the Rift


[JUDGED] You've found what you're looking for [Torleik vs Ashamin]

Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#1
   
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The World's Edge neighbored the Endless Blue, and it was where sand met the broken and ever-present waves that Torleik found himself on the morning of his newest challenge. Memories flooded his senses, first meetings, angry words, deep confusion. It was here that he'd learned Helovia was rather...prejudiced. It was here he'd learned to be generally wary of the women he came across. It was here he'd learned a psychotic mare could be hiding a fucking dagger in his tail and try to cut you with it for...just being you, it seemed.

A rueful smile curved his black lips. Oh, Helovia. Add in an excessive amount of ale and that sounded like a typical celebration after a battle, or a wedding back in his homeland. Dark, furred ears listened serenely to the lull of the waves sloshing in their Sisyphean task against the sand, taking with them just as much silt as they were likely to deposit upon flinging their tendrils out to the earth. The peace that rhythmically stepped into his soul mirrored that of the water, as it always had - but he could not remain here. His new land required vigilance, and though his personal patrol had begun here in the Endless Blue, it could not linger any longer. Picking up his hooves, the ground freezing and thawing beneath them with each step, the Black King began his trek. It would take him more than one rise and fall of the sun to skirt the Edge; that was expected. So when night fell, he took a brief rest, and continued on again, napping once more before dawn broke.

The crumbling glass wall guided his every step, outlining quite clearly where his land both began and ended. Another day came and went, the Bloodskald catching snatches of rest here and there, inspecting the minutia of his new kingdom as he traveled. Torleik felt another sort of homecoming when, the sun not quite at its zenith in the sky on the third day, he reached the mountainous range that prevented the wall from continuing. North of here was the Basin.

The Aurora Basin. Where he'd walked in and almost immediately started a fight. Where the Lord of the land could kill something just by being near it. Where the power had shifted hands almost the moment he'd arrived. Seemed that was a common theme for him and joining herdlands...

Snorting, Torleik's eyes narrowed in curiosity as he spotted a figure in the distance, possibly traveling from the direction of his old home. While he was reminiscing, why not live out his memories one last time or two before wholly moving on? Picking up a trot, the King of the World's Edge excitedly snapped his tail against his haunches, calling out to this newcomer. "You! Do you hail from the Basin? I wonder as to what kind they're recruiting these days. Care to spar a former Basiner and see how you stack up?"

The challenge was issued with good humor and exuberance that belied his more mature age. Torleik was hopeful this unknown would take him up on his thrown gauntlet - the invasion had been a disappointment with no one to fight and he had been itching to remedy that pathetic display for some time now. His bones also ached to take him back to the snow-capped mountains, that he might speak with Deimos and Ophelia, and bid goodbye to his cousin and brother. Another time. Now could not see his departure so very soon.

This assumed Basin member would have to quench his craving for a touch of his former home.




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@[Ashamin]

WC: (604 in Word) || Opening post

Setting: Just outside of the WE border nearest the Frozen Arch/Basin at about 10am. Terrain is a little rocky and the area is generally clear of trees. Weather is cool and crisp.

Summary: Torleik begins his patrol in the Endless Blue and ends his patrol at the World's Edge mountain range just south of the Aurora Basin/Frozen Arch after about two days of leisurely patrolling/exploring. He encounters Ashamin here, just outside the WE border nearest the Basin and issues a challenge for a friendly spar because testosterone and reminiscing about rowdier times.

OOC: I suck at opening posts. They always feel so awkward for me. Feel free to attack in your first response post if you'd like! And I'd be more than happy to still give you any sort of pointers if you want me to in this spar, though it'd be my first time doing so and I'm not sure how helpful it'd be!


Hey I'm talking here


Table by Jen
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#2

SUMMARY

WC: 798

PC: Opening Post, 0/?

Summary: Ashamin heads south from the Basin and sees Torleik in the distance. He attempts to turn back and stay out of sight but is spotted by Torleik before he can do so, and then decides this is a good as place to start sparring as any. After introducing himself, he declines to make the first move and offers it to Torleik.

Timeline: Standard

OOC: I hope you don't mind that Ashamin didn't attack off the bat, it would have been very out of character for him. And I think no need for the teaching stuff, let's just do a friendly spar and see where things go. :) How many rounds do you want? You feel free to pick. Also I didn't mention Irelyn because you didn't--is it safe to assume she not present for this? Also sorry it got long, I have an excessive amount of muse for Ashamin as of late. So happy to see you using the table <3

Speech

ASHAMIN
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION

Ashamin had at last wandered from his new home. He explored the surroundings tentatively--each overturned rock an opportunity to discover something new, each crumbling leaf snapping beneath the shadows of his cleft hooves a scare of a threat. He knew he had no reason to be this nervous, not in the light of day with his home close enough to return to, but couldn't suppress the anxiousness of being out in such a warm open. Perhaps this rocky part of the land, with its faint smattering of trees and its delicate chill was no summer-walk for its inhabitants, but Ashamin felt only a nostalgia for the ice of his homeland.

Whether that homeland was the Basin or the valley of his father's home, he wasn't quite sure. Past and present was beginning to blur together for the young buck, and it was difficult, now, to distinguish what and where he was. If he stopped to think of it objectively, logically, it became quite clear: he was a soldier, newly accepted the ranks of the Aurora Basin's first line of defense, encouraged and perhaps even mentored by a strong, winged warrior from another land. But if he were to think about it any other fashion, if he were to take into account the vast variables of his emotions, the matter became altogether more difficult to discern. Was he a runaway, doing all he could to move faster than the ghost of his father but still falling back into those trenches of despair, becoming a fighter simply to dull the pain of his grief beneath the sharper sting of a bite or kick? Or was he a valiant young stallion, defying the form he'd been given and attempting to better himself through practice and dedication, to prove himself and honor his father's memory?

