the Rift


[JUDGED] I Found Him in the Shadows, I Tried to Pull Him Out [Ashamin vs. Rikyn]

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
#1

It was still dark.

Ashamin watched over the Aurora Basin like one of the Sentinels, his black eyes narrowed and his long, adorned tail erect and straight. With all of the trouble at the border as of late, he felt it his unofficial duty to take advantage of the position of his cave and watch for intruders. Such stalwart loyalty was marred, of course, by Rikyn's earlier supposition.

The haruspex could not forget the chill that had travelled down his spine upon hearing such a young boy declare his right to the world. And what was worse, he had implicated Ashamin in the sin of pride. He had called them a we.

Though it was none of Rikyns' business to know Ashamin's heritage, the paint almost wished then it had been branded upon him more clearly. If the awkward tangle of his horn was not enough, some sort of sign on his chest or hide would have made the matter clear. Ashamin was not like Rikyn. He was not like many of the unicorns living here, apparently. He wasn't pure. He claimed no right.

But Rikyn did. And for that, the Haruspex had decided a spar was in order. Perhaps it was foolish, but the wise one wondered if an instance on the battlefield could settle the matter. It was playing the other buck's game more than anything else.

Rikyn was a beast of pride, one believing in a sort of preordained and rapturous superiority. Ashamin was a humble questioner. One of them was going to prove themselves, and Ashamin was willing to step into the younger one's playing field to do so. If he lost, then perhaps he would reconsider. If he won, perhaps Rikyn would.

Either way, the haruspex felt in his breast that there was a score to settle. His sarong, hung on the wall by the opening, blew Eastward in the faint breeze. There was no show of this, today. This sort of honor wasn't a game.

Lochan watched from the threshold of the cave, standing beside the scorpion and looking out with bright, white eyes. Though he feared for his bonded, he understood, too, the urgency. Though he longed to aid Ashamin in his plight, he understood his own limitations. Perhaps he understood the circumstances better than the Haruspex himself, who stood stalwart, steady, and prepared with his hooves planted firmly at the edge of the cave's stone, on the precipice of an unsteady proving grounds.

Soon, the haruspex hoped, Rikyn would arrive.

""

WC: 421
PC: 0/3, 0/1
Timeline: 1 Week Between
Setting: Early Birdsong morning, just before sunrise (which may occur during the course of the spar.) Just outside the Haruspex's Cave. The Sentinels can be seen in the distance. As a result of the thaw from Frostfall's end, the thawed ground is slippery and muddy; there are some stray patches of ice leftover from Frostfall, mostly at the bottom of puddles.
Summary: Ashamin waits for Rikyn, just outside the entrance to his cave. He is wearing his tesla coil but not his sarong. Lochan is watching from the cave.
Notes: Sorry this is crappy and a day late, Bunnie. I plan to reply to their other thread today if I have the power in my head.


ASHAMIN
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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


Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Blu
#2
If there is any element of OOC then this becomes an OOC spar which earns no VP or EXP.

With the current stakes set, this is considered an OOC spar.
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#3
Яikyn
I find Ashamin in the mouth of his yawning cave, the gloss of the mirror behind him drawing my eye as it always does, though I try my best to remain focused on he and Lochan as my long legs sway to a halt in the mud and slush, further flecking my form with earthen blots; every speck is chilled by the Birdsong winds that have not yet realized that the snows are fleeing. The same mud saturates my tail and fetlocks, the dark hair bound in sodden, filthy chunks, my belly occasionally dripping murky brown water, though it is likely hard to discern in the dim lighting of the night.

I lift my head proudly and offer no words, anticipation working its wild way through my muscles, my forelegs jogging restlessly as my eyes sweep across his painted figure, taking note of the strange lightning device curled ominously about his tail – an ear flicking back in annoyance toward its presence.

I decide that it is fair enough; he hasn’t a true blade to fight with, after all, only that tangled mess of one which drips like wax left in the sun down his face. Perhaps it is only sportsmanlike to allow him to bring a weapon onto the field as I do.

Having felt no growth of warmth towards the man since our last meeting and eager to bring about the battle, I quickly finish my summation of my opponent before meeting his eyes and flashing a charming grin, feeling the rise of my heart as I prepare for the spar at hand.

