Character #1: @Marisol Bonded: n/a Magic: n/a Armor: n/a Weapons: Throwing spear Current Health: 10 Current Attack: 10 Current Experience: 19
Character #2: @asterion Bonded: Cirrus, Pallas' Gull Magic: Water Manipulation Armor: n/a Weapons: n/a Current Health: 42 Current Attack: 38 Current Experience: 76
THE ARCHIATER.
Above the flat, grassy steppe, the sky roils with newborn clouds. They dissipate into nothing as fast as they appear, there and gone the next moment. Stars still glimmer faintly in the deepest parts of the known universe. Fall is here, and it sinks its chilly teeth into the dawn; under the swath of pink and orange that lines the rising sun, Marisol’s dark skin shivers and shudders against the claws of cold wind.
Oh, but she is built for war, and even the most bitter weather could not stop her from serving her purpose. So it is with bone-deep pleasure that the Commander finds her spot at the edge of the steppe, back to the cold sun, and cements her position with her hooves dug deep into the soft dirt. She raises her head; the breeze kisses the soft part of her throat. It is the only thing she trusts enough to touch a place like that.
Now the light is cascading further down the mountains, and it washes all of Novus in ethereal painterly shades of coral, warm blue, buttercup yellow: still as a statue, Marisol’s near-black coat becomes no more than a vehicle for the beauty of the dawn. It swirls under the touch of light, shifts like the phosphorescence of an opal. And though she is forever loyal to the slow tones of dusk setting in over Terrastella, and the way their anthem sounds played on the soft strings of a harp, she is, for this brief moment, entranced by the magic of the rising sun.
She tries not to think of what it means, if it means anything at all.
Asterion should’ve known she’d be here early. They have been promising each other this fight a long time - too long to waste any more time waiting. Marisol wants to say that the desire is borne only from respect for her king, a need to prove herself to him, but she is not a liar; no, part of it, too, is the disapproval that has been festering in her since Asterion first moved them to Denocte, now rotted too deep to ignore. Their beautiful boy-king is so full of mistakes.
And because Marisol loves him as much as she loves her country, she has to tell him.
The song of a bird she does not quite recognize warbles over the steppe, sharp and bright enough to make the Archiater screw up an eye in response; she cannot catch sight of it over the tufts of dying grass, and in that the creature is lucky. She thinks she can hear it flying away in a rapid beating of wings as she unstraps the throwing spear from her side, and in that it is smarter than most.
Marisol twirls the weapon above her head in an easy arc. After so many years, wielding the thing is easy as walking, like it is no more than an extra limb to her. The wood is smoothed from eons of careful handling and the steel tip lovingly sharpened: as she dips it toward the earth it slices the tips of overgrown grasses away like they are no more substantial than water.
Finally the sound of movement hits her ears, and the Commander freezes.
In one swift movement, she reholsters the weapon and widens her stance, splaying her legs slightly to hold more ground. Another step echoes from beyond. Then another. She smells him on the breeze - yes, Asterion - and huffs it out again.
Raptor-like, deadly and efficient, Marisol slowly starts to unfurl her wings. They open like a poem. Like a book: in the prismatic light of the dawn, her usually snowy-white underfeathers shift from yellow to pink and back again as they uncoil from her sides.
The spear is hidden, now, behind the partial expansion of her wings. Marisol ducks her head closer to her chest. The short-cropped hair of her mane bristles blithely, glimmering in some places with gold.
“By Her hand,” snarls Marisol under her breath.
@asterion
Summary: Mari reaches the steppe on a cold morning at Dawn, plays with her spear a little bit, picks a spot with her back against the sun and waits for Asterion to show up.
Attack Used: 0 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE AN ATTACK) Attack(s) Left: 2 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE AN ATTACK) Block Used: 0 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE A BLOCK) Block(s) Left: 1 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE A BLOCK) Item(s) Used: n/a
Not old yet - how long ago had she reminded him of it, like a secret or a vow, on that quiet sea-fog morning?
Too long. He has forgotten it again as he stands before her, autumn’s chill on the air and frost betraying his footsteps. Above them the sky is a crystalline blue, the kind that only comes at the end of fall when the last of the leaves are letting go and everything is beautiful like a heartbreak.
Asterion isn’t near enough to catch her words, but he doesn’t need to - he knows the shape of them on her mouth, knows, too, the way her lip curls in nothing like a smile. The king offers no greeting in return, but there is something at once wounded and accusatory in his gaze. (What does it mean, if they no longer serve the same god?)
