You're pleased with your idea. It's been a long time (forever?) since you've tested yourself against someone worthy of your battle prowess. Helovia has thus far only produced one creature whom was able to best you- that gray bitch- but even her you don't count as a loss. She cheated. Kicking a rock so hard that it embeds in your shoulder is hardly fair. But the primitive beast that stands before you... stupid or not, you can tell that he has been in his fair share of battles- scars riddle his hide. If he were incapable of fighting, he would be more than dead by now, you're sure. Besides, he took that hit that you gave him in the forest so long ago quite well. As he finally, in what seems like slow motion, lowers his rack of antlers towards you, you begin to chuckle and tense your muscles. Train. The battle is on and you are ready- or not! The primitive man lunges forward, throwing his pronged antlers into yours and latching the two sets of horns together quite solidly. Your eyes widen as you realize what has happened and you begin to panic. You have to admit, you've never had your horns used as weapons against yourself before and the feeling is entirely uncomfortable. It was a stupid move on your part, of course, to so brazenly flaunt them in front of Gaucho. Your hooves begin to pulse rhythmically into the ground as you try to force your body to do something- anything! Your eyes widen and the whites begin to show, you try to pull backwards and away. Of course, the combinations of drugs and panic does little for your cognition skills. Obviously you can't pull away- you're horns are trapped in his antlers. But ah, what are friends for, except to help you out? Like you have some sort of weird fetish for mucus, your opponent's grasping lips and snot (which has landed neatly upon your nose) wake you up from your anxiety. Of course, friends also don't let you get away with being an idiot, and Gaucho has certainly proven himself to be a friend. The primitive man pushes forward and you, not ready by any means, are forced backwards. You try to hold yourself against him, to harden your muscles and thrust back, but he had the upper edge from the moment he took you by surprise. Gaucho finally fully tips the scale in his favor by catching you off guard with a well placed kick to your cannon. You whinny your displeasure, knowing a bruise will shortly form on the bone. The distraction is enough for Gaucho to overcome you- you are forced backward with the force of his pushing. You are only saved from falling to the ground when your excessively large ass crashes into a tree- the ground would have almost been better. As the bark scrapes and embeds into your flesh, you throw your head upwards in surprise. Overreaction- one of the many fine side effects of your drugs. Your only consolation is that your horns suddenly seem to be freed from their capture. Instantly, you reach for your magic. Gaucho may be a friend, but he has shown no mercy and you will show him none in return. You feel the darkness leaving you, hoping that your aim is true, but do not wait for Gaucho to show the tell-tale signs of oxygen deprivation. You move now- even if your magic does its job, you do not have time to waste. Lowering your head down in an attempt to prevent Gaucho from capturing it again, you thrust yourself forward off of the tree. Liquid- it must be blood- trails down your hind left limb. Who likes bark anyway? As you press forward, you throw your head up once you judge it to be past Gaucho's antlers. He has shown you the might of his horns, now you will show him the might of yours. You attempt to scrape their points across the junction of his left wing and shoulder, mindful of the fact that his snake must be somewhere near. You get a sense of deja vu as you make your attack, your mind conjuring faint memories of a river and... a hula skirt? No, that can't be right. Drugs. Can't live with them, can't live without them. As your head finishes it's upward arc, you press onward in an attempt to slam your chest into his shoulder, already limping quite severely on your front left limb. Gaucho must have got you harder than you thought. In your head you call him an asshole, but you only mean it in the most loving of ways. WC| 786 Post| 1/4 OOC| Dark x Water Magic: Able to burst red blood cells, causing reduced hemoglobin levels therefore signs of anemia and oxygen deprivation. Symptoms include muscle cramping, shortness of breath, increased heart rate, disorientation and fade after 30 seconds. @[Gaucho]

