the Rift


[JUDGED] Sacred blood (Cirrus)

Hector Posts: 262
Outcast atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 18.3hh :: 7 Years HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE
Veci :: Plain Boggart :: Suffocate Dream
#1

No Time for Lies and Empty Fights


Setting: Sky Island on flat grass outside the village. It is late night with no wind, and fog that will worsen over the length of the spar.



The night air around Sky Island was cold, still, and it burned the giant’s trachea as he drew a long, tentative breath.

It had been four or five seasons at least since the last time Hector had laid eyes upon the weather-wielding daughter of late General, Ázzuen the Ardent. She had been serving as a Sun Physician if his memory served him well, working alongside Onni the Illuminant. At the time, an aspiring warrior, Hector had been quite taken by the prospect of one so young and attractive (and recognized), wielding the sacred flame that might one day have seen him mended on the warfront.

It was all such a lifetime ago...

Shrewd tangerine eyes closed firmly for a moment, literally blinking away fond memories that seemed to hold so little relevance in the present. As thin, red lashes peeled apart once again, the lonely darkness seemed denser, more isolating. Even the winking starlight above felt more distant; the white fingernail moon, cold, sharp and unfriendly. May this night pass quickly... he prayed silently with whiskered chin lifted faithfully towards the heavens. He yearned always for the uplifting warmth of His sunlight - wickedness lurked in the shadows.

Hector turned from the island’s cloudy rim and robust knees clicked as they swivelled beneath his bulky, brawny body. Recent gossip throughout the army’s ranks had hinted of Cirrus’ return to Dragon’s Throat (though he was yet to discover the truth for himself) and the warrior had been informed that she might join him this time on patrol - extra surveillance that seemed quite necessary given the morbid murders which had occurred lately. Narrow ears wavered above soft, silken hair, listening intently for the beat of approaching wings or even a pant to suggest she was near.

Nothing but silence...

Not one to loiter, the stallion set off at a laid-back pace towards the tent village, each stride naturally long and swinging. Fog which had been but a cool, invisible mist by the rocky ledge, began to thicken slowly the further inland he travelled; to bead like an intricate web of crystal across his rippling, shadow-brushed pelt.

Cirrus can find me... he told Veci decisively.

... she is a child of the Ardent.



@[Cirrus], if you want to attack first go ahead, or I will next post... obviously <.<

Intro
Words: 371

(normal spar)


Cirrus Posts: 233
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT
Whit
#2
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Stars shimmered in the midnight sky, twinkling and shining, sometimes hinting that they were more than simple dots of white light - sometimes, one could make out the true colour their fiery bellies held. Sometimes they seemed to wink out of existence until one reconsidered them with a keener gaze, and then they would see that it was a cloud obscuring their view. The midnight canvas of the sky stretched out across a muscled hide, shimmering and glowing dully, illuminating nothing for the bearer of such passive magic, but instead acting as a soft beacon for her presence. Grey fog seemed to creep up the dark legs of the damsel, her form mirroring the climate as it had since her birth. No wind stirred as her limber stilts crossed the strange, grassy rooftop of the peculiar floating island that had appeared a handful of seasons ago.

The girl wandered, thoughts dragging her attention this way and that, ears twisting haphazardly atop the chiselled contours of her tiara. Yes, the daughter of the Ardent had returned to the Throat, the place of her birth, where everything began. And everything would finish, her thoughts drew the conclusion in her mind, offering a sense of peace that the cloud had not felt since her soul was ripped into shreds by the death of her companion. Shame still whirled within her, it still overwhelmed her at times, but this young Valkyrie, this Amazon warrior would not so easily give up, even when the odds stacked themselves against her.

Spotting the steed that was to be her patrol-mate, the girl paused her motion. Memories trickled through her crown now, flashes of times past, where her father instructed the warriors on how best to train and hone their bodies to be the strongest, fast and deadliest weapons a battle needed. The great red brute stood tall and huge in her memories, a behemoth of a giant, a mountain carved of fire and ivory stone. And as she viewed his dark, crimson form that was outlined by slightly lighter hair and markings, she could think of how he still looked huge and intimidating, no matter whether he was just standing or walking casually, or switched on to battle mode. He was as hefty as she was compact, but their forms also held similarities. A sweeping tail swung behind him just as it did her, and wings certainly large enough to carry the behemoth warrior rose from his shoulder blades. Ivory horns grew from the hard nasal plate of the steed's crown, and the girl observed these with careful consideration.

