| Administrator |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
| Official |
TECHNICALITIES
Due to the long nature of this competition, you are allowed to choose one of your winning characters to move on to round two. The number of opponents are odd, so we will be taking the TOP TWO scores from this round to move onto the final, third round. The TOP TWO scores will battle for first and second prize. The third prize will be given to the THIRD HIGHEST score from round TWO. You will be facing an admin played NPC described below. The NPC will not receive a score and will not appear on the rubric. Only your character will earn points. Your character will post first and get the points for a closing defense for fairness. The environment will also be described below. Good luck.
OPPONENT
- Unicorn
- Mare
- 15.3hh
- Red bay with black zebra barring and a thick dorsal stripe
- Cloven hooves and leonine tail
- One, black horn curved upward
- Black eyes with undifferentiated pupil
- One magic slot: Ability to shape fire into projectiles
ENVIRONMENT
The sky cannot be seen through a thick layer of fog. Humidity and the squishing sounds of a marsh filter through the stagnant air. Very little ground has true purchase for hooves, and the water is murky and thick. Only an occasional hiss of a snake or chirp of a bird breaks through the quiet sound barrier of the Spectral Marsh.
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
Deimos was at home here, in the wicked, nefarious turbulence of the Spectral Marsh, where wraiths gathered, where ghosts loomed, where the predatory film of a labyrinthine veil draped over infernal inhabitants. The torrid abyss sought his own heinous doldrums, sunk into his bones, pulled at his deadly enchantments, preened and purred the ethereal countenance of the unknown, the enigmatic allure. He could capture the seething calamity within this marshy tomb, where the world was trapped between dismal fingers, and seek the ruin, the wreckage, and the ravenous reverie of a deplorable, horrible monster. The land was full of demons, and he’d merely added to their beguiling snare. However, despite his alignment with its grotesque, nightmarish spirit, there were downfalls to this gnarled, otherworldly essence – the fog, thick and pervading, rendered sight almost a lost cause. His previous battle, with the gun-powdered adversary Ricochet, had been uncomplicated amongst the senses, bright, ignited, and incensed against the glow of Helovia’s Heart. This battlefield was different, looming and blooming with more traps, decadent whispers, and grandeur of phantoms. He wouldn’t be able to locate his opponent with his piercing, blue stare – other notions would have to be executed.
Instead, he widened his nares, sought the unfamiliar scent through the dense mist, through the darkened haze, pinpointing many alterations of beast. He moved further into the dank corridors, felt the bog gurgle against his hooves, and watched more dangling forest limbs come into his view. Trying again, he sniffed the air once more, and this time became immersed in the odor of unicorn, feminine, but otherwise unknown. His chosen opponent? Though she wouldn’t be able to see it, he twisted his complexion into nothingness, ensuring the stoic visage bestowed none of the bedlam qualities brimming along his chest, his mind, and his frozen heart. Paying heed to the shining tip of his horn, he lowered it, forcing his head hellbound, not wishing to reveal his immediate location by its radiant design. His attack had to be just as stealthy, furtive.
His eyes roamed back to the knotted trees, rotted corpses of the glade, taking heed of their vital, towering presence. Would she, this unseen combatant, be amongst the woven wood, beneath their hanging boughs, unaware of the threat they could provide? If so, he’d use it to his advantage. Plunging into the depths of his desecration, he felt the dominating draw of his lethal necromancy, allowed it to filter through his veins and pour into the earth. He drove the despicable magic towards her scent, along the sweeping corridors of deception and quiet, across the chiseled hallways of stagnant, thick air. Without a sound, it plunged through the filaments of fog, locating roots of living trees, plucking them dry of life. It ravaged the essence of their moral regard, robbed their sentience and existence, and sucked away at sages’ souls. When he heard the first cracks of trunks, plunging towards the earth, he ordered more and more, one by one, to enter their destined catacombs, feeding the marsh with its own kin. With any luck, as the forest fell around her body, the mare would also become one with the earth, engulfed amongst the heavy, cumbersome weight of the glade, smothered and buried in her new grave.
[1/2 544 words. Deciding that he will not use his eyes to find his opponent, he uses his sense of smell to gain her location. Lowering his head, and thereby his horn, in order for her to not see the glow of his magic, Deimos decides to use the surrounding trees (around seven) as his weapon. Pinpointing the woods around her, he allows his magic to rid the trees of life. When they begin falling, he hopes that they end up crashing against her body.]
