the Rift


Splashing around in the muck and the mire

Einarr Posts: 113
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 hh :: 8 years HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Time
#1
Stand on my feet
Dance the warrior, the warrior

EINARR

It had been some time since Einarr was this far north, but his feathers spread on the cold winds and his lungs expanded like he was breathing here for the first time. But, despite it all, Einarr was moving with purpose. He had a promise on his tongue he was intent on keeping. The stallion, a unicorn with an abnormally long tail, was whom Einarr sought. He remembered the black and white stag fondly, recalling the conversation they shared in the frozen land seasons ago. The bloodrider had--or so he thought--pulled Ashamin from the brink of suicide, and lectured him. Little did he know, Ashamin had made well on the plans Einarr had made for him. In their time apart, Ashamin had grown as a warrior--as Einarr had told him to--and today he would find that out.

Tilting his wing to the right, Einarr let his body land in large, sweeping circles. Cloven toes found purchase in the snow and ice just a few leaps and bounds from the shoreline itself, covered dangerously in stones and rocks of all shapes and sizes. He had not realized it before he landed, but the wind was awfully cold and it was blowing quite hard. He snorted, twin white puffs of his own breath warming his nose. As he stood, with wings tucked close into his sides, Einarr wondered if Ashamin would even heed his call on a day like this Surely, the stallion would not back down from fulfilling Einarr's promise to him, but had the stag's heart grown brave enough to face these conditions locked in the throws of battle? Another snort left the stallion's nostrils before he spread his wings again, giving his appearance illusionary largeness. "ASHAMIN! Friend of snow, come face me today!" The stallion called into the bleak, half-lit landscape. He hoped that the stallion was in close enough range to hear his call. He had told the boy he would meet him for a spar after seeing him at the battle of the Sun God, and today was the day.

Warmth spread through Einarr's belly as he thought of the battle, and his body lifted on cloven toes like a boxer--light in his feet and heavy in his blows. Wings tucked again into his sides as he danced on the frozen ground, neck arching elegantly yet powerfully, muscles bulging beneath scarred, black hide. This would be Einarr's first time battling upon snow or ice, and his reddened eyes moved carefully over the terrain he had chosen. He was a desert and plain dweller by birth, and now he lived in the lush desert of the Dragon's Throat. His wings would definitely be an advantage today.


[PC: 0/3 | WC: 448 | YAY ASHANARR SPAR. Feel free to attack first! | This will be a teaching spar! | Setting: Just near the shoreline of the Frostbreathe Steppe. There is a snow and ice covering, but the rocky shoreline and lapping waters are just a few yards away (probably about 5 yards). The wind is bitter cold and howling, despite the Tallsun times. Early evening, overcast.]



@Ashamin

if you bury me, i'll bury you
pixel by sourful

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
ashamin
Alone

Ba-thump

The haruspex's heart beat a cool and steady rhythm that his body matched in eagerness. Slow, contained:

Ba-thump.

Einarr had told him to run from the battle with the Crocodile God. Einarr had told Ashamin to run. But hadn't it been Ashamin who had broken the Crocodile's wrist, snapping the bone into two clean halves with nothing but the force of his weight?

Ba-thump.

Hadn't it been Ashamin, battling at the Earth God's side, who had driven a broken rib into the ancient Tigress' lung and punctured her dying breath?

Ba-thump.

What had Einarr done?

Ba-thump.

What right did Einarr have to tell Ashamin to go to safety?

Ba-thump.

Why didn't the Warden trust the haruspex to hold his fucking own?