Though she was intimidated and grossly outweighed, a desire rose up within the young warrior's heart to prove herself against this beast of a stallion. Perhaps it was the recklessness she was born with, perhaps it was recklessness spurred by the grief and misery that constantly plagued her; perhaps it was both, combining dangerously to cause the belle to dive into this situation with barely a second thought.

If she did have that second thought, all it would have said was, 'Oh shit,' anyway.

Ears flattened beneath dreadlocked ropes of mane, as the girl let out a battle-cry that would surely alert Hector (and any nearby) of her intentions. Subtlety was not the girl's strong suit - it was all or nothing when it came to Cirrus in battle. The girl leaned back on her haunches to paw at the misty air before her with her own fog-hued legs, before pushing herself forward into a speedy canter. Her path was aimed to hold the bulk of Hector's left side in its centre until the very last moment, whereby the devious cloud would feint towards his haunches, before committing to a complete turn to her right. Should it work, and allow her to get her hind legs in an ideal position to make a strike, the girl would indeed kick out with both legs, tucking her chin to her chest as she did so, grunting with the effort of striking out so violently. Should her aim be true, her hooves might plant themselves sharply against the left side of the stallion's barrel, sneaking in beneath his generous wingspan and with any luck, forcing all the air in his lungs to be temporarily shunted out.

Truly, she wasn't worried about hurting him, she wasn't even angry as she attacked him seemingly at random. Mostly, she wanted to know how she stood up against this stalwart beast, to test herself - and to know just how strong the Throat's defences were since her father's fall.

[ ooc :: 764 words as counted in MS Word.
1/3 attack posts.
0/1 closing defence.
@[Hector]
Wheeee~ ]
Image Credit
as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat


  • I enjoy being tagged.


  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:


    Hector Posts: 262
    Outcast atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5
    Stallion :: Hybrid :: 18.3hh :: 7 Years HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE
    Veci :: Plain Boggart :: Suffocate Dream
    #3

    No Time for Lies and Empty Fights


    Like stunning clarion bells, the voice chimed against Hector’s astonished, pricked ears, and though it seemed to explode out of nowhere, the sound resonated brightly through the whole of the atmosphere surrounding. The language was explicit. There was no mistaking her intentions – it an inspiring war-cry – and hard, chipped hooves cut viciously into the soft Birdsong meadow as strapping legs pulled his lumbering body around and around, in a vain effort to place her.

    Veci! Where is she? his thoughts bellowed as fiery eyes strained to penetrate the stubborn wall of damp white. Although in the back of his mind he knew of Cirrus’ coat’s tendency to mimic the weather patterns, the surprise element of her arrival and the excitement it roused, had buried that – perhaps vital – awareness. No, look for the hellhound! he commanded suddenly after a spilt second’s reassessment. The foul, jagged fangs of a canine appealed far less than any blunt bite from its companion. Above the soft swirling length of his mane, quivering, revolving ears listened fixedly through the pound of his pulse for any sound that might hint of her approach.

    The muffled rumble of hooves striking grass at speed drew Hector promptly around in a full circle (to face the distant edge of the island). His scurrying, searching eyes found at last a blur of movement just off his right shoulder – it appeared that originally she had been targeting his left. Her looming form was as pasty as the mist and freakishly well camouflaged; the stallion snorted briskly before throwing open his monstrous wingspan and thrusting them down to perhaps dispel some of her mask. His effort came too little too late however.

    She blends into the fog!

    Neat, pointed, red ears flattened backwards - frustrated that he had ignored such a pivotal characteristic amid growing anticipation. With little time to spare, his shrewd, educated eyes swooped towards her and noted cunningly the darkest points visible around her frame (the long hair, legs and nose). That will help... he assured himself, drawing a long breath and leaning back heavily across bunched haunches to brace for the impending collision.

    But Cirrus did not ram headlong into him as expected.