"And go," I impishly state before my charge, my body tensing from head to hoof, each limb leaping to life and carrying me across the mud and dying snow towards the bicolored stag, my neck arched so that the gleaming, golden tip of my horn is angled for both defense and assault.

Just before the impact with what I assume is his front half, I push back onto my haunches, my cloven hooves buckling down for purchase on the slippery sod which is ripped astray by my stop, flinging chunks of soggy earth and grass through the air, pelting my belly; with a sudden flick of my forelegs and a partial rear, I attempt to sling some of the nasty filth which coats the gold of my hooves into the face of the painted stallion, hoping the spray which issues from them is at least a distraction, if not blinding.

With a grotesque squelch of mud and still in a quarter rear, I quickly lunge myself forward and towards the left, cursing the thaw for its noisiness under hoof with a rough snort that blasts from my dark nostrils; reaching over towards my right with my golden tipped horn, I attempt to strike the Haruspex on the right side, perhaps in his shoulder, or side – though I do try not to break his skin, using the length of my blade rather than its devastating tip.


[ 1/3 :: 500 words
Summary: Rikyn comes at Ashamin from what he believes is a head on angle and attempts to sling mud in his face with his front hooves. He then angles left and forward a pace or so, attempting to smack the length of his horn along Ashamin's shoulder.
OOC: Yaaaaay ~ ]
in every heart a hole
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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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

The brat did everything right, and Ashamin did everything wrong. The apparent injustice and irony, as far as he was concerned, was unforgivable on his own behalf, and on Rikyn's as well.

The Haruspex had only just stepped out into the muddy morning when Rikyn had muttered his snide remark—had only just gathered his strength in his body when the fight began and everything went awry.

Ashamin was so suddenly taken aback by the younger stallion's sudden appearance amid the mist and shadow, as if coming from nothing, that he has no time to respond. And then that little spitfire charged, unforgiving, hardly saying anything. There were no names, no greeting in that early shadow. As hot as the offense that burned in Ashamin's chest was, he at least would have wished to exchange words. This was no blind battle for him—but for Rikyn? Ashamin was unsure.

The instant Rikyn started running Ashamin had tried to reposition himself—to angle to the left and flash the intimidating gold of his scars, to face some direction so that he wouldn’t be dead in Rikyn's sights. But the mud was an unexpected hindrance, denying him all purchase on the earth and sliding his balance swiftly out from under him. He had made a foolish mistake by not taking in the surroundings, but perhaps Rikyn's eagerness could in part have taken away all time he had to do so. It was unclear.

Everything was unclear: everything was mud

He had spoken too soon of blindness, for too long taken for granted his keen eyesight. As Ashamin began that fatal rear, his balance poor as his hind hooves slipped and his front half sloped back towards the earth, the thick stuff flew up towards his chest and face. A few flecks reached his eyes and he churned his forelegs as if pawing at the air would somehow bring his balance or clear vision back. Was it anger towards Rikyn's ignorance that had made him so blind? Could he truly blame only the mud? He struggled to blink it away and maintain his balance on his hind hooves. At least, there was no pain. The Haruspex had noticed the angle of Rikyn's long horn upon approach, so unlike the one Caleb had taken on in their spar. The faint pointing of the weapon's tip in a direction away from Ashamin, the intention to strike rather than stab, was something Ashamin could at last respect.

Maybe Rikyn wasn't worthless. Maybe he had a scrap of decenc-

"Shit!"

Ashamin rarely cursed. He rarely had that much negative excitement in him to find it necessary. And to let such a cry loose in the middle of a spar, no, at the very beginning, was a sign of significant weakness. But as the four-letter-word came out, hoarse in his pained neigh, it felt damn appropriate.

The flash of pain had blinded him even more thoroughly than the mud--forced him to shut his eyes and forget about vision entirely. His tail lashed and whipped down to strike the mud and send shocks across it, perhaps some that would scare Rikyn again if Ashamin was lucky. There was no way to see through it: regardless of Rikyn's intended aim, Ashamin was stabbed. The horn had pierced his right stifle with deadly inaccuracy.

The paint felt like a bottle plugged by a cork. A dark, spiraled, painful cork. And he couldn't move, he could only panic. Everything had happened so quickly, and now he was falling, his forehooves still striking out in a panic, and his whole body angling back towards the right--as if that would somehow let Rikyn's horn slide carefully out of the wound, as if somehow Ashamin could manage to strike Rikyn's withers, neck, anything, with that helpless flailing.

