the Rift

anchors aweigh [bart vs tilney]

Bartholomeo Posts: 46
World's Edge Protector atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16'2hh :: 7 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE

In the livid crimson of the early evening sunlight, a blade glimmers.

The pirate stumbled upon the deer-hilt knife in the dirt, and gleefully added it to his collection. Since losing his swords to the thieves - the thieves he still has not tracked down to reclaim his possessions - he has been sorely lacking in weaponry. His two daggers are not what he's used to, but they are better than nothing. The lack of his magic means he cannot wield them as he once did, whirling around him like a silver storm, but he can still brandish them in his mouth.

That is what he does with his newly-acquired weapon. The hilt, wound with rawhide for grip, is clutched firmly between his teeth, the deadly blade poking out in preparation. Bartholomeo wanders into the centre of the World's Edge, the early evening finally chasing away some of the searing Tallsun heat. The stallion's muscular body glows with a light sheen of sweat, the orange horizon creating an ethereal glow around him as he strides to a halt with a snort. It is high time for him to test himself against another Edge member, especially given his position as warrior, and now he has a new knife to use he feels more than ready to reassess his abilities.

He pauses, tossing his proud head with excitement, and unleashes a bellow for an opponent. He stands with legs braced and his truncated tail held high, powerful neck arched and antlers pointing forwards in preparation.



For @Tilney ! Set in the World's Edge, early evening, still warm but not unbearable.

0/3 - 266 words

heroes always get remembered,
but you know legends never die.

image credits

Tilney Posts: 288
World's Edge Moon Doctor atk: 4 | def: 9 | dam: 6
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.2hh :: VI HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Peatree :: Lesser Fruit Bat :: None Neverrmind

Aiya Anor, Elenion Ancalima!

It was a call greatly familiar to the flaxen physician.
The battle cry and vibrant stomp of his eldest brother was a bellow he had heard many a time, especially as a colt. The tops of grassy dunes had been their battleground, imaginary ships and the ghosts of make-believe comrades littering the beach front. The noble Captain Greenthorne versus— oh, what had Bart called himself? These memories were made far too long ago.
How Tilney had loved his visits to his brother. As a colt, it had been the summer adventure by the seaside he had looked forward to all year, and not because of the brilliant sea wind, not even the cheek-grazing kind. Nor was it because of those wondrous summer nights, the ones spent under the light of nothing but campfire and starlight.
It was because of brother Bart.

The challenging cry echoed within his mind, and so did the memories. Rewinding and replaying, flashing and laughing, he tried to continue his day-to-day greenhouse duties.
With the string tied from Bartholomeo's mind to his, however, it was becoming impossible.
With a great snort and a stomp of his own, the ginger man chewed nervously on his lip. He had much to do... but he could not let this challenge go unanswered. Only noble Captain Greenthorne could fight Black Bartholomeo.
...Black Byron? Barty Black Bone?...

And so it was with an excited huff that the flaxen father burst from the greenhouse, his cloven hooves sending him through the conifers and darting over cinnamon fern until he met the devious pirate in the very center of their homeland.
Skin laden with a fresh sheet of shimmering perspiration, Tilney gave a powerful snort in his brother's direction; one to echo throughout the dust and summer breeze.

"We meet again" He growled, a smirk soon to follow.
For old time's sake; that was the doctor's excuse.

The glimmer of the blade hung from the branded man's chops gave Tilney the shivers, though it also greatly excited him. It had upped the stakes greatly from Captain Greenthorne and Bad Byron's last precarious encounter. "You seem to have gathered quite a collection of weapons there-ahh... Captain Bad Barty?"

In truth, Tilney had no arsenal of weapons; only his horns. The ginger one would not let this scratch over his confidence; he had a reasonable chance, as inexperienced as he was.
So it was with a grunt that Tilney expanded his lungs, stepping forth upon his left-front hoof and begun his approach.

