the Rift


[JUDGED] Don't mind me I'm just a son of a gun [Erebos vs Wessex]

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#1
EREBOS
There was no room for complacency. He’d known it, deep in the throngs of his chest, deep in the muscles of his sinew, deep in the columns of his flesh and bones. So he’d stepped into a role too big for his figure, donned a mantle, some armor, and pretended to be something he wasn’t, attempted to follow a pathway too large, too massive, for him to possibly wander down alone. But then they’d been summoned, when leaders disappeared (or died), were scalded and scolded, were chastened and deflated, and subsequently told to play their parts. Do better the Spark God had roared, had rumbled, had thundered, and that was exactly what the General intended to do.
 
But then he wondered how far they had to go, and if they’d ever be enough.
 
He’d try anyway. He’d etch it through his soul, through his heart, until it drummed its last - for father sketched over the potency of his movements, over the precision of his motions. Legacies wouldn’t be forgotten, tarnished, or tainted while he maintained this lofty position, while he stood over fellow soldiers, while he haunted borderlines and patrolled fortifications. He wouldn’t let any of them down, and hopefully, they’d do the same for him, and for the kingdom they’d pledged to protect.
 
Revive what has died here, he could hear through his ears, echoing, reverberating, resounding like a poignant, haunting siren. Even if the words hadn’t been directed towards him, but to Tiamat, he intended to use them for his own purposes, for driving onslaughts and assaults, for battering rams and infernal sieges, for waking up the beasts, the dragons, and the monsters of their fiendish realm. Surely some of them were still alive there, waiting to be unmasked, eager for bloodshed, for anarchy, for persecution over the things that threatened them the most.
 
“Wessex!” He called out to the warrior, turning his skull, presuming she’d followed him and Orsino out of the snow, out of the glaciers, and into the Endless Blue, where the waves crashed, where the sands mired, where he could feel the sweet taste of freedom whirling, calling, serenading him from across the sea. “We’ll spar here,” he added with a grin, twisting his entire frame around to watch her, to guide her, to instruct her in the proper ways of battle. She’d been promising already, and he dearly hoped (in that gallant, valorous, courageous way of his, coiling into the bits of his heart not yet hardened, splintered, or fractured away) she’d be among the strong, the elite, the proud, and the mighty.

[Erebos vs Wessex Training Spar.
0/3. 431 words.
Setting: Birdsong, Endless Blue, early morning. Cool breeze, massive sand dunes all around them. Near the two glowing markers indicating the archway of glass.]

Image Credit

@Wessex

Teaching Notes:
 
Yay! Thank you so much for doing this with me! Since this is your first spar, and it can be overwhelming/daunting to say the least, I’ll give you quite a few notes to start off with, and you may feel free to Skype/PM me with any questions or concerns.
 
The rubrics here are based mainly on four things: realism, emotion, prose, and readability. You have a limit of 800 words.
 
For realism, judges take into account a number of things, including paying attention to dice rolls and responding to damage, incorporating surroundings, character differences, tactical maneuvers, etc. This is basically where reality comes into play: is what your character did (for an attack or defense) feasible? Did you take enough damage? Did you take too much damage? Did you think about the surroundings in your character’s movements and methods of attack/defense? Did you consider size differences, body types, etc. when attacking/defending? Did you utilize pain throughout your spar?
 
Emotion is pretty cut and dry. What motivates your character? How did they feel when they took a hit? How did they feel when they attacked someone? What drives them to battle? What do they aspire to? Show, don’t tell.
 
Prose and readability are also pretty clear. Judges look over grammar, and if they had to reread anything (and you want to have definite clarity). I suffer from the run-on sentence plague, and during spars I try to make sure that I’ve cut some sentences down, etc. I always try to read my posts aloud, so the ears can catch something my eyes might have missed, and try to run them through a Word document to catch any glaring errors.
 
I’ll let you have first attack! I always like to start off with giving a general direction and attack. You can tell me what side you’re coming from (like aiming for Erebos’ left shoulder, etc.), and if you’re trying to bite, trying to kick, etc. Always indicate that you’re trying or attempting, because otherwise it may come out as powerplay, which will get you deducted some major points.
 
For instance, this sentence: Wessex rammed into Erebos’ left shoulder
is not okay because you’re telling me something that’s happened to my character – but you don’t get to dictate mine!
 
This sentence: Wessex tried to slam into Erebos’ left shoulder
is fine because you’re giving me the opportunity to take it or not, due to the tried piece (plus I have to wait for the dice roll ;D).
 
Once we get into the actual spar, I’ll give you some more meat to these notes. :D I’m looking forward to this!

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#2

RAISE WHAT’S LEFT OF THE FLAG FOR ME

Like the good little soldier Wessex is, the General’s frequent shadow accompanies him out of the Basin and into the spring-filled world. As the chill melts away and is quickly replaced with a pleasant warmth, Wessex finds herself relaxing, enjoying the small beads of sweat that trickle down from underneath her mane. A body in motion - stretching and working to the best of its ability is something to be enjoyed, she thinks. They are not climbing ridges, they are roaming the plains, and damn it feels good to stretch her long legs in a different way. Erebos takes a path to the sea; although Wessex is curious, she does not question him why, assuming that all will be explained in due time.

At the line where long grass turns to sand, the eight-horned warrior pauses, closes her eyes and simply smells the brine, the washed-up kelp, the occasional whiff of fishy decay. The breeze is refreshing, but also potentially misleading in its information, as it is overwhelmed by a singular source. She hears the cry of gulls and the roaring of the waves, the solitude which permeates the farthest corner of Helovia. Her name breaks her reverie, and Wessex opens her eyes to find the General a ways down the beach, telling her that he brought her out here to spar. Here?! Really? Already, her front hooves have begun to sink into the soft, dry sand, while her hind hooves still have some loamy purchase. It is awfully unbalancing. She does not find this setting as pleasant and the fields behind them. Why couldn’t they fight there?!