More than anything, the painted buck felt shame. He was ashamed he had so swiftly been handed this disadvantage, and ashamed that he could blame it on nothing and no one but himself.

How foolish he had been, to think he might have been able to forget the feeling. But no, Ashamin would never live a life without shame. It would always be there, a lingering, punitive presence: a reminder of the ways that he failed.

The unwise warrior fell towards Rikyn's left, grimacing as the pressure his movement put against the horn pushed blood to flow hot and free. He fell and he struck out, his only hope that his hooves might find purchase or his weight would knock Rikyn down.

But even those weren't hopes he could have without shame. They were just defensive, wild thoughts: the kind that went through the head of a madman.

How quickly was this practice going to drive him insane? When would it kill him?

""

WC: 799
PC: 1/3
Timeline: 1 Week Between
Summary: Ashamin tries to angle to the left to avoid Rikyn and starts to rear but has poor balance and footing as a result of the mud. A bit of the mud gets Ashamin in the eyes and this combined with his struggle to get the right angle/balance causes him to panic and start kicking out with his forelegs. His slip while rearing put him in the path for the tip of Rikyn's horn rather than its side and his right stifle is stabbed. His tail slaps the ground, perhaps sending shocks across it as it is wet. He panics, trying to lean back to his right, towards Rikyn's left, and continues to kick out blindly, vaguely near Riykn's withers/neck/back area.
Notes: My bad for not knowing Rikyn was a soldier, I'm happy to make this his seasonal spar if the leads approve. Sorry also for the wait! This was a tough one for me to think through because of the 6 roll but Rikyn's fairly nonviolent attack.


ASHAMIN
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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


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#5
Яikyn
I’m not much for conversation before a spar. It gives your opponent time to throw you off with well placed taunts or suggestions, and it gives you time to get your own verbal jabs in, giving neither one of those involved in the fight a fair approximation of the others strengths and defenses - things you need to know about your herd mates in times of war. Besides, what enemy stops to say hi and ask about the weather before delivering their first blow?

It seems that Ashamin doesn’t share this logic, because as I’m bearing down on him I get the sense that he hadn’t expected me to come at him so suddenly. His legs wildly churn in the mud, sending blots of it leaping towards me, in combination with the idiotic flashing of his hooves help me reach this final assumption.

It’s idiotic because the footing doesn’t really suit such a tactic, and also because it makes him look, well, like an idiot.

I’m laughing at the sight of him (in a good natured way, of course) when he slips, the sound of my chuckles cut short in a gasp of chagrin, his dual hued figure stumbling far out of the safe range of my strike with no time for me to adjust the angle of the assault. The gasp is answered with the pressure of his flesh for only the slightest of moments before the gilded tip of my blade has bit into his lower hip, the air ringing in unison with, ironically, the same curse from either of our mouths, as the first drops of blood hit the Basin floor with subtle little plinks.

"Shiiiit!" I shout with concern rather than agony, trying to back pedal at the last moment, continuing to pull away after my weapon has penetrated his sinew – my horn slips free in all my efforts, thankfully, but so do three of my four hooves.

The forth bucks up madly when a flash of white light scatters across the liquid laced earth, trying to avoid the touch of their arcing heat successfully – but as I come back down, I fail to find much traction, my hind legs buckling out from underneath me to send my back half down into the mud. Painfully my apology to the man is stolen (I really hadn’t meant to skewer him) with a jolt that slams through my hip and gaskin, my right hip hits the mud with a splash that coats me in the murky gray brown filth.

Scrambling to get back up, I manage to leap upwards in an awkward mess of matted mane and flying earth, the bruise rising in the lower portion of my hip causing a pained grunt to flow from me as I put weight down on my golden leg.

Using the momentum of my regained footing, I take a strong step forward (my long limbs swallowing the earth) and breath a deep breath of the cool air, now stained with the scent of his blood; relieving the ache of my right hip momentarily as both my back legs kick up off the ground, I aim for the Haruspex’s left side with a strong cow kick. Mud splays from the impact of my front legs, wide in stance to support the arc of my body as it curves, dirty water sprays from the tips of my mud matted tail which bends through the atmosphere for balance.

As soon as my hind legs touch the terra again (landing hard, a throb pulsing through the bruised flesh of my hip), I follow up the buck with a reach of my neck, my white teeth trying the air for purchase on his painted left hip or croup.

