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a handshake would have been enough - Finnian - 08-27-2017 It was time to work off the softness that had begun to settle into his bones. It was the first lesson his father had ever taught him about fighting; you had to keep at it, or all the hard earned skill and experience would dull and fade into the mists of memory, until nothing remained but a fat arse and empty pride. He would be disappointed in Finnian if he could see the son now. Many weeks had passed since he stepped into a training circle, and it had been almost as long since he practiced his forms. The lack of swords or sparring partners was not a valid excuse, but Fin comforted himself with the thought that the old man would have been glad enough just to see him alive after everything that'd happened, flabby buttocks or not. Things were apparently different here. They called the stone citadel a capitol and a court, but to Finnian's eyes so accustomed to the splendors of the Old World, it looked run down and poor. There were no guards to line the corridors, no fencing halls in which to train, no instructors or weapons masters to ensure that no skills were dulled under their watchful eyes. Instead, what he had been directed to was this trampled field many leagues from the great halls, dusty and browned from the relentless glare of the sun and countless trampling hooves. As he looked around in dispirited silence, a hot wind picked up the dirt from the ground and sent up a dusky cloud that could blind even the most alert of fighters. Blue eyes followed the cloud until the wind died down again, then turned his attention back to the blacksmith with an expression that expressed louder than words his lack of enthusiasm. "Really?" he said. "Ye fight here, all year around? In the sun and the rain and in snow too? I do not know if ye're hardy or just insane..." But Finnian supposed it did make a sort of sense... As his father had often tried to impress upon him, real battles were rarely fought in palaces. Perhaps it was better to train in the kind of terrain one expected to fight in when it counted. RE: a handshake would have been enough - Arion - 08-27-2017 The cast of ash filled his nose, a bitter venom that had always been apart of his essence, his soul in a way that others found passion in the earth, or in the caring of others. Arion's craft was beyond the living form. In the barest of reality, there were no lives to be saved, no meaning to be found in shaping metals and polishing beautiful stones, there was no gratitude from those beyond the lusting, the ones who wished to hold fine trinkets in hand. While the healers of the Dusk court may have found his wisdom lacking in the creed of their noble court, there was always a joy to be found when the embers cooled and the engraved lines glowed hot in the vat. It was his perferred place, the forge, the silence and distant realities, where few dared come into the sanctuary that he had claimed in the belly of the citadel. It would have gone on this way perhaps, had the drowned stallion not come jaunting into his realm. Eyes of silver and mahogany turned from the flames, his sturdy hooves scrapping against stone when he turned to glimpse the other. "YOU SURVIVED I SEE," he mused, the heavy oiled drap falling from the prongs overhead, smothering the last of the gilded fire in the wood. He wasn't sure how it ended up this way, drawn from the shadow into the light, his painted form marked gold and silver against the shine of Solis. The old halls of the capital fell way, as did scent of the humid swamps, until the first sign of the war torn earth came into view. The steppe was one the equine had come to know in the changing seasons since first he came to the world beyond the pass. It was a strange custom, to hail this land the place of conflict, its very air drenched in the scents of old blood and emotion. Even the most stoic of beings would surely wilt beneath the demand, drawn either into a stupor or burn in fever for pain, and the giving of pain. His nostrils flared, long, steady strides eating up the barren earth as he paced after the other, a streak of pale cornflower at the edge of his sights. The smith had abandoned his cloak for a time, the warmth of the fading summer doing little for the man with fire in his veins. Bronze gleamed against his tusks, the soft, hissing rattle of the chain lining his tail the only sound to acknowledge his presence. Until Finnian finally spoke. Ears shifting against the ever-present wind, Arion gave the other a nonchalent glance, his brow rising steadily as his thoughts turned from disbelief to mirth. "WOULD YOU RATHER FIGHT IN A PAVILION OF POLISHED GOLD AND FINE COBBLE STONE? PERHAPS A YOUNG BEAUTIFUL MAID TO WIPE THE SWEAT FROM YOUR BROW AFTER A FINE BOUST? THIS IS WHERE YOU SHALL FIGHT. IF NOT, YOU SHALL NOT BETTER YOUR SKILLS AT ALL." Tossing his crown, awaiting the other to turn towards him, Arion paced out a distance from the other, his heavy hooves tearing into the moist soil. Turning, his long, corded tail swayed against his legs, until he turned to face the other. A scrutinizing glance swept over the other. "YOUR TIME HEALING HAS MADE YOU FAT," he mused, "LET'S SEE IF YOUR SKILL REMAINS." Suddenly, he was tearing forward from his stance, the earth torn free, his pace clearing the distance in five, six strides. His head turned to his side, chin anchored against his neck, only to toss to the right, making to rap his tusks sharply against the others chest, made stronger by the momentum of his body. To bleed painful welts across the buckskin hide. Arion had never been the strongest fighter; neither skilled or trained by the great warriors of the clans he had accompanied all those years. Yet, he was sturdy, made strong by the gruff strength of a smith, his neck and chest made thick with muscle, all aimed into colliding with the other now.