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Ashamin cantered with quiet force, straddling the clattering stonebed of the shore and the expanse of white steppe. He bore four perfectly cleft white hooves, and he focused his energy every time that they bit into the quiet strip of frosted scrub beneath him.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

His body plunged with every step into the relentless wind that he was accustomed to, but his face was protected by his sarong--draped across the convex bridge of his nose and the tangled web of his horn--and the Bear God's crystal-covered skull. Einarr had never fought on this turf, maybe, but this was the land Ashamin knew best. He was downwind, which maybe slowed his approach but granted it the invaluable asset of being harder to detect. Einarr had told him to run. Well, now he was running.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Running straight for Einarr.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Heart filled with electricity, head filled with learned tactics, the painted buck was running and he wasn't going to stop. Not until he proved himself.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Not until he made his mark.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Hooves pounding, coils sparking.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump, ba-thump.

Body a snake in the snow.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

Soul a relentless, waking, living passion.

Ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump, ba-thump.

He had--

Ba-thump.

so much--

Ba-thump.

to prove!

Wham, and Ashamin tried to close that precious gap between student and teacher. Wham, and he let his quad-colored form skid to a halt as he made an attempt to slam into Einarr's exposed right shoulder where wing met body. Wham and snap, Ashamin was rearing low and twisting his head to try and bite the tough elbow of Einarr's wing on the very same side, letting the wind and gravity blow back the blood-stained drapery of his sarong to reveal the teeth behind his lips.

Ba-thump went his delicate heart as he strove to show greatness. Ba-thump, went the sound of his fury.


""
image credits


PC: 1/3 Attack, 0/1 Defense
WC: 442/800
Summary: Runs along the strip between shore and steppe, downwind of Einarr. Tries to bodyslam Einarr's right shoulder, low-rears back and tries to bite the elbow of Einarr's right wing. Is wearing his mask and sarong over his face (like this,) is wearing his tesla coil. Lochan is not present.
Notes: You'd think I would have copy pasted "ba-thump" but I typed it out every time because that's how much I care :P. Also thanks so much for doing a teaching. :)


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


Einarr Posts: 113
Absent Abyss atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 17.2 hh :: 8 years HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE
Time
#3
Stand on my feet
Dance the warrior, the warrior

EINARR

This battle would surely be an exercise in growth for Einarr. He had never battled in such cold, snowy conditions. He knew snow could be different wherever it was, and it also depended on the temperature of the world around it. He knew snow could be slippery, powdery, hard, or many a number of other things. The stallion lowered his head briefly, sniffing at the cold, white substance before snorting. Why in the hell did he choose this as the battleground? Exhaling, Einarr quieted his mind some, mulling over the details he imagined to happen. He imagined the stallion he met, so meek and so scared, in this frozen land many seasons before today. He imagined Ashamin showing up, deer-like and ready. He imagined Ashamin at the fight of the Crocodile and Tiger gods, moving with ferocity and passion. Had the stallion really changed so much in their time apart? A small hmm of thought drifted from Einarr's lips into the howling wind, the flicker of wonder and pride could not help but set his chest on fire. If his words, his commands, had put so much desire to change within the boy Einarr would have no fear in calling Ashamin his comrade, his equal. Though whether or not the boy could best--or even match--him in battle would be seen here today. The bloodrider doubted that only a few seasons of training could outweigh a lifetime, but there was enough room to surprise this hardened stallion in Helovia.

Curving his body and turning, Einarr lifted his head. Ashamin's quickly-moving body was advancing toward him, a flicker of black and white. Snorting, the black stallion thrust his wings open and into the air, beating hard against the howling wind as he pushed off the snowy ground into a rear. Ashamin's speed matched Einarr's, it seemed, as the bloodrider lifted himself just off the ground enough to avoid the battering ram of the paint's shoulder against his own. However, Ashamin still managed to make contact with Einarr's body, and the stallion was pushed roughly to the left. A bruise formed beneath his dark skin on the right side of his body, just behind his shoulder. Thankfully it was not on his shoulder, for the pain of the bruise would surely hinder the use of his massive wings had it landed as such. Gritting his teeth, Einarr pushed hard with his wings to steady himself. Hind hooves dug into the snow as he kept his rear, head high above the painted buck's. Red-brown eyes narrowed and the pride in his chest turned to ash as Ashamin's teeth lurched for his blackened wing. Anger roared in his chest, an unbridled, instinctual emotion blooming from the deeply-bred desire to protect his wings at all costs. A pegasus without the ability of flying was not a pegasus at all! He knew how much losing the appendages meant, how much it hurt the pride and reputation of a pegasus. The others in the Dragon's Throat looked down on Laedere because her wings were useless, and as a warrior of the desert, Einarr could not face that fate. Quickly, Einarr moved his legs upwards, though it was not enough to save him from the paint's attack. Ashamin's blunt teeth scraped across Einarr's right cannon. Fur and skin scraped away to reveal a line of blood, and the bloodrider took in a sharp breath. There was very little muscle on the lower part of his leg to help dull the brunt of the attack, and so it stung like hell.