[ 2/3 :: 623 words
Summary: Tries to avoid stabbing Ashamin, losing most of his balance; he loses the rest as he tries to hop up and avoid the flash of lightning on the ground and lands roughly on his right hip, bruising it pretty deeply. He gets up and takes a big step forward before trying to kick Ashamin's left side with his back legs, then tries to bite Ashamin's left butt cheek because... yeah.

OOC: He's not technically in the rank yet - it won't be affecting his stats or anything like that, so I don't know if it would count? If it can than yeah, I totally wouldn't mind it being a seasonal spar (two birdsssss). :3 ]

in every heart a hole
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Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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

Ashamin didn't realize until he landed that he had it all wrong.

He stood there on all fours, his forelegs shaking from the exertion of wildly kicking out at nothing, (as if he had a right to be standing at all what with all the weakness he was putting on display,) and he turned to see Rikyn on the ground. But not on the ground where Ashamin thought he would be, because Ashamin wasn't even sure where anything was anymore. The horn had left the haruspex's body and left an open, gaping hold of a wound. He bled freely, he embodied wooziness. Though the buck knew vaguely that the exodus of the sword had been more painful than he could recall, he also found the moment so sharply distinct that he forgot it entirely. It was as if he was losing time.

Still blinking mud from his vision, he turned to his right to find nothing. Ashamin's sense of direction, quickly becoming infamous for its inadequacy, had failed him once again. In an attempt to strike out at Rikyn's left, he had instead reached for the soldier's right--in an attempt to defend himself with a poorly aimed serious of useless kicks, he had caught nothing in his path. It was a miracle, really, that the Haruspex could catch his balance well enough to not land on his side in the mud.

Ashamin was aware of only a few things: he was in a lot of pain, and somehow Rikyn was on the ground. Had the black and gold boy just slipped? It was tricky footing, to be sure, and it was clearly giving Ashamin a hard enough time. The buck thought he remembered hearing his opponent curse.

The paint snorted, even that faint exhalation sounding twisted and pained as the wound almost seemed to expand with the breath. It was useless: so early on, he was showing Rikyn nothing of the skills he'd hoped to display.

And he didn't see Rikyn stand up, and he didn't have time to react, because at that very moment the damn sun came up. Lochan flashed the picture in the Haruspex's mind over and over in brilliant red and white pastels, to the point where Ashamin felt muddled.

No, Lochan, he thought weakly as he somehow, barely, kept upright. It was too late for this, the nocturnal Haruspex should have been settling to sleep with his companion. But instead, he was serving as Rikyn's own punching bag and squinting to avoid the harshness of the morning light.

Ashamin had spent too many days sleeping, and gotten too used to the dark. The flash of white over the horizon was just enough to distract him from Rikyn's next two attacks, which came in such quick succession that the paint struggled to separate them at all.

First came the kick, a sideways dash of hoof and muscle that came crashing against Ashamin's side and knocked the wind clean out of him. He let out a cry and turned his gaze swiftly away from the light and back to Rikyn, only to find the boy's gold accents just as blinding as the sun. The old, shallow, and almost healed cut from his spar with Caleb tore apart with a new and painful ferocity at the impact, and once again Ashamin found himself bleeding.

He was open, torn, and incomplete. And as if Rikyn's skillful strike with his hind was not enough, as soon as the young soldier got on all fours he bit the haruspex, grabbing a chunk of white flesh as if it were as easy to bite through as a soft ball of snow.

Though the warrior wise one was still sluggish, still bleeding, still hurt, his head swung low and his jaws snapped out of pure reaction. It was instinct, and as Ashamin reached down for the tender patch of shadowy flesh that was Rikyn's left hind, somewhere between stifle and gaskin, he sincerely hoped he'd bite that leg clean off.