Summary: ARION SET UP A DISTANCE OF ABOUT SIX PACES BETWEEN HIM AND FINNIAN BEFORE INITATING A SPAR. CHARGED THE OTHER AND USING HIS MOMENTUM AND BODY WEIGHT TO RAP HIS OPPONENTS CHEST WITH THE SIDE OF HIS TUSK BY TOSSING HIS HEAD (AT ADDITIONAL RISK FOR BEING SCRAPPED BY THE BROKEN REMANENTS OF HIS HORN) Attack Used: 1 Attack(s) Left: 1 Block Used: 0 Block(s) Left: 1 Item(s) Used: 0 Response Deadline: AUGUST 30, 2017 Tags: @Finnian @inkbone @Sid @ RE: a handshake would have been enough - Finnian - 08-29-2017 Finnian laughed at that. "That does not sound so terrible to me!" he said with a grin "But if this is where everyone fight, this is where we will fight. My only hope is that we will not break a leg in the process..." He turned his attention from the trampled, uneven ground and back to the blacksmith as the other stallion backed up, steadily increasing the distance between them. Realizing that the older man indeed wasn't going to simply show him around, Finnian laughed again and obliged the fellow by turning his body around to face him. "Do let's! I'm honored that ye would spend yer precious time on a greenhorn like meself... Go easy on a poor sick man, would ye?" Widening his stance, he rolled his shoulders in a vain attempt at shrugging off the stiffness in his joints and tried to recall all at once everything his tutors had ever tried to teach him. How to measure the distance and the number of strides between himself and the opponent, how to anticipate and counter unarmed attacks, how to spot and utilize differences in size, age, experience... But it had been a long time since he did this, and Arion was an unknown in everything but name. All Finnian knew about the man was what he could see with his own eyes and deduce from that; how much taller the painted stallion was, how his muscles swelled and how the heavy build might slow him down compared to the lithe, flexible youth. Surely there was a measure of experience in the mammoth that Finnian lacked as well, both in life and on this battlefield; in short, he was at a disadvantage no matter how he looked at it. But that, in itself, might be an advantage if he could just find a way to turn all those strengths against Arion. What did he have that the other did not? And as the answer came to him, the young rogue smiled in anticipation. His heartbeat raced when the onslaught began. The heat of the day drew sweat from his skin, fine beads of perspiration that darkened the golden hide by every crease and fold; Finnian tossed the forelock out of his eyes and counted the thundering strides as the behemoth of a stag came thundering towards him. One, two, three, four... with every second it grew harder to remain prone, the instinct to turn and run growing stronger as Arion's frame pressed on. It was half the battle, but Finnian didn't give in to the urge. He stayed and stayed and stayed where he was until the very last moment, shifting his weight and balance back onto strong hindquarters until the front hooves just barely touched the ground. He flashed a grin at Arion, cheeky and excited and wildly inappropriate at that moment. Then, as the gleaming, bronze-cuffed tusks came hurtling towards his chest, Finnian rolled away, heaving himself around to the left in a rolling buck, so that his rear end came to face Arion. Instead of slamming into the side of his chest, the blunt edges of the tusks scraped up over his right side, drawing a line of fire and scraped skin over Finnian's ribs and shoulder that would no doubt bruise him for days to come. Grunting from the pain and from the effort exerted, he took his weight onto the front legs and kicked out with the rear, aiming to place the black hooves squarely in the chest of the bigger stallion. "Have a taste at my flabby arse!" he jested merrily, knowing full well that some fighters hated his casual banter during spars. Even as momentum began to