Snorting hard, Einarr swung his forehooves down wildly toward Ashamin's head. While the stallion normally might not usually use such harsh tactics in a spar of this manner, the attack to his wing was nearly unforgivable. Did Ashamin not understand what hurting Einarr's wings could mean!? Whether or not Ashamin truly knew the consequences of his intended actions was of little regard to Einarr. The part of him that burned so primally overpowered his more civil side in the wake of his disintegrated pride for the buck. Some more refined than he could argue that his civilized side did not exist at all, that he was merely a primal being no matter what the situation was. In his heart, Einarr knew that was not true of his being, but how could he show that when the switch from civil to primal was so easily flipped in his brain?

The black's back legs pushed off the snowy ground hard as his wings moved in a massive downstroke, bringing. They beat hard against the howling wind, and Einarr kicked his right hindhoof down in an attempt to hit Ashamin's crest as he took to the sky.




[PC: 1/3 | WC: 785 | FOR JUDGE: The restrictions/enchantments for Ashamin's bear mask were not in the records when we started this spar, and Jen and I agreed to not have them in use.]




TEACHING NOTES
Firstly, and you KNOW I had to say it (;D), word count--USE IT! We've talked about this just between us, but I firmly believe you should do your best to aim close to 800 words. There is so much room for emotion, tactics, thoughts and actions in 800 words it's crazy. You could have used your extra word amount to describe the differences in Einarr and Ashamin and how that would affect this fight, or had Ashamin reflect on previous battles that would give him purpose for attacking the way he did, or something along those lines.

Man, I really think you packed it in with this post regarding emotion. I like Ashamin's motivations to come in so hot, and his thoughts on the gods fights. It really sets the tone for how I predict Ashamin is going to feel throughout this fight. It is clear, to me, that he feels he has sometime to prove to Einarr--and I can see that without knowing their history. Good job!

Okay, here is where I think you need to really think and balance creativity with realism. In regards to your mask and sarong, there can be a fine line I see. How does this affect him? Can he see well enough, or is his vision slightly obscured? The wind is blowing hard, so it might cause his sarong to react in a certain way. These are all questions you can ask yourself when writing. The thing about having items is that they are both beautiful and dangerous, beneficial and harmful. I think it's really creative and well-thought out when the items don't completely make a character better--because they're not designed to! These are horses, not meant for items such as these. How can you effectively, realistically, and also creatively integrate these objects into your writing is the fun (but hard!) challenge! Another note on realism, is try to use anatomical language in reference to what you're attacking. I'm not sure what the "elbow" of a wing is.

I do think your post was beautifully written, and the prose was really unique. However, as far as readability goes, it was slightly difficult with the onomatopoeia breaking up the sentence in such a way that it did at the end. Sometimes, however, I think it is ok to make those stylistic choices--such as in this case--just be careful to make sure it can be easily understood.

@Ashamin

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
ashamin
Alone

The collision was silent but there was an air of mortality to it. Ashamin did'nt know how devastating an attack to the wing could be, but he did know he felt anger and took offense to the warden's former words--the ones uttered in the midst of chaos. But now that they were alone together the whole world seemed to go silent. They exchanged no words because there was nothing to be said.