There was nothing like three open wounds and a lack of sleep to make a kind man into a mad one.
""

WC: 688
PC: 2/3
Summary: Ashamin lands and splays his front legs to try and gain some balance. Still shocked from the pain on his right, he doesn't move in time to avoid either of Rikyn's attacks; he takes the cow kick to the flank and his wound from his spar with Caleb, a shallow horn-cut, is reopened. He takes the bite to the left hindquarter and Rikyn manages to bite out a chunk of butt. Ashamin tries to bite midway between Rikyn's gaskin and stifle, on Rikyn's left side.
Notes: Rikyn: rolls two 6's. Ashamin: rolls a 1, looks like a failure. He's probably going to want a rematch unless he gets a real good hit in soon... also sorry for my spectacular directional failure in the last post, thankfully it didn't hurt your post and you understood me. I tried to make up for it in this one as best as I could. Lots of muse though? :D


ASHAMIN
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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


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#7
Яikyn
The light rises, almost as if it is spurred by the lifting of my near black body from the murk below us, illuminating the gold of my body and brightening the pitch of my figure so that the chocolate is evident, peering from the drying layers of mud.

With a surge of adrenaline fueled by the worry that I have lost valuable time on the ground, my legs work madly, each muscle tensed and reaching to regain seconds, to slip by him without the touch of his hooves or maw, his useless horn of little concern to me in comparison to its comrades. I still expect the blows, feeling the side nearest him tense, but with a measure of surprise, I find myself unscathed as my hooves crack against the muscle of his flank, my teeth coming away with a chunk of white fur and crimson flesh that I spit aside.

Grotesque (will I ever get used to the wine of war?), the taste of his blood floods my senses, my tongue probing against the cool air for a flavor that is not metallic, for a sensation that is not the terrible loose flop of meat torn from its hold. The stench of it stains the air, grows harder and harder to ignore.

I hadn’t meant to bite him that hard – or maybe his skin is just softer than those I have tussled with before, or maybe I am just overzealous in my opportunity to rise above another on a field I claim talent in. I also find that I can’t help but wonder, as the chunk of flesh splishes against the muddy ground, if I should worry about having roughed him up as much as I have, even if it was mostly on accident, and he’d been the one to ask for the spar in the first place.

I don’t have time to worry too much, however, my position leaving me blind to the assault of Ashamin’s teeth which flash towards my golden limb, reaching to bruise or break the tender flesh of my stifle on the dark flesh of my left hind leg. Through some fluke of the universe, the purchase he gathers is minimal, a sharp pinch that nearly makes me squeal in a rather lady like manner – a high pitched noise still torn from my lips from where the small and sharp line of a pretty bad ass pressure bruise dimples my dark skin.

Instinctively, that golden leg strikes out to the side again, the thought of a potential kick to the Haruspex’s face or jaw making sense of the motion; however, the kick is so swift that I feel the newly chomped on muscle scream in protest, and I worry if it isn’t liable to lock up and stop working at all.

Wearing a wince as I urge the ache of my mid-leg and hip to forge onward, I transition into place for a buck, my front half swinging to the right in a semicircle so that my ass swings around to put my hind legs within the general region Ashamin had been when he’d bit my leg. Feeling my hip and the newest mark from the paint’s teeth throb in protest as I bundle my haunches up, I propel my hind limbs out behind me, a snort of excursion escaping my muzzle with a harsh blast, aiming for speed rather than strength with the strike.



[ 3/3 :: 571
Summary: Takes a painful but not very damaging bite to his stifle, which he strains mildly delivering a counter-kick to Ashamin's bite. There is now an obvious limp to his movements on the left side because it legit hurts. He then pivots to aim his haunches at Ashamin, and kicks out behind him with both hooves.
OOC: Rikyn says no to no battle ever. ;D ]

in every heart a hole
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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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

Ashamin was at the point where he only had one bit of advice to offer himself: get it together, man. And perhaps it was simply taking the moment to tell himself this, or perhaps it was feeling Rikyn's flesh between his teeth at last, but he felt stronger and faster at the thought. The moment of success was short lived but enough, and Ashamin pulled his head back in triumph, letting out a hoarse neigh.

Of course, with pain so intense still plaguing him, nothing more grand was possible. And thought he was perhaps quicker than his opponent in some regards, Rikyn had the clear advantage of strength running through his bloodlines and Ashamin was far too injured to fully dodge such close quarters attacks as the buck that followed.

Get it together, man.

He started to step forward, slipping and dragging his injured right leg behind him in the mud, but it was no use. Nothing could have carried him out of Rikyn's line of fire then--no burst of adrenaline. Ashamin could only relax as the two hooves struck him squarely in the left shoulder, bruising the bone painfully and knocking him into the mud.

