the Rift


[JUDGED] Back to business [Open Spar]

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
#1

There were times when he wondered why he had ever allowed himself to get so out of shape. Even in the endless night that reigned over the world, lit only by gleaming trees and the returning moon there were no excuses good enough, no tasks so important that he couldn't give himself a good work-through. And that it was necessary he couldn't deny. What would have been an easy jog in better times was now turning into a hard race, through snow and over the rolling hills that made up the frozen meadow. Despite the cold his gray coat was soaked through with sweat. The pulse raced, his breath was heavy and the limbs felt like jelly, but even so Lace refused to stop.

It had been a wakeup call to see Sage return, fit and healthy and swelling with muscles and ability. The brief conversation between her, Madyrn and Maskan had stirred a longing in the former soldier, a need that clawed and ached within his body.

He wanted to fight again.

Not battle, not wage wars of blood and death that created victims. No, he simply wished for the rush of clashing bodies in the game known as combat. Clean, fair and honest, a trial of wills and skill where no one was a looser and winners gained only respect and the harsh nod of recognition from a fellow martial artist.

It would indeed be a trial, this time around. Lace had gotten dangerously out of shape recently. Not only had he remained still and inactive during his long hermitage in the forests of his home, he had focused on magic for so long now that both muscles and reflexes had begun to dwindle. Add to that the weakness of hunger that came with every winter - and particularly so this time around - and it was a mediocre fighter at best that threw his head back and allowed his challenge to anyone around ring across the region. The darkness certainly would add to his difficulties, he knew that from the many times he had stumbled during his jog. Snow, darkness, the confusing light from heaven and earth... And for once Fajira didn't seem interested in joining in, so he would have to do without her guidance and assistance.

Still, he couldn't help but look forward to it. A grin played upon the dark lips as light glittered merrily within gilded eyes. Again he let his voice ring out, eager to see who would come to test their strength against him. If anyone would...



Words: 423

Open spar, Judged. 800 words, 3 posts each + closing defense. No magic or companions. Location, Thistle Meadow. Snow on the ground, it is dark with moonlight, there is a cluster of lamp trees not too far away. 48 hours response time.

Good luck!


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Hespera Posts: N/A
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#2
Pain. Some would describe it as a mental problem that can be easily ‘overcome’ by the appropriate mentality. Those who had never fought think of it as a heroic thing; how one must be tough and strong and powerful, to overcome this pain. That it’s a very simple thing to ignore.

It’s not. Both mental and physical pain hurts like a bitch, and nothing will change that, at least not in the stormchild that was Hespera, the once-goddess, forced in mortality and encased with the flimsy body of a mortal. Before her entrance in Helovia, Hespera’s world was full of pain; anguish, fury, and burning hate. She would not shed her tears, not ever, nor would she let fall her burden onto another’s shoulders. The burden that had grown into her shoulders, tree roots twining themselves into the warmth of the dirt. Nobody ever asked how the soil felt about it.

Hespera had no choice. She was raised as a hero, as a mare in shining armour, and no matter how tarnished her honor and armour may be, she was expected to live up to the name she was given, like the legends of old; Pallove the Swift, Nurmor the Late, Qiuerda the Sky Holder.

Daermaethor had taught her battle, even despite her immortal form, the fact that in Stormbur she could not be touched.

As the battle call rings into the frozen air, the air that she had never tasted before Helovia, she hesitates for but a moment, even as Otienu bursts from the treetops to land heavily upon her obsidian haunches. Bursting through her is his electrical energy, the brightness of an excited young soul. She has tried to keep his innocence, keep the memories away from him that hurt her and stripped her of her own youth, but he has flipped through them all like reading a storybook when they traveled. Many of it was bloody and gory and hateful and awful; still he loved her, and for that her heart warmed. Now his enthusiasm was near screaming at her, a not-so-subtle try to persuade her. Fight!

For a moment, the shieldmaiden pauses, nerves searing her; would she be able to pull herself together, to truly fight and feel pain? She had never felt pain of the physical variety before, apart from a nick or two on her travels But for all her apprehension, the stormchild is excited.