They entered at the northern part of the Endless Blue, and the edge of the Bay that borders trees and cliffs lays to her right. Grumbling and mumbling to herself, Wessex hauls her heavy frame across the brilliantly white expanse, to where the surf soaks the sand and turns it beige. “You just had to choose someplace sandy, didn’t you?” she calls out in jest as she crosses to the water, letting him know that she knows her heavier frame is at a disadvantage in dry sand. Wet would give her a firmer base from which to launch her powerful muscles, and simultaneously keep the wild spray of granules out of their eyes. Hopefully. This puts the early morning sun to her left and the ocean behind her, leaving Erebos with a potentially blinding glint, but herself with a potentially dangerous situation, if he were to try and force her into the sea.

Not that Wessex believes Erebos would try to drown her during a spar - but she is well aware that she hedging her bets, and in a real battle, being pressed up against the water isn’t ideal, though it is better than, say, being pressed up against a cliff’s edge. That is the dichotomy of sparring an ally versus fighting for one’s life; she has the luxury of the first move, of lining herself up in such a way as to hope to take advantage of natural occurrences. That shit doesn’t happen in real life.

Knowing full well that Erebos is unlikely to stand still and simply take her attack, she begins to move clockwise at a trot, leading with her right foreleg. A slight frown creeps across her face. Even the damp sand is looser than she’d like, so, knowing that she has the luxury of time for this one, makes a full circle to get a good feel for it. As she passes her original position, Wessex increases her gait to a canter, and when she hits the seven o’clock position, somewhere just past directly opposite where she began, the soldier begins to make her move. Up until now, she felt calculating, driven half by the desire to impress her superior and half by finding a way to outsmart the ‘sand situation.’ Now, however, as her legs coil beneath her she swerves suddenly to the right, back towards Erebos, she feels that familiar thrum of electricity through her veins. Yes. This is living.

Trying to maneuver herself around to target his right hip area, her focus is two-fold: avoiding his horn, and landing an attack. He is likely to both outlast and out-maneuver her, but she imagines her strikes will hit harder. When she draws close enough to his body to lash out with her front hooves, Wessex collects her hind legs beneath her and pulls herself up with (hopefully) enough room to clear his croup and come back down again with as much force as possible. She purposefully tries to avoid hitting any bone, unsure of how far they are supposed to go in these training exercises.

W E S S E X
image credit  


1/3, 795 words
@Erebos  

Woo! This should be fun, it's been awhile since I sparred :)

I think I'm most curious about dice rolls, and how they work, etc. I'm also used to a spar system that's heavily based on anatomy, so this should be interesting! Theoretically, if two opponents are evenly matched, can it come down to either luck of the roll or better writing style? Like if the challenger has 20+HP, but absolutely slacks off in the writing, and the defender has less HP, but kicks ass on the writing, who wins?
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#3
EREBOS
Well, this could’ve been a mistake.
 
Initially, the exuberance, the boyish charms, had run away with him, the need to fight, to practice, to skirmish with his own comrades settled and rasped their notions amidst his skull until there was only havoc and ruin. He hadn’t much forethought to the possibility of his imminent failure; only the ruthless endeavors of a General who wanted his flock, his brethren, to succeed.
 
He’d studied her once before, when she’d been led into their confines and pronounced as a newfound soldier, because her figure had been sculpted for bloodshed. She had the tools of war at her disposal; rapiers, broad, wide shoulders, muscles and mass toned together to make her a malicious machine. Wessex was far more capable of hammering away at her enemy than himself; he’d been granted might and menace through his heritage, but his strength couldn’t conquer hers.
 
So he’d relied on cunning, on the devious, devil-riddled mind brewing between gallant smiles and intrepid dreams, choosing a spot where the sand could engulf, swallow, and consume her strength – but he realized he’d have the same dilemma too. He’d just have to outrun her, outlast her, and endure because he was made of perseverance and defiance, a nefarious tenacity crawling right down into his bones.
 
But when the jests wore away, when she understood his ploys and schemes, the fray was on. There was no room for quips, jokes, or snickers, for his gaze narrowed, watched her circle, adjust her tempo, trying to formulate a plot while she did the same. Orsino sighed nearby, fed up with the wait, grumbling through their connection (get on with it, already).
 
She did – and it was in those first few pivotal moments he felt everything go quickly awry. He shot forward, intending to sprint over the sand, lighter than her, faster than her, capable of springing into action, of fleeing, of escaping the inevitable plunge of pain.
 
The dunes, however, had an alternative plan, and no sooner had he maneuvered into the sun’s blinding rays, did his right front hoof catch on something (a shell, a rock?), and his speed floundered, grounded to a halt, body stumbling forward, bumbling around like an inept baboon, some child who’d yet to find their legs. The unknown enemy drew a slight knick, a graze, against his right knee, and he snorted, stupefied, and embarrassed by the fiasco (Orsino even more so, grumbling heresy and curses along their bond).
 
But it only grew worse.
 
His escape had floundered beautifully, granting Wessex ample opportunity to commit her assault. The weight of her hooves, potent, pernicious, and lethal, slammed along the right side of his croup in a dazzling array of agony and misery, twisting over his mind so he felt nothing else but the treacherous onslaught. He choked back a cry, tried to stop the harsh intake of breath, and beat away the anarchic wake of his heart (remembering only disaster in a storm, in a maze, caught between monsters and mayhem, torn asunder in the middle of the night). The boy, the youth, the idiotic General ambled forward a few feet to ensure he still could, and when reality pummeled him head-on, he wondered just how ineffectual he looked to one of his own.
 
The deep, pulsing bruise ached, wretched and harsh, and he knew he’d been slowed down, an advantage already taken away by her, by the sand, and by his ineptitude. Just like that, he’d been stripped down again, so stupid, so useless, never enough -
 
Orsino pulsed through them, irritated, exasperated, screeching (don’t you dare start that again!), and launched his own tirade, urging the General to follow, to buck up, to be something other than an empty title.
 