GAUCHO As his bestest pal's large rear was ungracefully shoved into a tree, a memory flashed before Gaucho's eyes. Tree stand up fine without you, he thought he recalled himself saying, as an image of Oxy resting against a tree danced before his mind. Well maybe I don't stand up fine without the tree. Had Oxy said that? Had this conversation happened, or was he just imagining things? As this was one of the first few instances of truly remembering that had occurred thus far, the dun's mind temporarily distanced itself from trying to shove over his friend, and instead tried to focus on what had happened next. There were trees...and...drugs in the bag? Damnit. That hadn't happened before, that was obviously happening now. Gaucho felt a sharp snap of pain in his neck as Oxy thrust his head upwards, parting their metaphorical hand-holding. Grunting in pain, the dun tried to retreat a few steps, shifting the majority of his weight into his hind end as he did so, as if preparing to try and lift off. However suddenly the world began to grow darker around the edges - and pinpoints of light began to blur Gaucho's vision. Snorting, Gaucho tried to widen his stance somewhat to remain upright, but found this his limbs felt stiff and awkward - was this just an after effect of the drugs..? Funny. This hadn't happened before. Wait. Before?! Before when? Was he remembering? Was he... "Hit me-" he heard himself mumble, his mind seemingly still stuck in the memory of their first encounter. And, like a good bestfriend, Oxy did. The pain that etched through Gaucho's wing joint did nothing to remove the effects of Oxy's magic. It only succeeded in causing his already racing heart to beat faster. Oxy's proximity sent Mara slithering up Gaucho's neck to the safety of his antlers. Although the snake would have loved to sink her teeth into Oxy's thick neck, those horns looked like they could easily pull her to the ground, where she could be trampled. Having already leaned back on his haunches, Oxy's thrust to Gaucho's shoulder sent the dun's hind-legs scrambling to try and keep him upright. Had his spiked-collar jabbed his comrade in this effort? If his mind and body hadn't been so disoriented by Oxy's magic, Gaucho might have been able to do more to ensure that it had. Oh well. Instinctively, his wings beat rapidly at his sides to try and aid in recalibrating his balance, causing shooting pains to flare and bite where Oxy's horns had gauged his left joint. He must have looked like he was trying to put the flames on his wings out, the way they were shaking with his haphazard backwards steps. If Gaucho looked, he was sure that he would see blood trickling down his barrel, from his wing. How aesthetically courteous of The Addict - the blood stains matched the bloody hand-print on his hindquarter. As his wings beat and his balanced steadied, the biting red-hot pain in his shoulder and wing did seem to clear his darkened vision. Or at least, the pain was enough to remind his primitive brain that bestest buddy or not, Oxy was going to get it. Get what you ask? Fire. Steady on his feet now, Gaucho beat his wings one final time, screaming between clenched teeth to override the pain in his wing as he did so. An arch of fire erupted from his black feathers, racing outwards. His vision still felt slightly delayed- was that because of the drugs? Or Oyx's magic? Either way, he couldn't be sure that his friend would be centered in the blast - but he did hope to singe some of Oxy's hair. His pal would look good with a mohawk. Would they both look good with a mohawk?! (Yep. Definitely the drugs). Grinning at the thought, Gaucho lowered his head slightly, antlers pointed outwards. He hoped his pal hadn't been burned too badly (he was rather handsome, after all) - but even more importantly, he hoped the drugs hadn't been burned too badly. Didn't he keep them in that bag? Gaucho sniffed the air, trying to discern if he could smell burning weeds. WC: 705 Attack:2/4