Her lips part in an answering bugle, a clarion response to his, whomever him might be- for his battlecry is unmistakably male.

As she enters what is to be their arena in the cloaked darkness of night, she studies him with a wary eye, but for a moment. She is determined to make the first move, to try and get the upper hand from the very start. He is slender and lithe, the muscle a little weak on his frame; still there, but without the tight strength of a warrior in shape. A soldier skimping on his practices, she thinks. He is a peculiar color as well, a shimmering grullo with a dusting of gold; he shines more than her coat of darkness that fades into the shadows. Dusty also has several scars- not so many that he is constantly engaged in reckless battle, and not so few that he is untrained.

An interesting adversary, all in all.

Otienu settles on a branch above her head, tipping his beak down as he, too, assesses the stallion. The griffon’s claws make an unpleasant scratching sound as he rips at the bark with his talons. It is in this moment that the stormchild shoots forward, muscles rippling beneath obsidian coat; her hind hooves slip in the slick snow, leading to a moment of panic that she might fall (how humiliating!), but she sinks downwards. The grip is precarious, nevertheless.

As Hespera comes to his side- her right, his left- first she tips her horn, angling for a long but shallow score along the thin flesh of the rib cage, which is less protected than the fleshy, muscular shoulders and hindquarters. As she moves past, she swishes her tail towards his face, in hopes to distract him from biting her hindquarters; Hespera also lashes out at his front leg’s knee, the side closest to her. While she would hope to aim for a less fragile part of his body, because of their height difference it is difficult to kick all the way upwards.

There is no adrenaline pumping through her veins; this is cold hard reality; and unfortunately, there is no other force that takes over her, making her stronger and better and magically wonderful, like in a bad TV show. She will not spring back to 100% health; she cannot afford to make stupid mistakes.


Word Count: 800
Summary: A lot of the top is basic, boring how-did-she-get-here xD Anywho, moving to the last paragraph or two. Hespera canters to his left side, her right side; first her aims to draw a long but shallow cut along his ribcage (so no stabbing inward motions, more a long graceful sort of thing). As she moves, she swishes his tail towards his face, hopefully to prevent him from biting her sexy ass hindquarters, while also lashing out at his foreleg knee joint (closest to her).

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
#3

His call was answered. It pleased him to hear the sound of a voice upon the air, as confident as his own had been when he chose to announce his presence. Though surprised to receive the voice of a mare for once, the gold-dusted soldier simply smiled at her as she came into view, too experienced and traversed in the world to baffle at the thought of a strong female. After all, how could he have followed the DragonHeart for so long without accepting the strength of the opposite sex? No, he knew better than to underestimate the strength and cunning of ladies, and so it was with serious respect he studied her as she approached, making no secret of his intentions.

Was it relief he felt, upon discovering her slight built? Lace was used to fighting horses taller than himself, it would be a rare treat to be bigger and bulkier than the girl. Her youth made her quicker and more unpredictable than the seasoned old fighters who had learned how to best conserve their energy, the short and stocky body spoke of hidden strength and agility... and then there was the horn. Already his body bore marks of the lethal weapon, carved into his skin by warriors before her. He was slowly growing accustomed to them and their reach, but still the sight of the lighting-like spear made him feel wary.

But enough with observation. A grin stretched the lips beneath the sooted mask, and with a toss of the head the stallion welcomed her attack, steadying himself as she came charging at him. Weight shifting towards the rear to carry the body more easily, Lace counted her strides and waited until he saw her lower the head. Then, just as she angled the horn to scrape along his ribs, the stallion turned around his front legs and swung the rump to the left a quarter of a circle, so that the tip of the horn barely nicked the skin of his shoulder before rushing past. Allowing nothing but a quick grimace at the pain, he tolerated it and focused on his counter-attack, attention fixed on his opponent and nothing more. With a quick jerk of the neck he pulled himself up into a rear and tried to drum the front hooves into her back, at once avoiding both the flick of the tail and the kick towards his knee.