The kitsune urged, and the prince responded, but only because sedition ran through him, coursed through his veins, pervaded through his soul.
 
His motions were already muddied, slowed, hindered, but he followed the plan, watched as Orsino attempted to draw along Wessex’s left side, while Erebos persisted from the right, trying to turn towards her shoulder. His assault wasn’t deadly force or unholy fervency, ivories extended in attempt to bite, but Orsino’s was another thing altogether. Perhaps out of rage, out of frustration, out of malice and wrath, the sable kitsune tried to leap at her left flank, claws outstretched, canines eager to rip and tear. 

[1/3. 729 words.
* While trying to evade Wessex, Erebos stumbles over something in the sand (likely a rock), and gets a small cut on his right knee for his trouble.
* Incapable of escaping, Wessex’s hooves slam down on the right side of his croup, dealing out a heavy bruise and impairing his movements/speed.
* Orsino and Erebos attempt to launch a simultaneous attack: Erebos draws towards her right, intending to bite at her right shoulder. Orsino goes towards her left, trying to leap at her left flank, clawing and biting.]

Image Credit


Teaching Notes:
 
To answer your question, any time there ends up being a 20+ HP gap at the conclusion, the spar automatically goes to the one with more HP. So, for instance, at the end, Bob has 42 HP and Louise only has 19, Bob gets the win by default. This is done because, based on the rubric numbers, despite being gifted at writing, Louise doesn’t have a chance to make up that many points.
 
So, we pray to dice rolls! :D Unfortunately, as you can see, I didn’t get a very good one (you did though! ;D).
 
What Went Well:
 
* Emotions: I thought Wessex’s inner thoughts were a riot! Especially lines like: Here?! Really? Already, her front hooves have begun to sink into the soft, dry sand, while her hind hooves still have some loamy purchase. It is awfully unbalancing. She does not find this setting as pleasant and the fields behind them. Why couldn’t they fight there?! and That is the dichotomy of sparring an ally versus fighting for one’s life; she has the luxury of the first move, of lining herself up in such a way as to hope to take advantage of natural occurrences. That shit doesn’t happen in real life. You’re already fully aware of who Wessex is and how she’s going to handle herself, thank you very much.
 
I really liked this bit too: Up until now, she felt calculating, driven half by the desire to impress her superior and half by finding a way to outsmart the ‘sand situation.’ Now, however, as her legs coil beneath her she swerves suddenly to the right, back towards Erebos, she feels that familiar thrum of electricity through her veins. Yes. This is living.
 
* Surroundings: I thought you did a great job incorporating these into Wessex’s movements and emotions. The sand, the sun, the spray of the water could be a definite factor later on, especially if it’s taxing on her movements and she becomes tired, or there’s always that nearby cavern…-whistles-
 
To Work On:
 
* Motivations: I did see Up until now, she felt calculating, driven half by the desire to impress her superior and half by finding a way to outsmart the ‘sand situation.’ this line, but don’t be afraid to go further. I want more. I think it’ll be easier to reflect on how her motivations as the spar gets going, and she has to face attacks/defenses. That first spar post is always the trickiest.
 
Overall, however, I thought you had a lovely post and I didn’t have to be nit-picky about grammar. Yes!
 
To Think About:
 
* Taking Damage: If you get any (who knows with these dice rolls), taking damage can be a tricky thing. There’s a sliding scale of 1-6. 1 would be something very minor, a cut, a scrape, maybe a tuft of hair missing. 6 would be a severe hit, laceration, bruise, fractured bone (yeah I don’t recommend that one) that definitely impedes/restricts movement. A 3 would be something in between, could be a pulled muscle, cut, very painful bruise, and then you can toggle back and forth through there.
 
What I’ve been trying to work on with myself, so yay you get to do it too, is adjusting the damage according to the player’s damage stat as well. Wessex has a higher damage stat than Erebos (7.5 to his 6), so I tried to take that into account as well. If she were say, a 3, I may not have taken so much – but with her 5 and high damage, buh, the poor lad was gon’ get hit. J
 
You also don’t have to take it all in one hit. For example, since she rolled a 5, I decided to take a small hit with the graze on his knee (which would probably be a 1), and then the massive bruise on his croup (a 4), which would add to a 5. Use the surroundings to your advantage here too!

@Wessex

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#4

RAISE WHAT’S LEFT OF THE FLAG FOR ME

The crux of being a soldier is that sometimes one must take a beating for the sake of education. Their learning curves are full of bruises and broken egos, blood, sweat, and the sound of flesh thudding against flesh. Wessex had been mentally preparing herself to take a decent ass-kicking this time around: her opponent’s habits were unknown, there’s fucking sand everywhere, and she is still unsure of her place with Erebos (which is all in her silly head, not his actions). But as the younger soldier stood on the shore and made a personal resolution to prove she’s a damn good investment and not only that, more skilled than one her age usually was, she never thought luck would favor her this early.

Fast forward.

She could not let an opportunity like this pass! Erebos stumbles in the very sand he’d been so keen to play upon, and if Wessex weren’t fully focused, she would probably laugh. Loudly. In his face. Not out of malice, mind, but because he falls prey to his own trickery. There is something to be said for the cunning warrior, the one who can make split-second decisions and incorporate the environment to the best of their ability. Instead of laughing, the horned warrior surges forward, closing the distance as he encounters delays. The end result is her hooves slamming into his shoulder, the full weight of her modified, half-draft body thrown into him. Wessex may be large, but she ain’t stupid.

That blow would hurt. And hopefully hinder further movements. It might last a couple of days, but the body is remarkable in its capacity to heal itself.

