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close combat [vol vs sjal] - Printable Version

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close combat [vol vs sjal] - Volterra - 08-29-2016

The black stallion is fascinated with overcoming every single challenge that is thrust into his path. He delights in the notion of testing himself and becoming the warlord he thinks he is destined to develop into, so he pushes himself above and beyond any boundaries he can possibly discover. He has fought in rain, wind, snow, and searing heat. He has fought on mountains, sand, in caves, in blizzards. He has fought men, women, larger opponents, smaller opponents, undead skeleton opponents, and has emerged from each challenge with his head held high and many lessons learned.

Except one. On the very beach upon which he now stands - with the summer sun beating down against his back and the seaspray salty on his lips - he tasted his first and only defeat.

The memory still rankles with him. It had been a painfully close match, with victory a mere hair's breadth away from him despite his opponent's shameless ninja antics. One extra bite here, or a kick there, and he would have won - but he didn't, and it is one shameful incident marring an otherwise perfect record. The leviathan doesn't know how much of an affect the surroundings had on the result, but he's keen to engage in another spar here to prove that this particular beach is not a cursed zone for him. If he arises victorious here, it will help dispel some of those lingering demons from that unfortunate incident.

It is another scorching Tallsun day, and the stallion's black fur is damp with sweat. The sea breeze helps to get rid of some of the heat, making it bearable, but it is still uncomfortable. He chooses himself a spot near the shoreline, where the crashing waves create a cacophony of noise that could prove distracting - another reason to fight here, to see how he handles the din. The dragons are lurking out to sea, devouring any fish they can find, and Volterra leaves them to their own devices as he releases an earth-shaking battlecry.

Spar for @Sjal ! Let me know if you want teaching notes :D

Set near the shore in the Endless Blue, on a hot summer's day. Up to you about using magic/companions ^_^

0/3 - words

vérzés & vadir

coloring & coding credit

RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Själ - 09-13-2016

It is bloody hot, and she cannot for the life of her remember why she decided to come to the beach.  It's not like she particularly likes the water.  She does not find the crash of waves against the shoreline peaceful and calming.  She hates the way her hooves sink into the sand.  So why, for goodness' sake, is this where she has decided to roam?  For no good reason, that's why.

Her foul mood has sent Ansgar into hiding.  The griffin's presence tugs at her mind from somewhere vaguely east, and though Sjal knows that the winged creature could find her in a few short minutes, she revels in the illusion of solitude.  This is just what she wants needs after the irritating string of defeats she has faced recently.  First there was that mountain-mare.  Though the princess had managed to leave her mark (she remembered with pleasure the way blood had spurted from the long scratch in the stranger's side), she had nonetheless walked away defeated.  Then there was Erebos, mischievous and calculating, an opponent who was clearly worthy of better than her.

An irritable sigh falls past her lips, dispersing into the hot, humid air around her.  Her hide is covered in sweat, making her feel dirty and damp.  The sun beats upon the dark hide that does little to shield the girl from the heat of the day.  Her dual horns feel too heavy, her limbs too sluggish - it is the sort of afternoon that lulls you into a hazy stupor, inviting you to find a nice tree under which you can spread out and nap, wishing that the evening will bring relief.

A harsh cry has the princess's head up and her ears pricking, her body tensing in preparation as her golden eyes scan for the opponent.  There is only one thing that follows such a cry, and that is battle.  A sudden eagerness floods the girl's veins as adrenaline begins to flow through her system, lightening the weight that had threatened to crush her mere seconds before.  Perhaps today she will redeem herself.  Perhaps today she will emerge victorious.

Her opponent is a black stallion with white markings that are surprisingly similar to hers.  He seems to be alone:  no companions appear to be present in either air or sand nearby.  He is stockier than she is, despite the traces of draft that are obvious in her lineage, and he towers over her by a good margin.  The princess twists her mouth into a frown as she hesitates.  She has never found on a beach before, and she already detests the balancing act of merely walking in the sand, much less fighting.  And he is bigger and stronger than she, a challenge even on solid ground.