Counting on her momentum to carry her forward and past him, the silver-maned equine then touched down and continued his pirouette, legs rising high over the treacherous snow to keep facing the little mare, his head snaking out to attempt a bite at her rump before it came out of reach - fully knowing the danger, should she try to kick back out.

It wasn't too bad, now was it? He felt quite at ease, despite the lack of training. Sure he felt it, that he wasn't in top shape. It took far more effort to move than it should have, his reactions were slower and less precise... But so far he was able to keep up with the pretty little girl, and it soothed his ego. Hopefully nothing too surprising would happen, hopefully he would be able to accept his own skill once again... in order to take up the career once more, and become more useful than he was now.



Post: 1/3
Word Count: 564
Summary: Lace pivoted 90 degrees around the forelegs to the right, swinging his hindquarters away from Hespera to avoid her horn. Got a little nick in the shoulder. Reared and tried to kick down on her spine. Touched down, continued to pivot around to 180 degrees and tried to nip her in the right buttock.


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Hespera Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#4
If she had been of her immortal form, she could have struck him through with a bolt of elegant lightning, shot him through the heart and slayed him without batting an eyelash. Dusty was not like some of the foes she had faced, lacking a mouth of fangs or spine full of protruding spikes; but the circumstances were wholly and fully different. Unfortunately, Hespera was not a goddess here.

For once, she wished she had paid better attention to the painstakingly long and dramatic epics recited by Faeron, rather than watch the way he smiled or how he flicked his ears. He and Berian- may they rest with the gods in peace- knew the ways of combat. She had watched them in the fighting pits of Kir-non-ja, taking out their opponents until blood washed the floor in crimson red. They were afraid, every time the one who called himself their master had forced them into the arena; afraid of finally meeting an opponent better than them, for the day when they would be the broken, bruised and battered body.

As Dusty pivoted toward her, her shining white horn nicked his silver-gold shoulder. The cut was not what she had dared to hope for- hope. No, she should not be hoping for landing a blow. Hespera needed a strong and clear mind with a set goal and aim.

Yet as he swings towards small, nimble body, her jaw sets. As the smaller horse, her center of gravity is lower, and thus she is harder to throw off-balance, even if he has weight on his side (chubby horses). The momentum she used to charge throws her forward, and when he rears, the equine has fallen behind her. As she skids to a halt, sliding in the wet snow, she lashes out with her hind legs, yet the likelihood of it hitting him is minimal, due to the distances between them and her admittedly short legs. In the moment it takes for him to land on all fours and pivot- he’s quick, by the gods- Hespera braces herself on forelegs, and lashes out at his chest, being unable to lift her hind legs off the ground any higher than that, due to the differences in size.

May the gods be on her side, and let this land be as well.

With that, Hespera rollbacks, like the stylish move of a western horse, albeit less practiced- or, in other terms, she pivots on her hindquarters once landing. Pinning her ears tight to her head, for all the world she looks like a small, very hairy winter pony; any trace of former grace gone. She’s not immortal anymore- the stormchild looks like any angry toddler. Or yearling.

She drops her head and aims a bite at his right knee (her left), shifting her horn to avoid unwanted contact. From there, she also collapses onto her knees, much in the way a horse bows, and gives an angry little squeal, nipping at his right knee once more.

While it poses a risk to herself should he decide to stomp on her, for most part she expects that he will lie down and do the same; for what stallion does not?

For a moment, she is reminded of the kirins, doing such a move in an entirely different way; the graceful bow of their heads, the curve of their silk-clad necks, the scales gleaming and shining upon their chests. How they cared for wanderers, the gajin, without question; how did the kirin fight? She could not remember. Their sekemotos were so graceful, so effortless in their movements, fluid-like and always cycling, it was hard to remember.

The snow is cold on her knees, sinking through her hairy winter coat and soaking the outer layer, but she doesn’t mind. No matter how horrid the sensation is, she loves being able to feel.

Maybe he’ll just trip over her. That’ll work as well.