carry him forward again, Finnian reached for the dagger strapped to his right foreleg. Though he had no real intention of really using it, the sight of gleaming metal might be intimidating enough to make the other hesitate... And he liked the feel of the ivory handle between his teeth, cool and smooth and dangerously heavy. Very heartening, as if he could feel his father's steadying gaze upon him whenever he held it. What would the old man have said if he saw Finnian now, sparring a stranger on a field of dust beneath the scalding sun? Would he have been proud? Summary: Finnian readies himself and, facing Arion head on, waits until he is just within reach before he moves. Finnian heaves himself around to the LEFT in a rolling buck, taking the attack on his RIGHT SIDE and tries to KICK Arion in the front of the chest. Preparing to continue forward and regain balance, Finnian is reaching for his dagger, but has not yet drawn it. Attack Used: 1 Attack(s) Left: 1 Block Used: 0 Block(s) Left: 1 Item(s) Used: none Response Deadline: 2017-09-01 (september 1st) Tags: @Arion @ RE: a handshake would have been enough - Arion - 09-01-2017 H The heat of the battle was a constant flux of energy and exhaustion, a dance that came to life in a flurry, rapid in its descent back to earth. And yet, while movements fell swift as the hammer upon raw ore, while the heat scorching their veins, bringing aches to their muscles as quick as their jolting powers writhed against each other, time seemed to slow to eternity, seconds lasting hours in the brain of the clashing warriors. It was almost a mockery, forcing their eyes to watch as danger came upon them, near helpless to do anything to stop the pain, the sores to come; a mind that was far to powerful for the body to obey. Arion may be testing the young stallion now, may be drawing the inner sparks to a raging fire beneath the drenching of sea water, but he wouldn't do it in a way that was lethal. Like a muscle, power, wisdom, and experience were always growing when stretched, swelling to contain the lives of those who led them. But when left to fatique, to atrophy from maluse, that strength that mighty jousters took pride in, that knowledge that learned caretakers found purpose in, it wo would fade to dust. He had created that distance for a reason, stretching out those seconds so the other could respond. Besides, what was a fight if the opponent didn't give it their all? The air was alive with the heat of their bodies, the gasps of their breathes falling like gales from flared nostrils. The length of his tail spilt behind him like a useless tether, drawn and cast to whip to the side with the force of his body colliding with the other. Finnian was a dancer, a lithe little thing with the flexibility of menait, the silken spearwives. They had never been strong, the delicacy in their blood making limbs slender, and weight meager. Yet, they were as serpents in the desert sands, sliding about. His eyes drank in the flex of the fellow stallions spine, the arch and curve as his body fell to the side, his hind quarters spining around, his tail a dark cloud plumming about taunt thighs. He saw the red mark, bright yet dark against his sandy hide, a scrap that would irritate the muscle below. He watched, as those legs, free from gravity, that long back curving as the weight forced shoulders to arch and hooves to dig into the packed soil, lashed out, heading towards his chest. Part instinct, part purposeful, Arion's head tilted towards the left, tucking towards his chest, drawn by the force of his tusk grazing along the other's hip. Offset, imbalances by the pull, he reset his stance, his hind legs sidestepping to the right, pivoting his chest, leaving only empty space where those hooves would strike. Right into the region of his tusks embrace. "I DON'T EAT ASS," he jibbed, exhilarated and amused by the other's antics.
