the Rift

Back-Hand Slap [Open]

Roskuld the Sparklight Posts: 424
World's Edge General atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Tribrid :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 82 | Buff: ENDURE
Zchiraxicon :: Royal Rougarou :: Electric Smithers

Mama always says to use your words. Fighting’s never the answer, sweet pumpkin, now go wash for dinner or you’ll drip mud all over the grass. But what do you do when you don’t know how to use words? When you don’t even have words to use? When your brain and your tongue are knotted with different things, different stories, but you still got anger to lash and it needs to lash out or you’ll explode?

Because I saw Ma and I saw Mesec and it was two different tragedies and heartbreaks, to different ju-bi-la-tions that I don’t think my brain and body were ready to handle all at once. So I devoted myself to them; my feelings were spent on my Ma, my words on my Bro, my worries (and fear) on my Pa, and everything else that was dark and dripping and spooky and miserable on my Jiji. It was tricky and messy and tangled and I don’t think I was doing myself any favors by trying to stick a comb through it all--but it took all of me to try and make some sort of right out of it, and it was all of me that I was willing to give.

So --imagine-- how much of me was left to give a damn about some stranger. That’s right. I had approximately zero fucks to give; my basket was empty and dusty, my temper was on edge, and, fortunately, I knew how to use my words.

But I didn’t, so.

“It’s gonna be like that, hmm?” I snapped, my voice almost a spark as it left my mouth, as I turned and faced my adversary. Okay, fine, maybe calling a complete stranger my adversary was gonna spark (huehheuh) something that I didn’t really need to start, but my temper was a crossed wire ready to jerk from my grasp and flail in the air, sparking and violently free. All I knew was that mud had been slapped on my ass somehow, and, turning, this was the first face I had seen—so I figured, so it’s gonna be like that, hmm? Because my infallible logic was such that, obviously, seeing as it was only two of us, it was this stranger that had unceremoniously thrown gross-smelling swamp mud on my left buttock.

Which, naturally, invited a ceremonial ass-kickin’.

So I whirled my entire body around (and yeah, I slid in the mud a little bit, but I righted myself almost at once) and I broke for a charge toward the poor bastard, horn pointed, all fucks thrown out the window as I ran pell-mell for an altercation I didn’t even know I wanted. I think someone once said: “Damn, it feels good to be a gangster”. And I don’t know what a gangster is or if they start fights at the drop of a hat, but somehow--somehow, that quote seemed relevant to bring up.

So. Um.


I would prefer the opponent to be a stranger, or someone she’s only met once before.

Setting: Cross-section between Ancient Rotunda and the Endless Blue. Afternoon; overcast; thunder rumbles in the distance. Lots of mud puddles dot the ground from a previous rainstorm. Soaked, slippery grass.

3 attacks + Closing defense for both.

Magic and Companions allowed!

[505/800] ATTACKS: [1/3] (lol first attack) Recap: Charges straight for opponent from the front.

Editted to tweak word count and title]


Like stars burning holes right through the dark
Flicking fire like saltwater into my eyes</style>

Morir Posts: 79
Up For Adoption atk: 4.5 | def: 6.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 4 HP: 54 | Buff: NOVICE
Arwydd :: Raven :: None Adoptable
I look inside myself and see my heart is black

"Ow! What the fuck!?"

This clearly hadn't hadn't gone in the direction he had intended. There he had been, happy-go-lucky and fucking happy over nothing in particular, there she had been all lost in thought and since she hadn't noticed him sneaking up on her (he guessed so at least because he had never heard her turn, never noticed any shifting of weight of shuffling of hooves) he'd thought, why not play a little prank? Cue a rear clove digging up a sizable chunk of muck from the loose ground, a good estimation of distance and height judged by the sound of her breathing and scent - she smelled pretty interesting, mind you, like the air during a thunderstorm; he wondered why that was - and then he had lopped it over. Imagine the surge of pride and joy he felt when he heard the satisfying SMACK of mud upon ass, imagine the thrill he felt as she turned and spoke, sounding huffy and offended. Up until then things had gone fine.

What he hadn't counted on was the rather unprovoked attack. If she'd followed his example with the mud he could have played along, but horns? Now that was just plain pissy. All heads-up he got was the sudden sound of hooves splashing around, some slipping and shuffling; then a surge of premonition down the spine had urged the big, black stallion to move his sorry ass before it got skewered.
It was a shame really that he had to slip, unable to see the mud and the puddles as he were. The same right rear leg that he had lopped the mud with slipped as he moved, he careened off to the right and felt a searing, stabbing PAIN as something sharp (that he assumed was a horn) cut into his left buttock and scrape off out across the flank. Cue, 'ow' and 'what the fuck'.