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Hit me- It seems you have, mostly thanks to your magic. You were rather apprehensive at your magics' first appearances. Neither were wished for, in any particular way, and the drug magic... well, that was a strange discovery in and of itself. You were laying on the ground, lazing about and lamenting to yourself that you couldn't just become high by thinking about it when... you did! And while you were initially suspicious, an addict rarely stops to question the safety or validity of his drug supply. Besides, to find that you could simply wish yourself high and it would happen... sweet rapture, indeed. Why you thought you could avoid the bone collar, you don't exactly know. Maybe you thought you could move with finesse and precision like a graceful ballerina but you were only fooling yourself. The collars dig deep into your flesh, cutting skin and muscle alike, leaving behind several puncture wounds your left shoulder that bleed profusely. Damn it, as if that shoulder didn't already have enough troubles. You don't think the stone that Colt lodged against your scapula will ever stop being a source of chronic pain. At least the snake has retreated farther up the Wildfire's neck. If you were not so high, you might wonder why a snake is allowed on your friend's back at all. It seems such an odd pairing- predator and prey, carnivore and herbivore joined together. You're sure there's irony to this situation somewhere, you just haven't found it yet. But fools shouldn't waste their time contemplating intricacies obviously out of their reach; distractions are not welcome in battle. A shame then, that your friend has unwittingly succeeded in preoccupying your mind while the war rages. A new panic sets into your heart as you remember (how could you forget?) that the wings you've just assaulted are covered in fire. Hooves scramble beneath you as you suddenly panic, trying to stop the forward motion you'd been so eager to continue a moment ago. Your scream of fright mingles with the loud whooshing of wings beating the air, the soundtrack to your training ruining the serenity of the surroundings. Of course, you do not know that the fire (at this point) cannot hurt you. But how many times does one need to be burned before they stop sticking their hand in the flames to see if it hurts? You're no fool- fire means blackened hairs, melting skin, oozing flesh and a new home for maggots on your body. Hell no- you're not going to be a maggot hotel. Not today. Your leg, seemingly hell-bent on reminding you that it is hurt, creates its own type of fire while you jam your forelimbs into the ground and suddenly force yourself off to your right. Backwards would be ideal, since Gaucho's wings project so far laterally, but behind you is a tree. Yeah, that's right tree- I remember you're there, trying to act like you're just an innocent bystander. I'm on to you. You're not going to get the best of me a second time. Fool you once... But there is no time to teach the tree a lesson. There are burns to not be had, fire to be avoided... well, almost avoided. A new development creates a new sort of chaos on the battle ground- a fire explosion. Well, that's rather curious, isn't it. It seems you may yet illuminate your hotel vacancy sign- open for maggots, all shapes and sizes, no discrimination. The fire assaults the very back of your left limb, crisping the edges of the wounds that the tree had so kindly created for you. Well, you suppose that's what you get for insulting a tree in your head. Seemingly just to add insult to injury, a portion of your tail hair is singed away, leaving you with a third less tail than you had before. Oh well, the bottom was just a big knot anyways. It's like he brushed your hair for you... sort of. At any rate, you will not so easily be defeated. Trying to angle your body back towards him, hopefully swinging around the backside of his outstretched wing, you rear up and attempt to batter his ribs with your hooves, prepared for your left limb to scream again at this new assault to its well being. It's rather strange, all in all, to not be able to easily reach his spine with your hooves, as you are with other opponents who have mostly been smaller than you. As you fall back to the earth, trying to bite him just for good measure, you realize that you're going to have to quickly alter your typical battle strategy. It's not often you've had to fight a man of his size and caliber. WC| 796 Post| 2/4 @[Gaucho]