He watches her beautiful wings unfurl and tries not to remember her reciting poetry, or telling him how it feels to fly. The bay knows he cannot let her leave the ground here, not if he wants to win.
And he does - oh, he does. She thinks you weak, Cirrus had told him when he woke in the bone-cold predawn. He had not refuted it then and he isn’t sure, looking at his Commander so fierce and so steel-eyed, that he can now.
All he can do is try to prove to her otherwise.
He begins at once. At first there is only this: his head ducked against the bright glare of the sunrise, his shadow slanting long behind him, his limbs moving in an easy trot. Asterion does not draw a straight line to her; he circles, putting the sun between them both. He wants to keep her eyes on him, but it doesn’t really matter - for regardless of where she watches, his magic begins to stir.
Up and up from the ground, wrung out and out from the air, he begs the water to answer him. It is more obedient than his people, or his god, or even his own heart; it responds to him at once, shimmering at first like mist in a curtain around her, making prisms of each suspended drop. But it stays neither lovely nor innocent.
Quicker, now, he cuts in toward her, though she is indistinct through the veil of condensing mist, like he is watching her from behind a waterfall. Now he is near enough he might feel the beat of her wings, and now the circle of water tightens until it is upon her, a Charybdis. But it does not pull her down - for all its strength it focuses only on her wings, seeking to douse them, to soak them, to make each feather so heavy it could not dream of lifting.
Meanwhile, as it spins and drenches and at last dies away, he is near enough to feel the cold spray on his own skin, near enough a lunge would see them collide, near enough she cannot use her beloved spear as anything but a staff.
Asterion searches himself for regret but all he can think, with the elation of using his power surging like the surf in his blood, is that he is strong.
Summary: Asterion shows up, feels some things (as he does) and approaches her. As he does he uses his power to put a sort of water wall/whirlpool around her with the intent of closing in and totally soaking her wings. Meanwhile he positions himself probably inadvisably close to her.
She knows he cannot hear her. She knows it does not matter. The words still mean the same thing. I am right to love Her.
She loves Vespera she knows how to love anything: violently, whole-heartedly, always too stubbornly.
Marisol smiles when he starts to move, circling her like a cat. She follows, opposing his steps as perfectly as a reflection, so that they move in an orbit around the edge of the steppe. The sun splices the dirt between them into shafts of too-bright light. The Commander has to squint to make out silhouettes. Smart boy - Asterion is not weak, just soft, and even she knows enough to respect one if not the other.
The distance closes between them until it is just a stone’s throw. The air is thick, strangely, and Mari realizes she is finding it harder and harder to breathe; it is then that she sees the little droplets, swirling, crystallizing, twisting and turning, and her body tightens. Asterion is indistinct now through the silver curtain, and she strains to keep her gaze tight on him. Oh, he does not deserve his magic, not the kind that comes straight from their God - not when he slanders Her with the casual cruelty of his apathy.
And here he is, using Marisol’s own worship against her. Kingly indeed.
The cyclone gathers strength until it is a rolling, tumbling thing of teeth and salt and foam, and before Mari can think what to do it comes crashing down on each side of her. Oh - she freezes, stunned, as it all showers her - her wings plaster to her sides, drenched and frigid, and the cold sets into her veins like a disease. She clenches her jaw to stop it from chattering. Water pours from the waxy-dark back of her wings, her furrowed brow, her curled lip; it puddles on the ground around her hooves.
Marisol shakes like a dog, sends droplets cascading into the air around her. But still her wings hang heavy at her sides, and the effort it takes to move them fills her with an unexpected anger, hot and bright in the root of her chest. Asterion is near enough she can see the whorls of purple in his coat. Near enough she could reach out and touch him -
The Commander snarls in a breath, digs in her hooves into the dirt and lunges forward.
The distance between them closes in an instant, and Marisol is on him like a jaguar on its prey. She bares her teeth and extends her legs, lashing out with the curve of her hooves, aiming for the soft slope where Asterion’s shoulder melds into his neck. She knows well how precious are the tendons there - how much it hurt her, as a youth, to exercise those muscles when they were sore. Sharp enough, focused enough, a blow like that could make it hard to walk.
Even weighed down like she is, Mari’s years of training launch her through the air with less than a moment of hesitation.
She does not even miss using the weight of the spear, yet.