Maybe I can use that against him.  The sand can't be easy for him, either.  She grins, a predatory thing, and saunters forward, releasing her own cry of anticipation.  "Well, hello," she calls, her hips swaying more than is strictly necessary.  She has to speak louder than usual to be heard above the crashing waves.  That's irritating.  "Looking for some fun, sweetheart?"  Maybe she can distract him.

She approaches slowly, a coy smile on her features as she sashays towards his left shoulder.  As she draws even with him, she hopes that he will remain stationary, for her plan relies on it.  Suddenly, she ducks her head to the right and pivots her body, kicking up simultaneously with her hind legs in an effort to connect with his left shoulder or neck.  As her hind legs return to the sand, she attempts to leap out of his range, though she doesn't flee too far, not wanting to give him the opportunity to chase her like she'd done with Erebos.

At least she's learning, right?


Word Count :: 636
Attack :: 1/3

@Volterra - God I suck, I took so long omg I'm so sorry


RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Volterra - 09-18-2016

He sees her horns first; long and vicious, enough to draw his discerning eye across their pointy length. It does not escape his notice that she is a she, and that brings all of its usual challenges. Fighting mares is often difficult for one with as rampant a set of loins as Volterra possesses, and each tangle with a woman is a constant battle against his more base urges. In a way, taking a mare as an opponent is two fights for the price of one; against his foe, and also against himself.

Second, he sees her splashed white face marking, almost a mirror-image of his own. His savage crimson gaze settles appraisingly upon it, finding her deliciously attractive. Stout, blessed with all the rampant curves of femininity, she is a pleasure to behold. She is smaller than he is - most people are - and looks to be a similar age, so he cannot help but wonder about her level of experience. Overall she appears well-balanced and able-bodied - a worthy opponent.

The sand he has chosen to fight on is quite wet, which means it doesn't give to his weight as much as the softer sand does. However, it still sucks unpleasantly at his massive hooves and he can hazard a guess that his greater weight and size will result in him being more affected by it, especially as the fight nears its conclusion and his stamina begins to fail. Like him, the mare is dark-furred, meaning she will hopefully suffer in the sun as much as the leviathan himself does, and he files this useful fact away into the depths of his brain.

She prowls towards him, and despite all his training - endless hours spent trying to resist the allure of mare, trying to remind himself that he is a colossal future king and not a simple animal to be dominated by his instincts - he cannot help the sultry darkening of his eyes and the sudden tingle of need in his groin. Shit. He fights to snatch hold of his resolve and harden it like a weapon, but his lust is quite evident in the hooded shadows of his eyes and the eager stomp of one thickly-feathered forehoof. "Tease," he growls at her in his rough earthquake of a voice, unable to snatch his eyes away from the swing of her hips and the delectable purr of her words.

Which, undoubtedly, is precisely the effect she wanted to have on him. The beast falls freely into her trap, ensnared like a rabbit in a thorn thicket.

She moves towards his left shoulder, and the mammoth pins his ears as he automatically shifts backwards. But it is a feint, and suddenly her hooves are where her head was a moment ago; Volterra flings his weight backwards once again and as a result her hooves only scuff the thick muscle of his left shoulder rather than slamming directly into it. It forms a small, light bruise that irritates with a slight pulsing pain, not enough to affect his movement but enough to warn him that this woman knows her stuff. This clearly isn't her first rodeo, and the behemoth's face twists into a savage smile of delight.

If she is competent, it will make it all the more satisfying when he brings her to her knees.