GAUCHO While Gaucho couldn't discern whether or not the drugs had been burned in his fiery-attack, what he could discern was the smell of burning hair. And it made him gag. As the fibers of Oxy's tail and leg hair fused together and burned away, the WildFire stuck his tongue out, as if literally trying to force the molecules out of his mouth. His bone-pierced nose wrinkled in disgust as his head rose, trying to rise above the wafting stench of burning ass-hair. Already outstretched wings fanned slightly, trying to blow the cloud of yuck towards Oxy's spinning form. If he had to deal with the smell, his bestest buddy would have to as well. Gaucho tried to drop his left shoulder, as his hindquarters swung around, attempting to follow Oxy's turn back around to him. This wasn't too hard (especially now that the drugs had almost fully worn off, and his blood pressure was back to normal): Oxy, for all his poise and charm, had the tendency to be a little noisy while flailing about. Had he ever considered putting pillows under his hooves? That would probably do the trick nicely, and hey! If it was done right, all those feathers might even cover them up. Very stealth. So wow. Much fashion. Just as he was about to suggest what would surely be the latest and greatest trend in battle-wear, he saw the very hooves in question begin to lift off the ground. Rearing as well (though on a slight angle, placing his right side closer), Gaucho flailed his own hooves towards The Addict as well. Flailed, in the most technical sense of course. With his head raised and tilted back, to avoid Oxy's horns, Gaucho appeared like some small child, flailing their hands blindly at their opponent trying to hit any part that they could. Likely his buddy's chest would be the recipient, should any of his wayward attacks be successful, though hopefully none would hit his precious bag, damaging the even more precious cargo. Gaucho's positioning placed his right side closer (his left wing joint throbbed painfully in appreciation), and as Oxy's hooves battered down his right flank, the WildFire had a moment of clarity before pain flared brightly outward: duh. Pillows no hurt. Riiiiight. Okay. How sad. He really thought he had something there. Now all he had, was a bleeding wing joint, and what felt like a crater on his right side. He couldn't actually feel the spot Oxy's hooves had struck him, as if the nerves there had just decided it was 5 o'clock somewhere, and pulled the quittin' whistle early. To pick up the slack, the area around began to bruise almost instantly, screaming out in all directions, to let the WildFire know they were still working. Great. A squeal left the WildFire's lips as Oxy's hooves hit the ground. He tried to rotate fully around, to face his buddy head-on, but the pain from his right side seemed to cause a mental roadblock. Although his head tried to lower somewhat to discourage the attack he saw coming, it was slow and jerky. He felt Oxy's teeth bite hard against his wither. Mara, who was not stunned by pain, and already positioned in Gaucho's antlers, took the opportunity to try and bite Oxy. Although she was fairly certain his blood would probably make her high, given how many narcotics he regularly consumed, she went for it anyways. As Gaucho's head turned inwards, to try and prevent Oxy's bite, Mara struck: she aimed for the right side of Oxy's neck, holding on to Gaucho's antlers for support. As she pulled back, the dun tried to as well. His hooves back peddled, trying not to slam himself into a tree as Oxy had earlier. His flanks heaved with the effort, causing bursts of sharp, bright pain from his right side. With a snarl, Gaucho lowered his antlers slightly, as smoke trailed out of them. Igniting almost as soon as it left his horns, two large bear-shapes touched down upon the ground. Composed entirely of fire, they roared hello briefly to Oxy, before charging in his direction. One bear tried to leap towards Oxy's right shoulder, while the other rose up onto its hindlegs, trying to swipe at The Addict's face. "Mohawk" Gaucho whispered, as if to encourage the standing bear where it should attack. The pillow-trend had died early, but Gaucho still had hopes for matching mohawks. WC: 740 Attack:3/4

