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Dancing with death [Deimos..Spar]

Deimos the Reaper Posts: 527
Deceased atk: 7.0 | def: 12 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1 :: 7 HP: 72.5 | Buff: NUMB
Heather
#6
03-16-2013, 10:38 AM


They were close, unwinding snakes and chains rattling their bones to the din of rehearsing battles; and while they crashed amongst the fray he felt his marks ensnare. Were this not practice, he would have been further ignited, incensed, by the clatter of hoof beats, the sinuous swing of war, the tumultuous duel of dominance and superiority. He would have tried to puncture, pierce, lacerate until his opponent were mere laces, strings of marrow and sinew, left her a blood-coated martyr eager for the gallows. She had an advantage in being a fellow herd member, belonging to the same chilling earth, the same frigid bravado, the same dangerous whims and fortitudes of creatures destined for something grander, greater. Loyalty had been instilled, resonating deep into the core of his frozen heart, murmured close to his ears as a boy, so even when potentially blinded by the armaments, the sieges, the rise and fall of campaigns, he didn’t dare drag the Thief to her demise.

Her right foreleg came abruptly towards his left front, and he wondered briefly if this was her strategic ploy, to continue launching at the same wounded, smarting side. He’d lost hair upon his neck, and his left side had been scraped upon, knee and haunch irked, exasperated, disgruntled by her machinations. It would have been something he’d enacted if this was truly war, to find weakness and instigate, terrorize, further fuel the binding nuance of pain and agony. However, to find it grazing his body was a nuisance, especially when he kept himself so tightly controlled, so rigid, so composed. He would not dare show the glimpse of discomfort towards any opponent, but she’d done well to poise vexing damage upon his figure. The monster swerved to the right, upon the haunch that wasn’t aching, wasn’t irritated, but still felt the graze of her hoof along the same knee, a bruise ever blooming. He released one nettled snort, the rough, gruff hymns of a growl forming in his throat, and didn’t have time to do much more than swing his neck towards the right once more, as Faelene’s ivories reached for his darkened nape. They were left to tease the air with their ambition, clipping at wind and sky.

Still near, he was left with the unruly tides of his brewing ferocity clinging to veins and muscles, pulsing, pervading, waiting, longing, and yearning to be unleashed. She’d asked for it, the unholy vehemence of his enchantments, the malicious, menacing waves of satanic decree and violent gifts. She wanted to test the weight of her own dominion, the gliding sentiments of sorcery bonded to her soul. Just how far did she want to feel the weight of his might? Did she want death to coast over her heart, chisel it into silence, so that the beats no longer resounded in her chest? Did she want the still, silent reverie of one last breath, did she wish to taste the toxic doldrums of a futile dream? What did she want of him – to burn the core of her being until it was naught but an otherworldly design, noted for tombs instead of shadows? It was still odd to him to think of being wary, to even admit that he was being cautious, for only in rare circumstances did he ever lock away the brutality, the savagery, the tangled barbs of his intimidating, ominous endeavors. Ophelia had not been the subject of hesitation, nor had Ricochet, Lace, or even Mauja upon first glimpse and sighting – was he so entrenched into the whims of herd life now that he actually faltered, actually fluctuated, stalled, and wavered over the thought of releasing the fury of his magic? Even amidst these thoughts, he gave her what she’d wanted. The lingering weaponry loomed in his frame, then slunk across the grounds, coiled, viperous, sinuous art of lethality and pestilence. It was not the grandeur of his overwhelming treachery, but the serpentine dance of potential, driven by brawn and her desire to feel the ache, a lighter glimpse of a power, if truly allowed to slay the earth, would rattle the doors of many catacombs. It crawled, slithered, and lavished the grounds, performing its decadent, sinful waltz towards her hooves.

[3/3. 706 words. 1/1 magic used.

As Faelene’s right foreleg comes towards his left knee, he attempts to dodge to the right, but still feels her scrape along the already bruised part. He continues swerving to the right as she aims to bite at him, and her teeth miss his neck. While in close proximity, Deimos gives Faelene what she wished for: a light dose of his deadly magic.]








OOC Commentary:

My apologies for taking so long. D:

I liked the way you strove to meet my challenge. I thought it was clever to continue assaulting the same side – after all, if you bludgeon one side enough, its quite difficult to use it.

Faelene’s motivations/emotions still ring loud and clear. Truthfully, she may not have it as rough as our dear General, who, for the most part, has to contain all his warlike impulses. I enjoyed the way you showed that she isn’t a creature of hate and doesn’t need that incentive or inspiration to continue the spar. Both of these characters are still comrades, and while she doesn’t view him as a weak foe, she’s still wary and cautious. Too easily herd mates may actually be sucked into some need for dominance over the other in spars, and she doesn’t do that. You don’t ever deviate from her character.

Some sentences left me a little confused, and I had to reread them several times to, hopefully, decipher their true meaning.

So as her front hooves fall, the right clips off the side of the hard hoof wall, sliding into the thick grass. - I wasn’t sure whose hoof wall this was. I’m assuming it was Faelene’s, and didn’t count it as powerplaying or another attempt at an attack. Pay very close attention to how you word things and make sure you always have a possessive. If you had said it was coming at “her hoof wall”, I would have figured out that she had clipped her own hooves a lot quicker. I also didn’t know which hoof was clipping off of which (don’t forget those directions!). While that may not be information I deem necessary, it’s certainly something the judges will want to know if they’re counting up whose injured where.

There was no sudden relief, Faelene already knows his snaking muzzle is coming, and instinctively she cast her right leg back up to shield off the own draw of his teeth. She failed, and felt the sudden sting, the nasty, needle piercing of his incisors. Short squeal burst from her lips, and she didn't hesitate to pull her knee higher, her hoof uncurling and launching she hopes at his forearm. She then reaches down with her mouth for a taste of his neck again if it would be in reach. I don’t know if I would have used the same defensive strategy. Instead of drawing her leg up, you could have simplified it by cutting towards the opposite direction (left), and thereby possibly lessening the damage. I can see why you would want to use it to your advantage with your next attack – when she strikes out at him with the same leg – but if she’s already been hurt on that limb, she may not be able to use it as effectively. How does she draw it as high, if she was just injured on it?

Now that you’re in your final post, be sure to include the following:

- Defenses, and only defenses. Don’t bother unleashing new attacks because nothing will come out of them. :)

- Reflect on her injuries. This can be an opportunity to remark on any pain she feels, making the post more realistic. Something’s bound to be smarting. ;D

Thank you so much for your patience, helping me practice, and being willing to take advice. I’m excited to see Faelene use her magic. :D
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Messages In This Thread
Dancing with death [Deimos..Spar] - by Faelene - 02-19-2013, 12:48 AM
RE: Dancing with death [Deimos..Spar] - by Deimos - 02-19-2013, 07:55 AM
RE: Dancing with death [Deimos..Spar] - by Deimos - 02-23-2013, 02:21 PM
RE: Dancing with death [Deimos..Spar] - by Deimos - 03-16-2013, 10:38 AM

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