From his tree where he waits, watching, Otienu stiffens, uttering a quiet croak of alarm. It warms her heart to see him root for her; to an outsider, it would be so insignificant, the way he loves. How could she hope to explain the fact he roots for her, wishes for her to win, tells her she must win? She cannot let her companion down.

Hespera simply loves him too much.



2/3 + 0/1 Closing
Word Count: 730
Summary: Her momentum carries her forward past when he rears; she kicks out once as she stops immediately, and then again when he comes after her to bit at her butt. She pivots to face him and bites at his right knee, and then drops to her knees and bites at it (right knee) again.

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
#5

His hooves met nothing but empty air, and it was with a sense of dissatisfaction the slightly taller steed touched down, the impact with the ground made unsteady by the layer of snow. It would have been far better if it had been spring or even Tallsun; Lace needed all the strength, skill and traction he could get as the abrupt stop of the young mare made him sense danger. Immediately he jerked the head back before teeth had a chance to impact with flesh, he grunted from the effort of forcing his quickly tiring body into yet another rear - this time in hope of avoiding the set of hard hooves that came shooting towards his chest.

It was unexpectedly hard to fight in the darkness. The dull light from the cluster of trees nearby cast only faint shadows and made it hard to accurately judge the distance. White silk danced like a misty veil around the sweaty neck, and with a clatter of hooves and legs the masked warrior hissed in pain as the sharp semi-circles of the storm-child collided with his shins. Skin scraped off, surface vessels burst and with a grim smile Lace knew how much the bruises would ache come the next day. It made him careful as gravity pulled him to the ground again, anxious not to break too harshly through the crust of snow, lest he raked off the skin entirely and risked dying the snow with his own blood.

There was no time for thoughts, barely time enough to breathe. Even as the washed out soldier regained his balance and shifted the weight between the legs the nimble filly turned around in a supple motion and unleashed her teeth towards his knee. Snorting in anger over her audacity the silver sculpture sunk down in a graceful bow to protect his already bruised foreleg, moments before she too mimicked the gesture. Blunt ivories clamped down on the more muscled and less sensitive area of his upper right foreleg, and with a snort the seasoned mercenary allowed the bite, intent on making use of it. Still kneeling he snaked the head forth, aiming his bite not at her legs, but at the thin area of neck just behind the poll.

He wanted to grab her, shake her and tell her not to be so predictable - it wasn't just about following instincts, one had to be cunning in battles as well. Was she acting naive on purpose? It was hard to believe it with the effortless and secure way she moved through their violent dance. Despite her fragile beauty there was steel in the glaring eyes, temper expressed by the tucked-back ears and flashing teeth. Was she a natural or simply not smart enough to think deeper about her moves?

In any case, the lightning-bird should have known better than to expose her neck like that. Ignoring the snow and the chill as his body heat liquefied the icy crystals the cob-webbed brute heaved himself back up on the feet, counting on the girl to follow back up in order to protect her head. For the third time in mere moments, despite a precarious tremble of the worn thigh muscles, Lace reared and thrust the forelegs towards her, aiming the sharp ebonies at her chest to pummel the swelling muscles there. Teeth flashed in the dull light as lips pulled back, ears slicked back while Lace angled a bite towards the rounded cheek of her face. Would it reach her this time? Or had he fallen so low indeed, that a little girl barely wet behind the ears could best him?

Oh dreadful thought.



Post: 2/3
Word Count: 610
Summary: Lace touches down, then forces himself to rear immediately again, receiving her hooves against his forelegs. Gets scrubs and bruises. Comes down again and regain his balance as she turn around, kneeling to avoid the first bite at his knees. Receives the second bite on the upper right leg. Aims a bite towards her neck behind the poll.
Comes up on his feet again, rears a third time and try to kick her in the chest, biting at her left cheek.


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Hespera Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#6
Hespera & Otienu
The darkness is an immense monster, and she fancies she can hear it breathe, lungs rasping as it watches with hungry eyes, waiting to swallow her in its enormous gullet. Beneath her hooves, the snow is crusted and slick, covered in a thin sheet of ice- below that, wet, soft snow that makes for treacherous footing. If the snow were deeper, if she stood on the mountains tall, to trip into this could send her drowning in cold white, unable to flounder her way back to the surface.

