Battle Type: Battle Prize: Bragging rights and CONFIDENCE
Character #1:Seraphina Bonded: N/A Magic: N/A Armor: N/A Weapons: N/A
Character #2:Ammon Bonded: N/A Magic: N/A Armor: N/A Weapons: N/A
You do not fear me as I should be feared
He had grown no closer to obtaining a purpose than he had in the time since his arrival, wandering aimless adrift a sea of uncertainty and uselessness. He was a bird stripped of it's flight feathers, a snake of it's fangs, and all too easy prey for the cruel talons of his own thoughts and despair. Oh, he had his thirst for vengeance, this was true, but the daunting task of slaking that desire was insurmountable, impossible for him to achieve in his current state of solitary existence. He would need allies, would need eyes and ears to serve him for he could not be everywhere and anywhere, and with his magic gone from him either by divine sorcery or simply a side effect of his curse... Ammon was just a stallion. While this served him well enough as being an easy to forget face, a simple man, it chafed and gnawed at him, his lack of power and ability.
However, the black stag was a clever fellow, his current situation simply one he would grow and adapt to, and eventually evolve beyond. Of this fact he was certain, his belief in himself shaken by his own traitorous flaws, but he trusted in the wit of his sharp mind and his intuition to guide him well. Himself was the only one he could trust, after all, that he had learned so clearly so long ago.
With that settled within him, Ammon traversed the Steppes with intent, a rare humor sparking within his breast. Although he had come to the acceptance that his mind would never fail him even as his sovereign, magic, and gods had, there still burned within him that flame for vengeance, that rage that pulsed through his veins and drove his dreams to bloodshed and triumph. He yearned to scream his wrath to the heavens, to drive forth the spawn of his foe from the earth with whips and chains, to revel in their misery and despair all to appease the vengeance boiling in his heart. He would see the world burn for the wrongs that were wrought upon him. He whipped himself into a fury, until his hooves hit the ground with force and haunting eyes rolled in his head, searching with red-hued vision for an outlet. His rage screamed through him, demanding to be let free, but he bit it back and wrestled a measure of control. Never had he lost his head in battle, and he would not let this be the first time rage overtook him. With care he moved through the Steppe, passing over patches of battle-torn dirt in search of the place he would make a stand, to have his rage answered or to meditate in his solitude.
He did not stop until he found a section of trampled-down grasses and bared, rocky soil, riddled with gopher-holes and crevices worn by drought and baked hard by heat. He tested the earth once, twice, pawing it with his hoof until he was certain of it's firmness, of the grass slick with it's own juices from broken stems. It was treacherous footing that all would consider a wretched place to fight in... and that was why he chose it. Perhaps the land would bite back against him, yet if even he whom studied the locations of the holes swiftly and thoroughly was able to be unsettled... he could all but taste the cries of the one whom charged in after him only to meet their doom by the land's own hand. His mind felt calm despite the brimming anticipation that made the skin on his spine twitch and quiver, that made nostrils flare to expose red flesh and teeth champ behind bared lips.
Swiftly the black anger of his vengeful desire burned like liquid fire up his throat, building and bubbling until he could bear it no more, and his scream rent the air. It was the stallion-squeal of defiance and challenge, of anger and it bore to mind the clashing of bodies and the lashing of hooves. It demanded blood and fury to match, and the black stallion paced the stony space he had chosen, awaiting a call that would answer his own.
You do not know the first note of the music that moves me
Summary: Ammon has a hissy fit and decides he wants to vent, so he finds a place in the Steppe to set up a battle. The ground is hard and dry by the summer heat, the grass trampled down flat and the earth riddled with gopher holes. He quickly checks where the holes are before screaming like a banshee rather than calling out like a normal sentient horse.