Ashamin knew what he had told Einarr and he knew what he had told himself, but he no longer knew what was true. As he headed West he trained his eyes on the ground and the short shadow that he cast before himself. It was a blur of his image, a darker reflection of what he would have seen in the perfect mirror of the Basin's unfreezing lake. But here, out in the unknown wilds of this new land, there were not places of reflection. The introspection that the safety of a place to call home had afforded him was now lost, and he was focused instead on catching the faint sounds of wildlife stirring in the distant, happy little trees, or the hum of the faint breezes that endowed the atmosphere with a clean chill.

It was only when he lifted his gaze that he became aware of the fact that he truly was not in Kansas anymore. The stallion in the distance appeared to him as a hulking figure: a beast so black that at first Ashamin thought he may not have been real, but a mere figment of a shadow. But a slow blink and a steady breath revealed to him that the one before him was, in fact, as grounded in reality as Ashamin was. Well, whatever that meant.

Instinct kicked in. The young stallion almost turned to run, his heart thudding in his chest, his blood pumping in fast fear as the stranger's gait sped and he drew closer to Ashamin, but the younger stallion was stopped when the other stallion spoke. He was just able to process the words through the waves of anxiousness crashing within him. A former Basiner? So this other stallion had been like him, once, perhaps, but now his presence demanded a respect Ashamin had yet to earn.

Ashamin hesitated. The offer was tempting and terrifying all at once. The older stallion reminded Ashamin of his own father, but without the safety of love and desire to do no harm. This stallion's intentions, though apparently innocent, were completely unknown to the younger unicorn. Still, though he dwarfed beside the other and his inexperience would surely be made clear in the light of this stallion's age, he could not forget Einarr's words: "Strength is one's own. No two have same strength. Ashamin have his own strength, not father's."

Yes, Ashamin had his own strength. And though it was not in public speaking or making the first move, it was in a newfound determination. "My name is Ashamin," he answered slowly, struggling to convey confidence. "I am a soldier of the Basin." He offered his cheek to touch as always, extending it to the older brute, and the bent his neck low in respect. "It would be an honor, sir."

Not knowing how to proceed but remembering faintly his father's courtesy, Ashamin retreated and stood as tall as he could manage, inviting the other to make the first move.
Beauty is Perception by FoxyFireWings
Table by Jen, with help from Avis




Admin edit: fixing an incorrect tag.


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead


Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#3
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It seemed to Torleik that he had startled this poorly defined, light splotched horse in the distance when he called out, seeing as the being turned – just a fraction maybe? he wasn’t sure – and then looked like he wished to be anywhere but the place he was standing. Did this one not desire to battle? The former general would understand; not all were built for the crashing of bodies and the rush of adrenaline. But he’d bounded within reach of the stranger and inspected him in the silence, committing to memory what his eyes took in.

The stallion in front of him was a mixture of black and white, and the Bloodskald mused that in snow, having those white socks and hooves might make it harder to tell exactly where his feet were to attack (or avoid attack). What caught his attention the most, though, sat at opposite ends of the newcomer's body: eyes black as the starless void and tail long enough to be his own noose. Torleik had witnessed lengthy rudders in the past – Resplendence’s long, treacherous backside locks came to mind – but this particular tail trumped all others. How did he not step on it? How had he avoided having someone crush it or cut it off? He supposed if the young one avoided battle…

And then it dawned on the smoky rabicano that perhaps he’d challenged a scholar or healer who did not parlay in violence and blood at all. He had considered the lack of want for fighting but not the lack of experience or a flat out revulsion for such brutality. Maybe this one was a pacifist. Torleik did not understand those at all and he could not –

His thoughts were silenced by his potential opponent finally breaking his own verbal celibacy and offering a name and rank: Ashamin, soldier of the Basin. Well, well. He hadn’t been wrong after all, had he? Muscles coiled as this Ashamin extended his muzzle, a curious, bemused gaze studying the smaller stallion. What was this? A…greeting? A ritual before the fight? Awkwardly, the Bloodskald tried to mirror, briefly extending his head in the direction of the white and black, then dipping his crown low, eyes never leaving Ashamin’s form. The horn atop his crown was…strange, just like everything else about him, Torleik decided. Knotted around itself – was that a stone? – the Edge King wondered how useful of a weapon it would be. “Ashamin, I am Torleik, King of the World’s Edge, formerly the Aurora Basin General,” he returned, standing tall now. “Honor me with a fierce battle, boy, and I will count your words true.”

Something in this young stallion wasn’t quite set and solidified; maybe it was nervousness the experienced warrior sensed, or maybe he was overanalyzing the quiet, reserved nature of this newly met body. It was of little consequence now. Ashamin stepped back and Torleik cocked his dual-horned head to the right slightly, the need to test himself, push his body, fight through pain taking over and ensconcing his mind and guiding him towards a singular purpose: violence.

‘I watch.’

Clearly Irelyn did not wish to participate in this particular spar. Torleik let it slide – she was probably hidden somewhere already, and his bonded was not one to wish harm on those who had not first harmed him. Though his nature demanded the roughness and bloodshed of combat he would never demand she mirror his battle lust and alter her disposition just for him. Such selfishness was the mark of a weak man. Keen gaze assessing his opponent’s position on what looked like slightly higher ground, his cloven hooves and the rocky ground, the Bloodskald knew he would have to be careful with his footing; he was already at two disadvantages, only one of which he could remedy.