A gleam of washed-out golden light illuminates the stallion; the shadows dance, dark beauty on the once-crisp snow, some of it now covered unpleasantly with animal piss and shit. For a moment all she can see is the brilliant gold in his amber eyes, the heavy grunt as he forces himself upwards, balancing precariously on hind legs- then her hind hooves make sharp contact with the hard bone of his shins. A surge of electric joy sings its sweet, heart-rousing melody. She wants to break him, the cowgirl wrangling the wild mustang; bend his head and bow his neck to her. Hespera is passionate, in everything she does; she is not one to go half-assed into something. But he is clever and sharp and swift, and she is new and feels quite often young and foolish in her childish body. She can only hope she may best him.

Teeth bared, ears pinned, forelock full of tangled pearl snarls, the unicorn reaches out to no avail with her ivories, meeting only empty air as the grullo stallion drops, crumbling in a way that’s somehow graceful and smooth. Snapping around swiftly, she drops onto her knees, trying to imitate the beauty he has captured in his movement, the yellow light a sickly shade on her ebony coat, glistening on the wet skin covering her delicate joints as she bows in return.

As her teeth grasp onto the hard flesh of his extravagantly muscled leg, his own ivories grab hold of her crest. Even as blood and thin hairs coat her tongue, creating a foul concoction of a taste, she jerks back with a hiss, his teeth pulling a lock of silver mane free alongside flesh. Her lips do not part to give a gasp of pain; instead she is stoic and silent, her crest aching where skin was scraped away. It is her first battle scar on her coat of obsidian, the first wound to mark her coat for what she is- a stubborn and resolute fighter, even when she has no hope of prevailing.

Is this the battle that she will fail? Will it be the first battle she will not win?

From his perch in the tree, Otienu flinches, hurting for his companion, even despite the only mild severity of the wound. It is not good, how soft her heart has become for the gray griffon- not good at all. Yet she urges him to remain there on his perch, not wishing for him to meddle in her affairs. One day they would fight together, when he was older, stronger, and quicker with his wings. Not today, though; not today.

It is difficult to move from bow to rear, so she does not try. Instead, the shaggy mare barrels forward, head tucked neatly over throatlatch, horn shifted to the side, and rather than attempting to meet him in the air, she aims to smack into his stomach, toppling him over onto his flank, or at least, pushing the twelve hundred pounds of horseflesh off balance. The stormchild did not know if it would work. She knew that she was tempting fate; knew that if he were to land on her, something terrible might happen. Fear and determination ran through her stubborn head. No way she would back out now, even when Otienu’s terror for her safety practically scalded her with its ferocity.

She could not accelerate as quickly or swiftly as she would like. Snow was freezing her legs, kicked up onto her shoulders. He was taller than her, bigger than her despite his elegant build- and who knew what powers he might possess and put into his nefarious use? So far, he had seemed decent, gentleman-like enough. Yet this was Helovia.

What would Daermaethor say?

Hespera could almost imagine his carved white eyes staring into hers. If only he was still with her. If only the herd had accepted her.

Fucking mortals.

It is all this rage and anger she fuels into her charge, the fury that batters her. The fear of failure, the anguish of her father torn from her, of Tarleton’s disapproving face, his sneer and cruel smile. All te heartbreak of her past.

It would be shame if her courageous- and foolish- charge failed.

They never said it would be easy, but they never warned us it would be so hard.


3/3 + 0/1 Closing
Word Count: 799
Summary: Lace grabs her at the crest and she sustains some scrapes from it. She yanks back, and when he rears, she attempts to charge into him and knock him off-balance or even knock him over.

