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01-09-2016, 10:16 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
A shattered glass cannot hold water.
And Mauja was just pieces strewn out over the ground, rubies in the snow—for torn veins cannot hold blood, and the red was trickling out between split skin to stain his coat. Each movement forced more of it through faulted pathways, and his body cried its red bizarrely. Please, he wanted to say, nerves singing with the bite and rend, the scorch and the tear, please, I never meant for this to happen—
Or did he? His right flank was throbbing in unison with his shoulder, where fierce teeth had pinched his skin moments before; through slitted, burning eyes he watched as Rohan cried out in pain as fire ate its way along his crest and back before disappearing, and leaving only the stench of charred flesh and singed hair in its wake.
He was a wolf running from himself, from his own destruction, from his own penchant for violence—he was a beaten wolf, lost, confused, angry.
Rohan.. he had paid his price now, in the cry of agony, in the growls of damnation, and Mauja's fires began to grow cold; he stood tall and defiant, his face hard, closed off, (—like his heart). The world seemed to tremor with his pulse, with the rhythm of his pain, and he wanted it to end. Here, now, the sooner the better—do you enjoy the pain I gave you? He had cried not again, he had known the terrors of flame, but Mauja could not pity him.
He simply stood cold and resolute, bathed in the glory of his frigid ire, refusing to be the one to walk away first from this—but intending to walk away all the same, because could they not both see how ill this had gone? How .. misguided Rohan's efforts and offers had been?
Mauja bent his pride to the sound of silence and began to turn away, thinking to leave the Warlander to his agonized misery and tend to his own, throbbing wounds.
But he was wrong.
The grass murmured again, and—
—no.
He wanted to scream, at the machines of war, the folly of battle and bloodlust, at this perfect circle spinning ever on and on upon the rails of destruction—at these gears of war turning ceaselessly, at their seamless merging, at their relentlessness. He began to turn his head, curling around his wounded side simply because it was easier and did not stretch his tender, torn skin. Dark lips parted, his despair and his vindication starting to fall like blows upon the air: "Have you never—"
But he got no further in peace; the darkness of Rohan's mouth met his right eye, a powerful blow rattling his head, and fuck—
For a moment, the world crystallized into a pristine, icy pattern. For a moment, he was soaring beyond the confines of his body, impossibly light, just weightless—
"—KILLED?!"
The word came out a distorted shriek as Mauja threw himself a step away from Rohan's maw, from the—the fucking agony ripping through half his skull, the pounding, the roaring, the terrifying, dizzying vertigo as he clamped his right eye shut. Oh, fuck, it fucking hurt, the bruised and crushed nerves around his eye overshadowing the other pains, the ache of burning, the feeling of blood trickling over pale skin—it faded into background noise, trampled into the dirt beneath the pounding rhythm of the question: what did he do to my eye?
"FUCK YOU!" he ended up shrieking at Rohan when the dams of his carefully contained fear finally broke—and with mindless savagery he threw himself at the warrior, heading for his left shoulder, if only because he could still see Rohan's head that way. What else was there left to do? When every fragile trust is breached, when every last scrap of sanity has been scraped from the very lining of your fucking skull, what else can you do?
So Mauja succumbed to his despair, his grief, and his anger; half-blinded he tried to smash his bleeding chest into the Warlander, digging his hind hooves into the firm earth beneath him and rising into a rear, pawing, pounding, striking, the desperate fear and fury betrayed by the erratic, aimless pattern of his strike, and the sobs choked in his throat.
[ 3/3 || @Rohan || 711 words. ]
drama queen Mau. for the record it's just a horse shiner. ^^
And Mauja was just pieces strewn out over the ground, rubies in the snow—for torn veins cannot hold blood, and the red was trickling out between split skin to stain his coat. Each movement forced more of it through faulted pathways, and his body cried its red bizarrely. Please, he wanted to say, nerves singing with the bite and rend, the scorch and the tear, please, I never meant for this to happen—
Or did he? His right flank was throbbing in unison with his shoulder, where fierce teeth had pinched his skin moments before; through slitted, burning eyes he watched as Rohan cried out in pain as fire ate its way along his crest and back before disappearing, and leaving only the stench of charred flesh and singed hair in its wake.
He was a wolf running from himself, from his own destruction, from his own penchant for violence—he was a beaten wolf, lost, confused, angry.
Rohan.. he had paid his price now, in the cry of agony, in the growls of damnation, and Mauja's fires began to grow cold; he stood tall and defiant, his face hard, closed off, (—like his heart). The world seemed to tremor with his pulse, with the rhythm of his pain, and he wanted it to end. Here, now, the sooner the better—do you enjoy the pain I gave you? He had cried not again, he had known the terrors of flame, but Mauja could not pity him.
He simply stood cold and resolute, bathed in the glory of his frigid ire, refusing to be the one to walk away first from this—but intending to walk away all the same, because could they not both see how ill this had gone? How .. misguided Rohan's efforts and offers had been?