Frustration pricked like a swarm of fire ants beneath the surface of the Emissary’s skin; it felt like a thousand little bites at once, as though all the emotions that she kept so carefully repressed were trying to gnaw their way out of her. Whether she liked it or not, the prelude to war seemed to follow in her steps like a hungry dog or to hang like a thick cloud of fog above her head, preventing her from seeing anything else. Seraphina liked to think of conflict as an inevitable product of civilization, but the conflict that kept her so preoccupied lately was one that could have been avoided by simple inaction. What had been done could not be undone, and now she – or they, but this failure stung her more than the she imagined it did the rest of the court, because it was her responsibility – was left to flounder in the aftermath, as out of her depth as she had been while drowning in the cold, black water of the maze. She’d failed then, too, and much as she wanted to hope she’d learned something from the experience, it left her feeling numb as anything else. Whatever the ghostly man she’d encountered in the maze meant to teach her had been lost on her, if he meant to teach her anything at all. Seraphina could only recall stumbling back in darkness, relying on the ghostly illumination of starlight to guide her steps as she hoped that the beast that had pursued her would not return to hunt her down again. Now she was stumbling her way home in another kind of darkness, trying to fumble her way free of her own foolishness and emptiness before it caught around her throat like a noose. Maybe it was this desire for clarity that sent her tracing familiar paths to the Steppe, returning to the warlike ways of her adolescence, to the blood and broken bones that had made her Seraphina.
Midday heat throbbed against her shoulders, but, when compared to the deserts of Solterra, the sticky humidity was pleasant. She picked her way across the hole-pocked turf carefully. The landscape had changed, of course, since she was last here, courtesy of the little creatures that burrowed beneath the surface and those that battled above it, tearing up the grass and leaving the ground upturned and near-barren. (This all reminded her again of the maze, and her little prairie dog companion – she hoped that it was alright, then chided herself for her sentimentality.) It was a manic scream from the far side of the Steppe that sent her in search of her quarry, a hint of morbid anticipation in her step. The sound could not come from the lips of a creature in its right mind, and that knowledge nearly gave her pause. However, she’d caught sight of no other partner while wandering, and she had never felt genuine fear in a fight before anyways. The worst that she could encounter was the pale face of death, and Seraphina, a creature who saw life as something that simply was, rather than something of value, had no reason to fear the end. It would always find her eventually.
The source of the unearthly wail was a beast of a stallion, though barely larger than her in stature; rather than a creature of lank and length, he was muscular and warlike, much like her save for the elegance with which he held himself, a stark contrast to the mare’s stiff, nearly mechanical posture. (She was more fluid in combat, of course, but Seraphina always maintained the illusion of restraint.) The one aspect of his anatomy that was enough to give her pause was the intimidating set of antlers that sprouted from his skull, ink-black but laced with fragments of sunlight; those would be dangerous, as she suspected they were more than capable of ripping her flesh to ribbons given the opportunity. More dangerous even than his antlers was the anger that seemed to radiate from him like heat from desert sands. She watched him warily as she approached and called out from across their uneven battleground, though it was little more than a gesture of customary acknowledgement. “It seems something ails you, stranger,” Her voice was cool and crisp, despite the clear threat that the man presented. But it doesn’t matter. Ears pinned back, and eyes narrowed to sharp, serpentine slits. “Perhaps this will help.” Solis guide my steps.
She was in motion almost as soon as the words passed her lips, teeth bared in a vicious mockery of some predatory animal. Seraphina wrenched the ground from its place beneath her hooves, sending up a spray of dust and chunks of turf in her wake. She was forced to charge him, and she knew that he could see her coming; the holes that riddled the ground only slowed her, and there had been some distance between them when she approached, anyways. She needed, then, to be deceptive in her attack. Her thoughts, then, shifted to the chief source of her irritation, and she found herself left with an idea. As she neared the stallion, teeth still bared in a snarl, she seemed to trip over the uneven ground and lose her balance, legs buckling and lurching to bridge the last few steps between them. However, as soon as she judged the distance between them short enough to bridge with relative ease, Seraphina snapped up onto her hindquarters and pawed with no particular aim at his scalpula and sternum, sharp hooves aiming to tear at his flesh and bruise the bone and muscle beneath.