Lace the Silverthorn Posts: 459
Deceased atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Stallion :: Equine :: 15.3 hh :: 14 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
Fajira :: Plain White Dragon :: Fire Breath Chan
#7


The snap as ivories clamped down on air was followed by the much denser thunk as teeth closed around flesh. A second of numbness was quickly followed by a pounding ache that flattened the ears on his poll and set nostrils flaring. Not a sound came from the stallion this time, however. He simply endured the pain, counting on it as he had been in order to deliver some small measure of payback. He was rewarded as his own mouth soon filled with the familiar taste of sweat, skin and hair, accompanied by choking nausea over the sensation of swelling and writhing muscles against the tongue. Lace tried to hold on, wanted to push the head of the mare down into the ground, but she managed to tear herself loose with a jerk that made his mouth smack closed around a lock of hair, head aching and ringing from the force of it.

Snoring and spitting it out with a disgusted grimace he heaved up into the rear, but realized almost as soon as he did that it might have been a stupid move. Instead of rising to meet him head on the girl appeared to take a lesson from his own deceit, instead lunging forward to crash into his chest. The force isn't great, thankfully, because the distance between them hadn't been great enough for lady nameless to gain any momentum. Nevertheless the silver-maned steed felt how the contact between slippery ground and rear hooves dislodged, and with a gasp he toppled forward, the weight of his entire body coming down uncontrollably against the mare's upper neck and back. Front hooves flailed in order to regain balance and avoid getting stuck across her back, sharp black moons scraping towards her shoulders in desperation.

Somehow, not entirely clear about how, the crafter came back down to the ground with a force that rattled his already sore teeth, and breathing hard from shock and strain he quickly eased off to the right, out of reach from horn and teeth.

How stupid. She could have speared him then and there, and it was mere luck that kept him from having landed on the horn now. Snorting harshly the steely equine shook his head, stretching and checking his limbs to make sure that nothing had been overly damaged... There were scrapes and bruises, but nothing pulled, no cuts and no broken bones. Good.
"You need training" a voice commented quietly, revealing that Fajira had followed the match through his eyes despite being far away herself. He only grunted in reply, acknowledging the sad fact; he had gotten weak. Too much time had been spent eating and lounging around... It was high time to change that, so that the next time he came face to face with talented young mares, he wouldn't have to put in this much effort.



Post: 3/3
Word Count: 475
Summary: Lace lost his balance as Hestia rammed him in the chest. Fell forward over her, hooves flailing towards her shoulders and upper back to keep him from getting stuck. Touched down and moved away, out of reach.

Thank you for a fun spar! :)


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Hespera Posts: N/A
Unregistered
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#8
Hespera & Otienu
As the many pounds of horseflesh collide, Hespera nearly starts in surprise, of course not that she could under the scrabbling horse on her back. To be honest, she hadn’t thought she would be able to outwit the stallion. If you called outwitting the stallion almost screwing yourself over as well, that is.

The muscles along her back, withers, and mid-neck groaned collectively as the enormous weight comes crushing downwards, a destructive force ready to almost knock her over as well. Hooves smacked and flailed even as she tries to pull away, tendons strained and locked to hold the enormous burden up. But the brief moment of collision has created a tangle of legs, mane, and bruised muscle- it was going to be much more difficult disengaging than entering the final movement. The flesh of her crest hurts in particular, already scraped and battered from his ivories yanking on her neck, and when the fat horse’s weight came down, she nearly crumbled, falling over like beetle pushed on its back- but she did not fall.

Well, to be honest, he wasn’t exactly fat, but Hespera was unwilling to admit she was small as she was, and weak as she was.

Hooves rammed into her shoulders, scraping hard lines downwards, tearing glistening raven hairs from her skin, blood already beginning to well in the rubbed-away areas. While it stings devilishly, and Hespera knows immediately that she will be damned sore in the morning, she is pleased that her plan has worked, albeit perhaps not as seamlessly as she would have liked. It eases her worries. Yes, the battle was hard, there was no question about that. Her breath comes in erratic, deep gasps as she inhales the cold air.