"Come on, it was just a prank!" he growled with deep, raspy voice and shuffled off to the lright, feeling sweat pool over the neck as pain surged through the ass, down into the leg. He had no way of telling how deep it was, just knew that it was bleeding and that the cut felt long and jagged; grimacing wildly beneath the mask he inched around, not really in the mood to reciprocate but definitely not about to present his ass as target practice again. He lowered his own massive spears and slashed them around feebly, hoping to threaten the lass enough to back off; if she kept coming forward he wouldn't be responsible for what happened though.

"I don't feel like fighting, give it a rest, hey? I'm sorry about the mud, it was stupid of me, I apologize. Are we good?"

He had this creeping sensation however that 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. The tone of her voice had promised pain and suffering, so while he really did hope that the girl would agree to a cease-fire, Morir quietly prepared for more. After all, he wasn't so sweet-tempered that he'd let someone off easily for spearing his ass. He might take hers though, as a token of good faith - yes, that might do the trick, soothe his pains, so to speak. And without really meaning to, in response to his own wayward thoughts, the death-masked stag swelled, puffed out the chest and arced the neck just so, to display himself and his god-given glory before the distressing damsel.

PC: 1/3
WC: 576
Ooc: Morir is hit by her horn in the left buttock, the wound long and shallow but painful. He withdraw to the left, then turn around, and while trying to persuade her into stopping he lower his own horns and slash them through the air down and up, not really trying to hit her but not sorry if he does either.

EDIT: super quick thing because I forgot word count!

M O R i R
image credit

♦ Please tag Morir in all replies! 

Roskuld the Sparklight Posts: 424
World's Edge General atk: 7.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Tribrid :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 82 | Buff: ENDURE
Zchiraxicon :: Royal Rougarou :: Electric Smithers

Ow, what the fuck indeed.


He kinda shifted away from me, turning his ass safely away from my horn’s sharp point, which was right of him to do, since I was far from done from being pissed. Was I satisfied by the feeling of skin and flesh ‘n shit ripping underneath my horn’s tip, damn-near tearing this poor fool’s asshole out in the process? Well, yeah, a little. I mean, at the very least, he now knew that I wasn’t someone he could screw around with; I didn’t know him like that.

So logic says that I should’ve stopped my assault on him—and part of me tried to do just that, digging my hooves into the slushy mud—but I didn’t quite stop where I wanted to and I scrambled a bit and in all honesty I was still pretty pissed so there was that. And it didn’t help that the bastard wouldn’t stop talking; “I was just playing!” he said, “Cut me some slack!” he was telling me. Or…something like that. I think that was the gist but I wasn’t listening very hard. All it really served to do was cause my blood to boil a little more because dammit I’m not a joke. I ain’t a thing to play with. Not for fools like him, at least.

So mid-scramble I angled my body toward him, towards that stupid white thing he was wearing on his face (I really didn’t like this guy), and I scrambled some more, getting my hooves just right so that I could lunge at his face or his neck or somewhere and bite the shit out of him. But it didn’t happen like that; turns out he had a horn too. Well, lots of horns, actually, a whole shit-ton of them springing out of the stupid thing, horns that I hadn’t seen in the red haze of my anger. I ran face-first into them as they slashed in front of me, this way and that.

By all rights I shoulda had an eye poked out at least; the miracle is that they only scraped the skin and bone, down the length of my nose from forehead to bridge, and it stung but I wasn’t dead, so. I guess I shoulda been thankful. But instead of thanks, all I was feeling was infinitely angrier than I had been feeling. It was a different sort of anger, because before I had simply been annoyed. Now, though, the idiot upped the ante by attacking me— I kinda scream-growled my frustration, my teeth bared because fists were swung and now it was a brawl and I was coming for that ass.

Literally, though, I was coming for that ass—because he backed away from me and I had shot at him and he had swung his horns at me and they had scratched the crap out of me, and none of that changed the fact that the ground was slippery as hell and there was no way to stop myself on such short notice. So instead of trying to stop, I kept charging for him, angling my head to the left slightly to try and avoid the horns, my right shoulder jutting out so that I could ram him in the chest or throat or somewhere. If I got close enough I’d try and resort to my original plan: biting the ever-living shit out of him, anywhere along his neck or shoulder or wherever I could reach the jerk.

I was hot.



ATTACKS: [2/3]

Recap: Tries to slow her charge as Morir angles away from her; slides in the mud. Charges for his front but is slashed by his horns; gets a vertical scratch on her face. Keeps charging and turns her head away, trying to ram him in the chest or the neck with her right shoulder. Also attempts to bite the right side of his neck if she is allowed contact.


Like stars burning holes right through the dark
Flicking fire like saltwater into my eyes</style>

Official Posts: 847
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
This spar will default in one week. Please PM this account prior to then, if you would like an extension.

Official Posts: 847
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
This spar has been defaulted to Roskuld. Roskuld gets 0.5 VP.

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