the Rift


[JUDGED] sinners never sleep [vol vs rikyn]

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#1


V O L T E R R A
I'M A WHISPER LOST UPON WIND, I'M THE EMBER THAT WILL BURN YOU DOWN
I'M THE WATER THAT'LL DROWN YOU, I'M A STAR THAT'S JUST A BLACK HOLE NOW

It's cold in the north.

That is what the leviathan notices as he prowls through the snow, crushing it beneath the weight of his titanic hooves. His jowls hang open, wolflike, exhaling harsh breaths of frigid air, and snowflakes rage around his powerful body like fireflies. His stride is long, predatory, heavy, and he leaves crushed snow in his wake.

His dragons dart and dance above him, revelling in the frosty air. They are magnificent in the weak winter sunshine, their scales resplendent, their bodies a glorious cacophony of power and beauty. Now several months old, the fact Vadir is a queen is truly showing - she is almost as big as Vérzés and it's clear she will soon outgrow him, much to his utter disgust. Their squabbles and fights have become less frequent, though, to the black monolith's delight and relief. They seem to be getting used to each other, even if it's still painfully apparent that they don't like each other.

The wind bites at Volterra's flesh, nipping at hard muscle and driving him from a walk into a rangy trot just to keep warm. The stallion needs a distraction, which is why he has  made his way to the far north where the  bitter air numbs mind and body alike. He needs to stop thinking about her, about their tryst, about how she felt beneath him and how he prays it wasn't just a one-off. The best way to keep his mind from wandering back to that delicious memory is by fighting, and where better to fight than in the snow, where he'll be tested to his limits?  

He halts in an open expanse of white, the flat white horizon marred only by a single snow-capped rock. The wind is quite strong, blasting a funnel of flakes around the stud's body and starting to build between his withers. His dragons land on the single rock, preen the snow from their scales, screech abuse at each other as they both try to claim the choicest spot. Volterra's heavy head lifts to bellow a summons for an opponent; ideally one who isn't phased by fighting in a half-blizzard.

_____________

Spar for @Rikyn !

Set in the Frostbreath Steppe during quite heavy snow.

0/3 - words

image credits

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#2
Talking to Rhiannon had left me two kinds of frustrated, one of which had driven me north with flattened ears and an irritable twitch to my tail. The other had initially left the space between my back legs feeling as if someone had spent the evening beating against it with something hard and unpleasant, a sensation which slowly eased the further I made myself walk. If I’d hoped that the anger would have gone away as easily as this feeling, I was now being proven a fool – but to be honest, I’d only really sought to make the queasy tightness go away.

Now I’m left with this frustration, this self annoyance at being, despite the physical changes that have taken me, a lost child. For all the words I’d shared with Demothi along the beach, and the following days, in which I’d walked full of faith and belief that I would be an outcast with no holes in his heart for the snow and the stone, I now made my way precisely there. Her words follow me, a poison that hadn’t afflicted me when she’d first spoke them – but Rhiannon’s spell was cast none the less, and snows in the southern realms and the wild places of Helovia could not ease the knot bound tight in my chest.

The knot that calls for home, for more than just ankle deep white that seems a ghost of Frostfall, not the true nature of the season, but a mockery that cackles at my back.

So its in this state of cursing and longing for Rhiannon and doing the same of my homeland that I see him, Volterra, with his earthen magic and his rude little red lizard. Something else with a V, wasn’t it? Though I can’t recall as I adjust my direction and plod though the snow, I find also it’s not uncommon – I barely remember Orsino and Kyst’s names, and sometimes completely space Kirchoff’s. If I don’t bother to remember my friend and family’s bonded, why would I care for Volterra’s?

"Volterra!" I say no sooner than I am in earshot, the glimmer of gold scales alongside the red making the smile that might have been friendly (I can sort of like him until he starts making little Volterra’s, right?) fade away as soon as I spy her, a secondary thought as to whether this one is so obviously a wild beast as her crimson friend, "it will be hard to see your tables beneath all this snow. What brings you and your lizards so far north? Testing yourself and the lizards against the chill?"

The question settles with my hooves, a trail of white mist standing separate of his own breath some manly distance from him, trying my best to set aside my annoyance – but unable to avoid the brash commentary, regardless.

@Volterra

0/3

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#3


V O L T E R R A
I'M A WHISPER LOST UPON WIND, I'M THE EMBER THAT WILL BURN YOU DOWN
I'M THE WATER THAT'LL DROWN YOU, I'M A STAR THAT'S JUST A BLACK HOLE NOW

His name falls from familiar lips, and he turns with a half-grin in place. "Calor," comes his rumbled greeting, for that is the name the unicorn gave him, and why would he suspect it to be an untruth? The mention of his tables causes a snort of frosty air to erupt from his nostrils, and he shakes his colossal head in despair. "And I don't think there's any unfortunate squirrels around for you to torture, either." His dragons both give bugles of disgust at the notion of being controlled, and they fix their feral gazes on the unicorn with a considerable amount of distaste. The thought of being wielded as puppets by him, being forced to turn against their bonded - he can see their agitation at the very notion. Don't give him any ideas, is the stallion's abrupt response to them.

