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11-07-2015, 11:47 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
Things broke so easily—too easily. The entire world was fragile glass, a beautiful prism refracting the sunlight, but then—but then—
It was just shattered edges, blood-smeared and sharp, reminiscent of an old dream in which the world ended in his wake. He had never understood if he had run from it, just barely outpacing it, or if he'd brought it with him—and he still didn't understand. The acrid, repulsing smell was thick in his nose. Had he broken things this time around, or had it just coincided with his presence? Had the spark to the flame been an unfortunate error chain, or was it so simple, that it was just his fault?
Tembovu was warm against his shoulder, a kind of wet collision with all the fog and the sweat—
(I'm not worthy to touch you.)
He could sense a pulse somewhere beneath all that muscle, a story behind all those scars, and he began to stagger away—began to disappear, ethereal, just like a memory come to haunt, come to dance. It was what he always did. He hit, and he ran, and the world came to ruin behind him.
Somewhere between the squelching mud and the world-shattering and Tembovu's speed it didn't add up this time. Somewhere, someone said, you shall not run again, and his frosted hooves slid in the muck even as he knew that that voice was his own, telling him to stand the fuck still and take it—but it wasn't all his fault. It wasn't all his masochistic bent for taking what he deserved. They were two in this, after all.
His stalling didn't make it better, though, Tembovu's unforgiving shadow falling on him like judgment—
The world slowed.
And then, it sang—a pure, resonant note, like a sterling vibration growing stronger and stronger, as the sunlight fell like spears to the ground.
In its eye was that shadow, rising, rising, and it was beautiful—
The song turned to a screech, a myriad of bells going off in his skull as nerves and bones took a beating; thick hooves collided with the curve of his chest, descending in a merciless rake, and teeth locked on to his withers held him in place.
He couldn't get away.
It was hurting, a tide of red along his ribs masked by an unbroken skin, and it was hurting to have strong jaws holding him by the the neck, and—
At least he wasn't screaming.
But before he knew it, he was throwing himself into Tembovu's mouth, to jar him, to push him back, and his head swung in a senseless arc to the left—a wildness to the motion as the tip of his horn sought to find skin, and to tear its way up Tembovu's left shoulder. He wasn't even sure what he wanted—what he hoped to achieve, as he slid in the muck trying to worm his way in forthe kill (—escape). He just knew that it hurt, and he wanted it to stop, and—
He wasn't screaming, but he wasn't breathing either, eyes blank and mind dreaming of a giant wolf standing on top of him.
He had been afraid then.
He wasn't sure what he was now.
[ 3/3 || @Tembovu || 541 words. || The dream thing is from here: the lanterns won't go out at night and the wolf memory is from here: seven days to the wolves. ]
It was just shattered edges, blood-smeared and sharp, reminiscent of an old dream in which the world ended in his wake. He had never understood if he had run from it, just barely outpacing it, or if he'd brought it with him—and he still didn't understand. The acrid, repulsing smell was thick in his nose. Had he broken things this time around, or had it just coincided with his presence? Had the spark to the flame been an unfortunate error chain, or was it so simple, that it was just his fault?
Tembovu was warm against his shoulder, a kind of wet collision with all the fog and the sweat—
(I'm not worthy to touch you.)
He could sense a pulse somewhere beneath all that muscle, a story behind all those scars, and he began to stagger away—began to disappear, ethereal, just like a memory come to haunt, come to dance. It was what he always did. He hit, and he ran, and the world came to ruin behind him.
Somewhere between the squelching mud and the world-shattering and Tembovu's speed it didn't add up this time. Somewhere, someone said, you shall not run again, and his frosted hooves slid in the muck even as he knew that that voice was his own, telling him to stand the fuck still and take it—but it wasn't all his fault. It wasn't all his masochistic bent for taking what he deserved. They were two in this, after all.
His stalling didn't make it better, though, Tembovu's unforgiving shadow falling on him like judgment—
The world slowed.
And then, it sang—a pure, resonant note, like a sterling vibration growing stronger and stronger, as the sunlight fell like spears to the ground.
In its eye was that shadow, rising, rising, and it was beautiful—
The song turned to a screech, a myriad of bells going off in his skull as nerves and bones took a beating; thick hooves collided with the curve of his chest, descending in a merciless rake, and teeth locked on to his withers held him in place.
He couldn't get away.
It was hurting, a tide of red along his ribs masked by an unbroken skin, and it was hurting to have strong jaws holding him by the the neck, and—
At least he wasn't screaming.
But before he knew it, he was throwing himself into Tembovu's mouth, to jar him, to push him back, and his head swung in a senseless arc to the left—a wildness to the motion as the tip of his horn sought to find skin, and to tear its way up Tembovu's left shoulder. He wasn't even sure what he wanted—what he hoped to achieve, as he slid in the muck trying to worm his way in for
He wasn't screaming, but he wasn't breathing either, eyes blank and mind dreaming of a giant wolf standing on top of him.
He had been afraid then.
He wasn't sure what he was now.
[ 3/3 || @Tembovu || 541 words. || The dream thing is from here: the lanterns won't go out at night and the wolf memory is from here: seven days to the wolves. ]
OOC TEACHING NOTES
PROSE: I feel so evil. First I tell you to try and write in a way that is more 'you', and then when you do, I tell you to do fewer run-on sentences. Sorry. :C I didn't mean to be inconsistent I am simply trying to offer what pointers I can in how to make your writing have more 'impact'. And the only/best way I know for that is contrast.
Now, as I said on Skype, I'm not in the brightest of moods or mental states, so forgive me if I overlooked something here. But as far as tenses and spelling/grammar errors go, there were none that stood out to me. Which is a great improvement from the first post, which contained both of these! You don't have to overwork spar posts, really, just proof-read them to make sure there's nothing you've missed when it comes to language, because it's such a shame to lose points for something easily rectified. :)
DICE ROLL/DAMAGE: I think you did what you could given the surroundings and die roll you got. You also mentioned the injury from the fire a lot, which I think is good, because with such a major injury it is bound to affect everything - taking injuries into account is my Achilles heel, I think it is super difficult and awkward for flow, but I think you managed it nicely. As for the damage you took from the flank bash, this is probably not something you'll get docked for BUT I looked it up because I was curious! And "bruises", as we think of them, really take a lot longer to start to form than we generally think; redness of the skin and swelling is almost instantaneous because you received a blow and d'uh, that hurts xD But the actual blue/purple "bruise color" doesn't set in until after a day or two or so. It's got to do with when the hemoglobin gets cut off from oxygen :)
ATTACK: For the most part I think this attack was clear! The only thing that strikes me is how Tembovu got his forelimbs in place, because if they are standing close side-by-side in this fashion he would, I think, have to lift his torso over Mauja's ass to get in a t-bone position... But hey, it works. :) Also: " .. to t-bone Mauja ..." sounds like a bad sex thing.
Anyway! Now it's just the closing defense left. :) Woop woop!