She skips away in the aftermath of her attack, but it would be foolish for the stallion to simply allow her to dictate the battle as she pleases. It is in his best interests to keep her close, to prevent him having to pursue her around the beach and sap his strength any faster than necessary - he can already feel the scorching heat creating a sheen of sweat on his skin, and his legs feel leaden and sluggish. With a rumbling snort, the goliath launches after her, attempting to approach from directly behind her as she shifts away from him. He is relying on the fact that she won't expect him to come for her in this manner, given the strength of her hindquarters and the pain a direct kick could cause him; indeed, the beast's tactic is at best risky and at worst downright foolhardy, but it involves the least amount of movement on his part.

He attempts to slam his massive chest hard into the mare's rump to try and barge her forwards and unbalance her; simultaneously his jaws snap forwards in an attempt to plant a series of hard, dominating bites upon the dock of her tail. She needs to learn that her womanly wiles do not entirely remove the battle-hardened part of his brain, that he is not a complete fool for the attentions of a mare.

Spar for @Sjal !

Set near the shore in the Endless Blue, on a hot summer's day. Up to you about using magic/companions ^_^

1/3 - 785 words

vérzés & vadir

coloring & coding credit

RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Själ - 10-03-2016

For having a mother as seductive and manipulative as Psyche was, Själ is surprisingly naive in the ways of man.  Her swaying hips and inviting smile are instinctual, but it is nothing more than an act.  She feels no heat from the stallion's hooded gaze, no desire pooling in her belly as a result of his appreciative growl.  Later, of course, she would take the time to wonder what that means, why there is nothing about this steed (as attractive as he is) that calls to her.  For now, it is enough that her attempt at distraction seems to have worked.  She acknowledges the stallion's reaction without reveling in it, all the while allowing her lashes to bat prettily against her cheeks to continue the facade.

Her kick towards his shoulder is well-timed, though his reaction is surprisingly quick, allowing him to avoid the worst of the blow.  Satisfaction slips a smug smile onto her features, but the feeling is short-lived:  the mare's hind legs touch down in wet sand, and what should have been a quick-and-easy getaway suddenly becomes awkward and sluggish.  Her hooves sink into the slick surface, the ground sucking oddly at her hooves as she attempts to get out of range.  The feeling is unexpected.  She had known it would be slippery, had thought that she would be unbalanced, but this?  It was like the sand beneath her hooves was actively fighting against her.

And she'd only planned for one opponent.

Her distraction proves to be her downfall.  Her gait is uneven as she recovers from her kick, her mind focusing intently on simply not falling over.  The stallion is directly behind her, surging forward without slowing, and in the ensuing moment of confusion, she does not realize his tactic until it is too late.  Her movement stays steadily forward, for she hasn't the time to even attempt a dodge, much less plant her forelegs for another forceful kick to his chest.  Instead, his chest plows into her rump, shoving her forward and forcing her to scramble to remain upright.  Her front legs connect with the ground painfully, and she is vaguely aware that it is only the softness of the sand that has saved her from worse injury.  As it is, her cannons scream with the force of impact, a stabbing pain shooting into her shoulders with each step.

In her flailing, he manages to string a line of bites across her rump, his teeth seeming to come together harder with each additional nip.  She will have a lovely line of bruises at the dock of her tail to accompany the aching tendons in her forelegs.  Biting back the urge to squeal - she will not give him the satisfaction - the mare lunges a step to her left (OUCH, that fucking HURTS), flicking her tail irritably towards his ivory face (take that, you fucking ass).  One step, and then she plants her hind legs in the wet sand and twirls towards the stallion, hoping to end up with her body at a 90 degree angle to his.  At the same time, she aims her dual horns towards his left shoulder and pushes forward with her coiled hindquarters.

If he hasn't moved, her aim will be trained carefully on the muscular mass of his left shoulder.  If she connects, she will pierce the muscle and then flick her head up, hoping to slice him open to the bone.  If she is successful, she will stab spear cut him in an attempt to slow him down and prevent such a quick recovery from this attack.  She tries not to think about how close she is to his bulk.  Her move, like his, is not without risk, for she has placed her head within range of his kick or his bite.  But if she succeeds, she might just win enough time to scamper out of his way.  She might cause him to slow enough that she can give her battered forelegs a moments reprieve.

