the Rift


[JUDGED] furious movement [ graveyard vs. Roskuld ]

Tandavi The Fire Dancer Posts: 245
World's Edge Nurse atk: 6.5 | def: 9 | dam: 4
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Natraj :: Plain Kitsune :: Fire Charks
#1

Copper child stands ready and alert, eyes full of eagerness and a desire to go. Her third round is set on unfamiliar sands, and the shifting movement of an inconstant earth fills the girl with a strangely joyous relief. Though plants tear at nimble hocks, unrecognizable scrub pulling eagerly at golden hairs, it's still a desert, still something she knows, somewhere which does not pull at her nerves and send palpitations through a fluttering heart. Even the rain cannot dampen her spirits; the trickling heavens are sharp pinpricks of frigid pain, reminders of every muscle in her body that leave her eager, alert and aware. She breathes in the dawn and is rewarded with vitalization; it creeps into her eyes and sets her teeth on edge, making her fidget as she readies for fight.

The golden girl's spirits are not all that have changed. The weight of her armor is discarded, left behind in a pile on the floor of the wooden cave. Instead of mail she now wears feathers, long ivory primaries woven into her matted mane and spread within the braided tail. Shorter, darker plumage is tied within the feathering of her slender forelegs, covering her hooves and picking up sand. More form a headdress upon her crown, a helmet of hide opulently adorned with the avian features from white crest to beak. The cresting plumage arches between and behind her ears; her beak is made of polished wood, pointing down beyond her lip, though the underbite remains unadorned. Upon her withers, the finishing touch, useless wings of feathered hide secured by a harness which wraps around thin forequarters. Some structure is afforded by sticks woven within, but the wings are a silver decoration at their core, beauty without function or any real control.

Without the guise of a glorious knight, Tandavi stands a little less straight, the gleam in her eyes a little less moral. Her opponent, again, is roughly her age, and she is ready to truly get down to the games: no more feinting and fainting, no more holding back. She can taste the magic which bounces from the slightly shorter mare, see the purple and snow-capped tang. It invigorates her, inspires her; she grins beneath the avian mask, eyeing her opponent and planning her attack.

She is not alone, of course. Natraj sits on the sidelines once more, this time wearing a golden bird mask of his own, but he does not look to where his sister stands; instead, he eyes the vultures who circle and caw, wary and weary and ready to cry out to the girl if one ventures too close.

Firechild springs into furious movement, long legs leaping toward her staunchly built foe, steps sure despite the treacherous terrain. Black eyes narrow as she squints through the rain, letting the chill stoke her inner fire. The unicorn lacks Tandavi's slim build; she is shorter, and stouter, too sturdy for a girl with long legs to unseat. But the copper girl's limbs are useful for escape, and though she approaches the other mare from the left, she stops suddenly, feinting and dashing to the right, angling her body alongside her foe and aiming bright teeth at whatever she can reach.

In sickening hindsight she realizes this might be unwise, for the beak on her mask makes incisor movement prohibitive.

The girl attempts to compensate by kicking where she thinks a foreleg might be, hinds stretching out and left in a passing sweep; but she is flustered, and impassioned, and little regard given for aim, though in truth she wants not to fracture, but bruise. There is no reason to be cruel when playing a game, no need to maim where play is involved. Her wings flop uselessly with every step, slapping her sides and spurring her on, the feeling and sound an echo of her heart. This is fun, a release, and she can only hope her opponent feels that way, too.

Despite her good will, the girl is careful not to stay long within her foe's reach. Limbs stretch out, stride regained- or one stride, at least, before she stumbles and trips. Hidden foliage reaches from the desert sand and clings to her hooves, a betrayal of one who should belong in this terrain; she scrambles to regain her balance, looking back at the unicorn mare with a glimmer of laughter in her eyes.

[ @Roskuld] | 737 words | 1/2 ]
Tandavi is dressed as a white hippogriff, with feathers in her mane and on her forelegs, a feathered mask with a wooden beak, and feathered "wings" that hang off her withers and flop around.
Summary: runs toward Ros' right, feinting at the last minute and shifting to her left. Tries to bite whatever she can, though her mask makes it hard. Kicks at Ros' forelegs as she runs past, then attempts to flee, but stumbles as she flees. ]

- bg - table - image -

o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!


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
#2

“Pa.”

”Pa.”

”What are you doing?

”PA.”

This is NOT an okay thing!

STOP IT.

But he just laughed and laughed and the sky shook with the thunder of it. And it was shitty.

