Fight Type: Battle Prize: Winner gets to be Warden Contact Made: Yes
Character #1: @August Bonded: NA Magic: NA Armor: NA Weapons: A sword, but not using it. Current Health: 16 Current Attack: 24 Current Experience: 32
Character #2: @Aspara Bonded: A wraithwolf Magic: Yes - vexillum level psychometry Armor: NA Weapons: NA Current Health: 18 Current Attack: 22 Current Experience: 40
august
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« “Remember, pain is not a test. Knowledge is not enough.” »
I
t reminds him, a little, of the old days.
Waking when dawn is just a suggestion at the horizon, braiding back his hair in the semidark. For most of his life, he’d go for a run this time of day, ending at the marketplace to buy bread from Talon and take it back to the Scarab. Then he would train with Aghavni, then go over the days’ duties with Charon -
He’s missed the routine.
Today, of course, is not quite like those days, and there is a flutter of nerves in his stomach, a tension in his shoulders, as he buckles on his sword and goes to the palace.
He’s grateful it’s early, so there is not much of a crowd. Of course there are still some curious to see the kingdom’s princess battle - well, whoever they think he is - but August has eyes for none of them; he only bends his muzzle to his knee in a bow to Morr, then straightens to face his opponent.
Oh, and that makes him feel old - the shine of her eyes, the youth of her body, the point of her horn, it all reminds him of training with another unicorn, years ago, when they were both only children with all the arrogance and determination that came with it.
August nods at Aspara, a faint smile on his face, and unbuckles his sword before carefully placing it to the side (maybe it was silly to bring it at all, but he believes there is a certain decorum to such things, and knows the importance of appearances - even if they’re just for show.) He steps forward, then, eyeing the terrain (not much to see - level, well-trodden dirt near the base of the stairs before the palace) before raising his gaze to his opponent.
I hardly slept much the night before- too nervous- but I think it might have actually been in my favor. By the time the sun rose, I was too tired to be nervous, and the jitters had shifted from anxious to excited. I found myself eager for the fight, if only so that it would be behind me.
I asked Furfur not to come with me that day, not even to observe. Part of this is because there was a significant chance I could lose, and I couldn’t bear to have him witness that, but mostly I couldn’t trust him not to randomly insert himself into the fight. I wanted to stand on my own merits, and Furfur would certainly escalate things far more than necessary. My wolf had taken the stallion’s challenge far more personally than I had, and in the days leading up to the fight he had casually offered me assistance in numerous ways, all of them wildly over the top: disembowelment, evisceration, good-old-fashioned throat ripping. When I left him behind in the mountains, he whined like a heartbroken young pup, so sad I almost turned back for him.
I made my way to the designated battleground at a light jog, and I arrived warm and limber. I nodded curtly to Auntie Morr but hardly looked at everyone else; I was entirely focused on taking stock of my opponent. August was bigger and taller and older than me, but not by very much. His mane was braided, neat and practical, which made me silently curse my inexperience. I promised myself that if I lost the fight because my hair was in my eyes, I would cut it all off afterwards.
The palomino unbuckled his sword to set it on the ground, and there was something so intimate in the gesture I almost blushed. He was unnervingly handsome. “Ladies first,” he said in that burnt-butter voice, and I pawed eagerly at the dirt arena. An instant later, I leapt into motion.
I came at him hard, with the only obvious advantage that I had; I charged with my head lowered, spiral horn pointed at his chest. I kept a small part of my attention on the discarded sword, thinking there was a possibility it had been placed aside as a trick to lower my guard, and it would be picked up again as soon as I was distracted. I did not know my opponent, and I was not practiced in trusting the honor of strangers.
I had decided before our fight that I did not want to hurt him, although maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have listened to Furfur’s guidance and sought victory in the most decisive way: with blood, and lots of it... But I could not see how anyone deserving of warden could deliberately harm an innocent member of their court. August was not a criminal; he just wanted the same thing as me. If I got close enough to pierce the flesh, I would draw my head to the side and gently (as gently as possible) tap him with the side of my horn.
Through all this I felt eerily calm, despite the thundering of my heart and the speed of my advance. My mind’s chatter faded away to nothing, my body sure and certain as the ocean’s tide. I lived for that razor’s edge of focus-- it made my soul sing. I think I was grinning, although I don’t remember for sure.
Summary: Aspara wakes, leaves Furfur behind, and goes to the arena. After quickly checking out her opponent (-waggles eyebrows-) she charges him head-on with her horn pointed at his chest. She's not trying to actually kill him though, so if she gets close she will turn her head and tap him with the side of her horn. She smiles :3
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« “Remember, pain is not a test. Knowledge is not enough.” »
W
hen she charges, head down, August thinks ah, perhaps I should have kept my sword. That way, he could at least have parried; and surely Morr wouldn’t begrudge him an artificial weapon to match the one the unicorn was born with.
Then he’s out of time for wondering anything beyond the sphere of this fight. Denocte in the bright morning sunlight is a far cry from the ever-shifting location of the fighting rings in the desert, but it’s those encounters August’s body remembers as he shifts his weight to his back feet.