    Hector waited, winced and readied himself, but to no avail. The sly child of the Ardent was bluffing. She swung hard instead to her right – she was small in comparison, swift upon her feet and far nimbler than he – and the giant watched powerlessly as her hindquarters lifted just off his left flank. He considered reaching out with snapping teeth to warn her thigh away and his thick neck snaked wildly to the tune of such logic; but his mass was too much of a burden against the litheness of her attack. Even as tightening hocks beneath urged his body forward, her hind legs – curved, rigid, black hooves - were rushing too eagerly to meet his flinching skin.

    In a hopelessly vain attempt to avoid serious injury, he lifted his wings beyond her reach. It was all he could manage after committing already to the forward lunge. Her kick struck squarely their target, his round ribcage, and all air was driven from the stallion’s lungs with a heavy, WHOOP – hardly the bold trumpet of a Dragon Warrior. So too did his astonished eyes bulge briefly from their sockets before blinking hurriedly away the ensuing red-speckled gloom of unconsciousness.

    Hector gasped to recover his breath but the first was horribly shallow. As air funnelled rapidly into his chest, the barrel encasing stretched and searing pain robbed him of breath a second time. He had suffered cracked ribs in the past however and found the nerve to inhale again, though the agony.

    To continue, he would need to be able to breathe!

    Jaws gasped again and oxygen filled his chest to capacity. Already leaning into a forward motion, Hector strode with gritted teeth after Cirrus with a brilliantly, naturally extended stride – his legs were far longer.

    Find the damned wolf! he urged his companion again, but Veci had skirted the pair twice already unsuccessfully.

    The tawny-coloured Tribrid had not the time to consider his bonded’s infuriating futility however; if the evolving plan in his mind held true, his decorated skull should have been nearing the vicinity of the mare’s right side (with any luck, her shoulder off to his left with her dark legs as a beacon). Audaciously given the ache still radiating through his core, Hector’s crest skewed abruptly beneath flailing soggy tendrils of mane and the larger of his horns – jutting with a slight backwards lean from his forehead – swung left, daring towards her. With no desire to maim her dreadfully (a slight tear somewhere to match the damage done to him, at least), Hector pulled his skull back after only a few seconds.



    Attack: 1/3
    Words: 799
    @[Cirrus]


    Cirrus Posts: 233
    Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT
    Whit
    #4
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    The brute moved as she approached, but it did not change her path nor her actions thereafter; the girl was committed, and once commitment was attained it was hard to break it away from her.

    But she had broken commitments before, hadn't she? Broken oaths, promises, pacts.

    Broken bonds.

    Had the girl been able to see or sense the boggart that linked itself to the red behemoth's mind, perhaps she would have paused her attack, or not started it at all. But the companion remained elusive to sight, sound and smell, and so the cloud-girl was propelled into action by the initial recklessness that had possessed her earlier, action that was continued on now by the flow of adrenalin her body naturally produced when presented with a fight-or-flight situation.

    This was decidedly a fight situation.

    The great WHOOP of air leaving the lungs of the crimson giant caused a spike of satisfaction to rise within the girl, but as was the nature of battle, the spike of emotion soon crashed back down to something more.. panicked. White rings surrounded her bright irises as the girl landed, using the time it took for the scarlet beast behind her to recover to put some distance between them. Nimble though she was, the sheer height, length and reach of his legs versus her own was far greater, and she found herself swiftly returned to close quarters with him.

    It was now that, had the girl time to gather her thoughts, she might have wondered exactly why she chose to pick a fight against such terrible odds. As his looming bulk leered closer, genuine fear caused the girl to duck lower.

    What was I thinking again? the thought was thrown out into the aether, but only bitter silence replied. A metallic taste filled her mouth as the girl realised amongst the flurry of activity, she had bitten her own tongue, her jaw clenching as her nape tucked her skull down low. He might not have been aiming for her head nor eyes, but when a mammoth sized monster waved his rhino's horns at her, the girl's thoughts were on preserving her ability to see.