As they pull away, the snow stings her legs, the cold nips her fresh wounds. Everywhere she aches, to her very bones, and her legs quiver slightly beneath her, still exhausted from the moment she held up what felt like the weight of the world. She is glad for the darkness, hiding her worn face from her adversary. While she is not necessarily a vain mare, she doesn’t like to show he has, indeed, put a strain on her. The stormchild knows she should be not so ruffled of his skills. As Daermaethor would insist, it mattered not if she had won or not- she had given it her best shot, and could ask for nothing more.

Still, she didn’t want to let the shining marble statue down, her father after Pollux sired the detestable Ionwë, after Arjuna the Star Eater had died by her own newborn’s accidental hand. His image burned in her mind, etched deep in her heart- the wisdom in what should’ve been the empty eyes of a living statue, the strength in his shoulders, the elegance in the way he carried himself. How his voice rolled with a distinct burr, low and deep in his chest, the way he spun the stories so well, retelling old legends and teaching her how she must be grateful, no matter how sorry her life may seem. “You are a goddess, dear child, and nobody will be kind to you,” he had told her, the morning before they dared to enter the herdlands of Paen.

The day before he was ripped from her, after fighting for hours upon hours. He understood her; perhaps their father-daughter relationship would have even ventured into the love of mare and stallion, for together they were gifts from the gods, together they would live forever. What would a hundred years’ difference in age matter in immortality?

Drawn back to the present by Otienu’s chirrup of worry, Hespera sighs, uttering a soft chuckle as the little griffon cub soars to her shoulders, landing carefully, avoiding scraping her wounds with his sharp talons. Within their bond, she can sense his querying tone. How she longs for the day when they communicate with the ease and speed of words, like Roshana and…

Enough.

Too many memories, too scorching hot.

“Thank you,” Hespera offers to the nameless stallion. “You fought well, and were a more than worthy opponent for the likes of I. I am Hespera, and this is Otienu. Fare thee well, until we may meet again.” Her voice is distinguished and has a manner of speaking that is carefully enunciated, as if she overly loves the language of horse and adores each and every syllable, or if she has made mistakes in mumbling and slurring with poor consequences from it.

Turning silently, the gray griffon perched on her battered shoulders, she melts into the darkness, back the way she came.

They never said it would be easy, but they never warned us it would be so hard.


3/3 + 1/1 Closing
Word Count: 779
OOC: Thank you so much for the spar, it was just lovely! <3

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#9


L A C E | H E S P E R A
- - - - -
By my verdict HESPERA is the winner.
Hespera receives 1 VP

HESPERA -- post 1 (attack only)

[Realism]
- 1| Borderline Powerplay: As Hespera comes to his side- her right, his left... - You cannot dictate where your opponent is. Maybe Lace decides he doesn't want to fight, and then runs away before she gets anywhere near him? Indeed - your attack assumes Lace will stay so that you're both facing the same direction - which is highly unlikely.
+ 1| Attack: Horn jab to lace's left side.
+ 1| Attack: Snaps her tail at his face
0| Attack: Attack at his front left knee - with what? Front legs? Hind?

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion:
+ 1| Easy Read
+ 1| Flow:

LACE -- post 1

[Realism]
+ 1| Defense: Turning towards her - then swinging his hind end to the left to reduce the area of her horn attack.
+ 1| Counter-Attack: Rearing to strike at her back and evade her kick.
0| Injury: I think rearing would evade her kick - but I think her tail would likely have hit him somewhere - on the belly, or chest as he rose into the air.
0| Attack: Biting at Andromeda's rump - you acknowledge that she is likely to be moving forward. In the time it took Lace to 1. rear 2. strike towards her back 3. land 4. try to bite her, I can't imagine how she could still be in range.