Summary: WITH HIS TUSKS COLLIDING WITH FINNIAN'S HIP, HIS HEAD IS DRAWN TO LEFT, CAUSING HIS BODY TO SWING TO THE RIGHT AS HE ATTEMPTS TO REGAIN HIS EQUILIBRIUM, ALLOWING HIS CHEST TO MOVE OUT OF THE WAY OF THW STRIKING HOOVES. THE ANGLE OF HIS HEAD LEAVES THE CHANCE ONE OR BOTH OF FINNIAN'S HOOVES TO FALL INTO THE SPACE BETWEEN HIS TUSKS, RISKING TRIPPING. Attack Used: 1 Attack(s) Left: 1 Block Used: 1 Block(s) Left: 0 Item(s) Used: 0 Response Deadline: SEPTEMBER 4, 2017 Tags: @Finnian @inkbone @Sid @ RE: a handshake would have been enough - Finnian - 09-04-2017 His feet struck the empty air. It was not what Finnian had hoped for, nor what he had expected, but there was no time to dwell on the matter. Not every strike would land where it was intended, it was just how things went, and now he would have to move forward and do the best he could of the situation. "Too bad!" he laughed, sounding only slightly winded from the effort exerted, "I thought ye might enjoy it..." Wary of the sturdy tusks jutting from the mouth of his opponent, Finnian made sure to keep his feet well clear of them as gravity pulled him back down to the ground. Abandoning his original intent of putting more space between himself and Arion, the buckskin opted instead for a different approach. As soon as he had his rear legs under him again, he continued to pivot, swinging the front of his body to the left until he had completed a half counter clockwise pirouette around his hind-legs. Tucking the chin against his chest much like Arion had, Finnian let go of the dagger's hilt and used his horns instead, thrusting the long black spear into a sweeping thrust that aimed to draw a line all along his partner's right side, from shoulder to hip, from right to left. At the same time, even as the sharp tip of the horn cut through the air, he dug the rear hooves into the ground and heaved himself forward, so that both momentum and weight was placed into the motion. The distance between them should be great enough that only the very tip of the prongs would reach the blacksmith, so Finnian was confident that he would not do serious harm to the man, should his ploy succeed. "How 'bout some horn instead then, hey?" Keeping up the cheerful banter made it easier to forget about his smarting muscles. In a quick thought that flashed through his consciousness for a mere fraction of a second, he wondered how far Arion was planning to take this spar; would the older man be satisfied with merely exchanging a few blows and then call it a day, or was the big stallion out to prove something? If that was the case then Finnian would have to be careful; all the agility in the world would not help him if he exhausted himself by dancing in circles around the heavier unicorn. Sooner or later a hit would land, and then he would truly find out how much of his father's lessons he had forgotten. Better end this before it came to that. Finnian had gotten quite enough of bed-rest for the summer, thank you very much. Summary: Finnian avoids getting tangled in Arion's tusks and turns back around, PIVOTING counter clockwise around his rear end until he faces Arion head on again. Tucking his head to the chest, Finnian SLASHES with his HORN from RIGHT to LEFT, heaving his body forward as he does so, intending to slash Arion along the right side of the body. The forward motion is meant to enable him to reach along Arion's whole body, as he was turned slightly away from Finnian at the start of this post. When Finnian lands, he should be roughly neck-to-neck with Arion. Attack Used: 1 Attack(s) Left: 0 Block Used: 1 Block(s) Left: 0 Item(s) Used: None Response Deadline: September 7th Tags: @Arion @ RE: a handshake would have been enough - Arion - 09-04-2017 Around and around he went, a top of a child's play thing, tearing through the earth and rock. Seconds had passed, mere moments in the infinite moments that created a single day, and yet for the two, those moments stretched on forever. Each aching muscle was a tangible, bitter thing, the spider web sparks from his jaw, where ivory tusks had struck the other just seconds before, the tingling croon across his chest, the movement of air where Finnian's hooves had struck so close to his own flesh. These moments were much like the hours spent