The nice thing about her horn as opposed to a sword is that it can’t go where her head doesn’t lead it; August follows the line of her brow, of her throat, and wheels away as the sabre of her horn tilts close. It is as graceful as a pair of dancers - Minya would be proud. Or she would have been, except August is out of practice and just a bit too slow, so her horn thwacks him solidly against his upper shoulder.
It was, he’ll think later, very sportsmanlike of her to temper her blow (just the kind of thing a proper princess would do). But August is not in the running for Warden to be polite, and as her momentum carriers her beyond him he shifts from his back hooves to his front in a little crow-hop, then kicks out with both hind feet. It’s not a high blow - somewhere between the point of the hocks and the belly - but it’s forceful and quick, and he holds his ground afterward.
Hopefully they were both grinning when this was over - he’s been beaten to hell enough this year, and Morrighan seemed fond of the girl.
Summary: August wheels away from her rush (though manages to be struck by the side of her horn on the shoulder), then reshuffles his footing and kicks at her immediately after.
My horn struck his shoulder. I realized I probably could have killed him then and there, run right through him like I did the monster on the island. My horn wanted me to do it- it begged me to tilt my head just a little more, sink that dark spiral into flesh and push.
The night before, I had gone over the possibilities of the fight again and again in my mind. I had prepared myself to take a blow, imagined the feel of a kick landing on my shoulder, teeth scraping my chest. But I had not visualized landing a blow, least of all one where self control is all that kept it from becoming potentially fatal. In hindsight, it seems so stupid that I was not mentally prepared- but in that moment I was shocked. My eyes widened and I looked to August’s face to see his reaction. He seemed completely unphased by how easily I could have killed him, and in the course of a few seconds my emotions swung wildly from shock and guilt to annoyance and anger.
If I had been more experienced, less taken aback by my own abilities, I could have crafted a much better defense to his quick counterattack. But my wits had fled, and I was spending so much time just feeling things that I moved in slow motion. It was on instinct alone that I reared up and away from his buck. He hit me on my underbelly, a blow that sent the breath rushing from me in a soft gasp. It didn’t hurt too much, and I immediately sensed there would be no lasting damage from it; I’m sure I’d feel it immediately if I had broken or fractured ribs. If his buck had been aimed higher, I think I’d be in much more pain- it made me wonder if he had attacked with the same generosity that I did, making this fight for warden more like kids playing a strange game of tag.
My brain came back from its little vacation; I can only assume the pain is what summoned it. When it did, something clicked, some understanding fell into place. It was one of those things you can read about it a thousand times but never really understand until you experience it for yourself. I was fighting now, I was really doing this. We were fighting. Blows had been traded.
I had been smiling earlier, but I think I didn’t truly begin to have fun until that moment.
August maintained the obvious defensive, keeping his hindquarters toward me. I was sorely tempted to dart forward and smack him on the butt with my horn, and almost reckless enough to try it, but ultimately I was too wary of a kick to the face. Instead, I lunged perpendicular to the stallion, pivoted sharply on my hind legs, took two strides roughly parallel to him, and reared up to strike at his shoulder with my front hooves.
I was all too aware of how easily I could escalate things if I aimed for August with my horn instead of my hooves… I could have tried to tap him again, to make the point: I could have ended everything, just like that. But I did not feel like making a point. I wanted to hit him the way he had hit me- casco a casco. I wasn’t going to break any bones with this attack, but I wanted him to feel it.
I wanted to know me, in a way no one else had known me before.
art
"ah, perhaps I should have kept my sword" made me giggle. I love him so much <3
Summary: When Aspara hits it takes a second for the gravity of the situation to sink in... then she gets punched in the stomach and snaps back into it. Then she essentially tries to run around August's butt and rear up to strike him in the shoulder from behind- from about a 45 degree angle. (I deliberated this for too long, but eventually decided she wouldn't know this because horses studying geometry is just... I can't.)
Response Deadline: 12/20 (although 12/21 would be fine since I'm posting this on the very tail end of 12/17!) Tags: @August, @Sid, @inkbone, @nestle, @layla
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« “Remember, pain is not a test. Knowledge is not enough.” »
I
mpalement and death is not on his list of considerations today.
It hadn’t been in Solterra’s fighting pits, either, or even when he’d grappled with the griffin in the mountains (the only thing in his mind those times had been survival). Now, he tries not to think beyond the next three movements, the next three breaths.
He grunts at the impact of his hooves on her belly; he can almost feel the soft woof of breath from Aspara. August can’t quite feel guilty - she’d wanted to fight, after all, and the job she was angling for wouldn’t pull any punches either. Really, he should be going harder on her (and not leaving his sword in the dirt), but she is so young, young as they all were when their lives got upturned, and -
And she was cutting alongside him while he distracted himself with memories that weren’t even that good.
Luckily he’s in a good place to react, having not had to move much since his kick. Briefly he considers whirling, rising to face her, but that would put him too near her horn - her one real advantage - for comfort. So far they were playing nice, but this was about using your strengths to win, and August did not want to give her opportunity to puncture his pretty face.