He needed to drive Ashamin from his little hill.

Circling to his right in a slow trot, Torleik tried to position himself to attack at an angle, rather than head on. He gave no battle cry when his hooves dug in to launch him towards his opponent, no vicious bellow or intimidating howl. The ambient soundtrack of nature was the backdrop for his opening volley, the crunch of rocks beneath his feet, the spatapatat of dirt falling onto dirt, the grunt of exertion at the sudden movement. Hurtling himself towards Ashamin’s body the Bloodskald lowered his head, pointed his horns at what he hoped was the white and black’s left side, and charged with thunderous effort, a precision attack the least of his goals.

If he could hit the child, fabulous; if he drove him from his spot: success.

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@[Ashamin]

WC: (774 in Word) || Attack (1/3) || Defense (0/1)

Summary: Torleik finds himself on what appears to be the low ground. Since he perceives Ashamin to have the high ground, he tries to drive him from his position by circling around to what should be Ashamin’s left side and charging with horns down. He does not aim for any specific part of Ashamin’s side.


Notes:
  • I definitely got a sense of Ashamin’s self-doubt and inability to fully find himself/tie himself to an idea, place, or person. Very well done!
  • Though I could work through everything just fine, there were sentences scattered here and there that I found myself re-reading to try to get a better idea of what you meant. For example, “each crumbling leaf snapping beneath the shadows of his cleft hooves a scare of a threat” – for me, there were a number of conflicting images in the sentence that made it a little clunky on first read-through. Does a crumbling leaf snap? I would say it would crunch feebly, but not snap like a twig would snap. A shadow doesn’t have substance, so how do the shadows of his hooves make the leaves fall apart? “a scare of a threat” reads awkwardly to me; I would smooth it out with something more akin to, “reminiscent of a threat” or, to take the whole chunk of the sentence into consideration, “each crumbling leaf crushed beneath cleft hooves a harbinger of unknown danger.” That’s the only one I’ll go into detail on (I don’t mean to be harsh in any way, just thorough!) because I think you’ll get the idea of re-reading and re-working sentences that don’t quite flow. Trust me, I struggle with it all the time, too!
  • There was a bit of repetition that I ran into, more towards the end of the post, mostly with using Ashamin’s name quite a bit. Describe your character in various ways to avoid being tied to identifying them by one thing. I liked when you called him the younger stallion; you could also call him the lighter one, the cloven hooved (since Torleik has solid hooves), the current Basin inhabitant, the less-experienced male, etc. Contrast him to the others in the thread for unique variety each time :)
  • Keeping with his character and making him defer the first move to Torleik is a nice touch, and you tied it in well with why he would do that based on something more than just his lack of confidence – he’s also courteous. Very nice!

Table by Jen
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#4
SUMMARY

WC: 797

PC: Attack 1/3

Tagged: @[Torleik], @[Aud]

Summary: Ashamin starts to run at the last second towards Torleik and to the right, but is not fast enough. Torleik's horns pierce his right hindquarter, the right horn in his buttock and the left in his stifle. Ashamin attempts to rear, focusing his balance on his uninjured right side and aiming to strike his hooves down on Torleik's back, where he can hopefully support his weaker side. While doing his, he attempts to wrap his tail around Torleik's horns and bite the base of Torleik's neck; given that the point of his horn is at his lips, this could also affect Torleik if the bite is successful.

OOC: Whoooo boy. Gotta wipe the dust off of my sparring skills. Thanks for the tips RedGod.

ASHAMIN
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION

A king?

Well, shit.

The young buck snorted--maybe Torleik would see it as a sign of his readiness for conflict but it was nothing more than a manifestation of apprehension. He was thankful for the fact that he'd chosen to defer to the other (faith knew he had no clue how to start an attack on anyone, let alone a king.) but he knew, too, that a king didn't often rise in power by sitting on his ass. No, if this stallion was a king, he'd likely seen more than a few battles. And Ashamin? Well, he'd had a couple shut-mouth, horn-attack-free spars with his father more than a year ago. He regretted his promises to Einarr. He had entered into a death wish now, and some part of him felt as if it had been under false pretenses.

But the older stallion had ceased chatter, and it was time to focus on the fight. Ashamin knew he was on that hill, but had no clue that it meant an advantage. Had he been aware, he would have moved past the other stallion before allowing the fight to begin. With his inexperience, the advantage would do him little good--only make him a target for attack. From below he would have had the opportunity for some defense. After all, a stallion of Torleik's size wasn't likely to have the power to outweigh his bulk and lift him high enough off the ground to attack Ashamin with any sort of jump.

And this, at least, the young stallion predicted correctly. He wasn't surprised when the stallion charged forth, magnificent, demonic horns borne like dual swords. He had expected something rooted in strength rather than speed; what surprised him was the paralyzing fear. Instinct told him exactly what to do: to run, to run for his dear, short life, scattering pebbles as he fled to the safety of somewhere, anywhere outside of the king's range.

Yet still, fear won. It was hopeless--he froze before Torleik, his black eyes glazing in terror as that obsidian form drew closer. He could have outrun the attack, had he not let his fear get the best of him. But as it were, it was only at the last second that Ashamin could muster any attempt at getting away, at running towards and to the right of the attack. Though perhaps the vague aim of the King was altered, the attack still struck true.