Ashamin had noted their differences upon approach, and now that they clashed they came to clear and harsh light. Ashamin's weaker body slammed against Einarr's tough, dark hide. The pain recoiled instantly, sending sharp aches into the young buck's shoulder that slowed him. What was the winged badger's body filled with, stones? Were those muscles or metal bones expanding outward, threatening to burst?

The quad-colored paint understood that Einarr's strength and training was vastly superior,  but had not thought of the consequences of crashing headlong into such perfectly toned bulk. Perhaps Einarr wasn't that much stronger than Ashamin, but he was certainly larger and the firm anatomy of his wing--so well joined with his body--had been unexpected. Ashamin's bite only made brief purchase, slipping from Einarr's stiff cannon when he reared away from the weaker haruspex's grip. Ashamin gritted his now freed teeth beneath the safety of his mask, just barely managing to duck and avoid Einarr's kicks to his face. Perhaps the mask would have saved him, but he was not going to take the risk when he still had the energy left to avoid the warden's strike.

Something about those wild, flinging hooves so close to Ashamin's vital jaw felt like an insult. They only fueled the fire, only sparked further disappointment. Ashamin had attacked the wings with lack of understanding, but Einarr surely knew that a hit to the face could mean starvation. All the creatures in this land, regardless of species, were born or raised with that knowledge; it was instinct. There were certain parts of the body that had to be protected, and not simply for vanity's sake.

Ashamin could have cared less about how he looked. He'd been born ugly, he'd learned to live with deformity persistently cloaking his brow. He'd worked around an awkward tail and poorly formed frame. He lived now with scars that painted him in awkward bright hues, unnatural disturbances not meant to mar the figure. He had made it in spite of all that, and now he was fighting with a creature built beautifully for war. All that mattered was fighting back, preserving one's own strength and form. So no, Ashamin couldn't care less how he looked. He hid from those kicks for survival alone.

The same beating of Einarr's wings that would have been a distraction on its own sent a rush of air down, whipping the haruspex's sarong from its tenuous place wrapped beneath his mask and wrapping it clumsily about his forelegs. He tripped, cursing, and found all speed and grace leaving him as the dark pegasus began to rise up and away from Ashamin's grounded form. So this was what it was, then, to be left behind, abandoned again, not even given the respect to complete a sp--

fuck.

Ashamin would have cursed at the inconvenience of finding cloth hindering his motion, but he had more composure than that. What he didn't have enough composure to handle with utter calm was the pain that tumbled along his neck--the carefully aimed attack and the impact of Einarr's hooves upon his crest. The curse came louder in his thoughts than in his voice; in the air, the expletive sounded only like an unintelligible and pained hiss.

So this was how Einarr wanted to fight, was it?

Ashamin kicked haphazardly and let the sarong flutter away in the breeze; he would find it later. He noted the pain in his left shoulder from striking Einarr's side earlier and how it seemed to grow as the heavy bruise now undoubtedly forming on his crest seemed to join with it, creating a bold hurt that seemed to weaken his entire front left.

There was no way he could move quickly enough to catch up completely with the warden now, not with such an aching side, but Ashamin knew he had to try. He squinted to see through the holes in his mask and make sense of the scene through the blistering wind. He had to try.

Pushing as best as he could through his pain, Ashamin pressed forward and reared, desperately biting at what he hoped was Einarr's right flank. Though every turn of his neck brought him new pain he persevered, hoping to angle his features so he could also maybe scrape the crystalline teeth of the skull across flesh. He had to try.
""
image credits



PC: 2/3 Attack, 0/1 Defense
WC: 781/800
Notes: I swear my unlucky number is 880 because that is always how much I have to cut down from. Also thanks for the notes! Tried to take them all into account. ALSO 200th post for Ashamin!


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
#5
Einarr defaults to Ashamin. Ashamin earns 0.5 VP.
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode


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