@asterion
Summary: Mari gets doused by Asterion's wave and does not enjoy it even a little bit. She shakes off, then lunges at him, aiming teeth and hooves at his left shoulder to try to disable his left front leg.
If anything she had taken it, as soon as the rift spit him out into Novus, lost at the cusp of a summer storm. It was his before that, always his; from the time he was just a twin heartbeat in his mother’s belly there had been currents of saltwater running through him, a gift from no god, only his father.
So he watches with a satisfaction that feels to him like savagery, so foreign is it within his heart, as the water swallows her up. Still that tide pulls in him, a wolf on a leash, asking for more. Asterion denies it with a thought, but he is almost smiling as she emerges from the strange whirlpool, shakes, looks at him mad enough to spit. So far his plan is still intact; she has not taken flight, they are too near one another for either of them to build up much momentum.
But whatever smile there might have been does not last long.
For an instant he thinks, despite the deluge he has set on her, she might yet take flight. She bounds toward him, rising up, quick and high like a falcon stooping -
and Asterion moves to meet her.
He sees the glint of her teeth gleaming like a shell as they both rise and arc toward one another, twin stars falling into orbit. As she strikes for the point of his shoulder he throws his weight back at her, and now it is his turn to bare his teeth while her hooves rake down the plane of his shoulder. He feels the spray of his own water flung onto him by her movement; it wets his cheeks like tears. Because he was so eager to meet her, his closeness has absorbed some of the impact of her strike before her legs could fully extend; now one hoof slides down his barrel, one strikes against the upper part of his foreleg.
Still Asterion shoves against her, trying to force her down, grinding his teeth against the shallow pains she imparts. It feels a little like wrestling an angel; how lucky he is that she can not smite him.
He is so near her now but he wants to be closer yet; near enough she can hear the ocean roaring in his blood. Before she can pull away, before his hooves touch earth again, he is reaching for her with ears flat and mouth wide. The king is not picky; he does not care whether he lays a bite across her crest or along her throat or beneath the curve of her jaws, only that his teeth meet flesh.
And that she cannot pull away and put the space to her advantage.
Summary: When Mari lunges/rears at him, Asterion rises to meet her; her blow lands on his shoulder but its intensity is lost by his nearness and that he is pushing back against her. While he's in his rear he bites for her (throat or crest or face, depending on how they are positioned). He makes no attempt to put space between them.
The thud that sounds from Mari’s hooves meeting his shoulder is not nearly satisfying enough. There is too little space between them for a fully-formed attack, and even the Commander’s practiced strength cannot quite undermine the laws of physics. She lets out a strangled sound of frustration, something between a groan and a snarl, and leans all her weight into the blow as it scrapes down Asterion’s shoulder-plane and ribs; at least he has not dodged the blow completely. Some part of her is irritated that he is doing so well, but there is no time to dwell on it. Only time to beat him.
In an instant, Mari extricates herself from the close-quarters tangle. Her head goes low to the ground, her body starts to turn away. She pushes off of Asterion’s weight to build momentum and whirls away, narrow hooves stumbling on the packed dirt flaring out a wing to keep her balance; this is wrestling, she thinks, with no small measure of disgust, not fighting.
And oh, she is lucky to have timed it so well. She realizes it just as Asterion’s teeth flash above her, bright like a moon. Ducking has put only enough space between them that the boy-king’s bite pulls at a chunk of her shorn mane and not her face or neck; yanking her back by the hair and nothing else. Mari wrenches her head down with all the strength she can muster and manages to rip away from Asterion’s jaw without losing anything more than a few already-short hairs. But the force she’s used to break out of his grasp sends her stumbling when she is finally released from the prison of his teeth, the momentum carries her too far.
The ground sways underneath her feet. She stumbles, her strides catch traction jerkily, and for a moment she thinks she might hit the ground. But after a few more awkward steps she regains her footing (by her Hand!) and goes loping away to put more space between her and Asterion.
A muted relief washes over her as she tumbles away from him, confidence increasing with each foot that separates them. The fall air is crisp and bright in her lungs as she deepens her breaths, chest heaving now, and it sends a sweet, cool thrill through her too-hot veins. She shakes out the tips of her wings: they’ve started to dry, but not without a faint encrusting of salt, and her usual lightness is slow to find her again. It frustrates her so deeply she feels a buzz in her bones. Without the thing that makes her a Halcyon -
Oh. But that is not all that makes her a Halcyon.
The space between them is widened to a cavern now. Almost the whole of the Steppe is left to cross if Mari wants to reach him from where she is cantering, but she does not need to reach him. Only the stiletto-sharp weapon at her side.