For a moment, perhaps that magical, anticipatory one where time seemed to freeze the horns as a gentle touch on his quivering, shaggy hindquarters, Ashamin felt nothing. And then, for the next, he felt everything. He faltered and his legs wobbled, threatening to give out. Both horns struck his left hindquarter with deadly accuracy, forcing through layers of tissue and muscle to emerge on the other side. The right horn drove through his glute--the left, through his stifle. He had no time to be thankful for the luck that instinctive moment had afforded him. It was beyond his comprehension to recognize that Torleik's horns were mere inches from vital organs. Everything was beyond his comprehension except pain.

Ashamin cried out, his faltering, piercing neigh a twisted spectacle of hurt. His mind swam, his vision intermittently sharpening and blurring as the pain flooded his being. The boy tried to remember what Veril had said, once, while brandishing his own, long, magnificent horn that put Ashamin's twisted knot to shame. Something about sheaths, about stabbing, biting, piercing, burning flesh, oh faith and all there was, had anything ever hurt more than this? Would he ever find a relief from the two horns in his side, the two arbiters of death embedded in his flesh?

Instinct almost pulled him away from the king, but his father's advice, clouded, at last returned to him: leave the knife in the wound, my son. For faith's sake, never pull it out.

And so Ashamin did not retreat. His long tail whipped forward and he twisted it, hoping to grab ahold of Torleik's horns and keep them in place. He dug his hooves into the rock, thankful for their deep clefts and soft claws that afforded him stability, and reared. Pushing through the pain even as it worsened and the thick horns dug deeper, he lifted himself as best as he could, focusing his balance on his uninjured side. His left support would come, with luck, if his pointed hooves crashed on the king's spine--if his lowered, opened jaw could grab the tender base of Torleik's neck, perhaps cutting the flesh with the pointed tip of Ashamin's horn.

The horns twisted in his twitching hindquarter and Ashamin cried out once more with the pain. But this was a battle of close quarters.

Ashamin was not leaving this hill.

Beauty is Perception by FoxyFireWings
Table by Jen, with help from Avis


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead


Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#5
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A snort meant many things to the elder stallion but he paid little heed to the subtleties of body language and nuances of such an action now – now was the time to battle. The challenge had been accepted and the fight had begun even if their bodies had yet to crash together in the intimacy of violence. To know that Ashamin felt whatever promise he’d made to this friend of his was a death with would have brought the warrior poet great mirth.

Of course fighting was a death wish! That was what made it glorious!

But this? This was merely a spar, a test of skill, not meant to maim or kill. It was practice, if still a rather dangerous kind. And right now, Ashamin was going to get practice in the skill of holding his ground. Torleik’s charge was rather blind and he didn’t much expect to gain more than a glancing hit on the youngling, anticipating his opponent’s quickness and agility would rank him outmaneuvered after he clearly telegraphed this attack. As he drew closer, hooves thundering over the rocky soil, time seemed to slow.

His opponent wasn’t moving.

Why wasn’t he moving? Did the child wish to be crippled?

Was this a tactic to see who would break first? Grunting, the Bloodskald pressed on. He would not be swayed by a test of will; his was ironclad once baptized in the crucible of battle! If Ashamin thought he could wait until the last moment to avoid an attack he was immensely naïve. The time for dodging away unscathed had passed. If only the elder male had seen the fear in his mark’s eyes, seen the way he was rooted to the spot in crippling terror, then perhaps he could have shown the young one mercy. As it was, the tilt of his head for the attack left him with only the lower half of the world to his vision.

And all he saw was an immobile opponent into whom he was about to crash at full speed.

At what seemed like the eleventh hour, the very last instant of time left to Ashamin, the young one finally snapped to and scrambled but it was far too late. The blunt impact of his horns slamming into flesh shocked his system and a sharp pain traveled through his neck as his spinal column was suddenly and brutally compressed. He should have tensed more, been prepared for it, but Torleik just couldn’t believe that the child wouldn’t move, that he would actually ram into his opponent as completely as he had. He wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared at all.

The Bloodskald’s furred ears heard Ashamin’s cry at the same moment his brain was struggling to process that he had just impaled the youngling and why hadn’t he fucking moved?! Awash in horrified guilt that he’d done far more damage than he ever intended to inflict, anger nipping at guilt’s heels because of his opponent’s responsibility for this travesty, Torleik immediately sought to disengage and end this fight here and now. This was not how a spar was supposed to be! A test of skill was not a bloody fight to the death!

Ashamin’s tail curled around his horns and Torleik snapped at any bit that got within range of his teeth, furious that this was how the battle had turned. His footing was poor, this patch of ground more rocky than he’d noticed and it was hard to gain purchase to pull back and release his weapons from the flesh that ensconced them. He could smell the blood as it leaked out, feel the heat coming off of Ashamin’s body and the strategist in him knew it was a deathwish to be stuck like this, almost wholly vulnerable to attack.

Pain erupted down his spine when Ashamin’s hooves crashed on his back like boulders, finally spurring the Bloodskald into a violent enough thrash that he yanked his horns free of the youngling’s hindquarters, hearing the CLACK! of teeth fractions of a second later. Had his attacker tried to bite him? Tossing his muscular neck back and forth in a hazy rage, the Bloodskald attempted to free himself from Ashamin’s tail and back away. “You damn fool!” he bellowed. “Why didn’t you move? This isn’t a battle to the death, it’s a spar!” he said, chest heaving, a sick feeling in his gut as the fresh blood left on his horns trickled down, hot and sticky, onto his crown.