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Flapping wings force the scent of your own miserable failures, burnt flesh and missing hairs, to your nostrils. How did this fire explosion not set the ground on fire, the dry nettles, the bark of the trees? Magic. You don’t understand it- you doubt you ever will. Yours works well enough, but it’s subtle. You briefly try to imagine the calamities you’d be the cause of if your magic radiated from you in balls of fire and heat, tendrils of flame whose only desire is to consume and destroy, to annihilate anything that crosses its path. Mindless, but terrible- a metaphor for your friend, perhaps? Nah. Your friend might sound simple, but you’re pretty sure there’s a genius brain in there somewhere, just waiting to reveal itself. Or maybe you made that part up. As your flailing hooves meet the Wildfire, who has rather inconveniently turned to face you instead of staying where he was, you can do little to avoid his hooves headed back your way except hope that the warrior’s thrown back head prevents him from being accurate. You suppose it’s not so bad, though. After all, this is training, isn’t it? And the Golden Pegasus and the Glass Horn aren’t going to just stand there while you maul them, right? Although, that would be preferable. At any rate, at least you know Gaucho will be a worthy ally in this game of war you’re proposing. Maybe you should give him Midas to take on- takeover. This was your idea, right? So why should you have to do all the hard work? Yeah, you’ll definitely give him Midas. Seele will be a cake walk compared to the wing-laden Czar. Somehow, the warrior beast’s hooves avoid your chest. Maybe it’s because you’re too skinny from all the drugs? Whatever the cause, your chest is saved any new bruises and only once or twice do your legs knock against Gaucho’s during the childish slap battle. At least you seem to have hit something of his. But you still need to work on a new strategy and you’ve unfortunately got no ideas. To date, your boggart never has said a word but an emotion akin to ’kind of late in the game to figure out a new strategy, isn’t it?’ floats through your bond. Stupid boggart. As if even your body is betraying you, the damp and oozing burn on your ass begins to throb more violently thanks to all the motion. Of course. Luckily, part of the new strategy you’ve slowly been working on involves not getting bitten by snakes. So while you’re pleased with your own bite to Gaucho’s withers, you don’t plan on letting the Mamba return the favor. You can almost feel her fangs brush against your fur as you pull your head back so hard you actually stumble backwards again. At least your companion seems to be here for you, when you need her. Using the magic she has rather come to enjoy as of late, she lifts several rocks from the ground and begins flinging them in the general direction of Gaucho’s antlers, or at least trying to. He keeps moving, which she finds just as frustrating as you do. But she can’t save you from everything- especially not magic fire bears. Again, with the fire? Squealing is about all you have time to do as the two bears descend upon you. Pushing off of your right limbs, to ease some of the pressure on your two injured lefts, you throw your body to the left. Too slow, too slow- you avoid one bear, but the one that Gaucho has directed to give you a mohawk does his job well enough. A flame-formed claw swipes at you, passing over your right eye and trailing down the right side of your neck as you dive out of the way. The burns that swiftly follow are not necessarily deep, but they are extensive enough to cause consistent pain and another significant round of burnt hair smell. “Curse the fire god,” you spit out, thoroughly annoyed with all of the flames. Diving around the tree that you crashed into earlier, you try to give your companion enough time to create a distraction. She attempts to flit around to the front of Gaucho, quickly morphing into her interpretation of a very mauled and damaged, though still recognizable, Mara. The image lingers just a moment before she disappears and strains to flit off again, as concerned about the return of the fire bears as you are. Hoping that the distraction will be enough, you barrel out from behind the tree and attempt to ram your chest, head held high, into Gaucho’s right side. You’re already burned, how much worse could the fire on his wing make things? WC| 798 Post| 3/4 @[Gaucho]