toiling away in the forge for the smith, the minute details jumping forth like living giants, consuming his senses; sight, smell, touch. A swift joust, yet, how quick it was for the body to feel the strain, the sheer energy consumed by each great movement as the man's heavy frame was thrust across the field, twisting against corded muscles and hefty girth that made up his chest, his torso. Those long years, dedicated hours of untold counting had given him the stamina to use his strength as he would, and while this was a different movement, fatiguing his reserves far swifter than most, there was still one final drive Arion could give. Hearing the other's hooves strike earth, settled once more, the primordial cast man was quick to turn towards the other, his skull vibrating against the draw of the hot air, his breath falling like steam. FIGHTING DOESN'T EXCITE ME. IF YOU WANT TO FUCK YOU SHOULD TRY A DIFFERENT METHOD OF WOOING." The words fell almost too easily from his lips, the mirth of this kids taunts drawing the stoic stallion to play his game, offering shameless jibs just as easily as they were given. A quiet beast, more of an observer than participant; this in no way meant he was lacking shrewdness. From the corner of his eye, Arion seen the great raven's wing of hair flurrying against the pale man's back, flung to the side as he twisted his little courtships dance. Like two separate forces colliding, the two shifted in the finite space they gave each other, Arion's head rising, preventing the two from striking against each other as they completed their turns. Like a whip his words fell in retaliation, Arion scoffing at the continued play. "IF YOU KNOW WHERE TO PUT IT." Then, and only then did Arion continue his assault, his weight heaving off from their stance against his hunched hips, the long corded length of his tail swinging out like a silken oar to offset the weight of his lunch. It was a familiar stance, one that every equine had partaken at any point in time, two stallions lunching towards each other. Arions head lowered, keen on putting every ounce of size and power behind his strike, to shove his chest and neck against the other's right flank, to offset their own weakened earth bound stability, and pitch Finnian clear off his feet; or at least to throw him from his assault. In that moment, the shock of ice fire hit land for a moment, the ebony barb of the other's horn licking against his side, rapping against the rise of his ribs and sinew as it skated along the surface of his hide. It didn't matter anyways. Until they completely passed along each other, he couldn't shy away from the spear. A barking laugh growled in his chest, even through the lingering shock and aches. He had guts, Arion would give him that.
Summary: TURNING TO FACE FINNIAN BETTER ONCE HE STARTS HIS DANCE MOVES. LUNGES OFF FROM HIS HIND FEET AND DROPPING HIS HEAD TO THROW HIS WEIGHT AGAINST THE OTHER IN A BID TO THROW HIM FROM HIS FEET OR OFFCOURSE. Attack Used: 1 Attack(s) Left: 0 Block Used: 0 Block(s) Left: 0 Item(s) Used: 0 Response Deadline: FINISHED! Tags: @Finnian @inkbone @Sid @ RE: a handshake would have been enough - inkbone - 10-01-2017 Finnian VS Arion Finnian is still eligible for any experience and signos rewards.
@Finnian - Total: 74/100
@Arion - Total: 40/100
RE: a handshake would have been enough - sid - 10-03-2017 FINNIAN vs ARION
@Finnian: Total: 82/100
@Arion - Total: 70/100
RE: a handshake would have been enough - sid - 10-03-2017 DICE ROLL
@FINNIAN: 156 (battle total) + 20 (HTH + ATK) = 176 176 * 1.10 (10 EXP) = 194 (rounded up) @ARION: 110 (battle total) + 20 (HTH + ATK) = 130 130 * 1.12 (12 EXP) = 146 (rounded up) 194 + 146 = 340 1-194 = FINNIAN, 195-340 = ARION #1: 65 (FINNIAN) #2: 234 (ARION) #3: 3 (FINNIAN) #4: 116 (FINNIAN) #5: 23 (FINNIAN) proof of dice roll. @FINNIAN wins. All damage taken in the thread is still applicable and cannot be retconned! Participate in a Battle or Challenge: +1 EXP to Finnian Win a Battle: +1 additional EXP to Finnian Total: +2 EXP to Finnian, +0 EXP to Arion for not waiting 2 weeks between battles. Finnian's official experience has been updated to reflect these changes, so there's no need to post in the Experience Updates thread! This thread is now locked and been archived. |