He spares them a momentary glance, before looking back to Rikyn. "Testing myself against the chill, the snow, and everything else. I came here to fight, Calor. Would you care to join me?" His ears ram forwards, excitement pulsing through him at the thought of sparring with the mysterious unicorn who had so brazenly jumped inside his head during their forest meeting, who had managed to cure him of the hideous boils without actually meaning to do so. Volterra loathes all forms of mind control, so knowing that his would-be opponent has such a power fills him with unease. Yet that is precisely why he wishes to spar with him - because he wants to throw himself at any and all things he may encounter on a real battlefield in the future, and mind control is a sad fact of life. He needs to practice fighting against it, and this seems like the perfect opportunity.

The snow, the cold, and a racist unicorn with a penchant for delving into the minds of others. What could possibly go wrong?

The beast stifles an excited grin, his tail swinging idly to rid him of the snowflakes that tickle his skin like flies. His neck flexes, stretching the hard muscles in preparation for use, whilst his stance shifts to become battle-ready. "Or, to borrow a phrase - come at me, bro." He flashes Rikyn a savage smirk, ruby gaze darting between the unicorn and the snowstorm that surrounds them, and waits.

_____________

Spar for @Rikyn !

Set in the Frostbreath Steppe during quite heavy snow.

0/3

image credits

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#4
Calor, rumbles skull face through a grin, and I find myself smiling with a most amiable air in return, though not entirely at not being shirked – I’d forgotten I’d given him a false name, and hearing it used as if that’s truly who I am makes a thrill of delight race through me as it always does. I try my best to limit it to the vibrancy of my handsome smile, a bright chuckle that resounds through the wintery hush that is always here in these peaks as my jibe produces a snort. The sound of it isn’t diminished by his return remark… mostly because he’s right. There certainly are no squirrels about, only this big black brute and his flying snakes.

That thought adds, perhaps, a darker curl to my smile, as does the movement of his two devils along his spine. The last we’d met, he’d allowed the red one to shower me in bits of dead thing, the smaller pet a new addition and surely just as poorly mannered. More so than I watch their hornless master, I am wary of their filth, knowing well enough by now that Volterra did little to make his companions much more than untamed beasts. Thinking of another with two dragons called Abraham, a crown twisted and long upon his brow, I wonder if he, too, lets his pets run about so wildly, and doubt his unicorn blood would permit his pets such barbarism.

I remember, as memory of Abraham fades, that the last we’d met, my alleged “squirrel torture” had made him flatten himself down onto his haunches to avoid my manipulations. He’d also, if I recall correctly, seemed quite shaken.

My tail curls behind me, white snow trailing between us as he offers the only thing I like more than getting under a hornless’ skin. The smile that had been devious now becomes serious, the dancing gold of my eyes hardening, meeting his bright amber ones with the same light they meet every challenge. He’s got more scars than me, he’s bigger, he’s got two dragons…

Fuck it.

It seems he’s noticed as much about my body language, because the next words out of his mouth invite me through the deep snow, into the last dance, one which is ingrained in a warrior’s heart the moment he is born, and never forgotten.

Twin trails break in the snow behind me, the smile lingering on my face full of a savage delight and a freedom that I find only in these moments of approach; some of my speed is lost for momentum and height of each bound, knowing the battle against the snow will only last as long as the blanket beneath us does. Holding my attention on the dragons as best as I can, disliking the notion of fighting two, and hoping that the little one is too small to be much use, I pull wide in the last steps and angle for a semi-leap at his right shoulder, using my haunches to propel me up and towards his elevated flesh, chin tucked fast to my chest. I’d used the move on Furen once or twice to some effect, the big red unicorn being of similar height to Volterra, perhaps taller…

More sluggish than I’d like, the blanket below clings to my legs, the active snowfall immediately moving visibility next to naught as my horn point moves in for the strike; mentally cursing my slowness in the snow, one of my pinned ears lifts to catch the sound of wings should the dragons alight, or to listen for the whisper of claw or breath through the air should they not (I swear, if one of them takes off an ear, I’ll have their tail, Volterra’s feelings on that matter be damned).

Angled down, the blade is meant to pierce and enter at such a degree if my blow is fated, forcing the flesh free and dangling if he pulls away while punctured. Even if it misses, I swing my head for a bite, hoping to strike with the flat of my sword as my haunches pull to a stop beneath me, my chest rising from the dense snow in a wave of white, the falling flurries like tiny needles against my narrowed eyes. I’m not eager to remain within striking range of his hooves, and lunge hard to the right in an attempt to put the meaty bits of my ass in his way, rather than my ribs or back, leaning on my swiftness and practice on snowy footing to spare me his strength.