Summary: Seraphina shows up ready to fight Ammon, even though he's being kinda scary. She charges him, feints and pretends to trip as she approaches, then rears up and tries to hit him in the chest with her hooves. Also, some thematic music or something.
Response Deadline: October 2nd Tags: @Ammon, @kay, @inkbone, AND @Sid
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
His cry rang in the silence of the steppe, the notes and song of challenge fading into the wind like vapor before the early morning sun. There was no taste of fear on his tongue as he pawed the earth, there was only the ringing of vengeance like a demon in his ear and the pulse of battle surging through his veins. He had withered in his sleep, lost the precious muscle he had once held for granted, a spy made warrior by sheer virtue of his assignment, for although he had entered that long-forgotten military a spy, he had left it as much a soldier as any other that he had stood with upon the battlefield. He had shed blood and rent flesh, and although he had lost most of his honed mass, so lingered the memory of battles long past. He did not reign in his wrath but neither did he let it roam rampant through his being, he burned it like fuel for his body, energy coursing through his veins until every breath heaved with tension, the red of his nostrils flaring like fresh blood.
Then, lo, his rival had come.
He cared not for her appearance, for her lack of horn or wing. He cared not she bore no weapon. He cared that she had answered his call, that the clever girl had taken the high ground, that what he wanted- no, what he needed was soon to be upon him. Eyes of wrath, glazed like a corpse dragged back to life, rolled to regard her with searing intensity, his ebony body held still and languid, the tension of a hunter who has been spotted, who debates whether to spring to action or wait once more. Her words sang through the air, although he did not answer her in kind, merely flashed a feral grin of white teeth as she charged towards him. Weight shifted, rolling as the stag leaned back onto his hips. Muscles quivered, breath drew tight, heart pounding with every thunderous roar of her hooves.
And then... she tripped.
It was just a feint, but the comical appearance of it is enough to jerk his head high, a derisive huff of air from his nostrils, and he twitched into action as she set upon him. That weight he had prepared to meet her charge with became hindrance, and he clumsily flung himself to the side, sacrificing the position he had chosen. A squeal of pain tore from him as twin trails of fire lashed his barrel rather than his chest, red blood flashing beautifully, bright against dark skin, the first blood was her triumph. The rage pulsed at this, threatening to take command, but the raven knew better as his razor-edged mind swiftly turned, the half-breath of span between the impact of her hooves and his body pulling away enough time for him to create a plan. Swiftly he half-reared, shoulder low and haunches coiled, ears flat and crown of antlers ripping into the sky, but he did not lash her descent with hoof or tooth. They were of equal stature, or close enough, but their mass was by no means the same, and it was this he tried to slam her with, a shoulder-borne collision aiming to shove her to the side, to throw her balance and misplace her steps on the treacherous terrain. Pain fueled his fury, driving him to snap his teeth into the air in nothing more than an intimidation, to try and make her heart falter and resolve weaken and hopefully fall into his clever scheme.
He held his literal ace in the holes that scattered the steppe, the holes he had swiftly placed in the map of his mind. She had done no such thing, and he held this advantage tight with bated breath borne between clenched teeth, a small patch of the wicked dangers in the direction he aimed to shove her in. There would be no mercy from the black stallion, those ghoulish eyes bore no kindness and no emotion but anger, and the bared snarl he flashed her demanded her flesh to grind between his teeth. Ammon wore the visage of Hell's angel with ease, and within the depths of his mind he could only wonder if this poor girl knew what she played with.
You do not know the first note of the music that moves me
Summary: Ammon falls for her feint, and rather than meeting her charge with antlers and a thrust as he had intended, he's forced to flinch to the side, her hooves opening up two moderate gashes on his side. Seeing her less-stocky build, he rears a bit and tries to shove his side and shoulder against her, hoping to drive her off-balance and into a patch of gopher-holes, like an asshole. He also bites the air once, hoping the 'insane' gesture is enough to spook her, and make his manipulation of her position easier. Have i mentioned he's an asshole?