-------

Hours later, it was--




Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Every step rang with that mantra in my mind.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

I mean, if you can call them steps. They were more like precarious wobbles in a vague, general direction.

Still shitty.

Still shitty.

Wow, this is so shitty.

What are even heels and what are they for? Obviously they weren’t for hooves, judging by the way they were forcibly shoved on my own—except I couldn’t slip out of them like they obviously wanted because Pa had enchanted this shitty thing so that it wouldn’t leave my body.

Which was why the ass (oh god oh god there was actually an ass) continued to sit on my actual ass even though the fake-ass ass was sitting perilously loose somewhere behind my croup, like dual silicone bubbles—or maybe like two puppies rising and falling with every step wobble, fighting underneath the pink fabric-thing that rapped around the bottom of my chest, my stomach, and finally strapping the ass around my ass (I think Pa called the pink thing a “dress” but he was laughing too hard to be legible).

I tried to blow some strands of the black hairy thing out of my eyes, but more than anything I was just moving them around from one annoying location to another, along with some of the sand that was trying desperately to get under my eyelids. Because, I suppose, it only seemed right and necessary to some thunderous asshole in the sky to compound one shitty thing with another universally shitty thing. Fuck sand.

You’d think going into a fight when you’re already buzzed and hot would be an asset. But I had never been this steaming before, this indignant and full of rage. It was scary; I swear I got dizzy just by sheer anger. It didn’t help that every wobble-step brought on a fresh wave of fury, or the fact that I could clearly feel the bubble butt bouncing up and down with every movement I made. The huge-ass birds screaming at me were shrieking with laughter, and I screamed back at them, frequently. The raindrops weren’t there by accident; they were there because Pa sent them along with the distant rumble of thunder, and he was laughing at me.

I had just gotten done shouting down one vulture (“Yo’ Ma AND yo’ sister too!!”) when I saw another vulture coming right for me, head on. It was hard to tell because of all the hair and sand trying so valiantly to get into my eyes, but holy crap that wasn’t an actual bird. Oh yeah, this was still a tournament, and I was still supposed to be fighting someone.

I couldn’t even see what it she was doing; all I could tell was that there was something white and feathery hurling at me, so I backed up as fast as I could before it came upon me. I was lucky; I felt something whack at the air around the left side of my chest, which meant I dodged a bullet. And ran headfirst into another one, I guess, since I immediately stumbled spectacularly in the shoes that desperately wanted to come off but nah not really. I stumbled so hard, in fact, that I actually felt both my right fore and left hind ankles twist painfully, sharp enough that I fell backwards on both of my asses. If there was any silver lining to be found, it was the fact that the fake butt actually served as somewhat of a cushion, and I was able to bounce back on my (aching) feet relatively quickly.

But my luck ended there; something swooped from the sky before I could even get a hint of it; something sharp grasped at the base of my skull, scratching through my mane—my wig was thrown askew as a vulture clawed the fuck out of me, for dissin’ on its Ma and is sister. ”Hey!” I growled, but it was gone just as soon as it had come. I could feel something start to trickle from the pain I was feeling right behind my ears, while the wig clung desperately to my face, determined that I shouldn’t see shit. And don’t even talk about my white, feathery ass opponent. I had no idea where she was.

I let loose a steady stream of curses. This wasn’t fun; it certainly wasn’t a release.

It was all shitty.



----------

[ W/C: 781 | 1/2
Tandavi is dressed as Kim Kardashian (Specifically this outfit)

Summary: Is having a shitty time. Backs away from Tandavi's feint; dodges her hooves, but stumbles in the process, painfully twisting two fetlock joints in the process. As she recovers her footing, gets mauled by a vulture; sustains a gash at the base of her skull, near her ears. Her wig gets skewed and she is unable to see her opponent anymore. ]




talk

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




Please tag ROSKULD in every reply!

Tandavi The Fire Dancer Posts: 245
World's Edge Nurse atk: 6.5 | def: 9 | dam: 4
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Natraj :: Plain Kitsune :: Fire Charks
#3
Nobody else seems to see the joy of the fight, the fact that this is a game, not a duel for glory and death. Her opponent - garbed in some spectacular combination of headdress and blanket and rump-pad and strange, spiky shoes - runs and rages. Looking back at the stout, angry mare, the girl's smile falters, hesitancy creeping into black eyes.