GAUCHO The mamba hissed loudly as the dense neck of the Addict sharply pulled back. Part of her was relieved - she was nearly convinced that his blood could kill her, just as readily as what coursed through her fangs could kill him. But it was a small part. Perhaps it was due to being so tightly linked to the primitive mind of the war-beast, but the companion would happily die in this instant if it was necessary. Even though this was only a spar and her death was not warranted, this small defeat was enough to send her into a rage. Her mouth snapped shut furiously, as her body retracted back to Gaucho's antlers. SSSSssSsssssss she continued, weaving back and forth, at least until the rocks came. With antlers already lowering to direct what would become fire-bears towards his BFF, Gaucho couldn't hope to avoid the oncoming rocks. He felt one bounce sharply against the centre of his skull, one caught the tip of his ear, another bounced off of his nose, and the last one struck Mara. The pain in his ear, nose, and forehead was not great enough to overcome the aching in his wing joint, and the growing bruise on his right side. Yet even those weren't enough to distract him from immediate thoughts of his companion. As fire burst from his antlers, the WildFire bobbed his head slightly, trying to rustle the snake into making noise. He received an answer that sounded somewhere between grumpy and annoyed. Had Gaucho had his memories, the outcome of this little training session might have taken a turn for the worse. To insult the Sun God and attack his companion...well, that would likely have pushed the beast over the edge. Even without his sworn allegiance to the God of the Sun pressing upon his thoughts, attacking Mara was unacceptable. It broke the bro code: A bro shall never attack another bro's gal. Everyone knew that. Even amnesia'd primitive monsters like Gaucho. That said, could you imagine if Ampere had been around to see it? The boys using their companions in this little training exercise, and worse - one of them being injured? Well, it was a good thing they were hidden in this secluded grove, meant for lovers only. If the WildFire had his memories, he would have thought the Blue wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. Just as well. But back to Mara and the breaking of the bro code: A hazy vision swam before Gaucho's gaze, and for a moment the dun didn't know whether what he was seeing was real, or simply the last hurrah of Oxy's magic leaving his system. Something about Mara's tangled and tattered body hovering before him did not compute. It wasn't the horror of seeing her body bloodied and battered that made him pause, it was the physics. Yes you heard that right: physics. Snakes do not fly. They don't hover, and they don't appear out of thin air. At least, his didn't. Besides, he could feel her weight in his antlers, however disturbing the image was. As the image seemingly evaporated, Gaucho's attention was drawn back to the freight train that was Oxy, and the collision course he was currently on. Succeeding in having distracted and enraged Gaucho, the dun wasted no time in lunging forward to meet Oxy. Although The Addict had the jump on him and would surely further wound his already battered right side, Gaucho didn't care. He would avenge Mara, his right side be damned. As Oxy's considerable chest bombarded into his right side, all the oxygen in Gaucho's lungs was immediately exhaled, causing points of light and darkness to flicker before his gaze. But it didn't matter - he didn't need to see, only to feel. Sputtering and squealing with pain, Gaucho tried to pivot around - swinging his hind legs to push himself more parallel with Oxy. His dark lips stretched forward, aiming to bite repeatedly alongside the base of Oxy's neck - specifically near his wither and where he believed one of the straps that held his precious bag was. He hoped that either The Addict would have to retreat, or risk puncturing his chest on Gaucho's spikes, while the dun worked to bite through the leather and Oxy's flesh. Although Gaucho's right side burned with refreshed vigour, the WildFire continued his assault, trying to move forward should Oxy move backwards. This was no longer just a training spar. Now it was personal. Friends off. WC: 763 Attack:4/4

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You should have known from the moment you looked at him that he was a better warrior than you- stronger, more stable, more capable. He has more muscle than you, more age, more scars, more training. Oh, and less drugs. But you’re too arrogant to believe that you can be bested, too stupid to believe that you can be anything but number one in the fighting world. A shame, then, that you have to learn this lesson with one whom you call friend on most days. Will you even want to face him when this is over, as much as he has made every inch of you hurt and bleed or scream with pain from his scorching fire? Your wounded pride might need a few months of nurturing before it is back to normal. Bodies heal much faster than souls. Your attack is met with much more resistance than you thought it would be, for some reason. You really did think yourself clever at bobbing around that tree, smart for trying to create distraction and work around it, but you’re not really as smart and strong and clever as you think you are. At least not as much as Gaucho is, clearly. You hit the beast, feel the strong reverberation of the attack in your chest, which screams at you that you are a moron- after all, wasn’t the fire enough of an insult? Did you need to go back for more? Adding more insult to injury are Gaucho’s teeth, which assault you on your side and grow ever nearer to the leather straps that hold your man bag in place. Bruise, bruise, bruise, as Gaucho’s gnashing crawls across your skin; the pain means nothing, but the idea that he dares to tear your bag from your side? You think not! Bellowing in anger at him for even dreaming of assaulting the weathered and cracked leather, you skitter to the side and retweak your already injured leg. Oh, you are a mess, aren’t you? And it goes, and goes, as the beast pushes at you again and again. You can see from here that you have lost- he remains vigorous while you flounder with your ineptitude. But your wounded pride can’t help but demand you attack one more time. Lowering your head, you fling it upwards with the intent of scraping your horns across… well, anything near you. Gaucho’s face, neck, eye- hell, maybe even his soul so he can feel just how wounded you do. But the attack is an agonal action in the face of impending doom. This spar that was supposed to be training, supposed to be a good friendly fight, has gone beyond that. And certainly you have learned a lot from this man, but you can learn no more while your body aches and oozes, screams and limps across the ground. “Enough,” you grumble through heaved breaths heading through sweaty lips. What more can this man do to you that he has not already done? “I’ll find you when the time comes,” you gasp again, hoping to get him to stop his incessant assaults. Perhaps in the meantime he can work on figuring out where Ampere is. You’re certainly not going to be able to go on any treasure hunts at this point. A long week in the hospital is about the only thing you have in your future. That said, you can’t help but give your friend (for you’ve not been offended and certainly you can still count him among your buddies) a complement. It is not so easy to beat you down the way he has. “You’re good.” A man’s complement if you’ve ever given one. The next time you two meet, if indeed you do, you will have to be better. You doubt you can bear to lose to him a second time. Now you just hope he’ll leave you to mope in peace, here in the lover’s woods. WC| 657 Post| 4/4 @[Gaucho]- I’m literally the worst person ever, I’m so sorry for taking so long ALL the time!

