to catch again, but it is not with anger that they burn – this time, it is with delight.
A battle cry tears free from the maiden’s maw as the demon approaches her, and the tribal woman thrashes out with her coiled pillars in an attempt to push him away. Her dark weapons collide with his flesh as she has previously intended to do, but the sweet taste of victory is overpowered by the rush of blood that comes when his horns pierce her lip. The hybrid whips her head back to protect it from further harm, but the movement causes the hovering bird to lose her balance. She makes a futile attempt at staying aloft by churning her stained wings, but the pain that flares up from the maneuver forces her to plummet towards the water. Her descent is not so majestic this time around, but the peahen does not fancy a reversion to her comet-like state. Let’s not get set on fire again, shall we?
Following the golden warrior into the bloody pool, the colored vixen adds her own red pigment to the rolling waters beneath them. The dun’s thrashing limbs collide against her scorched hinds as she breaches the basin’s surface, and the maiden responds to the agony by spitting a glob of blood at him. There, that makes the uncouth vixen feel better, although it does not erase her pain. Her body throbs from the fresh bruises inflicted upon her tender flesh, yet even so the bird matches his rear with one of her own.
She rises from the water like a geyser might rise from the earth; unrelenting, powerful, and very, very wet. Droplets of water cling to her vibrant hide as she spreads her wings in a show of her might. They catch the colors that cover her bodice as well as the brilliance of the sun, but neither of the equines seems to notice this stunning exhibit of light. Even as her lean pillars try to strike against the pegasus’ broad shoulders she does not register the fading of the sun, nor the subtle breeze that stirs her feathers. The only detail that the peahen is attentive to is that of her opponent, and he seems to be lacking in blood. The maiden feels obliged to provide him with some of the precious fluid, as he has kindly done the same for her.
No longer raised for show, the hybrid’s wings swing downwards in an attempt to throw the stag off balance. She fumbles for purchase on the shifting floor beneath her hooves as she tries to ram her heart against his, but the act is not committed out of love. The malignant peahen seeks only to harm the handsome brute, and although some may be opposed to this wicked act, she really just doesn’t care. She has suffered enough from the hurts that he has delivered her – it is time for him to do the same.
Totally has nothing to do with the spar, but what language is it that Gaucho speaks? Bellona's is derived from Nahuatl. I love that they can converse regardless. And thank you so much for the input! <3 }
I'M THE END OF A HITCHCOCK MOVIE A LITTLE DARK AND A LOT CONFUSING.
For a moment the world is dark and cold and still. As Bellona's earthen-toned hooves sent Gaucho's blocky skull under the waters surface, a slight ringing began to chime in his ears at precisely the same moment as his head was submerged. The result was disorienting and confusing - the throbbing he felt from both his head and shoulders - had that caused the cold? Had it caused the ringing? Why was the air moving - why did the air feel so thick - why was it -
drowning
Gaucho's head thrust from the waters surface as a racking cough parted his dark lips. Water laced with his spit drooled out of his mouth, as another whooping cough racked his lungs. In his confusion, Gaucho had partially inhaled. This had prompted a primal response deep within his brain which had caused his head to rise, but had also caused that pinching-painful-cold feeling in his nose, which often accompanies inhaling water. To add to the spittle already dribbling down his lips, a red gob - compliments of Bellona - struck him squarely between the eyes. As it slowly crawled down his nose, it gave the dark hair there a devilish reddish sheen.
Gaucho's long eyelashes fluttered as he shook his blocky skull - trying to rid the last remnants of his canon-ball from his eyes. Although his dark ears swung forward with the sound of Bellona's body leaving the water, his gaze was still too blurry to make out her brilliant form adequately. As her hooves collided with his shoulders, Gaucho ears pinned backward. Acting purely on instinct, he tried to force his body forward, into her thrashing striped legs. She had been burned, and now perhaps she would be skewered as well. Perhaps part of her beautiful coat could be a permanent fixture on his bone-spiked collar. He would happily take bruises to his shoulders if it would yield more blood from those pretty legs. Kin or not, Gaucho's bloodlust was limitless.
Gaucho felt the all-too familiar pinch as her hooves found the muscular bulges of his shoulders. The feeling felt high-pitched, and Gaucho felt a whine building up in the back of his throat. Simultaneously, he felt a pull, as the weight of her attack began to settle in his muscles. Gaucho grunted loudly, as a painful smile broadly parted his lips. "Sek inavva!" He breathed huskily, the pleasure in his voice a mixture of bloodlust and desire. "Alikh!"