So he takes the sensible-but-boring route: he lunges forward just as she gathers her hindquarters to rear, drops his head toward his knees and bucks again. Her attack catches him along his left hip and rump, her hooves scraping down his skin, both hampering the drive of his kick and potentially opening her belly, chest or legs to being struck.
This time when he lands, blowing hard through his nose at the ache from her hooves, he turns to face her.
Summary: We spend a few moments in August's head, then as Aspara begins to rear for her strike he takes about a half-stride ahead and takes the blow to his hip/rump instead of shoulder. In the meantime he begins his counterattack, which is another buck (nothing flashy today). Landing, August turns to face her.
I know, objectively, that it all happened so quickly, but in my memory everything was slowed down, every moment stretched out. I felt my hooves meet his hip, then sink deeper into the skin. I noticed the way his weight sunk into his shoulders, shifting forward- preparing to buck. I did not want to be in the position I was in, yet I seemingly did not have many options… so I did a strange thing then, or maybe it just felt strange because I had never done anything like it. I pushed off of his side with my front hooves and I twisted to my left, away from him.
I was not fast enough. Again. His hooves struck my belly, but not directly. Because of the way I had approached, cutting in from the side, I was not directly behind him to begin with. Then, I had created some additional distance between us by twisting away from him. But it was too little, too late, and one of his hooves scraped me from the bottom of my belly to the side of my barrel.
And that was that, the fight was over in a matter of minutes. My sides ached and my belly heaved and my heart hammered. I probably should have checked my wounds, pressed a touch into the bruised skin to make sure nothing was broken beneath, but all I could think was that I needed to be faster next time. Smarter. Stronger. Better. I was not ashamed of my performance, but I was not pleased either- it was the start of a long relationship with discontent.
August turned to face me and I blinked at him in the golden morning light. I had watched spars before, so I knew we were at the time where if the fighters got along, they would say something like “well fought” or joke with each other as they walked off the ring together. We weren’t friends to start with, and the spar hadn’t made us so… but I thought, maybe, we could be one day. Regardless of how this all played out.
I lifted August’s sword, which was on the ground near me, and offered it to him. It was heavier than I anticipated, and it wavered lightly in my grip. “For next time.” I felt suddenly shy when my stormy eyes met his silver, and I looked away with a small, sheepish smile.
Summary: After Aspara strikes August, she uses her hooves on his side to push off and twist away from him. He still manages to clip her belly, but most of the damage is avoided. Introspection happens. She picks up his sword and offers it to him.
—
« “Remember, pain is not a test. Knowledge is not enough.” »
I
t’s over in minutes, but unlike the last two times he’s fought it feels too quick. He finds he’d like to go longer - that the exhilarated feeling, blood sparkling like champagne, is not limited only to instances where his life is at stake. For a while, after the island, that hadn’t been the case. He’s relieved to discover otherwise.
Though there is plenty for him to brush up on before next time. His already-aching body offers suggestions, much in line with Aspara’s; be quicker. More clever.
The palomino regards her with new interest, noting her clean confirmation and lean, strong muscles. Only now does he consider her parents. It’s easy to think she will one day be great, and he will tell someone, I knew her when…
Oh, but he’s not old yet, and not done with his own adventures.
“Thank you,” he says, arching a brow as he takes the sword from her grasp, “Aspara.”
August had almost said kid. He’d almost said princess. But neither of them were exactly true (though they were close) and both of them belonged to another girl he used to spar with, back when he was a different version of himself. One he couldn’t retrieve.
It is time to become something else.
“I look forward to it,” he tells her with a sideways little grin, then turns to give Morrighan a deep nod before walking from the arena.
It felt strange to hear him say my name. I think- I think maybe in his voice I could hear the things he didn’t say. Kid or girl, princess or punk. I was probably just imagining things; blame it on teenage insecurities.
He took the sword from my grasp, and it felt good to be free of the weapon. It was too heavy for me, and more importantly it set my magic alight, sending tendrils of soul toward the weapon so that I might indulge in its secrets. I grinned back at him, bowed to auntie Morrighan with overdramatic flair and a wink, then turned and left the arena in the opposite direction from August.
My feet lead me, as they always did, back to the mountains.
Summary: Is this really needed with a post this short? xD I know this battle doesn't mean anything anymore, but I hate loose ends so I wanted to add my closer anyway.
August forfeits the fight (due to his deletion) and @Aspara wins!
The characters' official experience has been updated to reflect these changes (along with any signos rewards sent), so there's no need to post in the Experience Updates or Signos Redemption threads!
ASPARA
Participate in a Battle or Challenge: +1 EXP
Winning a Battle or Challenge: +1 EXP
Winning a Battle or Challenge: 25 Signos
Completed thread: TOTAL: +2 EXP, 45 Signos
the novus crew
the someday crew
01-01-2021, 04:51 AM - This post was last modified: 01-01-2021, 04:57 AM by inkbone