Wessex lands and though she may or may not (oh, she does) have a smug expression on her face - it is part of her fatal flaw. She gloats before the battle has hardly begun, she taken a glance from Lady Luck as a sign of her persistent favor, when truly, the beauty is simply letting her gaze slowly travel around the room. When all four hooves are on the ground, she turns slightly and continues past his hindquarters - he seems occupied by pain, and she wants to avoid the punishing force of his hind hooves, which could probably deliver a bruise as exquisite as the one she’s just gifted him. Wessex urges her legs into a trot, wheeling around to her right and waltzes directly into their trap.

Forgetting that her General and his companion are a team, Wessex keeps her lizard eyes on the stallion trying to bite her, allowing the small, sneaky kitsune to sneak around to her left side and deal a more vicious attack. Sharp pain surprises her, causing Wessex to squeal unexpectedly. It is the most girly thing she’s done thus far. Her immediate response is to forget about the pair of teeth and horn coming her way, and buck, trying to dislodge the pesky Orsino, though he’s already scratched and clawed deep enough to draw blood and leave her with a smarting wound.

As her head comes back up from its lowered position in her buck, she is confronted by a blue-black body. With her attention elsewhere, Erebos took an opportunity to attack and it lands, bringing her focus back to the unicorn in front of her. She is lucky Erebos’s horn misses her, as his teeth pinch tightly against her right shoulder. It hurts as much as the last injury, but more dull. Goddamn it! Her attention is all over the place, and she’s losing control, she thinks, trying to force herself to prioritize the larger, more imminent threat: the horse. Breath hissing out from between bared teeth, her own chompers snake out in retaliation, aiming for the top of his neck, where she could grab hold of both skin and mane.  Coming from the side, she hopes to avoid his horn altogether, and use her weight to her advantage again.

Really, the two-timing tactic wasn’t fair (War isn’t fair, battles aren’t won by taking turns and ignoring your weaknesses, darling, her mother’s voice echoes), but Wessex isn’t sure how to defend against it.

W E S S E X
image credit  


@Erebos
Word Count: 697/800
Attack 2/3
* Wessex lands and wheels around, coming into the two-pronged trap laid by Orsino and Erebos. Orsino scratches and bites up her flank, while Erebos's bite lands on her shoulder.
*Retaliates with a bite aimed at the top of Erebos' neck.



Honestly, idk what this is, but i wanted to get it up before I went to bed. I think you answered my questions on Skype so... Yay?
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#5
EREBOS
They were a unit, one and the same, the blood and the fire, the flames and the smoke. While the fox flexed his claws and dragged through flesh, Erebos bit down and clenched, and together they were a beast and a cretin, inseparable parts of the greater whole (seditious and malicious, vindictive and conspiring). See! Orsino chuckled, hissed, reveled through their connection. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!
 
The plan had worked for a moment, but Erebos didn’t drown in the sensation. Were Wessex his enemy, he would have rejoiced, smirked, snickered, and dared for something more potent, stoked lethality between his veins, called for anarchy, for rebellion, and unleashed the incantations cloaked within his soul. He would’ve laughed and bore down upon her again, called for blow after blow, siege after siege, a tirade, a tyrant, a vessel of treachery and disaster.
 
But she wasn’t an adversary – the soldier was one of his own, and he could only go so far. He didn’t hate her. He didn’t despise her. He didn’t offer oaths and promises to chase her into the regions of Hell. In this hour, she was only an opponent, a comrade in arms, and he had to teach her the finer points of warfare, of strategy, of tactics and schemes – even if all he received in return was pain.
 
Had this been his father’s role in life too? To inflict wounds, to teach, to consult, and have the same ripple of agony thrust upon him?
 
Orsino snarled within their bond, and the prince returned his attentions to the scene, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she aimed to bend her way towards him, intending to return battle favors.
 
He wanted to run, he wanted to skim over the sand, he wanted to blend into the backdrop, but lord, everything hurt. The youth clenched his jaw and grated his teeth, bestowed his own feral hiss as he dug his daggers into the sand, praying his speed would still be enough to outrun her bulkier frame, twisting away, off to the left.
 
To his surprise, it worked, because he didn’t feel her teeth drag down the length of his neck, throw him off-balance, or toss him into the dunes. The kitsune managed to dislodge his figure too without any harm done, landing on the beach with a huff and an eerie, eldritch satisfaction.
 
But there was more to be done – and his gaze narrowed back to her, wondering where to aim, where to strike, how to avoid the rapiers sculpted along her crown. In the short amount of time and space, Orsino was an infidel, rising to his masterful manipulation, shouting and exploiting his rage within their link, laughing, toying; a Machiavellian tirade on the prince.
 
Use magic! He sparked, hissing, feral and sadistic, golden eyes glowing on the warrior girl, like it was the only answer they’d ever need. Erebos had all the opportunities in the world: pain, torment, corruption, flames, infernal traces of blazes, of embers, and the fox thought it was only fitting to bestow them upon the Amazon, inflict more and more and more misery until she fell apart on the beach.
 
But the General wasn’t lured again, striding back, slower, plodding steps, full of tenacity and endurance, forgoing Orsino’s plots (perhaps not a true blend then, each a different coin altogether), reaching down into his soul for another hit, another skirmish, another chapter to the tale of perseverance.
 
He couldn’t buck or kick at her, not with the discomfort and agony still toiling through his hind. The only option left was his horn, the slender blue rapier jutting out from his skull, and he attempted to draw back towards her right. He lowered his cranium, beautiful, blazing cutlass extended, aiming to target her right haunch, to lightly cut, lacerate, and dig into the sinew.
 
Nearby, Orsino still grinned, feral fangs poking out of his mouth, a black Cheshire spirit along the plains of titans.

  [2/3. 663 words.
* Erebos tries to drift away to the left to avoid Wessex’s assault.
* When it works, he then fades back to the right, hoping to using his horn and lightly cut at her right haunch.]