Finally he would see what she was made out of.
As her glistening wings rose, Gaucho had some idea of what it was she perhaps intended to do. For a moment, he played with the idea of fire once again ... but the idea quickly dissipated. He had no interested in further charbroiling the would-be bird. Too much of this dance had been a game of cat and mouse. He would let her closer once again; see what else she was capable of. Sending a mental command to Mara, the snake (rather grudgingly), slipped down his wither and, with her tail, pressed the button on his collar which retracted the spikes around his neck.
Gaucho rumbled a sound of painful annoyance as her wings tried to unsteady him - his shoulders and neck were already tender to the touch, and her constant berating caused bolts of pain to radiate across his muscles. Even in the water however, it would take much more to usurp his balance than her flashy display and slapping. As her more narrow bodice moved towards him, Gaucho extended his waterlogged wings, greedily seeking to rise above her feathered-appendages, and wrap around her neck. If she wanted to be close, he would be more than accommodating. He tried to force her closer - by pulling in with his wings (should his attempt at grabbing her have been successful), and once again trying to step towards her.
Pain thrummed through his chest and shoulder as Bellona's embrace finally made contact. For a moment Gaucho was lost in the burnt but succulent smell wafting from the female - and from his heightened vantage point he cast an approving and appreciative glance down her lean and dazzling spine - but only for a moment. The pleasureful spark in his stormy gaze almost immediately disappeared, as his ears pinned against his skull, and his teeth aimed for her wither.
Mara had moved backward to Gaucho's considerable rump, her black eyes flashing dangerously as she swayed her steel colored body and hissed furiously - all the while seeming to sound delighted. Her mouth widened and poison began to well along her needle-sharp teeth. Should Bellona try to bite Gaucho, as he was trying to bite her, Mara would happily show her the error of her ways.
""
WC:793
Attack: 4/4
inavva -- sister.
alikh -- more.
sek -- yes.
Teaching Notes
I mentioned in my first post that a good idea would be to take a look at Gaucho's items/magic, so that you knew what you were dealing with. Through the spar, I worry that you didn't really take into account the spiked collar that he wears around his shoulders. The spikes are 2 inches of sharpened bone, and there were a few times when Bellona would kick out at Gaucho, but you never described her as being mindful of the spikes, or having taken damage from them. This post however, seemed very unrealistic to me in that regard, which is why I'm specifically mentioning it. In this post, she thrashes with her front legs at his shoulders - this is almost surely to result in her injuring her hooves or forelegs. Importantly though, by trying to 'ram her heart into his' she's basically impaling herself. I wrote Mara as retracted the spikes to avoid this consequence, but if I hadn't, it could have had really awkward implications. Imagine that I didn't. Bellona, realistically, would have really badly cut her entire chest or possibly neck (since she is shorter). But imagine further, if you had rolled say...I don't know, a 7 for damage. How would you write her realistically being hit by the spikes, but only taking minor damage? It would be tricky.
I really like her shift in motivation, from OMG FAMILY?! To BLEED MOTHERFUCKER. It was very realistic and well written. It makes me wish this was IC so they could remember this Q____Q
This was an incredibly well-written, thoughtful, and awesome spar - especially given your experience level! Honestly, I think the only area that you can work on, is going to be realism. Your prose and readability was spot-on, and your emotion was good (I mentioned above a few ways to improve, but those are relatively minor, all things considered). In terms of realism, some things to consider are going to be Bellona's speed/movement given her sustained injuries - right now, she was at less than 50% of her original health and I think you wrote that well in this post (she didn't do any flying leaps or crazy attacks, and you consistently mentioned her previous burns), but it's always something to be mindful of. Taking into account what items/magic/companions your opponent has will be useful too.
My only other further suggestion, might be to spend a little more time on the individual attacks themselves. This post felt a little thin to me personally - but I understand that the wordcount is often to blame for that.
All and all, it was a pleasure sparring with you!
Oh! And Gaucho speaks Dothraki, however part of that language is comprised of Swahili. Given the imaginary globe of Helovia, I took for granted that a landmass like Mexico (which is where I believe her language comes from?), and Africa might have, long long ago, been connected roughly be a land bridge, or even a grouping of Islands. ^^ So I don't think they could full communicate, but I'm sure some words ought to be similar enough.
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