    Sweat darkened her hide, not necessarily purely from the exertion of the fight, but rather the stillness of the night, the lack of wind that would normally dry off such perspiration, combined with the presence of the ever-thickening fog. As the beast's great head swung towards her, she shied to her left, leaning into the turn with legs scrambling to follow beneath her. The grass beneath her neat hooves had clung to the dampness of the mist, and so her traction was impeded, and it showed as a flash of ivory (the smaller, more nasal horn) lanced the taut skin that covered her right shoulder, splitting it open. It was not deep nor overly long (merely a hand's width), but it stung readily, and as the girl's sweat and mane dripped and bounced into and around it, she stifled a cry that would have shamed her in front of the great warrior.

    Teeth ground together as she swallowed her pride, her ego feeling particularly more wounded than her body as the cloud-girl was forced to realise her ineptitude against this brute. But she was already well into the throes of battle - and a battle was something she had never run away from.

    Having finally righted herself about half a body's length from where she watched the beast raise his dual-horned crown (and she looked particularly nastily at the smallest one, which was tipped in her blood), the girl clacked her bloodstained teeth together harshly, snapping at the air. Thrusting her wings out, she winced at the pain moving her right one caused, but pushed herself past it as she bent her nape to pull the weapon passed down through generations from her the clutches of feathers amongst her left appendage. Bloodstained saliva coated the wooden surface as she rolled her tongue over the familiar indents briefly, holding it closer to its sharp, silver tip than she normally would - but surely this steed would not know the correct way to hold a spear anyway. Cirrus was counting on his bewilderment of the sharp point to make her next move.

    Wings still flared, the girl attempted to rush at the stallion, to get in close to his face and once again, to feint an attack with the sharp end of her spear. She jutted it forward, aiming for the underside of his neck (as that was the most accessible area for one of her stature), before sharply twisting her skull (and thereby, rotating the spear's wooden shaft swiftly through the air) to hopefully land a jarring attack upon his large, elevated head.


    [ 792 words as counted in MS Word.
    2/3 attack posts
    0/1 closing defence
    @[Hector] ]
    Image Credit
    as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat


  • I enjoy being tagged.


  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:


    Hector Posts: 262
    Outcast atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5
    Stallion :: Hybrid :: 18.3hh :: 7 Years HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE
    Veci :: Plain Boggart :: Suffocate Dream
    #5

    No Time for Lies and Empty Fights


    The fog was thickening into soup (hidden of course by the hue of night) and it threatened to drown any awareness Hector fumbled to maintain. Perhaps searching for the rushing smear of her sooty-black legs through the dark had been a foolish ambition – it did not serve as the inspiration he had so hoped for after all. She seemed mostly invisible, with steps impossible to trace while the supple, spring-grass cushioned her tread; the weather-wearer was imperceptible, save for the unpredictable effort of her breath here and there.

    It became quickly apparent that she was just beyond reach of his endeavouring skull. The largest of his curving ivory horns struck nothing but the delicate billow of misty-moisture, and though the other (smaller, perched inconspicuously atop thinning nasal bone) did collide with some point of her rolling sinew, the victorious surge of adrenaline which he would naturally have expected was overwhelmed instead by a roar of pain through his core.

    Again he was choked of breath...

    The agony stemming from the damaged rib - the resonating sting of bruised tissue around it - provoked a bitter snarl to twist the stallion’s lips. The injury Cirrus had dealt him had become both an untimely and unexpected burden that he had not voluntarily thought to heed. Hector surrendered helplessly and thus was unable to avoid the line of his travelling body as it bent awkwardly left to follow the swing of his head. It seemed he had been quite unable to fight through the overbearing agony as battered muscles wrenched to execute the seemingly straightforward manoeuvre - his intention had been to continue forward...

    Sweat oozed from gaping pores as his hulking body toiled on to the tune of his veteran mind, and as it combined with the damp, cloudy atmosphere, copper turned into rich mahogany-brown.

    I’ve become the wretched beacon tonight... he thought sourly, half expecting the hellhound’s piercing canines to sink callously then into his leg. No such event transpired however and as the radiating pain began to subside once again, he probed Veci’s mind for answers. Still the Boggart had failed to find the creature – Hector was wondering by then, if the mare’s companion was even on the scene! The notion seemed ridiculous indeed, but what other explanation could there have been?

    Apparently, in the meantime, Cirrus had again used her lesser, feminine grace to turn (or duck, he couldn’t tell) swiftly away from the soldier’s lumbering position.