Image Credit


Teaching Notes:
 
What Went Well:
 
* Motivations/Emotions: We really saw some sparks of that Wessex personality in your post, and parts that made me laugh. I really liked:
 
The crux of being a soldier is that sometimes one must take a beating for the sake of education. Their learning curves are full of bruises and broken egos, blood, sweat, and the sound of flesh thudding against flesh. Wessex had been mentally preparing herself to take a decent ass-kicking this time around: her opponent’s habits were unknown, there’s fucking sand everywhere, and she is still unsure of her place with Erebos (which is all in her silly head, not his actions). But as the younger soldier stood on the shore and made a personal resolution to prove she’s a damn good investment and not only that, more skilled than one her age usually was, she never thought luck would favor her this early. This entire paragraph because it gave us some insight into Wessex’s preparations, why she was here, and what she intended to do. Sometimes its difficult to know how they’ll react to situations until we put them in those particular moments, so it’s nice to see Wessex’s reactions to her current trials.
 
Erebos stumbles in the very sand he’d been so keen to play upon, and if Wessex weren’t fully focused, she would probably laugh. Loudly. In his face. Not out of malice, mind, but because he falls prey to his own trickery. There is something to be said for the cunning warrior, the one who can make split-second decisions and incorporate the environment to the best of their ability. - I laughed too, Wessex. XDDD It’s nice to see she keeps her sense of humor. ;D
 
Wessex lands and though she may or may not (oh, she does) have a smug expression on her face - it is part of her fatal flaw. She gloats before the battle has hardly begun, she taken a glance from Lady Luck as a sign of her persistent favor, when truly, the beauty is simply letting her gaze slowly travel around the room. - I really enjoyed this part too, because you gave her a weakness. All of our characters should have flaws, and for the most part, many people don’t want to expose them, especially in the midst of battle. But a character becomes much more real when they have faults and imperfections, and you played it very nicely in her reactions, and it gave her that much more depth. It was a way to showcase how her errors might affect her battle-abilities, and it’s something for her to think about overcoming in the future.
 
* Damage Taking: I thought the way you handled the damage (a roll of 4) was fair. It seemed like you split the difference (so 2 and 2) with Orsino’s attack and Erebos’s attack, which is smart, because she won’t have major wounds to overcome. Keep in mind you can still use the surroundings to your advantage with this too.
 
 
To Work On:
 
* Grammar: Your post didn’t seem as polished this time and I saw some weird tense-shifts throughout. Since you started in present tense, you should stay in present tense for the remainder of the post.
 
As her head comes back up from its lowered position in her buck, she is confronted by a blue-black body. – You’d be better off completing the sentence with the same tense: like a blue-black body confronts her.
 
With her attention elsewhere, Erebos took an opportunity to attack and it lands, bringing her focus back to the unicorn in front of her. – Should be Erebos takes.
 
she taken a glance from Lady Luck as a sign of her persistent favor, when truly, the beauty is simply letting her gaze slowly travel around the room. – This phrase seemed odd to me, like you were missing a portion of the sentence, or a word, at the beginning. So something like: She has taken a glance from Lady Luck.
 
Just be careful, and always proofread! I know you wanted to get the post up quickly, but you have plenty of time in between spar posts to edit/revise/read your work out loud so you don’t get penalized for grammatical errors.

To Think About:
 
* Surroundings: Keep utilizing them! Mention them in the way she moves, how she defends, how she attacks.
 
* Pain: This is something a lot of battling rpers tend to forget – they mention it initially when their character gets hurt, but then it can be forgotten about in later posts. Don’t - use it for realism. Mention her aches and pains as she moves. Mention how the cuts or lacerations hurt. Mention how they might effect her choices (attacking, defending, where to go, how to run, etc.). 

@Wessex

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#6

RAISE WHAT’S LEFT OF THE FLAG FOR ME

For whatever it’s worth, his devious plan does come to fruition as Wessex feels her hooves sliding out from underneath her. She’s tossed her weight too far to her left in an attempt to avoid Erebos’s outstretched horn; a sinking sort of despair and desperation bubbles up forcefully inside her, erupting volcanically as a half-scream, half-growl of frustration. Luckily, Wessex catches and stabilizes herself before toppling over, but not before the General dances out of reach. She stands still for a moment, splay-legged across the silken sand, breathing heavily, and scowling back at him from beneath heavy brows and heavier horns. It’s really Orsino she’s most mad about, for she could justify hitting Erebos hard; as devilish, conniving, and warped as the kitsune is, she cannot bring herself to attempt a well-aimed kick at him. Briefly, she wishes she had a companion - a battling comrade to make the numbers even and take on pesky annoyances while she focuses solely on the true opponent.

So she’s at a disadvantage due to lack of a companion and then the anger directs itself towards her own body. She knows it was bound to happen - this sand trap of sorts - and though a multitude of curse words (enough to make a sailor proud) run through her discourteous mind, she takes that moment to gather herself. How the fuck did she miss him completely? Erebos seems to be doing the same sort of regrouping, though quite honestly, she’s surprised he hasn’t taken off down the beach by now, using all that speed and endurance against her. Ah, well, his loss, she thinks, until he snakes back toward her with his particularly sharp-looking horn lowered and at the ready.

That is another area in which her superior has an advantage. Wessex may possess more horns, but unless her opponent is on one of her sides, she cannot use them. Her horns reach outward, away from her face, framing it in an impressive array of crimson-tipped weapons - which is useful for intimidation and posturing, but they cannot be directed before her, used as a rapier or to keep danger at bay. No, she must draw it in, closer and closer until she can lunge forwards and lacerate from an unexpected angle. Hey, at least they were sharp, unlike useless, curling, circular ram horns or velvet-covered reindeer antlers.

He advances like a cat on the prowl, searching for what she imagines is some sort of weakness. Lizard eyes follow his movements, pushing the stinging in her haunch to the back of her mind. While the bruising on her shoulder is present, it is not enough pain to hinder movement. Oh, it would ache and be tender come morning, and she will have to coax the stiff, battered muscle to life - seek out salves from a healer - and perhaps take a bath in the hot springs. But her injuries are not quite like the blow she’d landed on the General’s hip, and she hopes it might hinder his speed; alas, they are also soldiers, and she is sure his adrenaline surges likes hers does, making them stronger and faster in the moment. She lowers her head to mimic him, snaking it back and forth to menace his advance with her own set of daggers, hooves dancing to try and keep him either before her or at a slight angle - no more than forty-five degrees. Wessex will not be caught napping. They seem to move much more slowly now, two water dancers waiting for the other to make the first move.