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| Helovian Ancient |
| Stallion :: Equine :: :: |
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10-16-2012, 06:48 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-16-2012, 06:49 PM by Random Event.)
A crimson shadow in the mist stepped forth, cloven hooves sinking in the quickening mud. Dense fog sat heavily upon her nostrils, encasing her lungs with the thick air and compressing tightly. She hated this place, and she swished her tail around her hocks in anxious agitation. Sweat clung to her sides in greasy coils, and the chill of winter rose steam from her heaving ribs. This place was the definition of misery. No other scent apart from murk and decomposition filtered through her untrained nostrils, and she stalked forward, hooves squishing angrily against unsteady earth.
Did something move in the distance? Eyes narrowed carefully to the horizon, and nothing but obscure shadows and a swirling vein met her conscious. This swamp would be the death of her. A groaning sound began to rattle the earth beneath her toes, and she was caught off balance by the sudden disappearance of a root that had once held up the loosely packed dirt of the swamp. The mare's right foreleg slid deep down, murk capturing her forehand to her chest. Panic escaped her lips, and she noticed movement in her periphery.
The trees were falling! And they would fall right on her. She struggled to loose her captured limb and stumbled forward when it released with a loud smack. Hind legs scrambled with lack of purchase. The mare slid, one tree aiming to fall directly upon her slim figure. With a growl of anger and fright, she closed her eyes, sending a scythe of fire directly through a massive trunk. The two halves of the tree fell to either side of her, and she exhaled adrenalin. She moved to her hooves and shuddered, looking around for whatever demonic Puck had so mischievously tried to end her existence.
She wondered if someone had found her by sight or sound? A clever mind began to unravel the fibers of this mystery, and she dropped to her knees, rolling to cover her body in the thick, murky mud. Like a wraith, she backed into the shadows of the swamp, awaiting the monster who wished her dead.
[352 words :: Used fire magic to cut a tree in half then rolled in the mud to camouflage her body and in the process, unknowingly hide her scent ]
| Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB |
| Heather |
He waited in the murky, haunting depths, cool, composed, and collected, listening for a poignant sound – a muffled cry, splitting, cracking bone, the piercing din of a wounded, dying creature. Yet, all he received were the crashing, gnarled decibels of trees collapsing against a sodden earth, fallen and useless. Despite this disappointing movement, that somehow the enemy had remain unscathed, and was presently lurking in the decadent corridors, he still received relevant evidence of the mare’s continued existence and location. Bright bursts of flame, shining, luminescent, burning against the core of the heavy, dank abyss, alighted the grounds, brought his blue eyes swinging towards the vast, empty chambers of darkness and fog. Then, nothing all over again; naught but that strange, otherworldly silence of the perilous labyrinth, hollow and wanton. Her presence was masked amongst the shadows, no longer recognizable, gone, desolate, and forlorn.
He knew better than that. Unless the creature had far more capable magic than he, she was still drawn here, amongst the runes, quandaries and queries, molded into the unnatural, sinister barbs of their surroundings. Meticulously, he mulled over this new predicament, casually sweeping his daggers against the ground, feeling the marsh wash against his daggers again. How close was she now? Where had she hidden? To where amongst the realm did she scatter her soul? He used her fire as an estimation of bearing, twisting his entire body towards that direction. The beast doubted she was capable of flight, she had to be close by, waiting, a prey skulking towards sanctuary. Did she intend to linger, hope he fled out of frustration and fury? If so, she’d be mightily disappointed. The heathen was too abominable, too monstrous, and too savage to allow her such an aspiration of further life. Without any noise, he claimed his enchantments again, brought them aloft to singe at his veins, to pour from his bones, to scrape against the ground. She couldn’t defy gravity – the femme would have to be along some kind of surface, touching the world, bracing for impact, so he would use his scrupulous poison upon this dreary bog. In glorious excitement the necromancy traversed down his long legs, away from his hooves, inching across the boggy mire, hunting for their chosen quarry. It scarred the surface of puddled and muck, oozed from the mud, skimmed along the pooled contents of the devil-crafted terrain, longing for the taste of flesh again, to poise the mare for her final breath, lethal silence.
[2/2. 414 words. Deimos is disappointed to find his crashing trees did not hit their victim, but uses the opportunity of her fire magic (with its bright flames) to ascertain her location. When her smell and presence seems to disappear, he simply uses his magic in the direction of her fire, pushing it towards the ground, and allowing it to flow over the earth, hopefully finding the spot where she is, unbeknownst to him, laying in the mud.]
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