The painted haruspex lay for a moment, too shocked to move and unable to rise. Every twitch of his body ground mud and small scraps of remaining ice into the cut on his right, and even some of the foul black stuff splashed up to irritate the wounds on his left. He cried out, unsure if the pain in his shoulder or the pain from the pressure on the wounds was more foul.

The young stallion could do nothing. He could not stand. He thought about giving up. But Ashamin knew this could not be the end of this match, and he could not give up now. His long tail lashed out towards Rikyn and he kicked out weakly with his left leg. Someday, that black and gold boy would have to land. And when he did, Ashamin would be ready with a sparking tail and a sharp cleft hoof.

He was going to fight this thing until he couldn't anymore. He was going to try his damned best. He had to.

""

WC: 368
PC: 3/3
Summary: Ashamin bites successfully and quickly pulls his head back up. He is able to avoid being kicked in the face by dragging himself forward a step but gets hit squarely in the shoulder by the buck. He gets a serious bone bruise and falls to the ground, slipping in the mud and getting dirt ground into the first wound, seriously hurting him. While on the ground he vaguely kicks out at Rikyn with his left hing leg, hoping to catch Rikyn when he lands from the buck.
Notes:Just... sorry. Didn't mean to hold this up and I wish I had time for a better post. Good spar, bunnie, thanks for doing this with me!


ASHAMIN
image credits


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


Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#9
Яikyn
I get giddy in the head when I hear him hit the ground after my kick lands squarely somewhere (it’s not like I can see him, after all). In all the ways I feel bad for stabbing him, I elate in being strong enough to physically shove him over – and it’s not just because I don’t care for him ever since our conversation in the cave that night.

I’m pretty sure I would have enjoyed doing that to just about anyone.

My back hooves land in a splash of mud and slushy ice, slipping beneath me in a way I’m starting to grow accustomed to – drawing a sharp pain up in the superficial pressure bruise that I’m not used to. The ache in my hip is under better control, but I still feel it tug at the fringe of my pain sensors – and though I hurt in a moderate sort of way, I can’t help but wonder how beat to hell Ashamin feels laying back there in the mud as I tense in preparation to move.

It’s bad timing, really.

I won’t admit that I might have got a little bit cocky and let my guard down.

The meek kick from his hoof is a prod that is more annoying than painful, sinking a point into the curve my ass in an ineffectual but uncomfortable power poke. It’s the tail, that goddamn stupid tail and that coil of metal which reach up and catch me unawares, slapping resolutely against the side of my left hip and sending the arcing sting of electricity across my skin.

I start at the sensation, my haunches bundling (the bruised tissue in my right hip groaning) and my forelegs rising as I bound forward with an instinctual need to get away from the lightning thing; the smell of singed hair and burned tissue meets my nostrils, the strange numb ache of the spark's touch seeming to throb with radiance around the sharp agony of where the metal super heated my flesh. My thoughts reel with an intense need to destroy the coil the first chance I get, accented with a rising need to end this spat before he can use the heinous weapon again - and, of course, the bright pain that makes every pull on the burned skin of my haunch feel as the wounds are being ripped anew.

Maybe I'll borrow it to reciprocate the love, I think as my heart slows and I turn back towards him at a trot, wincing with each step; I halt several feet away (wary of his stupid tail), and wonder how hard it would be to take the coil from him while he slept, how delightful it would be to wake him with it.

"You need help up?" I ask, my voice broken by the subtle rise in my breath from the brief spat, my heart still pounding fiercely against my ribs, a faint smile playing on my lips given to my features from my... less than friendly thoughts.


[ Closing Defense :: 472
Summary: Ashamin's kick pokes Rikyn in the curve of his gluttimous (and is largely ineffectual) but his tail/coil land on Rikyn's right hip causing electrical burns which hurt pretty dern bad.
OOC: Yaaaaay his first spar is done. <3 Thank you, Jen, for the wonderful experience! ]
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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

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Stallion :: Equine :: ::
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#10
By my verdict: RIKYN is the winner!

RIKYN
Realism [+2.5]
I really liked your utilization of the surroundings for a distraction attack in your first post as well as the way Rikyn tries to use his horn in a non-deadly fashion. Your surroundings continued to be well done in your second post, but seem to drop off. You never mention breed/height/stat differences which can be a helpful tool in expanding on realism.