    Fog twirled playfully in the wind as their moving bodies stirred it to life; fuelling Hector’s ravenous lungs and cooling the hot, damp canvas of his skin. From somewhere outside his field of vision (but near enough at least, to cause him concern) there was the distinctive clacking of teeth, and narrow ears tipped warily towards the sound that so very vaguely alluded to her location. He snorted brashly through flared nostrils and thick, muscular legs ceased all movement; he waited beneath an ever expanding cloud of anticipation for something to happen. Long bony tail switched left and right suspiciously, as though - while he paused in limbo - it was the only way he could release pent up adrenaline from his system.

    Wide-open eyes strained vigilantly through the fog; fighting a losing battle against both the gloomy hour and the weather; the mare’s enchanted appearance. Yet Hector’s warrior-heart was never discouraged.

    All of a sudden there was a rush of movement in front of him – the subtle but menacing flash of a pale, silver point - and Hector’s large, round hooves scuttled backwards in surprise. The ungainly burst of backward motion was no match for her weapon-wielding advance though. With wings apart she crowded his personal space brilliantly, and all he could do was jerk right (away also, from next explosion of pain through his barrel) with his skull dancing high, away from her reach. The golden-red pattern of flames licking up the length of his throat was exposed as he swung, and the landing wooden length of her spear battered it heavily.

    It was not as fierce an injury as the first thankfully - a gruff cough and a bruised windpipe, both being tolerable in comparison. He was able to ignore it sufficiently enough and hold focus (thanks to coursing hormones), and unfurling his monstrous wingspan to balance, Hector rolled his shoulders forward; driving his weight down into plunging front-hooves.

    Enough is enough...

    The petite Pegasus had played the upper hand well - however - as he collided with the spongy grass, the earth beneath shuddered unnaturally. The tiring giant chose sensibly not to waste time turning to see whether she had toppled. Instead, while using the same continuing momentum, bony, spring-like hocks uncoiled and the stallion’s burly hind-quarters lifted a powerful, bucking kick towards where presumably, Cirrus still lingered.



    Attack: 2/3
    Words: 800
    @[Cirrus]

    Notes: Hector used War Stomp: A single stomp of the hoof can lightly rattle the ground and throw an opponent off balance.


    Cirrus Posts: 233
    Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT
    Whit
    #6
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    Blood dribbled over the lips of skin that spilt into a crimson grin upon her shoulder, running thickly down the contours of her scapula, elbow, and spattering upon her foreleg as motion jolted the scarlet streams. Teeth ground into the wooden shaft they held, as every movement, every tensing of muscle or twitching of skin caused an ache. The pain began as a reminder of what had caused the injury - sharp, quick, lancing, before dulling to a constant, throbbing ache. Each heartbeat encouraged more blood to coagulate and pour over the edge, as the wound furiously tried to scab over, failing hopelessly against the continual shifting of the foggy-girl's body. As her spear struck upon her new crimson-gold marked target, she silently cursed, wishing amidst everything else that she was just a bit taller, that she might be able to reach her desired targets more often.

    As a tennis player follows through with the swing of their racquet, so too did Cirrus' body continue on the arc of attack even after it had struck. So as the great behemoth turned to his right, Cirrus turned to hers, and they were almost parallel, if facing in opposite directions. The abrupt expansion of wings and feathers caused the girl's muscles to bunch again, a completely reactive motion as she skittered another step slightly forward, hooves digging in to the soft, damp loam instead of slipping this time, divots showing her path amongst the misty grasses.

    Eyes widened even more as the steed rose to higher heights. He's tall enough already! the girl thought hopelessly, watching as power then surged forth from his hooves. It jolted her, and to her right fell the spear. It was barely allowed a thought on her mind as the girl grappled at the moving ground with limbs that felt like spaghetti. Haunches bunched and she splayed her wings out awkwardly to the sides to try and maintain her balance. She had just tipped her nose down to the level of her knees when a heavy thwump struck the fleshy area of her left hip. It was ideally timed by Hector, who had struck just as the girl had lifted her left hindleg off the ground in an attempt to rebalance. With her right one still feeling much like jelly, the blow caused her entire hind-end to crumple.