1/3 | 765 words
@Volterra


Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#5


They begin.

The goliath's eyes harden in concentration as he seizes his opportunity to properly size up his foe. There is just under a hand between their heights, and Volterra fully intends to use his superior size and strength to his advantage. There is a downside to the beast's added weight, however, especially in these conditions - he will sink into the snow deeper than the agile unicorn, and his movements will be compromised by the energy-sapping terrain. This will test his endurance to its limits, and his thick muscles tremble with excited anticipation.

His dragons scream, their voices muffled by the snowstorm and all the more ominous because of it. Thank the Gods Vadir cannot read Rikyn's mind, to know he is referring to her as small when she is already the same size as the red - to a prideful queen like herself, that would be a killing offense. She hangs back in the stormy heavens, her excitement thrumming down their bond into Volterra's mind, begging the brute to let the fight begin so she can play. Vérzés marauds nearby, his hunger more tempered than that of his golden sister, an experienced old hand at this - one of the rare occasions when he shows more self-control than the ice-hearted gold.

The unicorn shifts into motion, and Volterra narrows his eyes against the driving snowflakes. He tilts his body, trying to angle it so the storm is blowing towards his back rather than his face, and demands his dragons use their sharper gazes to aid him in keeping tabs on his opponent. Both men are black, so stand out like great obsidian rocks against the white snowscape, but so thick are the flurries that the beast would sooner be safe than sorry; he uses the three pairs of eyes at his disposal to focus on the unicorn, observing, waiting. Rikyn moves towards his right side, and the behemoth immediately throws his colossal weight forwards, swiftly cursing the snow as it snatches at his legs and slows his movements. As a result, instead of hitting his right shoulder, the unicorn's weapon carves into Volterra's right side, just over his ribcage.

It cuts, and it cuts deep. Blood splatters the snow, and pain erupts through the hellion's mind like a great wall of molten fire.

Fuck. He bites back the word, determined not to let it break free from his lips - his masculine pride prevents him from letting Rikyn know quite how much it hurts. The goliath sidesteps to his left, hauling his body away from the unicorn's horn and preventing it from actually removing a great chunk of flesh (also aided by the fact the skin is tight in that particular area and not easily severed), but he doesn't need to be a doctor to know that the wound is unpleasantly deep and quite serious. Mercifully, it avoids any important organs, and will restrict his movements less than it would have done had it hit his muscle-riddled right shoulder, but he is still furious at the ease with which his foe leapt like a fucking gazelle and stabbed him like a fish.

The leviathan is suddenly grateful for the frigid temperature, which quickly numbs the pain. His sidestep to the left means Rikyn's bite and horn-slap fail to find their target, thank the heavens.

If there is one thing to come from his opponent's successful strike, however, it's the fact that it ignites Volterra's volcanic temper. Whenever he's fighting, the stallion's rage rests beneath the surface, always one kick away from snatching control. Friendly spar or not, Rikyn's lit the blue touch paper, and the grenade's about to explode.

Fucking boom, you stabby little bitch.

The unicorn attempts to retreat after his attack; oh, no. If he thinks he can carve the leviathan open and then flee unscathed, he is in for a painful surprise. With a savage bellow, Volterra summons his magic, and commands the ground directly in front of Rikyn to erupt into a chest-high wall. He hopes this will at least stop the unicorn in his tracks - even better, he hopes Rikyn will slam right into it, bruising his chest and earning Volterra some small measure of revenge. Hauling his limbs out of the snow with considerable difficulty, whilst trying to force the pain of his wound out of his mind, the goliath lunges forwards in pursuit of Rikyn's hindquarters. He flings his head to the right, aiming to pepper bites across the left side of the unicorn's broad ass, whilst his right foreleg aims a vicious sideways kick towards the bottom of Rikyn's left hindleg. Not hard enough to shatter bone should it hit - although the temptation is there - but hopefully hard enough to hurt.

______________

Spar for @Rikyn !

Changing tables mid fight because I really want to use this one >.>

1/3 - 795 words

COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP TO THE RHYTHM OF THE WAR DRUMS
image credits

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#6
The dragon’s screaming flight amidst the flurry of wind and snow make it difficult to discern one from the other, the wind as sharp in pitch as the flying snakes’ cries, forcing a single one of my ears to lift in an attempt to decipher the hidden whisper of their wings against the air. Their master and I meet amidst the high arch of their voices in the storm, his thundering bulk meeting with mine in a forward charge, as I’d expected from a guy like Volterra. I’ve seen him fight several times before (albeit against titanic, immortal beings), his fearlessness perhaps as brazen as my own.

My smile is wicked with delight as the smell of blood bites through the crisp cold of the flurries, and while my eyes are too narrowed to see the drip splatter of his crimson against the snow below, I imagine it as he pulls away from me, a big black blur amidst the silver wind. I’d half expected at least a grunt of pain, perhaps a squeal, but for all my desires he is silent, as if I’d only pulled a hair or two.

