.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-22-2015, 03:58 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
I'm sorry, he thought again, eyes closing so he wouldn't have to see those dark-rimmed ears flicking back in response. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—
No one deserved to meet him when he was like this.
No one deserved the poison of his fangs, the same venomous bite with which he bit himself—over the years, he had well and truly destroyed himself. He did not need to destroy everyone else that he came across as well.
Heck, he didn't even want to do it, but look at his life—and look at all those dead bodies by the roadside, at all those scars he had caused, like black, hairless lines scoring their skin (—their souls). How much pain hadn't he caused, just by existing? There was always something—the way he drifted in and out of existence, the way he did not smile enough, or laugh enough, or love enough, or hate enough, and even if he tried to conform to every whim someone would always find him wanting.
And he just kept on doing it. Snö had died loving him still, something he didn't deserve, and Rohan had to put up with his bullshit attitude.
“You don’t look so good, your highness,” he was finally saying after what felt like eons of silence—eons in which Mauja, with his closed eyes, had expected the amiable stallion to take off for better, kinder company, but the tell-tale whisper of grass parting had never come. And bah—your highness. Mauja had cast off his goddamned crown and he was not high, not to be respected, just foul and vile, filth at the bottom of the world's darkest pit—a black stain on blood-soaked earth. Uncomfortably, he shifted on the spot. How do you tell someone you are not their Queen anymore? That you do not deserve whatever respect they had once harbored towards you? That you were just a big, fucking mess, and—
Woah, back up. His eyes had snapped open, and his bitterness was coming back around to bite him in the ass, because Rohan stood with his massive antlers lowered, waving them sort of dangerously—beckoning—in his face. What the—?
Violence wasn't Mauja's go-to distraction. In fact, he fucking hated it, he hated sparring, trying to hold back the monster, and just letting it out anyway, and apologizing as they stood bent and bleeding on their knees and fuck, his fighting mantra had become "I'm sorry".
He almost wished Rohan's offer had been a sexual innuendo instead of a fight challenge. Almost. Well, maybe; anyway, he'd rather have a stallion chasing his ass than a mare.
".. whatever," he finally said—or tried to say—because the rust had stolen his voice when bitter anger gave it no bite, so it came out a raspy whisper.
And how do you go on from there? How do you take this challenge tossed in your lap, this tall, sturdy stallion standing in your face with his antlers at the ready? What was he supposed to do? Magically bring out the Appaloosa in him and run so fast he blurred and could get behind Rohan's shield-like horns? He couldn't very well charge him head on, because he was pretty sure he'd get a face full of sharp tines before he had the chance to do anything himself.
.. then again, maybe death-by-stupid-charge would be better than this shit he found himself in, so let it be well and truly whatever. There was little warning—no sound of a charge, of testosterone and yelled I-am-cooler-than-you, barely even a focusing of his irises—just muscles coiling under a white hide as he flew at Rohan, head low and to the left, hoping to smash the point of his right shoulder into the other stud's breast. Because fuck life, and the scabs all tore open, tender stings lashing his mind as an errant trickle of red found its way down across the white.
[ 1/3 || @Rohan || 659 words. ]
No one deserved to meet him when he was like this.
No one deserved the poison of his fangs, the same venomous bite with which he bit himself—over the years, he had well and truly destroyed himself. He did not need to destroy everyone else that he came across as well.
Heck, he didn't even want to do it, but look at his life—and look at all those dead bodies by the roadside, at all those scars he had caused, like black, hairless lines scoring their skin (—their souls). How much pain hadn't he caused, just by existing? There was always something—the way he drifted in and out of existence, the way he did not smile enough, or laugh enough, or love enough, or hate enough, and even if he tried to conform to every whim someone would always find him wanting.
And he just kept on doing it. Snö had died loving him still, something he didn't deserve, and Rohan had to put up with his bullshit attitude.