Nothing hits. Her opponent may as well have been made of air, for all the good Tandavi's hopeless flailing does. Laughter turns to frustration, then swiftly to alarm: the glance thrown back reveals not pursuit, but another fight in the damp and dust where she left the pink-garbed mare. For a moment, it looks as though Roskuld has grown wings, black feathery things that sprout from her spine- but movement and cursing reveals the truth, and the tall copper child looks on in horror as a vulture circles triumphantly back into the sky. Part of her thinks she should be glad, grateful that the carrion has struck her foe on her behalf, but it is a small part, a quiet part, and it is drowned out by the righteous indignation which the rest of her screams.

This is a game, not a war, and she will not strike a foe with such a cruel disadvantage.

Fire child takes a step, but maintains a length's distance from the cursing mare. Perhaps naive, the girl is concerned, and she reaches out to her foe with alto words. "Are you okay?" she questions, soft, black gaze shifting between avian and equine, body tense and poised to escape should either take this chance to fight. The birds, she thinks, are a far greater threat. From their perch upon unforgiving cacti the carrion glower, leering their desire to see the girls rip each other apart. She wonders that this is a sport to them, loathes that they likely want her dead, a judgment cast down despite the fact that she has committed no sin against their tribe. The mare is grounded, wrapped in pink and useless shoes, and the lanky girl still believes that her opponent cannot truly mean her harm.

The vultures are winged and big and mean, vicious shadows in the pale dawn light, and as her eyes turn back to the mare one takes the opportunity to dive in and strike. From his seat on the sidelines, Natraj cries out; but it is too late to stop it, too late to be safe, and though the girl scrambles on hopeless feet she feels the burn of claws in her withers, the searing slice of a beak where her right shoulder slopes. Light rain runs damp dust into the wounds, mixing with the blood that pools from her wounds; she screams at the vulture and backpedals, sidesteps, dashes and trips forward and left, directly toward where she'd last seen the other mare.

The vulture releases his vice grip on her withers, but not before tearing away one of her beautiful wings. Fury races through her veins as she watches her feathered "appendage" fly away, the vulture cawing his triumph and contempt and her right side feeling light and empty. She watches it go and her magic ignites, crimson sparks springing from her coat in a luminous cloud of useless rage. If only she could set the lot of them alight, bring down the Sun's wrath upon their ugly tails! This battle is not what she expected it to be. The world is less honorable than she could have hoped to expect.

[ @[Roskuld] | 596 words | 2/2 ( 0/1 defense ) ]
Turns back to see the vulture attacking Ros. Asks is Ros is okay, only to be attacked by a vulture of her own. Run/stumbles forward, directly toward Ros, while her healing magic creates a cloud of harmless sparks around her

- bg - table - image -

o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!


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
#4
It was a struggle, man. I was all turned around and the vultures continued to squawk around at me, at each other, at the big white chicken that was supposed to fight me—the wig continued to cling to my face like a champ, sticky somewhere towards the back with the thin trickle of blood that traveled down the right side of my neck, a slow, ticklish sensation that wasn’t helping at all in this mess. The pink burrito wrap dress was constricting and itchy as it was getting wet, and the shoes wouldn’t come off, no matter how dangerously I wobbled. I shook my head this way and that; I blew at the strands in front of my nose, and somehow, I was given enough time to untangle one eye from the shadow of the clumps of hair.

Not that I got a good look at anything, really; it was sandy and hot and rainy at the same time; I guess Pa was still laughing somewhere, up in the sky or in the back of my head or somewhere; large, dark shadows lined the battlefield, chattering and calling out obscenities in a harsh, birdish language that I didn’t understand. My range of sight was limited; it wasn’t until I heard a single sentence, deep and feminine (“Are you okay?”), before I locked on the white chicken again—a chicken that turned out not to be a chicken, or a vulture, or any kind of real bird. Jeez.

Why couldn’t I have been a bird? But nah, I ended up being a harpy.

There was a flush of renewed humiliation when I realized here was one honest-to-god soul who was bearing witness to this ultimate bullshit--something inside told me that Pa was a jerk, but he wasn’t a snitch who went around running their mouth about crap they didn’t need to. He kept secrets; Birdman over there was an unknown quantity. Er, Birdwoman. Whatever.

“Shut up and fight me, I snapped, voice sparked with nervous, angry energy; I squared off (wobbled off), trying to create some sort of structure and stability to my bearing. Which wasn’t happening because I guess stiletto heels weren’t made with structure and stability in mind. Just--ugh, what were they even for? I already didn’t understand shoes!