She lengthens her stride until her feet are flying over the hard-packed dirt, muscles coiling and unpacking rapidly; she unfurls her wings, but not to fly. Behind the curtain of dark-and-white feathers, she is able to unstrap the spear while it is almost totally out of Asterion’s sight. She tosses it once in her telekinetic grasp, in a tiny concentric spiral. The weight is a familiar comfort.
Blood pounds in her ears. There is only one chance to do this right, would be only one chance to kill, if she wanted to - but she doesn’t, does she? - no, of course not.
One chance to meet her target, then.
Mari is half-way through her circle around the edge of the steppe. As she reaches the three-quarter mark, she ducks her head, flattens her wings and whips the spear out from behind her. The thing is so familiar it’s like an extra limb to her, oversized and perfectly dangerous, and it takes her but a moment to aim it for Asterion’s flank as she comes to face him just before the forty-five degree mark.
Just a second later, Marisol pulls the spear back and pitches it forward with all the force she can muster, launching it toward him in a savage, perfect arc.
@asterion
Summary: Mari ducks under Asterion's bite, dodging most of it except for a little chunk he pulls out of her mane; she manages to wriggle away but not without some stumbling. She darts away to put some space between them and canters almost a full large circle around Asterion before whipping her spear out from behind her and throwing it at Asterion's flank, hoping to puncture and disable his leg or at least trip him up.
He should have figured she’d be able to twist away from him like a cat, ducking her head out from under him so he wound up with only a mouthful of hair. He is still grateful she is not twenty yards above him, planning a dive at his head; he has still not learned how to defend himself from someone with wings.
Perhaps they could work on that next time.
For now he snorts a breath as his hooves, too, stumble back to the sodden ground, wincing when his injured shoulder is jostled by the contact. Distantly he notes that she is foundering, pitching like a storm-sea ship, and there is a part of him that wants to pursue her even now, still unwilling to give her room for momentum.
But the Commander finds her feet in the early morning sunshine and she is gone and gone, putting a distance between them that it would pain his shoulder to narrow. So Asterion lets her go, keeping his eyes on her, using the time to gulp cool breaths of air and try to spit hair from his mouth.
Now she is only a silhouette of her shape, save for the bright underside of her wings when she opens them. She is still arcing, knitting a circle around them with her hoof-steps; he is still watching her, each muscle taut, his shoulder aching distantly. His heart is somewhere in his throat when he sees the thin shape separate from her, become its own limb, but he is not surprised. She is nearly as inseparable from it as Raymond had been from his tail.
Still it does not prepare him for having a spear hurled at him with killing speed by his own Commander. The sun glints off of it like a silver fish and for a moment he is tempted to only stand, to not move at all, to see what fate would make of him.
By the time it is near enough he can hear the whine of it like a mosquito he has decided differently. Asterion lunges to the side, away from that savage arc, but not quite quickly enough. At first there is no pain but only heat when it rakes a strip of flesh from shoulder and haunch, but when it lands in the dirt with a thud it is burning.
For a long moment he stares at her, gape-mouthed. Then he glances behind him to wear the spear leans in the dirt and then to her again, the cool gleam of her eyes, and wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t moved, and where exactly she had been aiming for. There is anger still churning inside him, a hum similar to the empty space left behind by his magic.
As he feels the blood begin to bead and drip and mingle with saltwater on his hide he still regards her, wondering what to say. He could say You might have killed me. And she would say That is the point. And she would be right.
Instead he offers a shake of his head, a wry little grin. The strip of skin along his side sears like a skinned knee and will require better tending than he alone can give, but it could have been worse.
“We had better buy one another a beer, Commander.” he says instead, at last. “The first is on me.”
Summary: Asterion decides not to pursue Marisol as she circles; he stands his ground, watching. When she launches the spear he dodges only enough to have it skim across his shoulder and haunch (I'm picturing it coming from straight on?)
Marisol does not miss the way he pauses before ducking the needle-sharp head of her spear. Nor does she understand it: even as she slows to watch, eyes widening in what is almost fear, she tries, in her head, to rationalize his lack of response. Does he want to die? Does he not think her aim is tong and true? Does he trust her enough not to kill him, even given the perfect chance? Oh, she hopes it is not that; how wrong he would be; the violent desire to win is engraved her bones as deeply as anything else, and much deeper than her desire to be liked -
But he moves, and despite herself Mari huffs out a breath of relief. Her step slows, and she lets the spear embed itself in the dirt with no more than a watchful eye, carefully attentive to the way it shivers like a plucked string. When Asterion looks at her with that surprised stare, she meets his gaze easily: you will learn to duck faster, says the Commander, utterly matter-of-fact, the more I do that. Finally she comes to a full stop in front of him.