Your attacks were all good, though in your second post it was unclear to me how Rikyn went from stabbing Ashamin’s right side to kicking Ashamin’s left side. You mentioned backing up to pull the horn out, but the way it was written didn’t really convey more than that so to me he still should have been on Ashamin’s right side. I did however like that in that post you took damage from slipping on the mud rather than from Ashamin’s attacks, though you still needed to mention Ashamin’s flailing attacks whether they missed or not, because as it was it seemed as if you ignored them all together.

Into your third post I was confused about Rikyn talking about tasting Ashamin’s blood from the bite, but I re-read and didn’t see Ashamin say anything about the bite causing bleeding, so be careful with that. Further in your fourth post you took Ashamin’s kick, but as he’s still on the ground at most he could have reached your lower legs, not your ass as you said, so that really fractured some realism there. The response to his spark charm was very good though.

Great explanation of injuries throughout your posts and bringing them up again. Overall focus on bringing in more details of realism such as breed/stat differences and being more clear with your actions when you change directions.


Emotion [+0.5]
Overall I felt no sense of Rikyn aside from your strongest bout of emotion in the second post (and your fourth post which doesn’t judge emotion!), but even so I was often left wondering who Rikyn even was. Why did he choose certain attacks and defenses, how did he feel when struck, what motivated him into this fight, how did his opinions of Ashamin change during the fight? Rikyn did a lot, but did not help me feel a lot.


Prose [+4]
Overall very well written and great usage of imagery and vocabulary, especially in the second and third post.


Readability [+2.5]
Easy to read attacks, and defenses all throughout, just some minor errors.

P2: 
“...breath a deep breath…” (breathe a deep breath)
“Using the momentum of my regained footing, I take a strong step forward (my long limbs swallowing the earth) and breath a deep breath of the cool air, now stained with the scent of his blood; relieving the ache of my right hip momentarily as both my back legs kick up off the ground, I aim for the Haruspex’s left side with a strong cow kick.” (run-on)

P3:
“With a surge of adrenaline fueled by the worry that I have lost valuable time on the ground, my legs work madly, each muscle tensed and reaching to regain seconds, to slip by him without the touch of his hooves or maw, his useless horn of little concern to me in comparison to its comrades.” (run-on)


Finally tally: 42+(9.5*2)= 61 HP

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

ASHAMIN
Realism [+2]
I really liked how much you played on the surroundings during this fight, especially in your first post. It did slowly fade away, but it helped bring strong realism to your posts. Breed/height/stat differences on the other hand were mentioned only once in your third post, and then incorrectly. Rikyn is the faster one, Ashamin is the stronger one.

Your attacks and defenses were very good, especially in that first post. I liked you mentioning an old wound opening up in your second post to help create the proper damage you needed for the dice roll! Your third post however I took some issue with because you only mentioned one of Rikyn’s two bucks, and you had his buck knock Ashamin over which doesn’t make sense. Maybe if you had described Ashamin as being off balance and/or the slick mud helped knock him over with Rikyn’s force it would have been plausible, but as was you were standing steady, took the kick to your shoulder (which is a strong point for a horse) and then were just knocked over and what’s more, stayed down until the fight ended. Your realism would have been much better if not for this chain of events which were just very unlikely to occur - especially trying to then kick at Rikyn from the ground.

I would advise you to look more into how horses move and consider their balance in future fights, and to try and bring in more explanation of how stat differences cause certain attacks and defenses. Otherwise good improvement!


Emotion [+1]
Some emotion utilized with Ashamin’s frustrations and disappointment, but I was often unsure of what motivated him to fight at all or what all was happening with his companion. I just needed more of a sense of what Ashamin was thinking and not just what he was doing.


Prose [+3]
Overall very well written and good usage of imagery and vocabulary.

“There was nothing like three open wounds and a lack of sleep to make a kind man into a mad one.”


Readability [+2.5]
Easy to read positions, attacks, and defenses all throughout, just some minor errors.

P1:
“Everything was unclear: everything was mud” (lacking a period)
“He had spoken too soon of blindness, for too long taken for granted his keen eyesight.” (confused as to what blindness you mention here)

P2:
“...gaping hold of a wound.” (hole)
“...poorly aimed serious of useless kicks…” (series)

P3:
“..thought he was perhaps quicker…” (though)


Finally tally: 39.5+(8.5*2)-10 ending the fight not standing)= 46.5 HP


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