Though her attack strays from its intended target, she felt a rush of satisfaction as her hooves assailed the stallion’s sides, staining the inky black of his coat bright red. It wasn’t a satisfaction derived from bloodlust or a desire to make him suffer, because Seraphina couldn’t care less about either. The feeling was baser than that, a sort of survival instinct spurred by adrenaline and experience. It didn’t take him long to recover from her assault, however, and he was soon barreling towards her, ramming his shoulder into her own. Although the stallion wasn’t much taller than her, Seraphina was considerably slimmer in spite of her musculature, built for endurance and speed rather than brute force and bulk. She recognized his intentions a split second before he made contact and, grimacing, tried to brace herself because she’d been left with neither the space nor the time to dodge him. He hit her straight-on, and, despite her best efforts to the contrary, Seraphina found herself thrown back by his superior mass.
As she lurched back into the pocked soil, she tried – and failed – to keep her balance, blindly struggling to avoid the holes. She felt her right hindquarter falter, and stumbled back several steps, a burning pain spreading the length of the leg. Her expression was impossible to discern, but, as she struggled to regain her balance, Seraphina shifted her weight to her other legs. From experience, she judged that she had torn a ligament; she’d gotten off relatively lightly, considering that a misstep on such uneven ground could break a bone and leave her permanently maimed, but it would take time to heal. This left her strapped with an unfortunate stipulation for the remainder of this spar, if she didn’t want to irritate the injury further. He continued to try to drive her backwards, resorting to snapping at the air just in front of her face, but Seraphina did not flinch away from his jaws. She didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t even blink.
Was he fool enough to think that she would fear him?
Seraphina snapped back at him without missing a beat, lips curled back over teeth bared into a wolfish snarl. She had seen the face of death time and time again as a girl thrown out onto the battlefield, all her childish innocence be damned. Despite his demonic visage, despite the injury on her leg, Seraphina felt neither fear nor pain; she was a weapon, and not even a broken weapon felt anything at all. She was lighter, less intimidating, and forced into the worse position by far, but Seraphina had been trained to fight as though she were suicidal, with no concern to whether she lived or died – she fought to win, even if it left her body cold in the end. What did one more dead body matter when battles were fought upon hundreds upon thousands, hulking mountains of corpses with ghostly pale eyes piled up in heaps of torn flesh and broken bones because their fellows hadn’t the time to bury them? A small dash of silver, frail and youthful enough to evoke a pang of sympathy from the soldiers that hadn’t yet found themselves young, wouldn’t matter a thing at all once the moment was past. She was no longer a warrior or in a war, but the war wouldn’t leave her behind so easily, even as it became her business to navigate the difficult, tangled bonds of peace. Even that was just another war to fight; the soldiers were just armed with another kind of weapon.
There was nothing in her expression but perfect, collected calm as she lunged forward amidst his shoving and heaving, forcing all her weight to her front legs; she attempted to slip them among his own and, jerking, to trip him, if only to give her enough time and space to retreat to more stable footing. All the while, she thrust her head forward to snap viciously at his throat, trying to grab any skin that was within her reach as more of a distraction than anything. Seraphina was throwing pebbles at the metaphorical giant, and she knew it, but if she was lucky it would hold his attention while she tried to displace him.
If not, she would fall back again, surprisingly lithe through the agonizing, throbbing pain in her leg. Acknowledging it made the skin around her collar burn, so she swallowed it down; so long as she ignored it, the hurt didn’t exist.
Summary: Seraphina is pleased that she gets a hit in. (It doesn’t last.) Ammon rams her straight-on, and she ends up getting pushed back into the gopher holes & stumbles, tearing a ligament in her right hind leg. She snaps back at Ammon because she’s not impressed by his attempts to intimidate her, then attempts to lunge forward and knock his front legs out from beneath him so that she can get away from him, snapping at his neck wildly to try to distract him all the while.