“You don’t look so good, your highness,” he was finally saying after what felt like eons of silence—eons in which Mauja, with his closed eyes, had expected the amiable stallion to take off for better, kinder company, but the tell-tale whisper of grass parting had never come. And bah—your highness. Mauja had cast off his goddamned crown and he was not high, not to be respected, just foul and vile, filth at the bottom of the world's darkest pit—a black stain on blood-soaked earth. Uncomfortably, he shifted on the spot. How do you tell someone you are not their Queen anymore? That you do not deserve whatever respect they had once harbored towards you? That you were just a big, fucking mess, and—
Woah, back up. His eyes had snapped open, and his bitterness was coming back around to bite him in the ass, because Rohan stood with his massive antlers lowered, waving them sort of dangerously—beckoning—in his face. What the—?
Violence wasn't Mauja's go-to distraction. In fact, he fucking hated it, he hated sparring, trying to hold back the monster, and just letting it out anyway, and apologizing as they stood bent and bleeding on their knees and fuck, his fighting mantra had become "I'm sorry".
He almost wished Rohan's offer had been a sexual innuendo instead of a fight challenge. Almost. Well, maybe; anyway, he'd rather have a stallion chasing his ass than a mare.
".. whatever," he finally said—or tried to say—because the rust had stolen his voice when bitter anger gave it no bite, so it came out a raspy whisper.
And how do you go on from there? How do you take this challenge tossed in your lap, this tall, sturdy stallion standing in your face with his antlers at the ready? What was he supposed to do? Magically bring out the Appaloosa in him and run so fast he blurred and could get behind Rohan's shield-like horns? He couldn't very well charge him head on, because he was pretty sure he'd get a face full of sharp tines before he had the chance to do anything himself.
.. then again, maybe death-by-stupid-charge would be better than this shit he found himself in, so let it be well and truly whatever. There was little warning—no sound of a charge, of testosterone and yelled I-am-cooler-than-you, barely even a focusing of his irises—just muscles coiling under a white hide as he flew at Rohan, head low and to the left, hoping to smash the point of his right shoulder into the other stud's breast. Because fuck life, and the scabs all tore open, tender stings lashing his mind as an errant trickle of red found its way down across the white.
[ 1/3 || @Rohan || 659 words. ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
TEACHING NOTES
Okay, here we go! You'll get a more extensive commentary and advice next round, when you've written a legit fight post. ^^ But I'll mention some things for starters, for you to think about!
PROSE: Prose is the most stupid thing to lose points over, so always proof-read your posts a few times! Watch out for grammatical errors and spelling mistakes, because honestly, it's the most useless thing to lose points over. :( Other things that can happen in fight posts are tense switches, proof-reading also helps you catch any of those. The last thing to look for when you proof-read is awkward wording, parts of the post that are too technical (and thus become dry), generally messed up sentences, or confusing things. Like an example I struggled with the sexual innuendo paragraph because how do I, without making it super clunky, put down "stallion chasing me > fighting > mare chasing me"? It couldn't get it right so I just left it as Mauja's incomplete, sort of flawed logical progression. :P
I've found myself that it is easy to get too technical- if you've stated left and right once, you don't have to repeat it for every part of that sequence. If you're standing left side to left side, no one will assume you magically teleport to the other side in the same post. Just make sure it is stated clear in at least one place (per post), so we know what's up! (and hit me with fish if the judges disagree super much.)
It's also easy to get too technical about terrain and breed. For example, I didn't mention terrain at all in this post, because the attack was just a super short thing at the end of it and I tend to leave it out because I'm a bad example. But try to get it, and breed differences, as a natural part of the flow. Is it easier for Rohan to, for example, counter-charge because the grass offers good traction? Does it tickle his legs and disturb him? How does the sun affect him? Does he think anything about Mauja's build? Try to weave it in as natural components of the post.
DICE ROLL/DAMAGE: Pay attention to the dice roll! For example, if Mauja would try to stab you:
1-2: minor injury. probably none to minimal blood drawn.
3-4: intermediate injury. blood would be drawn but it would not be a major/critical wound.
5-6: major injury. it would be deep and/or bleed a lot.
Try to keep in mind the damage you receive, and how it will affect Rohan throughout the fight. For example, damage to a large muscle (in the shoulder or haunch) could cause an uneven gait, and if he for example bucked with a haunch injury his reach would likely be shorter on the injured side. Etc. ^^
ATTACK: Always try to picture attack/defense in your head. Does it make sense? Is it logical, physically? Is the way it happened logical, or did you break some rule of physics? :)
Last but not least: good luck, have fun :D Here we go!