A thin sheen of sweat has broken over her skin. Her heart pounds overly-loud in her chest, and her blood rushes too quickly. But stronger than that is the overwhelming satisfaction of knowing she has held her own, and unintentionally she flashes him a breathless grin, body tingling with exhilaration. The sun has left its hole in the horizon; now it hovers over them and streams down easy, warm light, finally leaching the cold that has lingered in Marisol’s bones since her trip here hours earlier.
A noble offer, she says, and pretends to think about it for a long moment. I accept.
Still almost-grinning, she curls her wing in a brief, joking bow, then turns back toward the edge of the steppe, waiting for Asterion to follow.
How to explain it - the way that everything seemed to make sense when his whole world was condensed to the point of that blade with the morning sun gleaming off of it like a colliding star? Like each heartbeat mattered more when they were finite, like the slow pull of his breath when it might be his last was the only time he was conscious of how marvelous a thing it was to breathe at all?
He should be grateful for that newborn burning pain, calling him back to reality.
But he is more thankful by far for the grin she flashes at him after, and how it lasts longer and sears brighter in him than sunlight off a spear-tip.
All the tension of the fight has fled; he can hear birdsong again, calling down the morning. There is a sheen of sweat over them both and Asterion’s grin matches hers even as blood tickles down his sides. It will itch, when it dries, and so will the wound as it heals - but it is enough that it will heal.
The king follows his Commander from the field, legs stiff and side screaming but with an easy expression on his face and a dawn in his heart, so different from how he had arrived. More whole.
Together they vanish back to Terrastella, leaving the field still shining-wet behind them, incongruous beneath a heartbreak blue sky.
Creativity: originality, imagination, and attention to detail.
Realism: mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your health and attack
Overall writing: creativity, realism, and writing mechanics (spelling, grammar, punctuation, run-on sentences, etc.)
FIRST POST (intro)
A good intro - I like how full it is of setting and character. Although that very last sentence when Marisol greets Asterion reads funny - considering Vespera has hooves, not hands. c;
SECOND POST
Defensive: Maan her response to his magic is so beautiful. I truly appreciate that you wrote in it being hard to breathe - it’s something Id didn’t even consider as an effect of his magic until I read it, and it makes perfect sense. Really enjoyed this part of the post.
Offensive: I like that you followed through with the ending of Asterion’s post (them being so close) and really used it to Marisol’s advantage still! It may just be a lunge at him, but I like how well it flows from Asterion’s post and how well you dressed it up with emotion.
Mechanics: A bit choppy in the beginning - “She loves Vespera she knows how to love anything”, “a stone’s throw [away]”, “digs in her hooves into”, etc. a little choppy throughout but it definitely picks up about midway through. I’m not going to really dig into the mechanics of either of your posts, your’s was a bit choppy but overall a pleasant read, aside from a few distracting errors as mentioned. c:
Notes: Oh Marisol, it’s always such a pleasure to read her in her fighting element. Really enjoying her in this spar so far, these two play off each other’s energy very well.
THIRD POST
Defensive: I feel like this dodge would be a little hard to pull off - since they’re literally entangled and both rearing up at each other. They’re in such close quarters I can’t imagine Marisol getting away from his bite cleanly, especially since she’s actively leaning into the attack! It seems a bit strange that she’d go from dropping her weight on him to free in an instant; that being said, I like that she pushes off of Asterion to give herself more momentum to escape. c:
Offensive: Ahh I love that she managed to get enough distance between them to use her spar! It’s oddly poetic that she thwarts Asterion’s attempts to corner her in, so I liked this a lot. c: Her questioning herself and her intent to kill or not was also fun to read, but I love where you’re going with the attack! It has me on the edge of my seat, waiting to see the outcome of it in the next post haha.
Mechanics: A bit of a run-on sentence in the second paragraph, and I feel as if the third paragraph doesn’t flow so well? You describe her escape in the paragraph before, but then seem to go back and describe it again in a second manner, it threw me off to be honest! Otherwise again a really smooth read, and I can’t pick much else apart!