Ah, but he is already too close, too quick for Wessex, and when he makes his move she cannot fully dodge his dangerous tip. Perhaps she underestimated the length or his skill in wielding it, his speed despite his injury, but the blue-black stallion is able to dart close enough to her right side to strike. Her heavy hooves side-step, gripping as firmly as they can in the slippery sand, but even as she moves away, his horn draws a dark line across the meaty part of her thigh. Her hindquarters swing away, but not before dark red blood wells out and Wessex gasps sharply in pain. Lungs suck in air while the torment from split flesh shoots down her leg like white fire, igniting something fierce within her dragon-tattooed chest.

With a great, savage cry she propels herself forward, curving her body around to whip her head against his left side, hoping to either puncture his muscles as a literal thorn in his side, or draw several lines down the length of his body. Let the sand be splattered with drops of both their blood; her own now lies steaming on the white-gold granules.

W E S S E X
image credit  


@Erebos
Attack: 3/3
Words: 800/800
- Wessex is cut by Erebos's horn, curves her body around to attack the back half of his left side with her own horns.
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#7
EREBOS
The queries spiraled through him, one by one, as they measured their strength, their fortitude, their power and persistence along the sands. How had his father endured so much pain, time and time and time again? How had he gone into each and every battle, head held high, proud, indifferent, and nonchalant to the constant onslaughts, the unwinding terrors? How had he persevered through the merciless, unrelenting measures of anguish – when his opponents didn’t seem to care how much they brutalized their Lord, when they all aimed to nip, tear, mark, and blemish the Reaper King?
 
For Erebos was so much less than his sire, and the misery was already getting to him. It curled through his brain, it sliced along his membrane, it mocked, dragged, and rasped until his movements were just agonizing twitches. Her next, powerful assault granted him no favors. He’d been too close, jabbing into her side with a clean slash of his cutlass (no momentary pride again, the sensations gone, lost somewhere in the back of his skull), and then she was there, thrusting her set of swords into his left haunch. The General hadn’t even had time to move away, to think about shifting into the dunes, to run free, untangled, or untethered; incapable of fleeing the brutality for one more round.
 
He held his primal scream inward, but his mouth parted, opened, searing on silence. Her horns punctured and lacerated against his skin, digging, ripping into flesh, blood dripping, utter agony rippling through his senses until he felt blinded by the torment, closing his eyes, begging for the torture to cease. Orsino hissed and howled, grated and growled, and the youth was finally forced to face the devastation, the crippling lure, and the vicious temptation flowing through them; two halves of a bestial whole.
 
The kitsune didn’t have to grant any words, any hints, or any vile, horrendous messages – the thundering, barbaric suffering drumming through the prince’s cranium was enough of a declaration. He’d been driven to it, he could say, quote, or spout later, if she ever asked about the cruelty, the merciless siege, distorted behind his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion, and absolute agony severed the rest of his valor, placed him low and condemned, another demon from the regions of hell, the Reaper’s gallant son torn asunder by weakness, by greed, and by his own rampant stupidity.
 
The sands were too much. His wounds were too much. But he could call on something that required no movement, no effort, naught except the wicked, nefarious, intrepid designs of his existence, of his essence, of his bitter, maligned heart. It’d always been there, and some days he forgot all about it, wore his grins, sketched his smiles, pretended nothing hurt and everything was right as rain.
 
He didn’t neglect the potency now. The beast summoned the darkness welled up inside him, brewing, building, and colliding with all those brave, courageous bits until they were nothing too, breathing quiet, hushed, belligerent incantations. His contempt, his corruption, was mute, poignant, and haunting – not for her, but for all the inaction, for all the blunders, for all the discomfort. The enchantments crooned and rippled without warning, filled with the endless pain surging through his body, intending to let her feel them too, to pervade her senses with the violent embodiment of his anguish, of his torture.
 
He wasn’t aware of Orsino’s pride, an indulgent, glimmering snicker, distorting their connection (the same coin again, the colors and metal twisted, aligned, two heads, two tails). He didn’t comprehend the repercussions of his actions. He couldn’t fathom where they’d go from here – because he was caught, trapped, and tethered on a desolate lifeline, wondering if he’d stumble, if he’d fall, if he’d crumble just like he’d done with Ashamin, a broken, silly, foolish thing. Perhaps he’d done too much and she’d hate him for it. Maybe he’d done too little and she’d only see his weakness.
 
All he could decipher now was how much his body ached, and how much of his soul felt tainted.

[3/3. 675 words.
* Erebos has no time/is too slow to evade Wessex’s attack, and is punctured by her horns along his left haunch.
* In retaliation, he attempts to use his dark magic on her, hoping to embody his pain into her senses.
 
Final Injury Report:
* Small cut on right knee
* Heavy bruising on right side of his croup, impaired movement/speed.
* Multiple bleeding, puncture wounds on his left haunch.]

Image Credit


Teaching Notes:
 
What Went Well:
 
* Advantages/Disadvantages: I thought you played this very well again in describing Erebos’ speed, though it’s a bit pooched now, and the effects of the natural surroundings, here: So she’s at a disadvantage due to lack of a companion and then the anger directs itself towards her own body. She knows it was bound to happen - this sand trap of sorts and That is another area in which her superior has an advantage. Wessex may possess more horns, but unless her opponent is on one of her sides, she cannot use them. offer her thoughts on their differences (but I think I would’ve liked to see her touch base even more on the sand and all of its capabilities/vices/virtues).
 