Response Deadline: October 5th Tags: @Ammon, @kay, @inkbone, AND @Sid
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
STAFF NOTICE: Tribs (Ammon) has a posted absence from 10/02 to ????
This battle's deadline has been extended for a maximum of two weeks or until @Tribs returns from her absence - whichever comes first.
Once the absence is over, Tribs has three full days from the absence's end date to post Ammon's battle reply.
If no reply is posted by that time, or by 10/20/17 at the latest, the deadline will have been surpassed and the battle will default to @Seraphina.
That thunderous sound of flesh hitting flesh, of colossal bodies slamming together like boulders, the jarring impact forcing him to grit his teeth as the pain of his shorn barrel heightened to agony with the sheer force of their collision... it was... lacking. Gone was the thrill of it, even within his analytical mind there was nothing but the blur of movement and the whirlwind of ideas thought and then discarded before even half a heartbeat could pass. There was no surge of triumph as he shoved her back, back into that most treacherous ground. No feeling of bared-teeth satisfaction as her leg buckled beneath her and her weight unbalanced. Oh but how he faked it, his teeth flashing white against the blackness of his grin, those ghastly eyes rolling as he shoved his weight against her, feeling and hearing the snap of her jaws as she viciously bites back towards his neck.
Yet for all his visage of a man enjoying the clashing of blood and fury... Ammon felt nothing within. Gone was the earnest joy he had once felt, gone was the anticipation that quivered his flesh and made his knees tremble, gone was the man that had stood beside him and made such emotions grow like flowers beneath a bright sun. Gone was the source of his light, and gone was the thrill of battle. So when she lunged to him, her legs trying to hook under his, although he jerked his legs free before she could yank them out with a furious snort... his intent was gone from the battle, that black rage of vengeance burning in his breast dimming, until he was left feeling hollow, devoid once more of anything. He cared not even when teeth found purchase in the thick arch of his neck, ripping and bruising dark skin to draw a pained squeal from the black stag. He allowed himself to pull away with little more than a twist of his head to try lash those tines gracing his skull across whatever flesh of hers he could reach, even as she sprang back supple and swift. His eyes focused sharply on her, noting the tenderness to which she held her leg, how easy it would be to harry her until that limb became impossible to use, until she fell to the earth at his mercy. Had he truly wished for her pain, suffering and death... he held still the highest advantages, though he made no move to follow her and initiate further conflict.
He stood there, a blood-soiled stallion carved of onyx and gilded with gold, nostrils flared as his sides heaved with exertion, that refined head low with his intricate rack presented to her, waiting with bated breath for any further violence. When it did not come, he visibly settled, tense and coiled muscles easing, his breath slowing until it reached a more average pace. He recognized both her lameness and her skill, even if his recognition was unseen, his visage seemingly calming down from the anger that had driven him through the flurry of their battle. For a time he breathed, allowing his false emotions to cool before the black stag raised his head, those eyes focusing on the mare with emptiness, though the corners of his eyes wrinkled in the faintest sign of amusement. "Truce?" He had come to quench the black flame of anger within his breast, at least for a time, but now... he regretted it.
All he was left with was emptiness, pulsating wounds dripping his blood down his flesh, and the bitter memory of what he had once enjoyed now like ash upon his tongue.
You do not know the first note of the music that moves me
Summary: Ammon realizes he doesn't exactly enjoy this as much as he used to, but he fakes it p damn well for a time and avoids Seraphina's legs trying to knock him off balance, but her teeth do grab his neck, tearing and bruising the skin. He twists his head, trying to rake his antlers half-assedly across her as she pulls back, then p much chills the hell out bc the fight is done (i think?)