Tough son of a bitch, I can’t help but think, my haunches tautening as I attempt to pull away, knowing well enough the compensation coming for me – but as I come about, the white wall of snow suddenly becomes the same tone as the surrounding mountains.

God damn tables, I manage to think, putting all my brakes on so that snow flies erratically about beneath me, splattering in solid tear drops and circles against the wall Volterra has procured. My fore-hooves churn, the slick powder beneath me not the best sort of footing for a sudden stop, my neck craning my head and horn hard to the right to avoid impact (my chest some bare inch from the stone). For all the good my plans seemed to continue rightward, to use the momentum to pull me up and away, I fail.

Blessedly, the left hip he grabs with his teeth is lowered, bundled and prepared to send me away in a rightward jump, and it is quickly adorned with several small, dimpled bruises. Bright, each stab of his ivories is nothing in comparison to the explosion that sweeps my thoughts at the touch of his hooves.

Above the stifle, not quite against the bone, but not quite enough flesh to brace my brain against the starlight which sparkles, and the hot warmth that blooms at the force of the joint bowing inward ever so slightly. A grunt sounds from me, the snow stabs into my eyes, and its my turn to get mad as my left hind hoof pulls up involuntarily, hesitant to feel the weight of my body against it, the slightest of my mass applied to it agony as I attempt to complete my leap regardless. The smirk of delight at having sliced him open is replaced with a grimace that thinly veils my pain as I force the joint and muscles to move, attempting to take advantage of the lowered position of his face. It lacks power, but it does the job, clearing my front from the stone trap he’d summoned, but just barely so – gritting myself against what is surely to be as much a punishment to me as it is to Volterra, I pitch my weight forward in a counter attack, my hind legs darting out behind me twice in rapid succession, cautious of a full extension (and any subsequent self caused damage to my wounded leg), hopeful of the opportunity to kick him square in his stupid, hornless face, or at least to land a good knock on his chest or upper fore legs.

Ow, ow, ow, fucking ow, are my thoughts as all four hooves meet the snowy earth once more, the touch of my left hind to the soil perhaps only gaining agony as I force its use. My only hope is to fight my way through it, and hope that, eventually, it figures out that I don’t have time for its bullshit. It seems that it somewhat listens, anyway (or maybe I’m just being positive, for once), as I continue about in a limp-leap clockwise circle, hoping to again get my horn near him in an approach on what should be his right side (unless I’ve lost him in this shit storm weather). It should also keep my left side the hell away from him, concern for a secondary hit on my leg certainly fueling my strategy.

2/3 | 757 words


@Volterra

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#7


Ha! Tables 1, squirrel torture 0.

His attacks are somewhat successful, which feeds the purring beast in his belly. He is especially proud of the strike to the unicorn's hindleg, which will hopefully rid the stabby bitch of some of his bounce, like castrating Tigger. He commands the earth-plateau to crumble, reuniting him with some of his strength, and the satisfaction of landing a hit of his own somewhat lessens the pulsing agony of his own wound. Somewhat being the operative word - he's still fuming, rage building like a volcano beneath the surface. It would be a dreadful shame if he was to get badly hurt again during this fight...

Oh. Volterra is rarely caught by surprise, but Rikyn manages it with two swift pumps of his hindquarters. The brute doesn't expect his foe to use his injured leg as a weapon, so when the hindlegs unfurl from beneath the unicorn's body as he ballet-leaps to the side, it catches the giant off-guard. The snowstorm, lowering visibility, obscures his vision until the last moment, when he has just a fraction of a second to throw his head up to avoid it being crunched by the unicorn's hooves. Instead, the cloven weapons slam hard, bash, BASH, into the titan's upper chest, where it joins his neck. Twice, in quick succession, he feels his flesh pulverized by the wrath of the puppeteer, and the pain is instantaneous. Muscle-deep bruising blossoms immediately - his entire chest seizes up, and suddenly he's snatching at the frigid air to try and haul breath into his lungs before he suffocates with agony.

He hobbles, stumbles forward, the snow sucking his limbs like quicksand, testing whether he can move properly - the answer is no, and he swiftly halts. The movement is just enough to take him out of range of Rikyn's horn, which he is thankful for - to be skewered by that again would be too great an indignity for the prideful stud to bear. Frustration devours him, the knowledge that it will now be damn near impossible for him to chase after his foe in order to land a hit - he'll only be able to strike when Rikyn is in close quarters. He has a high pain threshold, but his chest is simply too seized up to allow for much movement.

Rage builds, explodes. Inside the hellion's bloodstream it ignites...something. Something he didn't know he had, a spark of power that just needed a catalyst to set it free. Like a carnival bear, it rips down the bars of its cage and devours the fucking world.