* Emotions/Motivations: I still enjoyed Wessex’s thoughts, especially the sudden welling of rage and inspiration. With a great, savage cry she propels herself forward, curving her body around to whip her head against his left side, hoping to either puncture his muscles as a literal thorn in his side, or draw several lines down the length of his body. Let the sand be splattered with drops of both their blood; her own now lies steaming on the white-gold granules. was a great set of lines because not only was she blood-thirsty, intending to do some severe damage (and man, you have a lovely stat to work with there), you also utilized his close range, which I thought was a clever, strategic move.
 
* Grammar: I thought this post read much smoother. I didn’t notice any grammatical errors or tense shifts. Yay!
 
To Work On:
 
* Surroundings: I’d still use them even more. I caught some pieces of mentioning the sand trap, how it was slippery, etc. but I would still hone in on how it’s made her tired, how she might be fatigued, or even how she could throw some of it in his face. Utilize what you have around you. Hone in on key areas around your battle arena. Think about what may be around to help your character or hinder your opponent.
 
* Damage Taking: First, I thought the way you took the damage was fair. A laceration for a 3 is perfectly adequate, but I would have described it further, especially in how it might have affected her movements. We get this: Her hindquarters swing away, but not before dark red blood wells out and Wessex gasps sharply in pain. Lungs suck in air while the torment from split flesh shoots down her leg like white fire, igniting something fierce within her dragon-tattooed chest. but nothing after: she simply goes to attack. I understand you might have been dealing with the word count by then (however, you can always find something to snip), but it would’ve been a bit more realistic to mention that it tugged at her motions, that the pain flooded her senses, etc., especially since she’s launching forward. I imagine a laceration across one’s thigh would be noticeable when you’re trying to advance anywhere. Don’t make a mistake of relying on the old adrenaline trick – we’re aiming to enhance your realism points.
 
To Think About:
 
* Final Defense Post: Since you’ve already done your final attack, all you have left is to defend from the dice roll you receive. During this post, you might consider describing her wounds, her fatigue, her motivations/thoughts/emotions at the end of the battle, how she feels about being attacked by his magic, etc. Remember, the judges are looking for realism – don’t shrug off any pain she might be feeling.
 
 
Great job! I thought you improved tremendously (and honestly, you started off well any way ;D) throughout the spar, and I really enjoyed myself. We’ll definitely have to roleplay the outcome, once they heal up. ;D Thank you for the opportunity! 

@Wessex

Wessex Posts: 149
Aurora Basin Haruspex atk: 5.0 | def: 8.5 | dam: 7.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 3 HP: 68 | Buff: NOVICE
Astor
#8

RAISE WHAT’S LEFT OF THE FLAG FOR ME

Both Wessex and Erebos will remember their fight in the sand as first and foremost, an excellent reason not to stage another spar/battle/hostile takeover on a beach. Not only for the obvious reasons: sand gets everywhere, it’s slippery, and irritating to some skin, but also because it’s difficult to clean out of wounds and treacherous to both sides. Better to pick a place where their side can have the advantage. Because despite all this, they’re still on the same team. After all the damage is done, they will limp back home, either in silent camaraderie or full of another feeling, knowing that they have been weighed, measured and not found wanting.

Yet to deny that she feels some sort of satisfaction as her radiant crown of horns is darkened with actual blood would be to deny a core part of her. The part that finds an inherent satisfaction in violence, the part that comes alive in the midst of a living maelstrom of twisting limbs and swinging, jabbing swords. Just as Deimos has The Reaper’s hoofprints before him, so does she have a legacy of mighty warrior women, all fearsome Queens who have inspired loyalty and praise and even some terribly written, but well-intentioned odes.

All Wessex has left is the drive to prove she’s worthy of her lineage; long after her home has been consumed by mold and monsters, her mother’s sightless eyes rotting somewhere on the forest floor, that she deserves the life they all gave to save her, that she will rise.

Like a good soldier, she will take whatever challenge her General hands her. He will find no accusations, no resentment on her lips, and she can only hope the same goodwill extends back to her. There is no ‘oh shit’ moment as she pierces flesh, no thought of repercussions, only a self-congratulatory yes!which rings throughout her wounded, sliced-up body. The mottled mare pulls away and chances a glance towards Erebos’s face, noting the agony that seems to rend his features apart, and thinks the battle finished. It’s foolish. Head hanging low, she takes a moment to catch her breath, the heat of summer weighing heavily on her despite the cool ocean breeze. She feels flush, hot, weary, and the stinging tug of her own lacerations pulls with every inclination to move, pain made worse when sweat or sand or any foreign object manages to find the cleanly diced edges.

In the next moment, her whole body seems to flinch, curling around itself to ward off an incredible internal pain. Aches are magnified, yes, but there is an anguish she’s steadfastly avoided for a year that resurfaces, the sort of grief that keeps one abed in the mornings, a desperation to be worthy, doubt (so much, so much, so much doubt), guilt, a mixed flash of pride, and some roiling, inexplicable darkness. It steals her breath away. The noble part of Erebos does not come through to help her own goodwill try and fight it off. She seems to quake with a great battle, trembling as emotions she’s damned up come bursting through and decimating all sense of logical self-defense. Her eyes go distant, and her legs seem to act on their own accord, splaying and bracing themselves in the treacherous ground.

As suddenly as it is thrust upon her, it is gone, the battle either won or the darkness dissipated. But there is a lingering seed left in her, a bit that cannot be so easily washed away by honor, nobility, and good will. Perhaps this is what Orsino brings to Erebos: an ever so slight desire to be seen as superior, to make others respect him, by force or magic or any means necessary. And now it sits quietly in Wessex. For now.