    The world stopped shaking (finally, the girl thought), and her forelegs frantically worked to keep herself mostly upright. They did not crumple like the back, but the imbalance took several precious seconds to recover from. Broad wings flapped heavily against the loam, the left one possibly striking at the behemoth should he still be within striking distance. Using her feathered appendages as levers against the loamy earth, the girl rose to her full (comparatively diminutive) height, churning up soil and grass in the process. As if to help her, a wind struck up, summoned unconsciously by the magic that she was blessed with at the fall of her father, the General, the Ardent.

    The wind did little to actually help her, though it cooled her hide (and stung her cut). As weight settled into her hips again, she felt the left one complain painfully at the strike it had taken. A lump had already formed; perfectly shaped as a replica of Hector's generous hoofprint, and a lameness would be evident in her stride should she walk off.

    Ruling out chasing the steed down as an option, the cloud attempted to formulate another plan, another strike, another message to say yes, I am here, and I will stand beside you, as my father once did. A snort rolled heavily from her nostrils, the watery spittle and snot spraying before her, silver droplets in the midnight light. Encouraging her magic to linger, and grow stronger, the girl smiled darkly as so swiftly, visibility was reduced even further. Clouds converged above them, and the present humidity in the air already made it easy for her to will rain to fall from their pregnant bellies. Sometime in the flurry she created, she had bent down to retrieve her now-muddy spear from the ground to her right, and as she lifted her tiara she expertly threw it towards where she hoped the behemoth still stood. She had not aimed for anything vital - she did not wish to kill him, merely to prove to him that she was indeed worth of the rank she now held. It was a strong throw; it needed to be to fly amongst the rain she had created. Her aim was for where she estimated the brute's right wing to be, about a foot off the joint that attaches the wing to his bulky body, the perfect spot to throw a weapon like a spear without causing irreparable damage.



    [ 800 words according to MS Word.
    3/3 attack posts.
    0/1 closing defence.
    @[Hector] ]
    Image Credit
    as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat


  • I enjoy being tagged.


  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:


    Hector Posts: 262
    Outcast atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5
    Stallion :: Hybrid :: 18.3hh :: 7 Years HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE
    Veci :: Plain Boggart :: Suffocate Dream
    #7

    No Time for Lies and Empty Fights


    Stale air gushed from Hector’s lungs as the thrust of his airborne hooves collided with the invisible mare’s thigh (not nearly as forcefully as he had intended), and irritated, copper-red ears fastened backwards. Of course he had no real wish to disable his smaller, feminine, colleague - there was a point to prove though, and the thrill of testosterone spewing through his bloodstream did little to quell a growing sense of rivalry.

    The impact jolted instantly down the length of long, strapping hind-legs and rattled though the solid stallion’s core more violently than it should have. The shock seemed to ricochet like a dozen free ball-bearings, all drumming against the damaged bone in his ribcage. It’s a gift that just keeps giving! ...his mind hissed bitterly, and pure exasperation coloured an irrepressible sigh as it heated the vaporous air beyond his nostrils.

    As if to pour salt into his already wounded pride, Hector recalled conveniently the whipping he had taken recently from the puny Arab chestnut called Drõm. Suddenly, the veteran warrior wanted nothing more than to mash his horned forehead into the grass. Surely this pattern of ridiculous inaptitude was running thin already...

    Gravity cared little for his hurt vanity however and promptly pulled his brawny backside down again, to stand naturally parallel to the earth. It was in that moment that he realised just how quickly he was tiring. Between heavily muscled buttocks, sweat lathered and his liver chestnut pelt had turned a sodden, sleek black.

    Though in his prime and well fit for battle, Hector’s stamina fell easily short of these smaller, lither opponents (few were ever comparable in size).

    Both mind and logic screeched for him to leap forward and away from her reach, yet his hulking frame could not move quickly enough. Fortunately, the warning stroke of a feathered wing-tip against his hot thigh spooked adrenal glands to release a fresh kick of hormones, and with jaws snapping, the stallion propelled hastily forward.

    He turned his right eye back to find Cirrus, but through midnight’s cloak, the effort seemed futile. The only evidence to suggest her presence was the rush of feathers cutting through air - thick impenetrable fog - and the awfully muffled churn of her hooves in the lush carpet of grass. The sound of his harried breathing and the thundering pulse in stressed ears, both quickly overwhelmed any ability to observe.