Whether she connects with the stallion or not, landing on them is going to be a bitch.


Word Count :: 684
Attack :: 2/3



RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Volterra - 10-04-2016

His chest collides with her rump, and delight explodes like a savage thunderstorm inside his heart. There is nothing quite like the heady reek of success to get his blood pumping; to send adrenaline rippling through his muscles, to bless his already considerable strength with an added buff born of arrogance. When he hits, no matter how small or insignificant the blow, it feels like vindication. It reminds him why he does this again and again - because it feels so fucking good when it works.

When it doesn't? Not so much.

The behemoth doesn't expect his attack to be quite so successful, however, and as the mare slips and slides towards the floor he takes a moment to summon some sympathy for her. He remembers his fight with Seanan as if it was yesterday; the sheer humiliation of slipping on his ass, compounded by the added disgrace of having the much smaller stallion almost break his leg in half with a well-planted kick. There are few things as disconcerting as the sudden realization that you are fallible, that the ground can conspire against you and wrench you towards its muddy depths and turn the direction of a fight in a split second. One tiny, insignificant patch of soil can mean the difference between victory and defeat; glory and ignominy. It is the antithesis of the euphoric sensation of an attack hitting home; it is the part of fighting that Volterra hates, because his great confidence loathes taking any sort of a knock. Slipping or tripping in the middle of a battle is embarrassing, and he would not wish it on anybody.

Well...except for whatever person he happens to be fighting at that particular moment. Which, unfortunately for the white-faced mare, happens to be her.

His momentary sympathy for her is, indeed, momentary; this is a fight and such quirks of luck in his favour are to be respected and utilised. He's had his fair share of ill-fortune, so he's happy to seize any snatch of fate that he possibly can. This feeling of suck it up, sister is compounded when the unicorn's tail flicks across his face, tickling in his nostrils and making him sneeze obnoxiously; his head launches automatically upwards, which prevents the tail causing any damage save for the iron arrow to his dignity at the notion of making such a hideous noise in the middle of a battle.

Volterra is not one for self-preservation, but he knows she's bound to be wanting retribution in the aftermath of her faux pas. He throws his bulk backwards again, and his colossal size and weight actually aids the grip that his hooves have upon the slippery sand; they sink further down into it than the hooves of a lighter horse would, touching the more compact and less slick sand underneath. She twirls, elegant as a ballerina, and her horns just miss the solid mass of his shoulder due to his movement backwards. That is quite a relief; those savage weapons of hers could have ripped flesh from bone, cleaved muscle from sinew. The warlord is no stranger to pain, but he is not such a fool as to actively invite it, and he gives himself a little mental hi-five at his success in avoiding what could have been an agonising blow.

Now, it is his turn. His far-buried notions of chivalry demand that he leave the poor lass alone, call it a draw, allow her to hobble away without causing any more damage to those legs of hers. But Volterra is not a merciful man. This is a fight, and she knew what she signed up for when she chose to tangle with him. He will see this through to the bitter end, fuck his morals.

So he launches forwards again, seeking to face her head-on and hoping that she'll be too stunned by the failure of her attack to be ready to respond. He seeks to slam his giant chest into her own, hoping to unbalance her again; simultaneously his left forehoof lifts and kicks forwards, aiming to thud it into her right foreleg just below the knee. He doesn't use enough force to break or maim the limb, but hopes to cause further damage to the already-painful area and hopefully ensure a swift victory. It is in his best interests to end the fight quickly, because the heat is exhausting. Sweat trickles liberally down each plane of his body, and his legs feel like lead weights stuck in quicksand.

Spar for @Sjal !

Sorry for replying so quickly just soijfifhfhfh all the muse for this fight <3

2/3 - 751 words

vérzés & vadir

coloring & coding credit

RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Själ - 10-31-2016

She misses.