The skin around Seraphina’s throat burned, but not in the manner she might have expected. The constant lash of sunlight and heat was so normal as to be almost unnoticeable under Solterran skies, but the burning around her collar felt more like the lick of flames against her skin. She recognized the sensation, long as it had been since she’d felt it – she didn’t think that she would ever become used to the way Viceroy’s powers seemed to linger, a phantom pain that she thought that she’d never truly be rid of. This was an ache that she was accustomed to, however, and it distracted her from the comparatively minor throbbing in her leg. Some aches were temporary, she had learned, but some of them haunted you like ghosts.
This was a temporary one, she told herself, but only if she fought like hell, because this man wanted to hurt her.
Perhaps it was because she’d become unaccustomed to the pure violence and ruthless brutality of war that her leg was currently twisted beneath her, but now she felt like she’d been drenched in cold water. One thought crystallized in her mind: she had to finish this before he maimed her. The notion of death didn’t matter to Seraphina at all, but, without her leg, she’d be ineffectual, and that was far worse. Though he danced out of the way of her legs, she felt her teeth close on the thick flesh of his neck. A choking rush of sticky red clotted in her throat, dripping down her jaws in thin streams of oozing heat. He jerked away, exhaling another shriek of pain, then lunged towards her with his massive, knife-sharp antlers. Labored by her injured limb, she was unable to completely evade his slash, but Seraphina managed to use the distance she had already put between them to dance away from the blunt of it, receiving little more than a series of shallow, stinging gashes along her shoulder.
He paused, then, a bloody visage a more romantic creature might have compared to death; Seraphina, however, only saw a man. The stallion seemed to wait for her to attack, head lowered and rack of antlers bared, but she was not fool enough to prolong the fight, considering the injuries that she had already obtained. He seemed to shrink as the rage left him, dissipated like bits of dust caught in a strong wind. For just a moment, Seraphina found herself reminded of Viceroy, staring into the void, empty eyes of the black stallion. (He lay in a heap of feathers and half-dried blood on the cold, rough sandstone floor of the keep, hissing with pain as he did up his own stitches. She offered to help, in her childish naivete, but he screamed, and she ran – down the halls, through the gateways, out into the cold, desaturated night of the Mors. He didn’t come after her, for once, and she didn’t come back for a week. She almost didn’t come back at all, but Seraphina didn’t know where else to run.) His expression shifted, and she saw a ghost of what she pinpointed as amusement flicker across his feature. He proceeded to offer a truce.
She replied with a dip of her charcoal head. “Truce.” Her voice comes out cold as steel, void of any hint of pain or exhaust, evident as they might be in her posture by looking at her. As he made his way away from her, Seraphina gazed up at the crystal-clear blue of the sky, and mentally recites a prayer to Solis – one of the older ones, discovered after days of delving through manuscripts in the library. “Gir-tha ziha,” She whispered, a waver finding its way into her tone. I have survived.
As she began to turn back towards Solterra, Seraphina was struck with a sudden notion and turned to look back at the retreating silhouette of the stallion. His skill was obvious, and Solterra always had a need for skilled warriors. With that in mind, she decided to follow him, heat bearing down on the gashes that marred her silver coat, metallic with sweat – the blood was already beginning to crust.
Solis willing, she would return home with more than bruises and scrapes.
Summary: Seraphina bites Ammon; he grazes her in the shoulder when he lashes at her with his antlers but doesn't do too much damage because she gets out of the way of the blunt of his attack. He stops, and she realizes it's stupid to keep fighting him, especially considering that her leg is injured. Aaaaaand, then she decides to follow him and attempt to recruit him for Solterra, because, you know. He's capable.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
26/30 -- Based on creativity of your offense (originality, imagination, and attention to detail).
1st post: Introductary post, and not judged. No offense or defense in this post, per the standard. Does not count against score.
2nd post: I like how he took a less 'standard' approach and tried to play dirty and be the asshole. It makes sense, especially given the bloodlust he entered into the arena with.