    As a surge of freak wind chilled his wet coat, the soldier called out to his companion, the hellhound Veci, use their bond against her! If Cirrus’ companion was truly absent, then surely they could take advantage of the pair’s separation.

    Utterly delighted by the opportunity to terrorize the poor mare, the Boggart promptly slipped from the sideline towards the thrum of her mind, and poured himself into a wavering apparition across her path. It took all of his wicked concentration to become Sitka – lying, crying, dying in the grass – and even despite his brilliant effort; aided by the stern will of his bonded, the vision was still awkwardly unstable. He was a plain type after all and nowhere near as potent as the royal sort of his species.

    Abruptly Hector’s churning legs halted, and pumping nostrils lifted quizzically, to taste the dense atmosphere. All train of thought had been interrupted.

    The stench of rain was ripe about him – absurdly so, there had been so sign of it at all prior. Without warning a sarcastic curtain of water fell across the motionless stallion, drowning effectively his upturned face and spittle sprayed out from a dismayed snort. Wonderful... he thought tersely and pinned his ears back. Thankfully his coat was quickly cooled in the process, freshened – the sweat and lather washed from his skin – and his mind quickly sobered as the patter of forming puddles rose above the pound of his racing heart.

    He gulped hard. The task of finding Cirrus, no doubt, would be just as straightforward as finding a Boggart in the woods. The war was not over though...

    Hector began to turn right with wings lifting to each side - a last resort effort to perhaps barrel like a blundering blind-man into her – but a bizarre whistling through the weather beyond made him hesitate. Out of nowhere (it seemed), the spear whose end had clubbed his throat just before, came shrieking towards him and no back-tracking shuffle could prevent its cruel strike. The weapon lanced clean through his skin as intended, skimming the humerus nestled beneath muscle within, and the stallion roared in rampant agony towards the heavens.

    The speared wing sank lifelessly towards the saturated loam beneath – dead weight, though the injury was excruciating - and the giant reached frantically for Veci. Take the breath from her lungs!

    All the while, bright specks began to cloud his eyes.



    Attack: 3/3
    Words: 800
    @[Cirrus]

    Note: Veci used Suffocate: can draw the air out of another's lungs, making them feel like they cannot breathe. He also did this - they automatically assume a form of what any character around them fears most...


    Cirrus Posts: 233
    Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT
    Whit
    #8
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    Her wing pounded down, brushing against the steed as she scrambled to regain her balance again. The pain from her hip caused her eyes to blur their focus - but it did nothing to stop her from recognising the blurred outline of her beloved, her soulmate, her deceased other half. Breath disappeared from her lungs - and it wasn't yet from the boggart's other magic - as she stumbled toward the figure, head low, feet dragging, an indescribable paralysis overtaking her.

    Sitka… her thoughts reached out to the figure, her mind hopelessly entrenched in its desire to find his, her broken soul singing its fractured tune across the aether. It was perhaps the most crippling thing her opponent could have one to her, to completely enthral her with an imitation of her lost Sitka - and then to torture him before her eyes. As her vision cleared, she saw the unnatural position of the hellhound's body, heard the way it whimpered and - she realised with a horrified gasp - watched as its lifeforce faded before her.

    No! she cried to him, she called and reached out with all her energy, scrambling forward on lame and sore limbs, trembling knees threatening to bend and collapse. But no reply came, she felt nothing but the vacant space that was her fractured soul, the deep and dark abyss that only absorbed all her attempts of contact with the pseudo-Sitka. Recognition of the fraud came, and it recognition's wake, came a fury. She lifted her tiara, tearing her refocussed gaze away from the phantom, pinning it upon the steed who was responsible for this grievous insult.
    __

    The motion of throwing the spear as hard as she did gave its own glorious aftermath to the sky-mare. As her nape stretched and bent to the side, the tear on her shoulder did too - she winced as she felt the edges of the slice tear even further, jagged and ripped, not clean like the initial insult Hector bestowed. Water rained down upon her pelt, and it encouraged the cut to bleed even more prolifically, to run and stain her right leg a dark, dismal black. It felt like boiling liquid compared to the chilly breeze and rain, and once again she found her vision blurring further in the already poor visibility. A muffled roar resounded from the direction her spear had been thrown towards, and the girl blinked against the pain in vicious delight.