GAUCHO Step one was getting the bag - biting Oxy was only a pre-requisite to finding that strap of leather, and tearing it in two. Step two was repeating step one until it worked - but he hadn't even accomplished that much. The bag was still there, tethered to Oxy's muscular side. Being singularly focused had its advantages in lots of ways. It meant that Gaucho was able to compartmentalize pain more effectively, that he wasn't bogged down by emotional troubles, he could perform well in the face of impending doom, and so on. However, it was not without its drawbacks. Being so uniquely engaged with the idea of biting the leather, Gaucho hadn't realized that Oxy was no longer simply retreating. He was doing something. Unfortunately Gaucho's mind wouldn't let go of the task at hand. And so, as the Addict's head lowered and rose, the Wildfire continued to do just what he had been: snapping his jaws open and closed. As Oxy's head swiftly rose, Gaucho felt his jaws being forced shut, and his head arching painfully upward. His neck, already sore from Oxy's previous assaults, began to spasm and twitch painfully, clenching up in such a way that it felt as though things were actually breaking. Gaucho's dark lips opened to cry out, but only a wet muffled sound emerged - as well as a mouthful of blood. Inadvertently, the dun had bit down on his tongue, causing warm liquid to flood into his mouth, and subsequently fly out again, as he tried to bellow his anger. Distantly, he hoped some of it would land on his bosom-buddy, but the thought was very distant indeed. The sound of his own blood pumping in his ears drowned out any and all mental goings-on. Staggering backwards, Gaucho began to feel a stripe of heat on the bottom of his jaw. No wait. Two stripes of heat. No, no, no. Not heat: pain. Snorting loudly as a wave of disorientation coldly descended upon him, the dun vaguely became aware that the ends of Oxy's horns had apparently grazed his jaw, opening up two small wounds. Nice follow through bro, which, when articulated sounded something like: "ni- full-uw- -oo -po" accompanied by mass amounts of blood and tongue-bits. Gaucho grunted at Oxy's words, indicating vague understanding. Things were still sort of flashing black and white/hot to cold; just as distracting as the drugs had been earlier, but not as much fun. His entire body felt bruised, and for a moment thinking about falling asleep on the hard sand made him grimace. Couldn't they just...collapse here? In the moss? With each other for warmth? Totally bro-style of course. "yoo -oo". The WildFire agreed, as the dual-horned features of his friend slowly began to swim back into view. Inwardly sighing as reality descended upon him (no, he would certainly have to return back to the Throat tonight ... ), he looked to the edges of their secluded grove. As his right wing feebly tried to move from his side causing a roar of pain to flare up into his wither, the dun resolved to walk home. Grunting (and drooling blood), the WildFire moved away from his broff (that is, bro-bff). As he left the glade and adrenaline faded from his system, new found injuries began to call his name, demanding his attention. Even so, the worst part of the experience was definitely the leaving bit. As he left a place reserved for lovers, headed back to his home, he couldn't help but feel he was partaking in a walk of shame. But shame for what? Like everything else at the moment, Gaucho just couldn't remember. WC: 624 Attack: Closing.