3rd post: You could feel the realization when reading this post; it was relieving, because otherwise (like Ammon said), it would have been fairly easy to wear Seraphina down to the point of no return. At the same time, sad!
20/25 -- Based on realism of your offense (mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your Health and Attack)
1st post: Introductary post, and not judged. No offense or defense in this post, per the standard. Does not count against score.
2nd post: It's realistic - given that she made him fall for her trip, it certainly makes sense he'd try and be an asshole back ;)
3rd post: The shift in personality, intentions, and enthusiam was really palpable. Your post was worded beautifully, and it almost made me pity the bastard.
Blocks 24/30
11/15 -- Based on creativity of your defense (originality, imagination, and attention to detail)
1st post: Introductary post, and not judged. No offense or defense in this post, per the standard. Does not count against score.
2nd post: While a full on block wasn't used, there was a partial block - in that Ammon altered his stance so that the attack did not land as Seraphina had originally intended.
3rd post: I, honestly, would have been shocked if he did not dodge her attempts at pulling his legs out from under him.
13/15 -- Based on realism of your defense (mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your Health and Attack)
1st post: Introductary post, and not judged. No offense or defense in this post, per the standard. Does not count against score.
2nd post: Ammon's knee-jerk reaction was very nice, and refreshing to see. You don't see a lot of characters get taken off guard during battles!
3rd post: Given their proximity, seeing him prioritize which part of Seraphina's attack was more important to dodge was good. Being on the ground, in a vulnerable position, would be much less beneficial than taking a bite to the nape of his neck.
Writing Metrics 11/15
5/5 -- Based on overall writing creativity (originality, imagination, and attention to detail)
1st post: Bringing such raw emotion into a battle leads well, not only to Ammon himself (since adrenaline will already be pumping), but it also is very different than most other battle posts we've seen!
2nd post: There was a lot of detail in this post - particularly in his intricate (yet fly by the seat of your pants) plan to have Seraphina topple into the gopher hole.
3rd post: There was a lot of raw emotion in this post, and like I said before... it almost made me feel bad for the poor bastard! Hopefully he'll be able to regain that enjoyment in the future.. although idk how that'll go for poor Ammon.
4/5 -- Based on overall realism (physical mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your Health, Attack, Magic Level, and Bonded)
1st post: Extra points for making Ammon ultra aware of his surroundings, and the gopher holes that pepper the steppe!
2nd post: Overall, very realistic - and I liked how it seemed he was running off of pure adrenaline, that also seemed to affect his thought process.
3rd post: How realistically Ammon's duality was portrayed was done very good!
2/5 -- Based on writing metrics (spelling, grammar, punctuation, run-on sentences, etc)
1st post: Overall very good sentence structure and grammar. There were a few sentences that read a little odd, but nothing that wasn't easily figured out.
2nd post: Quite a few compounded sentences that could have done better with being split up, although that's simply for easier reading.
3rd post: Very good, with very few mistakes at all!
26/30 -- Based on creativity of your offense (originality, imagination, and attention to detail).
1st post: I thought the trip fake-out was a lovely idea on yours part, and I was pleased to see Ammon fall for it!
2nd post: With how aggressive Ammon has been, I question if Seraphina trying to tangle her legs with Ammon's to knock him off balance will work in her favor, or directly against her..
3rd post: No offense in this post, because all attacks have been used. Does not count against score.
23/25 -- Based on realism of your offense (mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your Health and Attack)
1st post: The description of her trip/lurch forward was very smoothly done, and worded in such a way that it made very good sense.
2nd post: Her personality shone through this attack, what with Ammon's attempt at intimidation falling upon deaf ears. Like I said, it makes this battle seem personal in all the best ways.
3rd post: No offense in this post, because all attacks have been used. Does not count against score.
Blocks 24/30
10/15 -- Based on creativity of your defense (originality, imagination, and attention to detail)
1st post: No defense in this post, per the standard. Does not count against score.
2nd post: I liked how she did at least try and brace herself for the impact she knew was coming, even though she knew it would do little to no good.