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion:
+ 1| Easy Read:
+ 1| Flow

HESPERA -- post 2

[Realism]
0| Defense: Running past Lace's rear. I think he likely would have hit some part of her - the snow beneath them would likely slow Hespera down somewhat - and you didn't write her as running directly by - she did kick which would also have slowed her down. His rear was meant to be simultaneous with that kick.
0| Attack: Sliding to a stop and kicking out. How far did she go before she kicked? What/Where was her kick aimed?
- 1| Dropped Attack: No mention of Lace's bite
+ 1| Attack: Kicking out towards his chest.
+ 1| Attack: Pivots and bites towards his right knee
+ 1| Attack: Drops and bites towards his knee again

[Prose]
+ 1| Easy Read
+ 1| Flow:
+ 1| Emotion: For once, she wished she had paid better attention to the painstakingly long and dramatic epics recited by Faeron, rather than watch the way he smiled or how he flicked his ears. Haha. I loved this.


LACE -- post 2

[Realism]
0| Defense: he grunted from the effort of forcing his quickly tiring body into yet another rear - this time in hope of avoiding the set of hard hooves that came shooting towards his chest. You don't say whether or not the attack hits.
0| Injury: Hespera's second kick was meant to come as Lace bit towards her (that's what was meant to close the distance between the two) - you can't go back and re-write him as having reared. The time line is meant to be 1. Lace rears and Hespera runs by 2. Lace lands, and Hespera kicks out towards him (ambiguously) 3. Lace bites towards her, which is when Hespera kicks out again.
- 1| Dropped Attack: Hespera bites towards his right knee before she kneels to the ground, as well as after.
+ 1| Defense: Drops to his knees
+ 1| Attack: Bites towards Hespera's poll
0| Injury: 'Allows' the bite - did it hurt? If she's biting a 'more muscled' area, it is going to be sensitive
+ 1| Attack: Gets to his feet and rears aiming for her chest
0| Attack: Bites towards her cheek - which side? You mention in your summary, but not in your post.

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion
- 1| Flow: The interrupted time-line made me scratch my head a number of times. Sometimes Lace's continuity of motion is hard to decipher - like when he rears to avoid the first kick but then remains standing for the second - there were only a few clues to indicate that's what he did.
+ 1| Easy Read

HESPERA -- post 3

[Realism]
+ 1| Injury: Bite on her neck
0| Attack: Barreling into Lace as he rears - you don't mention at all that Hespera has gotten to her feet. Also there isn't any distance between them, so 'barreling' I think is poor wdording to describe a glorified shove.
- 1| Dropped Attack: No mention of Lace's attack to her chest
- 1| Dropped Attack: No mention of his bite.

[Prose]
+ 1 | Easy Read
+ 1| Flow
+ 1| Emotion:

LACE -- post 3

[Realism]
+ 1| Injury: Not being knocked over, since there wasn't much distance between the two
+ 1| Attack: Hooves flailing towards her shoulders/back area
- 1| Borderline Powerplay: he quickly eased off to the right, out of reach from horn and teeth. - You cannot dictate that Lace won't take any more damage.

[Prose]
+ 1| Emotion
0| Flow: I found it really awkward that Lace just landed, even though you acknowledge that Hespera is basically underneath. Somehow, not entirely clear about how, the crafter came back down to the ground with a force that rattled his already sore teeth.
+ 1| Easy Read

HESPERA -- Closing defense
[Realism]
+ 1| Defense: lol Lace the fat horse; Taking the weight on her shoulders/back and moving out from under him.

HESPERA

[Bonus]
+ 2| Breed comparison: You used their height differences and build differences in almost every post.
+ 1| Surroundings: Great use of both the snow, and the cold in your posts.

[Injuries]
None.

[Creativity]
+ 1|: All of the 'Lace is fat' comments, which were really meant to compensate for how small she is :P

Comments: This was great. I really liked reading what Hespera thought about her past life, and whatnot. I lol'd at all of the fat-Lace comments as well!

LACE

[Bonus]
+ 1| Breed comparison:
+ 2| Surroundings: Really great use of both the snow, and the darkness making Hespera harder to see!

[Injuries]
+ 1| Health: Least injured.

[Creativity]
Nothing of note.

Comments: Great fight! Be careful of timelines! I think you write Lace as doing things to specifically avoid injury - but without mentioning them, I can't be sure.

TOTAL
HESPERA - 66
LACE - 65


Image Credit: dirkjankraan @ Flickr


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