The ginger gent kept his sharp crown low as he thrust his weight towards his center, bounding with great power towards his opponent in an attempt to ram the pirate in his right shoulder. It was his plan to pierce the painted one's skin with his tines and bruise him upon impact; perhaps even send him flying if he caught him too unnawares. His breathing steady and cautious, Tilney begun his calculated assault, attempting to crash his impressive set of antlers directly into Bartholomeos shoulder.

attack 1/3
words; 489

summary; Tilney attempts to ram barty with his antlers in the right shoulder by lowering his crown and approaching at a great speed.

damage; none yet



Wander or Leave
turn in to winter lights

Bartholomeo Posts: 46
World's Edge Protector atk: 5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 7.0
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16'2hh :: 7 HP: 70 | Buff: NOVICE

Brother! The pirate's jaws split into a broad smile as he claps eyes upon his brother, and he tosses his head with a huff of greeting. "Tilney!" he booms happily, his earthy eyes twinkling. His grip on the knife lessens somewhat - surely gentle Tilney isn't going to take him up on his request to battle? - but the flaxen man's words would suggest otherwise. The use of a childhood nickname makes a great guffaw leave his chops, ebbing away like the pulsing of the tides into a gentle rumble of laughter. "That's Big Bad Barty, if you don't mind," he corrects with another chuckle and a wiggle of his scarred brows.

But then Tilney steels himself, prepares to attack. Bartholomeo is momentarily taken aback, because they haven't sparred since they were boys! Back when they were young colts tussling for dominance, their bodies flooded with fledgling testosterone and their antlers mere nubs atop their heads, they'd play-fight all the time. Those memories are fond ones for the stag, yet they are intrinsically mixed up with images of Jack at that age, the two tendrils of thought tangled together like ship's rope. His son hadn't had any brothers to spar with, but there had been a few colts in Bart's crew of a similar age, and Jack had acquitted himself admirably against boys that were usually larger and more rambunctious than he was. Whenever Jack returned home from these squabbles, his skin bloodied and bruised but his face alive with glee, Bart had never scolded him. He'd just smiled happily and dreamed of the day when he would be able to cross swords with his son, teach him the true art of battle, and watch him blossom like a flower into a man.

It never happened. His spars with Tilney, however, did, and he holds them fondly to his chest like he needs them to breathe. Maybe he does.

Forcing these melancholy musings aside, the bay focuses on his opponent. Their heights are identical, but Bartholomeo's pure Warlander blood shows in his thicker build and stockier limbs. Tilney's blood is diluted with whatever his mother was - that's what happens when Father slums it with the mongrels, Bart used to jest, his eyes always twinkling with mirth - and that will undoubtedly lend the palomino greater endurance. Bart, though, has the edge on strength, and he always has his surprising agility to fall back on.

It should be an evenly matched fight, though, just like it was when they were boys. With a determined narrowing of his eyes, the stag grips his knife tighter.

Tilney charges, and the Warlander is prepared for it. Bracing his limbs against the ground (hard enough to provide good footing, soft enough to cushion the thundering hooves - perfect), he throws his weight forwards, causing Tilney's antlers to whistle past his hind end without causing any damage. Slamming on the brakes to arrest his forward momentum, Bart throws his weight to his forelegs and kicks out his back hooves twice in an attempt to slam them into his brother's right shoulder or side, depending on how fast Tilney can apply his own brakes after his failed charge. The pirate puts enough force into his attacks to hopefully hurt the paler man, but not enough to permanently wound him should he hit - that wouldn't be very brotherly!

The stag's heart beats like a staccato in his chest, and there's the widest of smiles wrapped around the knife in his mouth. This is what he lives for - the sweat brewing across his flesh, the thrum of energy in his muscles. This is what he's missed. The fact he's doing this with his brother is just the icing on an already very tasty cake.


For @Tilney ! Set in the World's Edge, early evening, still warm but not unbearable.

1/3 - 621 words

heroes always get remembered,
but you know legends never die.

image credits

Blu the Bootyful Posts: 443
Administrator atk: 99 | def: 99 | dam: 99
Mare :: Other :: 5'7" :: 25 HP: 99999 | Buff: TWERK
Time limit exceeded. Tilney defaults to Bartholomeo. Bartholomeo earns 0.5 VP.
 HP: 1100

Helovia Hard Mode

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