There was a lot of movement all at once, very suddenly; feathers were everywhere and something was making this alarmed, painfully adorable squeal off to the side. I snatched my eyes over toward the squeal—then snatched them back in front of me, seeing a blurry, birdy battle between Birdwoman and another vulture—a battle that was comprised mostly of indistinct blobs, because goddammit the wig hair had gotten back into my good eye and I was blind again. With a roar of frustration, I finally flung my head upwards, backwards; the wig would have gone flying with the strength of my head toss, if it weren’t enchanted. However, miraculously all the hair that had curtained my face flown backward, luxurious and mockingly sexy as it settled wavy and voluminous against my shoulders. I had both eyes now, hot damn! And both eyes watched as Chickenwoman hurled toward me, a white, feathery, one-winged wrecking ball.

There was no escape. I tried to scrabble backward again, but my ankles weren’t having it—they still smarted with pain from when I had twisted them. She hit me like a fluffy battering ram, one wing flopping comically to the side, almost close enough to whack me while I got a face-full of chest and neck and down feathers. Okay honestly she didn't hit me that hard; I was the one who had no balance whatsoever, the walking epitome of precariousness. Instinctively, almost impulsively, my teeth grasped for flesh or feathers or whatever they could reach while we made contact, but honestly, I didn’t know what was going on anymore; I didn’t know what I was doing. The contact was brief, and I fell backward again—but as I flew, a bolt of something emerged from my horn, shooting somewhere, directionless and futile—like this fight, I guess.

I kept falling. In a final show of cosmic disgrace, my fake ass cheeks decided they weren’t impenetrable pieces of cushiony armor, after all. I hit the ground ass first with a resounding

P O P

and, as I flopped onto my back, more out of defeat than anything, I got showered with pretty, happy little red sparks. Yaaaaay….



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[ W/C: 744 | 2/2

Summary: Is still having a shitty time. Struggles to see through her wig; is unable to avoid Tandavi's stumble toward her, and is hit by Tandavi head-on hard enough to topple backwards. Tries to bite at Tandavi's neck as they close; looses an aimless bolt of lightning as she falls backward. The ass bursts as she hits the ground; kinda lays there.

*Disclaimer: I'm in no way, shape, or form trying to say ill of Kim Kardashian's character with this post/spar. The word play worked so I went with it. ]




talk

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




Please tag ROSKULD in every reply!

Tandavi The Fire Dancer Posts: 245
World's Edge Nurse atk: 6.5 | def: 9 | dam: 4
Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Natraj :: Plain Kitsune :: Fire Charks
#5
In that wet desert dawn, a grey expanse of varied emotion rises and falls within her breast, tumultuous and ardent, invigorating and infuriating. Fire child entered the field of battle prepared for a spar with an enthused partner, her hooves a-flutter and her heart alight. Innocent, insolent, she wore a grin to beguile her foe's frown- but that smile has been steadily wiped away, replaced first with dismay and concern, souring swiftly to irritation. Copper brow furrows as her offer of empathy is cast aside, two-toned ears falling to the tangle of her mane; she snorts at the mare whose magic reeks of purple and sparks- why won't the world be noble and just?

Then of course the vulture attacks, leaving her lost in a flurry of stray feathers and bleeding wounds. Frustration and fear play games in her mind; she wants nothing more than to make her escape, to leave this disaster and find solace in her home. This is her first fight to actually be met with a willing opponent, and the thrill and excitement she felt at its start has been squandered and spat on, left behind in the desert dust. Are all fights like this, bitter and dirty, angry and cold, spurred on by rage and regardless of honor? That her offer of empathy might embarrass poor Roskuld does not drift across the lanky child's mind. She is too close to see clearly, and in her blooming discontent Tandavi believes her foe finds her wanting, judges and deems her unworthy of a noble fight.

She does not expect her body to collide with the pink sausage creature; alto voice squeaks in high-pitched surprise and the stouter mare topples beneath Tandavi's weight. This is even more surprising. If anyone's legs were to give way and collapse, the girl would have bet on them being her own, the long limber and feathery things which so often tangled beneath her narrow frame. In hindsight, of course, it made perfect sense: the sand, the rain, and the draft mare's shoes are a horrible combination for stability.