Mauja bent his pride to the sound of silence and began to turn away, thinking to leave the Warlander to his agonized misery and tend to his own, throbbing wounds.
But he was wrong.
The grass murmured again, and—
—no.
He wanted to scream, at the machines of war, the folly of battle and bloodlust, at this perfect circle spinning ever on and on upon the rails of destruction—at these gears of war turning ceaselessly, at their seamless merging, at their relentlessness. He began to turn his head, curling around his wounded side simply because it was easier and did not stretch his tender, torn skin. Dark lips parted, his despair and his vindication starting to fall like blows upon the air: "Have you never—"
But he got no further in peace; the darkness of Rohan's mouth met his right eye, a powerful blow rattling his head, and fuck—
For a moment, the world crystallized into a pristine, icy pattern. For a moment, he was soaring beyond the confines of his body, impossibly light, just weightless—
"—KILLED?!"
The word came out a distorted shriek as Mauja threw himself a step away from Rohan's maw, from the—the fucking agony ripping through half his skull, the pounding, the roaring, the terrifying, dizzying vertigo as he clamped his right eye shut. Oh, fuck, it fucking hurt, the bruised and crushed nerves around his eye overshadowing the other pains, the ache of burning, the feeling of blood trickling over pale skin—it faded into background noise, trampled into the dirt beneath the pounding rhythm of the question: what did he do to my eye?
"FUCK YOU!" he ended up shrieking at Rohan when the dams of his carefully contained fear finally broke—and with mindless savagery he threw himself at the warrior, heading for his left shoulder, if only because he could still see Rohan's head that way. What else was there left to do? When every fragile trust is breached, when every last scrap of sanity has been scraped from the very lining of your fucking skull, what else can you do?
So Mauja succumbed to his despair, his grief, and his anger; half-blinded he tried to smash his bleeding chest into the Warlander, digging his hind hooves into the firm earth beneath him and rising into a rear, pawing, pounding, striking, the desperate fear and fury betrayed by the erratic, aimless pattern of his strike, and the sobs choked in his throat.
[ 3/3 || @Rohan || 711 words. ]
drama queen Mau. for the record it's just a horse shiner. ^^
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
TEACHING NOTES
PROSE: I absolutely loved the first half of your post! It was a wonderful read (well, all of it was, but by its nature the first paragraphs tend to be more of an introspection thing, giving us a sort of 'unhindered' look into the mind of the pony). <3
I felt like this post had more of a .. I don't want to say red thread, but nothing felt out of order/out of flow for me this time around? It felt connected all the way through, with movements, etc. :) Great job.
The only thing I have to touch upon is this sentence: "Mauja’s abrupt halt is unexpected, the Warlander’s flanks grazing the ground as he forces himself to slow, fighting the power of his momentum with a half-rear." A horse's flank is the side of the body - how on earth are Rohan's flanks touching the ground..? Did you mean his hocks?
NEW CATEGORY: I don't know what to call this one because I don't know what part of the rubric it goes under- probably "Realism" but who knows? Basically it is about interpretation of posts/attacks, and keep in mind that what I'm saying now has no clear "right and wrong". It is all about intention and perception, which means that the final say is the judge's say. It doesn't matter how I meant an attack if I couldn't get it across properly!
When I was reading your post I began to furrow my brows as Rohan mentioned "skipping", because to me it implied running, and as far as I knew, we weren't doing any running .. and then Mauja's "abrupt halt" I was definitely confused. I hadn't meant to write Mauja as running, simply as throwing his forebody left (to get away from the blow across the shoulder), landing, shifting his weight forward, kicking. Obviously, you did not interpret it as such, which might be because I sort of did what I advised you against doing- I threw a bit of introspection in between, which, naturally, makes it feel like longer time has passed between the two movements. Bad Neo!
So like I said, there is no right or wrong here. :) Whoever judges it will determine what actually happened.
DICE ROLL/DAMAGE: You took the kick fine, I don't have much to comment on. Bruises are okay to not mention 24/7 because yeah, they're there in the back of your mind, but you won't exactly be unable to use your shoulder when it is just light bruising. ;)
As for the fire damage, I get the feeling you took it fairly! I don't know if you've ever been burned, but I haven't, and for that reason I believe it is harder to write something really deep about it, at least for me. You took the damage sort of in the tail end of your post, which is how the flow naturally ends up, so for this post *I* think it was fine, but try to not forget about it too much in the next post as it is such a major injury. :) (Says the one who always forgets about her own, boo.)
ATTACK: Flank attack - basic and good, though it would've been sweet if you had decided on left or right yourself (for both attacks). Given that Mauja just kicked you in the left shoulder I picked right, because that side would be closer to Rohan's head. Because Mauja hardly moved in the space between his fire attack and Rohan's next attack (face) I stayed with Rohan being on Mauja's right. The face attack is both unspecific and specific enough to work - face area, but leaving it open for me.