Table by SEVIN! Image Credit

GAUCHO
Realism [+3]
Your experience with fighting definitely shows, because even with such long gaps between posts it’s all cohesive and flows great as one continuous battle. You have excellent attacks, defenses, and overall timing. For instance I really liked your counter use of your shoulder spikes against oxy in your second post, particularly the way you worded it. I would have liked to see a lot more breed and surroundings references from you, albeit I know it was a pretty basic scenery I never really knew what the battleground looked like, and although Gaucho and Oxy have a lot in common with breed references, there’s something to be mentioned just in that.

In post three I think there was some confusion, because I was under the impression Oxy had reared up and attacked Gaucho’s left side, since he had dodged Gaucho’s fire by shoving off to the right, making looping around to Gaucho’s left closer and easier than going to his right. However, Oxy did not specify which side he attacked, I only inferred it from his last position from the dodge.

I also thought you didn’t take enough damage in your second post, given the dice roll number - you responded to all the attacks, but they all seemed so very easily brushed off and none that really sustained damage as I would expect from a 6 roll. For instance in your last post which was also a 6, I thought you took the damage much better, or at least I understood and felt the injury was defined enough.

Overall though great job, just fine tune the little details to really go above and beyond.


Emotion [+3]
I loved all of Gaucho’s posts in this. Not just the humor spiced in, but the way he handled everything, particularly with the memories and the drugs. I definitely felt like I was Gaucho when reading his posts.


Prose [+4]
You havely lovely prose with great style and flow that comes through in all your posts continuously.


Readability [+2.5]
There were a few typos, though you actually improved as the fight went on.

POST 1
“...casually felt from The Addicts lips…” (fell) (Addict’s)
“...likely all it was was the anxiety and nausea...” (was was IS a correct statement, so no points were subtracted, but it did stand out to me and I looked it up for grammar rules to make sure. Mostly it’s just awkward and can easily be reworded so that it doesn’t come out this way - just a suggestion.)

POST 2
“....and his balanced steadied...” (balance)


Finally tally: 31+(12.5*2)= 56 HP


OXY
Realism [+4]
Your fighting experience definitely shines through, especially given the length of time between posts but managing to keep it seem all coherent and flowing so well, even remembering to mention injuries sustained posts previously. Your attacks, defenses, and timing are all spot on. I also thought you did great inserting breed and surroundings pretty well, I just would have liked to see them more consistently mentioned, since you only brought them up strongly in post 1 and post 2.

I’d like to see you consider the damage the die roll provides a bit more when describing your injuries, because in your first post it had rolled a 6 and although you take all the attacks, the injuries seem extremely minor and in some cases barely described. Yet in your second post, you take too much damage given that a 1 was rolled. This improves over your last two posts, and you did do an excellent job of continuing to mention your injured leg, though it didn’t seem to really effect Oxy and his decisions much.

Overall great job, just watch the damage rolls! I loved your use of the tree though.


Emotion [+2]
I love Oxy posts and definitely got emotion from him during this fight, but at times it definitely fell to the wayside as you seemed to focus more on realism. So although his presence was still there, I would have loved more - you can never have too much Oxy!


Prose [+4]
You also have lovely prose with great style and flow that comes through in all your posts continuously.


Readability [+2]
You also had some typos, though improved as the fight went on. In your second post you also didn’t provide a clear side for your rear attack which led to some discrepancies between what side I thought you were on and what side your opponent thought you were on - other than that attack though you were always clear.

In addition to what’s below, you start your sentences with “But” a bit more often than I recommend. It’s not the best grammar, but can slide by occasionally, however you walked the line of too much, but because it was not overwhelming I didn’t score points for it.

POST 1
“....finishes it's upward arc….” (its)

POST 2
“The collars dig deep into your flesh...” (collar digs, or spikes dig? Only one collar).
“...several puncture wounds your left shoulder…” (in? on? missing word)


Finally tally: 25+(12*2)= 49 HP