The fire he feels inside him becomes tangible. The ground to his right suddenly bubbles and bursts upwards, as though his structure magic is taking hold - but it isn't, it's something else. The stone merges, blends, takes shape - it becomes vaguely humanoid, its head on a level with Volterra's, its lines rugged and crude. The stallion's ears pin, confused, his pain-addled mind unable to comprehend his creation, this new magic that's just erupted out of him like wildfire. And, unlike his structures, it is...not sentient, not intelligent, but somehow alive.

It is a golem. His golem. Livid veins of fire ripple across its stony body, and its eyes and mouth glow with burning hate. It stretches, blinks slowly, grumbles stupidly from lava-dribbling lips. The snow nearby melts beneath the heat of it, snowflakes dissolving when they touch the hot rocks. His confusion gone, Volterra is awestruck at the sight of the magnificence he has created, and his eyes sparkle with savage delight. It is a living manifestation of his rage, a personification of the volcano that bubbles beneath his flesh, roused by the two brutal hits he's taken.

Through his pain, the leviathan smiles a terrifying smile.

He cannot control the golem as he controls his dragons, but somehow his mind nudges it to attack. It lumbers forwards, roaring, bunching its stone fingers into fearsome fists. It attempts to head towards Rikyn's right side, and pulls its right hand back with ominous intent - then forwards comes the fist, aiming a solid, devastating punch for the unicorn's right ribcage. Simultaneously, the left hand lifts, opens and turns sideways, then slams downwards in an attempt at a savage karate-chop to Rikyn's lower spine.

The golem is made of Volterra's fury. It does not have his self-control, his ability to pull his punches. It knows nothing but destruction, and the unicorn is simply a target that must be annihilated. But it cannot last - after it follows through with its punch and chop, hoping to demonlish the ribs and spine of its unfortunate victim, it begins to crumble into dust. It bellows, as though it knows its death is nigh - and then it is nothing but a pile of smouldering dirt.

______________

Spar for @Rikyn !

GOLEM POWERRRR. I imagine it to look like this.

2/3 - 798 words

COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP TO THE RHYTHM OF THE WAR DRUMS
image credits

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#8
A jolt rattles from my flank down to the tip my golden hooves, racing like lightning up my ass to my shoulders as my cloven daggers dig into his chest; as bad as it hurts, a grunt of pained excursion expelled from my lungs upon impact, it’s also satisfying, and while my face surely reads of pain, it also displays a smile. I would snicker, except for a recollection of how very, very mad a man can get when his opponent laughs at him.

My ribs almost ache in memory of that guy’s frustration (I don’t remember his name) as I move, trying to not let pain, wind, biting snow, and poor footing mire me down more than it has to. It’s not the best time to be reminiscing, of which I am reminded as my strike towards his side with my horn misses, the surprised black hellion having stepped forward and away as I approached, head full of other faces and places…

Dumbass, I cuss myself, the ear that had been lifted to listen for dragons forfeiting its post (I can’t hear them in this maelstrom, anyway) to lay flat on my crown. I don’t have time to be missing when there is all this snow under hoof, and my left leg is almost useless as a hobbling tool. Trying to keep my weight pitched forward, the motion of my pivot is clockwise as I try to pull my body to be more behind his, with one( ow), two, (aiee) steps; this motion, and any pain in my left stifle region, will forever be associated with what comes next.

Something is wrong…

And it’s not just that my left hind leg tried to give out on me with the second step at all.

"The fuck?!" is a white cloud exploding from my lips, because where my hindquarters had just been is the ugliest and most insipient thing I’ve ever encountered in a battle – The Fuck is actually quite accurate a name for the smoldering, magma dribbling monstrosity which erupts up from the earth, and I find that I must take a second to stand and blink at the horridly awesome creation.

Seconds stretch into eternity, revealing the mistake of being so caught off guard by the stone titan bursting from the permafrost, as the confused structure moves into motion. It’s not very fast, but awfully effective, the first blow of its massive fist forcing me to rear upwards to avoid the impact of the molten stone with my face. The motion is impulsive, the urgency for spatial evacuation making me forget how very stupid a move it is to put my weight on my bite-and-kick damaged hind end. Panting in the pain that sweeps across me, unable to do anything but find all four hooves on the ground again, to stand shaking like a wet eared babe with rage welling against the approach of the strange, swatting motion that the creature makes with its equally peculiar appendages.

I realize and decide these things at once: I cannot avoid this attack entirely, but I can grab hold of the big idiot while he’s still in the last throes of his spell weaving, distracted; unlike the last time, he won’t get any warning that I’m coming.

Feeling the strange, stomach sweeping sensation of my electrical currents racing towards the equine as my body becomes a distant notion, I steel my will against the far away knowledge that several of the right ribs of the unicorn behind us are very well broken, perhaps even carrying that ache with me as I attempt to force my hold on him, attempting to direct my currents (before I’m thrown back into my own body) into his hind leg, requesting it to lash upwards, violently, in a self inflicted kick to his underbelly.