Torleik blinked roughly, keeping the crimson out of his narrowed gaze. “I will not fight you if you’re going to get yourself killed.” Sending this child’s soul to feast forevermore in the halls of Valhallr would not be his crowning achievement today! He grunted. Damn his back hurt. That would bruise.


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@[Ashamin]

WC: (800 in word) || Attack (2/3) || Closing defense (0/1)

Summary: Torleik is 1. horrified he just impaled Ashamin and 2. pissed Ashamin didn't move and therefore let himself get impaled when he could have avoided it. He doesn't "attack," only snaps at Ashamin's tail if he can manage to chomp on it and roughly rips his horns out of Ashamin's hindquarters.

OOC: Sorry it took a bit. Had a week of apartment hunting that sucked >.> So I just re-read and noticed you said just a friendly spar with no notes. Don't know how I missed that the first time. I think I just got super excited and caught up in it all. Now I kinda feel like a dick - my bad! Only one thing I feel I should mention:
  • The amount of damage Ashamin took - the dice roll value was only a 1 or a 2, can't remember which, which is very low. At most the general consensus of how much damage that would do is like a small cut, or a bruise, or an abrasion. Having Ashamin get impaled is way too much for just a 1-2 damage roll. That would be equivalent to pretty much a 6, maybe a 5 if you could make it realistic. Just don't want you to get any points off for that stuff in the next posts!


Table by Jen
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#6

SUMMARY

WC: 797

PC: Attack 2/3

Tagged: @[Torleik]

Summary: Ashamin takes minor damage from the shock of hitting Torleik's body. When Torleik tugs his horns Ashamin's tail slips and lands on the ground, and the removal of Torleik's horns from his flesh causes him to fall, so he takes damage from both the horns leaving and landing on stones/at all. When he falls he slides down hill slightly. He lashes his tail up at Torleik, hoping some debris will catch in Torleik's face, and the snap of Torleik's teeth on his tail scrapes his skin. Determined and dumb as a brick, apparently, he lifts himself up and tries to charge at Torleik's side with a limp.

OOC: Yikes, thanks for telling me that Redgod! I have a lot to learn about this new system, I must have missed or forgotten that part (even though I see it now quite clearly, ack.) I will try to stick to the more accurate damage from here on!


ASHAMIN
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION

Everything felt and smelled and breathed and ached like death. The young buck felt the crash of impact as his hooves struck Torleik's spine, shuddering as it sent an unexpected pain through his own body. Of course it was only natural that such a loaded attack would cause the injurer harm, especially if it was aimed at a creature as powerful and thickly built as the Bloodskald before him. It was only logical. But all logic was failing Ashamin where pain prevailed, and the thought of possible shock to his own system hadn't even occurred to the youthful stallion.

He had found some satisfaction when his tail had wrapped around Torleik's bowed horns, but lost it all when his own teeth snapped together, clamping down on air and missing the mark. Ashamin would have let out some sort of reply through those same gritted teeth if he had the courage and wit in him--would have said something to let the king know he wasn't out of the running. but the absence of such composure paled in comparison to the flood of hurt that followed.

The moment his blow landed, Ashamin's concentration slipped. His grip on Torleik's tail was fast for a moment, but fell away at the slightest hint of force on the part of the older stallion at his right. The young paint's snake-like appendage slid from Torleik's two ebony swords with surprising swiftness, landing with a thud on the earth and causing a few loose pebbles to tumble down the hill upon which the pair stood. What came next was the ripping of flesh and the sharp, horrid scent of blood.

Ashamin's eyes shut and everything saw--no, felt--white. Even with his vision lost to the inside of his lids he saw spots and watched them spin as dizziness impaired him. His hooves tumbled down and lost their purchase as his whole figure fell away from Torleik and to the heavy scent of prematurely, needlessly bloodied earth. Though he had no moment for relief, in retrospect he would be thankful only for the fact that he landed not on his injured right but his left.

At the moment, however, all he felt were the sharp sting of rocks pressing into his tender side, scraping him as he struggled to slow the motion of his rough slide starting down the hill. The pebbles, once faint evidence of their dance, became stony, hated thorns in his side. Every muscle ached and the little part of his mind left untouched by the cloud of hurt pleaded for him to give in, but something like courage, something like stupidity, pressed him to stay as strong as he could. Ashamin swept his tail along the earth and back towards Torleik, hoping faintly that traces of debris and the same pebbles that harmed him might be cast in Torleik's eyes, or hell, even his general direction, but the young stallion's timing was his fault.

The snap of Torleik's teeth was a much less painful strike than the wrenching of those cursed horns from Ashamin's side, but it was another injury nonetheless. Ashamin clashed his teeth together to suppress a whimper as the king's teeth scraped the thin skin on his tail. Patches of red prickled through the pristine white of his flesh and dripped into the now dusty, peppered hair that concluded his being.

Through it all, Ashamin could think of nothing but the unimaginable pain emanating from his hindquarter, amplified now that Torleik's weaponry had left its sheath. Somewhere, somehow, through the buzzing of the hurt, Ashamin saw the blurred image of his attacker back away and heard him speak out in a scolding boom of a voice. The king asked a question he could not answer, barked out an insistence that Ashamin was too ignorant to know was simply truth. Something like a refusal followed.

The boy's heart plummeted in his chest.

I will not fight you.

The words stung. He heard them again and again: I will not fight you. I will not fight you if you're going to get yourself killed.