    She wasn't expecting what came next. In fact, she had been prepared to laugh in her victory and throw mocking insults at the brute.

    But her laughter was cut off - choked off. She thought it initially to be a side-effect of exhaustion, that she had ridden on the high of adrenalin for too long and was suffering from the chronic decline - but it was too sudden, too harsh, and it didn't stop. The foggy, rainy mare tried to suck a breath in, but was unable to - and it horrified her. Never before had something like this happened, never before had her own lungs failed her. Eyes bugged out of her head, and if she could see her own tongue it was have the tinges of blue and purple veins running along its edges. She was barely aware of her knees buckling, shaking and crumbling beneath the weight of her wings and shoulders, he head and neck - she barely felt the thump as her muzzle smacked against the muddy loam beneath.

    A moment before her eyes clouded over with complete darkness, the oxygen flooded her body again, and she coughed and spluttered in the relief of being able to breathe again, to live again. Lifting her crown, she realised where she was - lying, with an aching muzzle and hip, a burning shoulder and eyes blinking dumbly as they took their sweet time to finally focus on the large, hulking mass of Hector.


    [ OOC :: Just a note to say the wing pounding down in paragraph 1 is a mere repeat description of her previous post, not a new attack. And the __ double break is basically where she initiates her rain magic and throws the spear (her last attack). C:

    656 Words
    3/3 attack posts
    1/1 closing defence

    Awesome spar! Thanks @[Hector]! ]
    Image Credit
    as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat


  • I enjoy being tagged.


  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:


    Official Posts: 847
    Administrator
    Stallion :: Equine :: ::
    Official
    #9
    By my verdict: HECTOR is the winner!

    CIRRUS
    Realism [+3]
    :: I think you could have taken a hair less damage in your post 3- what you gave me I might have ranked as a 4, instead of a 3.
    :: I wish Cirrus wouldn’t have gone to the ground in your defense post- ending down at the end of a fight is really compromising and I don’t know that the attack warranted it.
    :: Great job keeping scenery and character differences in mind throughout!


    Emotion [+2]
    :: Good job setting up the rationale behind an otherwise seemingly random spar.
    :: Cirrus’ emotions were beautiful throughout, and I was really drawn into her character.


    Prose [+4]
    :: Beautiful imagery about the sky / Cirrus’ body in post 1
    :: It was obvious that you took great care to edit your posts- well done!


    Readability [+2]
    :: Post 1, there was a moment where you were talking about Cirrus’ father, and then transitioned to talking about Hector, but I thought you were still talking about her father. The transition wasn’t entirely clear to me.

    Finally tally: 35.5+(11*2)= 57.5HP

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

    HECTOR
    Realism [+2.5]
    :: Her looming form was as pasty as the mist and freakishly well camouflaged As described in her first post, Cirrus’ body was covered in stars from the sky and only her limbs were foggy, to my understanding.
    :: she was small in comparison, swift upon her feet and far nimbler than he Careful to pay attention to the stats- Hector’s agility is actually far superior to Cirrus’, as his is 9 and hers is 3.
    :: I think you took enough damage in post 1, but it was slightly hard for me to tell. I couldn’t quite understand if he just lost his breath, or if he had cracked a rib. In post 2, I got the clarity I wanted the post prior.
    :: Good job keeping the scenery in mind throughout the fight.


    Emotion [+1.5]
    :: I did like the way you worked in his consideration of how to find her in the fog, despite her passive magic, and displayed his warrior’s mind.
    :: I also enjoyed the way you constantly kept the hellhound in mind, as he didn’t know it was gone.
    :: The task of finding Cirrus, no doubt, would be just as straightforward as finding a Boggart in the woods. Hilarious!!
    :: There were moments where I really was connecting with Hector, but at other times I felt like I was being told rather than shown his emotions.


    Prose [+3.5]
    :: (away also, from next explosion of pain through his barrel) the next explosion


    Readability [+3]
    :: No comments or concerns

    Finally tally: 39.5+(10.5*2)= 60.5HP


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