Even worse than going in is coming back, the incredibly fast backwards spiraling sensation that makes my belly feel as if its falling while being strangled. While normally I’m left moderately dazed after the transition from one being to another, there is a factor that has not been present in my past tests - pain, quite sobering – and within a second I am fully aware of my leg, the cold ache of the bruises I’ve acquired, and the strange, pulsing notion of something not quite right in my side.

I’ve never broken a bone before. The pain is subtle, hidden almost, until I hop forward (keeping the weight of my left leg), attempting to strike at him with my horn as soon as I can will my muscles to move again, and then it hits me like daggers, like tiny explosions, like fire within my blood, the small shout of pain biting through the blizzard as I attack one I cannot restrain.

3/3 | 800 words


@Volterra

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Volterra the Indomitable Posts: 785
Dragon's Throat Sultan atk: 8.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 8.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2hh :: 3 HP: 80 | Buff: SENSE
Vérzés :: Common Red Dragon :: Frost Breath & Toxic Breath & Vadir :: Royal Gold Dragon :: Fire Breath & Shock Breath Snow
#9


He's fucking exhausted, a sweating, heaving beast of pain and fatigue, his legs lost up to the fetlocks in snow. The creation of the golem has sapped at his strength, yet the sight of it striking the unicorn invigorates him. Through the howling snowstorm, he misses Rikyn's exact words, but not the tone of them; he smiles a macabre smile, borrowing his dragons' sharp eyes to watch the dance of golem and unicorn.

They show him the puppeteer rearing, which Volterra hopes will further injure that hindleg; they show him the great stone fist connecting with his side, the sight almost making the behemoth wince. But wincing would imply sympathy, and Volterra has none.

Then, suddenly, he feels his hindleg twitch. Oh, fuck no. He knows that sensation. He recognises it from his previous meeting with the unicorn, when he used his mind-control - and of every form of magic in Helovia, mind-control is the only one that Volterra truly detests. Fire, ice, stone; all can be conquered with a strong body and steely resolve. But to have something in your mind, in that private, sacred sanctum...it unsettles the behemoth, as much as he knows that he must learn to overcome it.

Last time, he managed to defeat it through sheer stubborn willpower - this time, though, he's weak, tired and in pain, and that is not a combination that makes resistance likely. Drastic measures must be taken, because like fuck is he allowing Rikyn the satisfaction of knowing his magic has worked. With a savage roar that rivals the thunder of the blizzard, Volterra bids the ground beneath his own body to erupt into a flat-topped spire, which stops just beneath his underbelly. His right hind leg - which his nerve impulses demand he lift up, kick with - finds its path blocked by the structure, so rather than kicking up at his underside, it simply scrabbles uselessly at the spire.

The scrape of his leg against the stone peels several pieces of skin free from the front of the limb, creating a faint stab of pain, but it is nothing compared to the smug satisfaction Volterra feels at the way he has conquered the bastard's wicked magic. He does not bend to any; he might not have been able to escape the grip of the magic fully, but he insured it harmed him on his own terms.

Now, it is time for revenge.

Before he can strike back, he hears both dragons scream into his mind - behind you! With another feral bellow, the brute crumbles his structure and hobbles painfully forwards a single step, meaning that only the tip of Rikyn's horn scratches against Volterra's well-muscled rump. It creates a light, thin laceration, nothing compared to the pain of his other wounds.

Not knowing how close behind him Rikyn is - there isn't time to borrow his dragons' eyes - Volterra lashes out with his still-lifted right hindleg, aiming to kick out at any part of the unicorn he can reach. He would have preferred to have kicked out with both powerful horseshoe-adorned hindlegs, but his seized chest forbids this. One will have to do.

After witnessing the fight from afar, there is now no force on earth that could stop Volterra's dragons from joining in for one last hurrah. In tandem they descend, like demonic, glimmering harbingers of doom. Vérzés darts through the snowstorm, fighting against the wind; he swoops low, aiming for Rikyn's injured left hindleg. He attempts to sink his teeth and claws into the leg and rip, trying to further the existing damage.

Simultaneously, Vadir flies higher, her mind pulsating with savage excitement at her first taste of battle. This is the first time she has been allowed to help, and her normally cold, calm mental state is replaced by bubbling anticipation and bloody glee. She turns and folds her wings, diving towards Rikyn's right side, the side with the broken ribs. The larger of the two dragons, her glimmering bulk is magnificent against the bright white of the snowflakes; she tucks her neck down and leads her flight more with her left side, like a golden wrecking ball. She aims to collide her whole body with Rikyn's injured right side to try and break those ribs more, because unlike Volterra she cares not that this is a spar. It is battle, and battle is for winning, no matter who the opponent.