Did he want to get himself killed? The thought crossed his mind in a pale, fleeting moment. He thought of Veril, and of the conversation with Sikeax. Why was he here? Did he want to die?

Unexpected courage like he'd felt in the meadow when faced with the snakes, leapt in his being. Ashamin pulled himself slowly up from the earth, stumbling, half-hobbling, head down, teeth bared to bite, and charged--through pain, through a slowing limp and an instinct to give in--towards Torleik's side with all his might, scattering rocks and sliding as he barreled back up the hill.

"You will fight me," the buck cried out foolishly as he ran, "for death or life!"


Beauty is Perception by FoxyFireWings
Table by Jen, with help from Avis


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead


Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#7
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He had never wanted to hurt this child, never wanted to give him permanent scars, possibly cripple him for life – but here they were, Torleik with blood on his horns and face, Ashamin with a grievously wounded hindquarter and the Bloodskald’s guilty conscience rooting him to the spot. Something like disbelief washed over him, drowning him in a tidal wave of confusion when the sanguine-matted stallion stumbled to his feet and feebly charged at him.

Charged at him demanding the king fight him – for what? For death or life? What did that even mean? He was done. Could he not see that? Could he not see the fight was over? Torleik would attack him no more, and the child could not take anymore damage by the rabicano’s assessment. Why was this damn spar so important, continuing on despite his clearly serious wounds such a need?

What was going through his head?

“I will not indulge a death wish!” snapped the Bloodskald, figure still unmoving. Surely Ashamin would not complete the charge. His path would break any moment now; he would stand down. He had to stand down. It was insanity otherwise. The King of the Edge had already done so much harm and by pure accident…how had it all happened? Transfixed to the rock-littered ground, the former general tried desperately to assuage the condemnation he was mounting against himself.

He hadn’t meant to.

You could have pulled up at the last second.

How was he supposed to know Ashamin wouldn’t move?

You had time to alter your course.

Why was it his responsibility to ensure the damn fool didn’t get himself killed?

You would still be responsible for his death. You are still responsible for his wound.

Torleik knew he had to offer penance for his error, seek some form of redemption on the battlefield for his fault; his soul could not be at peace if he left things the way they stood. Steeling himself for Ashamin’s charge, which he intended to take without flinching, doubt crept in just as those last critical seconds struck on the clock of this scuffle once more. If he remained immobile, would allowing his opponent to hit him result in further injury to the insane young one? Would it be worth whatever injury the Bloodskald would receive in return? He was moving so slowly…

With a growl of frustration, Torleik quickly turned toward his oncoming opponent, attempting to place their bodies parallel to one another. A quick burst of force from his hind legs, accented by a very displeased ache from his bruised back at the motion, pushed him away from Ashamin at an angle and placed the target of his attacker’s charge on his left backside. The scrape of the lighter stallion’s horn against his flesh, the fiery burn that made him grit his teeth together and hiss out the pain, was followed by an equally sharp thought:

’Fitting…’

Now he’d taken damage where he’d dealt it out, and though the wounds were in no way remotely equal, his soul felt…cleansed – at least marginally. He could have avoided the slow charge but he didn’t. He took the pain because he deserved it.

Because he hadn’t been able to stop himself from nearly crippling a pathetic fighter. Because he should not have assumed Ashamin could fight at all. Because his haste to flex his muscles, to whet his appetite for violence had overtaken his logic.

A trot carried him away from Ashamin’s immediate vicinity and the Bloodskald narrowed his gaze, drawing on the magic he always felt humming around beneath his skin. He’d learned seasons ago that if he concentrated, the sky would storm, cold and angry and violent. Maybe that would get this fool boy to stop. Focusing all his self-blame and anger into the buzzing in his veins, small satisfaction wiggled its way up his spine when the sky darkened and rumbled, clouds forming thick and menacing overhead for about twenty meters around. “It is over, boy! There is no shame in walking away from this! I have harmed you far more than I ever wanted and I will harm you no further no matter what your will to continue might be!” he boomed, a stinging, pelting sleet drawing forth from the clouds as the Bloodskald gave his declaration.

Torleik didn’t think the wounded child could outrun the onset of the storm but his attacker had surprised him with his resolve thus far – Ashamin very well could have managed to skirt the dangerous sleet. If not, if he was caught, he should be grateful the rabicano hadn’t the desire to make it pelt hail – and maybe, just maybe, he would give up.

Somehow the dual-horned demon knew it would not be so.


@Ashamin


WC: (790 in word) || Attack (3/3) || Closing defense (0/1)

Summary: Torleik lets Ashamin hit him (more or less) with his charge, then summons a storm with his active magic in an attempt to get Ashamin to either be frightened enough to stop, or overwhelmed enough to stop.

OOC: I'm so sorry I disappeared. I suck at time management sometimes and when school started up I just got swallowed.

Table by Jen
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

Ashamin the Clovenheart Posts: 426
Outcast atk: 8 | def: 11.5 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 HH :: 5 [Frostfall] HP: 79 | Buff: NUMB
Lochan :: Plain Cerndyr :: Dark Mist & Rakt :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast Jen
#8

SUMMARY


WC: 779

PC: Attack 3/3

Tagged: @[Torleik]

Summary: Ashamin continues moving after succesfully scraping Torleik and makes a wide circle around to Torleik's right, slowing at first and then speeding a little to try and catch up to where Torleik has moved to. Once closer, he tries to bite Torleik's neck on the right side. When the storm comes he takes off as fast as he can manage, and lashes his tail blindly, aiming for anywhere, as he escapes. He manages to miss the worst of the storm and stands outside of the radius with scrapes, halting and looking back.