3rd post: A very realistic and smart choice for Seraphina to mentally realize that continuing to fight him would be a stupid idea.
14/15 -- Based on realism of your defense (mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your Health and Attack)
1st post: No defense in this post, per the standard. Does not count against score.
2nd post: There was really no way out of this, so I'm glad to see she took this hit - somehow escaping it would have garnered negative points for definitely not being realistic. It was also nice to see how you threw in exactly how aware Seraphina was of the weight/etc difference between her and Ammon. Torn ligaments is not usually an injury we see in most battles, so it was a breath of fresh air (however terrible for Seraphina it is)!
3rd post: I definitely don't think that this is her 'giving up' - moreso, just as Ammon put it, this is a truce.
Writing Metrics 13/15
5/5 -- Based on overall writing creativity (originality, imagination, and attention to detail)
1st post: I really enjoyed seeing her feign concern when she initially approached him, and then immediately lurch into what one could consider an animalistic urge. A side of Seraphina that I don't get to read about often, but enjoy!
2nd post: This post was really lovely to read! It was very poetic in many ways, and had a lot more content than just the standard we usually see with heated battles like this.
3rd post: Love the way this post ended. All the plots!
5/5 -- Based on overall realism (physical mechanics and whether you accurately reflect your Health, Attack, Magic Level, and Bonded)
1st post: While not a standard approach, it's very realistic for most animals to try and fake out opponents before they actually go head to head, so this was nice to see.
2nd post: Her personality really shown through in this particular battle post, and it gave this whole battle a very personal feel.
3rd post: Seeing her physical hurt so palpable and apparent was a nice end touch!
3/5 -- Based on writing metrics (spelling, grammar, punctuation, run-on sentences, etc)
1st post: Fairly good! There were a few sentences near the end that could stand to have been separated into multiple sentences, for ease of reading.
2nd post: There was maybe one or two sentences that were compounded a little oddly, but nothing too bad!
3rd post: Very few, if any, mistakes.
the novus crew
the someday crew
12-07-2017, 11:51 PM - This post was last modified: 12-07-2017, 11:51 PM by inkbone
All damage taken in the thread is still applicable and cannot be retconned!
AMMON
Participate in a Battle or Challenge: +1 EXP TOTAL: +1 EXP
SERAPHINA
Participate in a Battle or Challenge: +1 EXP
Win a Battle: +1 additional EXP
Win a Battle: +25 Signos TOTAL: +2 EXP, +25 Signos
SERAPHINA IS NOW ELIGIBLE FOR HER 25 EXP MILESTONE. @Jeanne, please head over to this thread to post your reward redemption form!
Both character’s official experience (and signos) has been updated to reflect these changes, so there's no need to post in the Experience Updates or Signos Redemption threads! This thread is now locked and been archived.
the novus crew
the someday crew
12-08-2017, 12:04 AM - This post was last modified: 12-08-2017, 12:25 AM by inkbone
In addition to the above rewards, I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to both @Jeanne and @Tribs - from myself, and the rest of the staff. How long this battle took to judge was 100% unacceptable on our part, and I feel horrible because of it :(
I know this in no way excuses our missteps (and I want to be as transparent as possible with this) but both Jeanne and Tribs have been given an additional 300 signos each due to the circumstances surrounding this. Once again.. I'm terribly sorry, and I hope that you can find it within your hearts to forgive us for this.
Staff are working on doing better in the future in regards to this.
I will be going back through all the past battles and giving signos to all those affected by our turnaround times for judgements.
If you have any questions, please feel free to PM me directly or message me on Discord.
For anyone interested, we have put up applications for battle mods to help alleviate some of the work from our shoulders.
We hope this will not only assist staff, but also provide an opportunity to our members who more than deserve it <3
the novus crew
the someday crew
12-08-2017, 12:09 AM - This post was last modified: 12-08-2017, 12:22 AM by inkbone