Volterra, meanwhile, stands in blessed, blissful silence, revelling in the primal savagery of his dragons. His injuries pulse - especially his swollen, beaten chest - but he is satisfied with the battle overall. It is almost over, and he begrudgingly accepts that he has faced a worthy opponent today - and the difficult fighting conditions have taught him valuable lessons.

______________

Spar for @Rikyn !

Great fight Bunnie, I really enjoyed it! :D

3/3 - 799 words

COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP TO THE RHYTHM OF THE WAR DRUMS
image credits

[ you can't stray from what you are, you're the closest thing to hell i've seen so far  ]
[ use of force/magic on him is permitted aside from death/maiming ]




Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie
#10
What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid


It hurts, I think, grasping for breath through the pain of glass fragments punching into my side, through muscle, skin, bone, only now noticing that the heat of the colossus has caused welted heat ridges to rise on either side of where his thick, knobby fingers had struck. That the hair will fall off in the next few days is a guarantee, and for once, my vanity cannot breach the savage agony sweeping through me as my mind collides back into my beat-to-hell-and-back body. The wind howls about me, sort of numbing the exterior of the break (which drowns out the pain of even my hurt leg), but making the inside aches that much more ferociously.

Coming back to myself also shows me the remnants of his stupid magic, the mere bloodying of a hoof against the stone he has summoned from the earth all my efforts have achieved, and I can’t help but snarl – a good cover for the grimace that steals across my face, the eagerness to end this melee, so I can go wallow somewhere and moan over how bad I hurt. The usual glee that erupts from me at having split a foe’s essence is absent, perhaps because there is an impending sense that something abso-fucking-lutely terrible is about to happen to me, or maybe its simply because it feels like he’s repeatedly kicking me in the side (even though he’s quite obviously in front of me).

The dragons, I think, the thought a bullet crashing into my temple almost too late to be helpful, hearing the whistling arrival of the despicable red one which had thrown squirrel bits all over me at our last meeting. His angle is for my hindquarter, the already wounded tissues of my stifle – my leg gives out almost comically at the realization, as if to tell the dragon to go fuck himself, the snapping jaws of the monster rending into my fleshy hip, severing tissues inches deep, the blood profuse and immediate. As soon as his teeth light their little cold fires in my skin, instinct drives me upright; the leg kicks, a tender little buck in comparison to the power that usually hides in this particular muscular manipulation, a blessed thing, for the golden whisks past me as my haunches swing me around to the left, out of her pummeling range. Eat snow, bitch! my thoughts quip hysterically, trying to comfort the agony of my body with the image of her ploughing into a nearby drift (in the most undignified manner possible, all wings, and tail, and squealing); it does not erase the sensation of my body’s subtle scream, a hot brand which races up my entire left side, from hoof tip to the base of my brain, burning.

Its all I can do to stand and pant, feeling the hot red blood wash down my leg from the dragon’s touch, peering through the bluster of snow (that bites into the rendered flesh with a strikingly painful embrace of temporary relief, the tissues slowly numbing, unused to the cold’s touch). I’m almost glad to see him standing there, smirking, like he knows he’s just solidly handing me my backside, mostly because it means I can just stand here, too.

"Holy shit," is all I manage through my breathy huffs, the small pinpricks of black in my vision suggesting that, were I to glance back at my hind hooves, I’d see a pool of red, ebbing away at the deep snow, steaming. After a few seconds, I even laugh – its short, it barks, it reveals all the pains that are slowly seeping into my reality now that the adrenaline that had done its best to keep them from my notice fades.

"The gold lizard," I huff, a smile doing its best to cover the apoplectic pain dancing through me, "she’s fast."

[ Closing Defense | 642 words
OCC: Yay it was fun! Thank you for the delightfully challenging spar Snow. <3 ]
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.


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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Official Posts: 847
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Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#11
By my verdict: VOLTERRA is the winner!

VOLTERRA
Realism [+1]
Right off the bat you did a good job sizing up Rikyn and taking into account breed and state differences. The use of environment and companions was also well done. My main issue and why you didn't get a higher overall score is that I thought you consistently didn't take the right amount of damage. Rikyn rolled two sixes and you treated them dramatically differently and maybe not while also thinking about his damage stat. The instinct you had to avoid the shoulder in 1/3 was smart to some extent, but then you made a worse decision to stab an area full of vital organs and somehow have none of them affected. You mention also it's a place that's hard to pierce due to his skin being so close to bone, and yet you had it pierced. And then in Rikyn's 2/3 you just take heavy bruising, and while it trips Volterra up some it's a little low for a 6. The most important thing about a 6 is that it continually affects your character throughout the fight, it's not something you can forget. You didn't mention his damage in your first post in your second post or after much at all. Such an impacting injury would be something that would realistically be on his mind and hindering him throughout. You took the right amount of damage for a 3 in the last post, but not the right amount of damage considering that you had Volterra suddenly kick solid stone. Letting the kick follow through might have made for a bit of a bruise on his belly, but I don't think that's something with as much potential to harm him the lower leg coming in sharp contact with solid stone is.