OOC: No worries! I have been there. Turning it over to you now to finish this off.


ASHAMIN
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION


It became impossible for the buck to distinguish his living moments from his dying ones. He thought, maybe, that he was dying. He thought, maybe, that this was the end.

But the rushes of pain, that heedless, needful flow of blood, ceased his ability to understand even himself. He was running, barely growing closer, loping at a speed only the injured could manage to fall into, and he didn't know why, anymore.

And that black beast, that Torleik who'd torn him apart, just stood there.

Ashamin felt something like rage. Was this something the other stallion found amusing? Was this mocking, this mimicking of earlier damage and failure in tactic? The older stallion could have moved in any way, he could have been safe. And still, Ashamin watched as the distance between them lessened and the senior stayed where he was.

It was enough to bring him to spitting and tears. His features dripped with sweat, his body drained out blood at a dangerous rate, and with that level of pain, so intense and complete, he was reduced to a snivelling mess. When at last there was nothing between them, a mere second after Torleik had turned to redirect Ashamin's attack, the painted one could feel no victory. His rough horn scraped across flesh, the left hind of the older, maybe bolder creature, and though he smelled the sting of it, the resistance of the attack and how it tugged his face back was only another pain.

Ashamin watched, body still in stumbling motion, as Torleik trotted away, apparently almost unharmed. Ashamin thought he could see the thin traces of the scrape, what looked like broken flesh (but with weariness covering his eyes with a film of tears, who knew if what he saw was true,) and was only further fueled. He had failed, even in that last vain attempt to fight back. Though Ashamin circled back, trying to reach the black bloodskald, he knew that Torleik's towering word was truth.

He was over. This fight, whatever it was, was done.

But though the words were true, Ashamin lacked the wisdom to heed them. That intelligence, that gift of hindsight, would have to come later and after this beating. Though he had begun to slow, almost to a stop, at Torleik's back, the distance the older one had put between them and the manner of the spoken words spurred Ashamin somehow onward. He limped and his body creaked and groaned; his run could not match even the pace of Torleik's easy trot, now, but still he pressed onward as if he were filled with fire. "No shame for you," he hissed through an aching jaw as he ran a circle towards Torleik, heading for the stallion's right side, "but the end of things, for me."

Because wasn't that, in some ways, also the truth? How could Ashamin live with a failure he created by giving in? If he was to fail, if he was to fall, let it be with the honor of one who would not step away from danger. Let it be with the hard-headed foolishness of the only warrior he'd ever truly known.

Ashamin had only a moment to try and attack before the storm came. He tried, even at his slow pace, to sidle up alongside Torleik and reach out with tender young teeth. Ashamin tried to snap at the older one's neck: he wanted, in his mottled gray heart, to make bleed the one who pitied him.

But before he could even take note of whether or not he was successful, he felt the first stings of that storm. Sharp sleet struck him once, twice, then over again. He neighed, he suppressed the instinct to buck on such a weak form, and he bolted as fast as he could. Not that his pace was anything impressive, now, nor was it fast enough to clear him completely of the damage, but it was quick enough to remove him from the worst of it. As he ran past Torleik, head low and eyes streaming, he lashed out blindly one last time with a strike of his crooked, bleeding tail.

At the edge of the storm, coat now covered in thin scrapes from where he had run through the beginning of the onslaught, he paused. For the first time, he let himself stop. As he stumbled before, so he halted in a weak way.

Ashamin looked back, his black eyes searching for some sign that he had maybe proven himself, proven something, through all this red vision and hurt.

But there was nothing but regret, and a sharp sting of reminder:

He was not meant for this life.



Beauty is Perception by FoxyFireWings
Table by Jen, with help from Avis


See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
Do not tag me, please message on skype instead


Torleik the Bloodskald Posts: 354
Outcast atk: 4.5 | def: 8.0 | dam: 7.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 11 HP: 66.5 | Buff: SWIFT
Irelyn :: Plain Griffin :: Molten Dagger RedGod
#9
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This damn stubborn fool simply wouldn't quit. In a way, Torleik respected him for that - to have such a tenacity of spirit that even death would not stop you...it was everything an honorable warrior should be. But at some point, that hardheaded nature was only foolish; that never quit attitude drove you to your death; that inability to concede defeat nailed your coffin shut; the mentality of all or nothing pushed your existence to nothing but a mere legend, a whisper on the next generation's lips - if you were lucky.

This child was not made for such a fate. Torleik knew they both could see that. Why would he not simply let it be? Let the course of his destiny take him as it should? He felt sorry for Ashamin because whatever drove him must have been worth dying for, in the lighter one's mind, but it didn't seem a positive fixation. If anything, the Bloodskald saw nothing but sadness written all over the broken, bleeding form he was still, for some reason, engaging. The young one's words made him snort in the same moment his thick head shook in disbelief watching his opponent try again to attack.

"The only two here to witness this battle are you and I - and I am not the one heaping shame upon you," he snapped. "Your self-loathing is going to get you killed you damn fool! If not by my hand, then by someone far less self-retrained than myself!" The anger building inside him at the idiocy of all of this helped spur his effort to summon the magic he'd only ever used perhaps once or twice in his life, bending the weather to his will and raining it down upon anyone close enough to feel it. The sting of the sharp, pelting hail felt cleansing to the Bloodskald's soul and he remained within the radius of wrath that his magic had wrought, glacial eyes tracking his spent attacker as Ashamin shambled by.