Notes: The “wrestling not fighting” comment made me smile, because this is what a true horse fight often looks like - however, I appreciate it because Marisol is a tactician and a soldier, and definitely more the “strike fast and true” sort of gal. c; Although I feel like Marisol stumbled a lot in this post, which I would not expect from a seasoned fighter like herself.
FINAL POST (exit)
Marisol, Marisol, you can’t throw a spear with deadly intent and then be amazed at the result, or relieved that it wasn’t a deadly result haha. This post had a few typos in the beginning, and I’m surprised she doesn’t keep her anger and disappointment from her intro post, but overall a really nice closer!
Creativity: originality, imagination, and attention to detail.
Realism: mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your health and attack
Overall writing: creativity, realism, and writing mechanics (spelling, grammar, punctuation, run-on sentences, etc.)
FIRST POST
Defensive: N/A.
Offensive: This magic use is really intriguing, and I appreciate you taking the time to describe the magic before he even uses it to attack. That being said, this was much more a tactical move than a harmful attack, and I really appreciate the creativity in doing so. Asterion is bringing his best today while staying true to his nature, as far as I can see.
Mechanics: I’m not going to pick apart the mechanics themselves, because at the end of the day this post flowed very clearly and painted a very nice picture to me of what Asterion is feeling and doing. A smooth read overall
Notes: I’m actually surprised by how much you skipped right ahead to him arriving - Marisol’s post was so full of setting, I really appreciate that instead of re-describing it you moved forward from her post, it really reads like a cohesive story and ties the beginning of this battle together!
SECOND POST
Defensive: No true dodge used, that being said I’d like to see a little more of a response to her attack.
Offensive: Almost like a real horse fight?? I can see this playing out in my head so well, the realism factor is definitely here and I appreciate it entirely. Also the consistency between your two posts is refreshing, in that he keeps trying to keep her close to him.
Mechanics: You switch tenses a few times, which makes some transitions between sentences a bit hard to follow. Otherwise still a smooth read!
Notes: I cannot recall if I’ve seen a fight quite like this one before; most people would duck or dodge or something to that effect, but I love that Asterion is rising to meet her and still trying to prove her otherwise.
THIRD POST
Defensive: I’m not sure he’d have much time to consider it and think through a dodge - that being said, I appreciate that you didn’t go crazy and turn it into a complete miss! His shock is perfect, and his response/reaction to the strike feels appropriate.
Offensive: I know you didn’t have any attacks left without buying one, but I definitely appreciated hearing Asterion’s reasoning on why he chose to not pursue her.
Mechanics: Again flows very smoothly from Marisol’s, so reading it is like reading a cohesive unit. A few typos (“To wear (where) the spear leans”) and long sentences that felt rushed, it made me miss the consistency of your first two posts a bit.
Notes: Asterion’s commentary is everything. That is all. <3
FINAL POST (exit)
I feel like this post was a bit empty - colored up with nice imagery, but otherwise just a flat close, like the spar built up and up and then ended far too happy haha. That being said, all the rest of this thread has been one of my favorite battles to date, and I thank you for an excellent read!
Closing Remarks: Like said above, this has been one of my favorite battles. Marisol and Asterion play off of each other’s energy so well - I’ve got to know if there’s a follow up to this thread?? Because I absolutely need to read more of them.
Proof of dice roll found here and in the official Novus Discord #Contests channel on 07/11/19 @ 7:14PM EST.
@Marisol wins.
All damage taken in the thread is still applicable and cannot be retconned!
Participate in a Battle or Challenge: +1 EXP to Marisol, +1 EXP to Asterion
Win a Battle: +1 additional EXP to Marisol
Total: +2 EXP to Marisol, +1 EXP to Asterion
Marisol's and Asterion's official experience has been updated to reflect these changes, so there's no need to post in the Experience Updates thread!
In addition each character has been awarded +200 signos, for how long this battle took to judge. We sincerely apologize and hope to do better in the future! Thank you both for you patience. <3
![[Image: ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda...jvUop12efQ]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/c175b84a-409b-40aa-8b86-49ed65b989ee/ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda550e.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2MxNzViODRhLTQwOWItNDBhYS04Yjg2LTQ5ZWQ2NWI5ODllZVwvZGRnNnF1eS05ZDE1ZGFiNS0zMzljLTRiMDktOGI1Ny0yMGE5OWZkYTU1MGUucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.j-t9RuUsmMyaVL-O1rvZqbyyPYdOvtjHLjvUop12efQ)