Emotion [+1.5]
I understand that Volterra isn't the most feeling of characters, but I struggled to engage with him. He was rather distant about getting stabbed in the side. He was angry, sure, but he didn't seem to be at all flustered and it didn't give him nearly as much pause as a near fatal would maybe should. I really only got a sense of him by the end when he felt satisfied and really enraged RE his golem and the end of the fight.

Prose [+3]
Your inclusion of his dragons enhanced not only emotion but your prose. Volterra's attitude is in your words, and your prose is very clear cut. I would urge you to maybe engage a bit more with writing that is a bit more charged so we can connect more, but overall I thought you did a good job here.

" His confusion gone, Volterra is awestruck at the sight of the magnificence he has created, and his eyes sparkle with savage delight. It is a living manifestation of his rage, a personification of the volcano that bubbles beneath his flesh, roused by the two brutal hits he's taken.
Through his pain, the leviathan smiles a terrifying smile."
This was great and what I was wanting more of!

Readability [+2.5]
Similarly to Bunnie you mixed up em dash uses, and you also mixed it with a hyphen. That said, your style for the most part was very clear cut and easy to read.


Finally tally: 46.5 + (8*2) = 62.5 HP


*******************************************

RIKYN
Realism [+1.5]
You have to be really careful about writing your attacks and always be using the language of "attempt" and "try." You also tried in some places to do too much and account for every outcome, but remember there is only so much you can do. It's a lot to write all in one post that you get up close, attack, and then run away, and it really limits your opponent. In post two you maybe took the right amount of damage (though stay aware of Volterra's higher damage state,) but then you undid that work by attacking with the same part of his body that had just suffered some real injury. His attacks overall felt too ambitious, I think, especially after he gets hit. That said, after the beginning you recovered and had a very clever attack in your last post with having Vol kick himself. You took and recognized the past damage that you needed to after that initial undervaluing of it. In your defense, I caution you to notice all attacks and acknowledge them; Volterra's buck went unnoticed, though you handled Vadir well.

1/3: " I pull wide in the last steps and angle for a semi-leap at his right shoulder, using my haunches to propel me up and towards his elevated flesh"
  • You showed size difference here, but you also wrote it without much room for Volterra to avoid. "Angle" is iffy but works, but after the comma all of that is written as certainty and verges on powerplay.

    1/3: "Angled down, the blade is meant to pierce and enter at such a degree if my blow is fated, forcing the flesh free and dangling if he pulls away while punctured. Even if it misses, I swing my head for a bite, hoping to strike with the flat of my sword"
  • Swinging and thrusting are completely different motions, so while I understand you're trying to cover bases he can't really do both at once, and if he's trying to do one after the other then that doesn't account for the fact that he might be successful.

    Emotion [+2]
    I like how you engaged with past experiences with Volterra and his dragons and compared him to Abraham. Who Rikyn is really comes to play when he gives in so easily to Volterra's egging him on and just goes for it, even though he feels he's outmatched. His response to damage is very true to him and his thoughts keep coming up to remind you its there. His thoughts on breaking a bone particularly got me.

    1/3: "Twin trails break in the snow behind me, the smile lingering on my face full of a savage delight and a freedom that I find only in these moments of approach; some of my speed is lost for momentum and height of each bound, knowing the battle against the snow will only last as long as the blanket beneath us does"
    I loved this, I thought it was wonderfully written and amped me up for the battle as much as Rikyn was.

    3/3: "shaking like a wet eared babe"
    Beautiful image.

    Prose [+3]
    The way you write Rikyn is very true to his character. A lot of him shows through and you're not afraid to show the reader his thoughts. You have lyric in your writing, but not in a way that is uncharacteristic of Rikyn's blunt and harsh thoughts, you tempered your poesy well. The free and direct discourse is great throughout.

    Readability [+1]
    The main trouble I had here was punctuation usage. I found often time you would use commas or em dashes when a period would have suited you much better, and as a result there were a lot of long sentences that felt sort of disjointed. The second to last paragraph in 1/3 and the first paragraph in 2/3, for example, are all or almost all one sentence and it makes the reader feel a bit lost and bogged down. I found myself lost when Volterra used his structure magic, for example, and Rikyn was stopping short. Overall though everything is very well written, I'd just take care to remember that in spars prosaic language can be your friend over the poetic sometimes.

    1/3: "and I find myself smiling with a most amiable air in return, though not entirely at not being shirked"
    This was odd, and it made me read the entire sentence around it a few times. Double-negatives are never really your friend, so it's best to avoid them.

    3/3: " The motion is impulsive, the urgency for spatial evacuation making me forget how very stupid a move it is to put my weight on my bite-and-kick damaged hind end. " I struggled to figure this out, had to read a few times (though I like "urgency for spatial evacuation for sound purposes.)


    Finally tally: 28.5 + (7.5*2) = 43.5 HP


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