A flail of that long appendage behind the boy looked like some manner of attack but it could hardly be classified as such, given that it missed entirely, and Torleik frowned. This should have ended long ago. There was no need for any of this. When Ashamin looked back, his gaze empty and searching and drowning in doubt and pain, the rabicano remembered why he, too, threw himself into physical pain rather than let hurt eat him up from the inside out.

Physical pain was an anchor. It could be intensified, mollified, avoided, stopped. The pain that nestled its way deep inside, grew roots into the nooks and crannies of your soul and pulsed with each beat of your heart...no man could stand against it. Not completely. He knew that no matter what he said, this fool child would take it as pity, but didn't he still have to try?

"You have given everything of yourself in this battle. There is no shame in that. Defeat is not a shame - cowardice is, and you have proven quite clearly you are no coward," the viking informed his opponent. "But it is over. The fight is done. This...this is not worth your life, and I will not take it from you even if you should choose to press on."

For once, let the child listen!

@[Ashamin]

WC: (561 in word) || Attack (3/3) || Closing defense (1/1)

Summary:
Ashamin's last attack misses, so Torleik simply stands there within the boundaries of his own storm, the sting of the hail not causing him damage other than slight pain. He hopes that the battle is finally over, and tries to tell Ashamin he's fought admirably.


Table by Jen
[Image: 531c0b471919e]

No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D


Please tag me in all posts! Thank you!

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#10
By my verdict: TORLEIK is the winner!

TORLEIK
Realism [+3]
Overall very realistic, particularly with your first post where you started strong with the charge attack and mentioned breed and surroundings which seemed to fall to the wayside in later posts. For instance you start of describing the hill and using it as a strategy method but then it’s never really described again. I liked seeing you take some damage from your own ram attack in post 2 with the spine compression! Good mentioned of your bruised back in post 3, although i think given your height and Ashamin’s situation/injury, it would have been unlikely that his hooves even hit your spine. In your closing defense you seem to mention Ashamin’s bite attack but do not describe whether it hit or missed, so it felt ignored.

Overall great realism and good injuries! Keep up the great work and try to incorporate stat/breed differences and surroundings more. I 


Emotion [+2]
Emotion steadily increased in each post, being exceptional in the third post. I would have liked to see more of his companion present, even though she wasn’t fighting, particularly given the way this fight went. Overall though I got a good sense of Torleik and his purpose.


Prose [+4]
Great vocabulary and imagery throughout all the posts making each one a pleasure to read.
“Torleik had witnessed lengthy rudders in the past – Resplendence’s long, treacherous backside locks came to mind – but this particular tail trumped all others.”


Readability [+2.5]
Very readable, just some minor errors.

P3: 
“...continuing on despite his clearly serious wounds such a need?” (confusing)


Finally tally: 55.5+(11.5*2)= 78.5 HP

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

ASHAMIN
Realism [-2]
You had good responses to attacks, but your damage was insane in that first post where you rolled a 1 damage (the lowest) and took an injury where Torleik’s horns gouged into your flanks, something which I consider beyond a 6 damage (the highest) because it is just so crippling. Not only that, but ontop of that incorrect damage, I think felt that injury you committed yourself to was not properly inhibiting you the rest of the fight. You mentioned it to be sure, but in the same post where you’re spread, you then also rear which relies on the very place just injured, so that was entirely unrealistic to me. I do like that you feel and were also injured by the surrounding rocks when the horns were ripped out, but you stand up and charge and run in the next two posts - you say you’re slower, that you limp, but it seems so insignificantly mentioned when in reality he would have been dragging himself around. 

There were also some confusing moments of realism for me when in your first post you used your tail to grab onto Torleik’s horns. While I can appreciate it’s a long tail, I’m not sure I can stretch the idea that it’s prehensile, nor stroke enough to hold a horse’s horns inside of you longer.
Then in your second post you mention Torleik bit your tail, which was described after Ashamin already fell onto the ground, but Torleik bit at your tail when you used it to hold his horns, so the timing of that attack and injury was very off. 

I would have liked to see more consideration given to the surroundings and breed differences. For instance, describing how being on the hill affected things, how Torleik being much taller affected your attack when you aimed for his spine, etc. Otherwise though the flow and timing between your attacks/defenses/injuries worked well and aside from what’s been mentioned your fought realistically. Just keep up the good work and pay attention to the damage that gets rolled!


Emotion [+1]
I really felt the emotion strongest in your third post. I liked the continual references to past things in Ashamin’s life which you were relating to this thread/spar, but you never expanded on them enough for me to understand the way Ashamin was feeling about them, so I often felt like I was just being told what he felt, rather than shown, rather than feeling it alongside him. For instance I’m still confused by how he was so scared he stood to be gored his first post, but then was so tenacious he literally drug his crippled self around to continue to attack Torleik.


Prose [+3.5]
Posts were well written with some great wording and flow.
“He was running, barely growing closer, loping at a speed only the injured could manage to fall into, and he didn't know why, anymore.“


Readability [+2.5]
Overall clear and easy to understand, but some minor errors.

P2:
“His grip on Torleik's tail...” (I think you meant his horns)
“Ashamin was too ignorant to know was simply truth” (reads odd, seems like that second was should be something else)

P3: 
“His rough horn scraped across flesh, the left hind of the older, maybe bolder creature, and though he smelled the sting of it, the resistance of the attack and how it tugged his face back was only another pain.” (long awkward sentence which I had to re-read 3 times to understand)


Finally tally: 30.5+(5*2)= 40.5 HP


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