Exhaustion seizes her, for emotions can are just as exhausting as physical exertion. She shakes her head and takes slow stock of herself: legs covered in sweat and kicked up sand, the bruise on her shoulder aches as her muscles flex - nay, all her joints seem to throb a bit - scratches and lacerations make her wince, thigh sticky with her own dribbling blood. Half of the whites of her horns are darkened by crimson streaks, and there is some undeniable confusion in her gaze. Wessex looks to Erebos, an unspoken question on her tongue, and she would bite it, but for some childish sense of reassurance that washes over her, post-emotional assault. “Was that you?” she asks neutrally, wondering now if all of them here have some sort of psychic powers no one’s told her about.  

Better yet, how can she get some?

W E S S E X
image credit  


@Erebos  
Final Defense
795/800 words

Yay! Thank you, Heather! Can't wait to play out the results :)
-- please tag in all posts! --
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#9
By my verdict: EREBOS is the winner!

WESSEX
Realism [+2]

Overall you did well here, however you didn't really mention the extent of the damage she took from his horn attack in your third post which was quite jarring as you otherwise did well with taking damage from his attacks.

Your first attack was a bit confusing especially with the way Wessex turned in a circle before attacking - this seemed a bit unnecessary and bordering on over-moving when it didn't need to. Where was she trying to hit when she attacked, croup or hip? What was meant by 'trying to clear him'?

You briefly touched on breed differences in your first post, but I'd have liked to see you dig more deeply into them and really use them. You mentioned the surroundings well and I loved how you had Wessex muse on her weight being a disadvantage, and trying to fight on the wet sand as a result.

As a whole though there were no massive issues, your attacks all made sense and everything flowed nicely!

'When all four hooves are on the ground, she turns slightly and continues past his hindquarters' (This is a very minor PP, definitely nothing serious but it's assuming Erebos is allowing her to move around him like that)

'...The end result is her hooves slamming into his shoulder...” (she aimed for, and Erebos said she hit his croup not his shoulder)

'...She is lucky Erebos’s horn misses her…' (Erebos did not attack her with his horn, he only bit at her)


Emotion [+1]

I loved Wessex's musings on fighting on sand, but didn't really get much of a feel for her motivations aside from that. I'd have liked to see her react some more to Erebos' attacks, or to really dig deeper into her frustrations when her attack missed.

Some of her comments had me giggling to myself though, such as 'Wessex lands and though she may or may not (oh, she does) have a smug expression on her face', and it left me wanting to read some more of her which is good! She's really fun to read, but as I say above, I'd have loved to see you go even deeper with her.

''But as the younger soldier stood on the shore and made a personal resolution to prove she’s a damn good investment and not only that, more skilled than one her age usually was' - Loved this!

Prose [+3]

I really enjoyed reading your posts. They all flowed beautifully with a great range of vocabulary, and they were also easy to understand.

Readability [+2]

There were no really major issues, but I did notice a couple of typos that were quite jarring against your otherwise lovely writing. You seemed to fluctuate between tenses a bit, especially in your second post, but it wasn't enough to prevent me being able to understand what you meant so it's definitely more of a minor thing.

'but she is well aware that she hedging her bets' - IS hedging her bets

'With her attention elsewhere, Erebos took an opportunity to attack and it lands, bringing her focus back to the unicorn in front of her' - Same, odd tense shift with 'took' being past but the rest being present

'she taken a glance from Lady Luck' - She's taken

'...as pleasant and the fields…' As

'...she would probably laugh. Loudly. In his face.' Fragments

'...surges likes hers does…' Like


Finally tally: 41+(8*2)= 57 HP

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

EREBOS
Realism [+2.5]

In your first post I liked how he took some damage from the surroundings, as this enabled you to take a bit less damage from Wessex's actual attack. This was smart as given her mega high damage and a high dice roll of 5, taking a full hit from her could have crippled Erebos. He did take quite a bad wound, however, but this didn't seem to affect him as it should have done. He moved around right away afterwards and in his very next post he managed to get out of the way of her attack, even though you then redeemed it by having him be unable to buck during his second post due to the wound.

I loved his reaction to her last attack, I definitely got more of a sense of his pain this time compared to the defense in your first post. When he dodged her buck, I didn't really get a sense of HOW he dodged it, it just seemed sort of ignored - Orsino was dislodged so the buck was mentioned, but there's no real detail about why Erebos didn't take any damage from it.

It was great that you mentioned fighting on sand and that Erebos had actually chosen to do this in order to disadvantage Wessex, however the surroundings didn't get mentioned much after your first post. I would have liked to see him really use them and have them affect him, especially towards the end of the fight when tiredness would begin to set in.

Emotion [+1.5]

In your first post, I really enjoyed Orsino's grumbles but didn't feel much else. I got a basic feel for Erebos' motivations throughout the fight and especially loved his interactions with Orsino. I enjoyed his references to and comparisons with his father, and would have liked to see even more of this throughout.

'The deep, pulsing bruise ached, wretched and harsh, and he knew he’d been slowed down, an advantage already taken away by her, by the sand, and by his ineptitude. Just like that, he’d been stripped down again, so stupid, so useless, never enough - ' - Loved this!

Prose [+2.5]

Your writing is beautiful, but can be quite hard to understand during fights. You use quite a lot of commas which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but can interrupt the flow of the post as a whole. Overall it was a well-written fight with some excellent vocabulary and poetry in it, which I thoroughly enjoyed reading!

'While the fox flexed his claws and dragged through flesh, Erebos bit down and clenched, and together they were a beast and a cretin, inseparable parts of the greater whole (seditious and malicious, vindictive and conspiring)' Loved this!

'In this hour, she was only an opponent, a comrade in arms, and he had to teach her the finer points of warfare, of strategy, of tactics and schemes – even if all he received in return was pain.' And this!


Readability [+2.5]

Your posts were mostly easy to understand but as above, the overuse of commas can sometimes cause your writing to seem jarring and hard to follow. There was some overly flowery language in places which made it difficult for me to actually work out what Erebos was doing, but it was only minor and overall it was a really well written fight from you! Your grammar and spelling was spot on throughout, and I didn't spot any typos at all which is awesome.

Finally tally: 48.5+(9*2)= 66.5 HP


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