But the moon-slashed girl is not in a mood to see sense, to look for the logic of action and result. She stumbles forward in Roskuld's wake, chest aching mildly from the force of their impact, and falls to her right knee while the other mare's teeth tear from her mane a mouthful of feathers and a smattering of hair. The ground sends a shudder upward through her bones, jolting the already injured right side. Angrily, impulsively, she scrambles back up, wincing as the hurried motion pulls at the torn flesh on her wounded right shoulder, frowning at the fresh scrapes from where her right cannon hit the ground and the unforgiving foliage therein.

Then a bright woosh of lightning rushes past her left side, leaving frizzled mane and a frazzled psyche in its wake, and the girl's eyes widen in fury and shock. The one remaining wing falls prey to the magic, and in a moment of fury she tears it away, shaking her head in a futile attempt to dislodge her mask, wishing to rid herself of this guise, to just be herself and wear her own skin.

She's done.

She is so fucking done, so over this shit; teeth grind against the bright, shallow pain of her shoulder as she backs further away from the strange, angry mare who now lays on her back, torn between running and laughter and tears.

Fire child wonders if this is victory, but if it is she does not want it.

Fire filly inspects her adversary through the misting rain, snorting a warning to the vultures who circle and caw, hungry for this promised meal. More bright sparks emerge from her coat, circling and swirling despite the damp; they drift toward the pink-wrapped mare as a promise to help; she will not be monster she sees in her heart, will not fall to anger and baser desires. Fire child won't let another fall prey to the vultures, despite the strange aggression of the bizarrely dressed stranger. Damp and irate, hurt and appalled, she channels her anger toward conviction and passion. A knight never leaves when a maiden's in need, and she would rather be felled than abandon her post.


[ @[Roskuld] | 714 words | 2/2 ( 1/1 defense ) ]
Falls onto her right knee when Ros goes down. Stands back up and decides to heal Ros and defend her from vultures, whether she likes it or not.
gg bro, this was fun <3 ]

- bg - table - image -

o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!


Random Event Posts: 1,286
Helovian Ancient
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
#6
By my verdict: TANDAVI is the winner!

TANDAVI
Realism [+4]
Right away, and all through the fight, I was impressed with your costume and you had it affect you. I also liked it slowly being ripped off through the fight and hindering your bite ability. You had great scenery and breed in the first post, which fell a little short in the second, however you had great attacks and defenses. I thought you reacted really well to the terrain effect and the vulture NPC and I liked how you tied them into the assaults (or dodges) of Roskuld, your main opponent.


Emotion [+2.5]
I really enjoyed all the variety and depth I saw from Tandavi through this fight, especially in the second post.


Prose [+4]
Beautiful writing all throughout and great flow.


Readability [+2]
Although mostly readable in your first post it was hard to visualize how you came at Roskuld for your attack since you did not say if you came head on, sideways, behind etc.

Post 1:
“...making her fidget as she readies for fight.” (to fight, for a fight, for fighting…)


Finally tally: 53+(12.5*2)= 78 HP

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

ROSKULD
Realism [-1]
First and foremost I thoroughly enjoyed your costume and how you played it off, although at times I think you focused on it too much which distracted a bit from the actual fight, particularlyy in your first post in which you made zero attacks towards Tandavi. Not attacking really leaves your opponent at a disadvantage and isn’t very realistic, so there was some heavy point reduction due to that - even if an attack doesn’t make sense for a character/scenario, attacks can always be made accidentally to give your opponent something to go off of. I did like though how much you had her stumble in her heels, though I’m not sure if you intended to have one of her falls be the terrain effect or not - it didn’t read that way to me because it always seemed to be a fault of the heels, which could have caused issue on any terrain with the way you were writing them. For such a similar reason too I find it unrealistic that Roskuld was able to dodge both of Tandavi’s first attacks, backwards. Additionally I didn’t feel that you sustained enough injuries in your second post where you rolled a 6 damage.

I did really like your response to the vulture npc attack though and I liked that you were gutsy enough to have her fall over. I also enjoyed seeing you mention her twisted legs again in the second post.


Emotion [+2.5]
You had wonderful emotion throughout the whole fight which left me laughing, though pitying Roskuld - especially in your first post.


Prose [+4]
You have a distinctive style and really nice writing which flows together nicely.


Readability [+2]
Although mostly readable, there was a typo in your first post and an incorrect term in both.

Post 1:
“...pink fabric-thing that rapped around the bottom…” (wrapped)
“...right fore and left hind ankles twist painfully…” (horses don’t have ankles, fetlocks, pasterns??)

Post 2: ankles again


Finally tally: 47+(7.5*2)= 62 HP


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