Gods curse it, how did she manage to miss?  It isn't as though this is some twig-thing colt - this is a behemoth of a creature, a towering centurion who, in retrospect, she ought not have challenged with a sultry smile and a well-placed kick.  But even with his clearly superior skill, her horn shouldn't have simply bypassed his shoulder, not when it was such a large target!  Humiliation launches itself into her belly, claws its way up her throat.  Her mouth presses into a thin line.  She refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassment - she is Psyche the DarkEmpress's daughter, damn it all!  She will be stronger than that!

Just as she thinks that it couldn't possibly get any worse, her forelegs pound into the sand.  No matter how soft and slick the surface, the jarring of her aching tendons has her gritting her teeth, blinking against the sudden angry tears that well into her eyes.  Why, oh why, did she have to pick this place and this stallion to test her budding battle abilities against?  No doubt he was mocking her, silently smirking at her lack of coordination and her clearly inexperienced flailing.  Her mother was likely rolling over in her grave!  Why was I given such an idiot as a daughter? Psyche would no doubt be wailing.  Oh, how are you going to defend the throne like that? she would lament.  Wait, never mind, you're never going to win it in the first place!

By the time the girl realizes that the massive steed is surging forward, it is far too late to move.  Instead, her hind legs coil as she prepares to do the only thing that she can do - leap to meet him.  As stupid as it is (she cannot possibly best him in a battle of strength alone), she cannot help but think that perhaps she will at least prove her mettle.  Besides, lunging forward with a snap of her hind legs is quite a bit less painful than trying to dodge out of the way and land on her pain-filled front tendons.

His chest is wide, the muscles rippling beneath his skin hard as they meet, two dark bodies grappling for control over the other.  The impact as they meet knocks the breath out of the princess, and she wheezes as she throws her head up in a sad attempt to bite at her opponent's head or neck.  She is knocked backward, yelping in spite of herself as the stallion gets in a sound kick beneath her right knee.  She is not a fool; she knows that he could have broken her leg if he'd wanted to.  No, he wanted to hurt her simply to show he could, and it is that, more than anything, that has the girl rallying in her fury.

Her landing is awkward and painful, and she limps heavily on her right foreleg as she backs a few steps in an attempt to get out of his range.  A new surge of adrenaline cuts through her panting and her shaking limbs, lending a murderous sort of fury to her amber gaze.  Later she would see this for what it was:  a spar in which she was soundly thrashed.  Right now, though, she sees only a stallion who she would cheerfully murder in a frigid act of revenge.

She hopes that she is moving fast enough (though, truth be told, her forelegs hurt too much to be nearly as quick as she would normally be) as she tucks her rump, her hind legs coiling again in preparation to spring forward.  Her leap is haphazard at best, her chin tucking towards her neck in a wobbly attempt to spear the bastard through the heart (that is, if he's even still in front of her) for all the pain he has caused her.  If she's fast enough, then her opponent is still facing her, and she will manage to slice into the tender flesh of his chest.  If she's really lucky, she'll cut right through the muscles and tendons, miss the bones, and stab him right in his tiny, black heart.


Word Count :: 693
Attack :: 3/3



RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Volterra - 11-05-2016

He's sweating profusely, each quivering muscle aflame with exhaustion. The heat has truly taken its toll, and it worries the leviathan quite how tired he is. His stamina has improved tenfold in recent months, but he is not made of steel as much as he may like to think he is. He is mortal flesh and bone, and he can tire. Given the energy he expends in each fight, he can tire a lot. Even though he hasn't taken much damage in this fight, he feels like he's ran a god damn marathon.

They collide, chest to chest, and the momentum makes Volterra stagger backwards with the impact. She's surprisingly strong for a little thing, but his movement backwards manages to protect him from her reaching teeth. His hoof rattles into her leg, too, and he feels a momentary stab of guilt about the damage he's caused her. His battering of her has been absolute; he feels cruel, evil. Oddly, it does not sit well with him. She has done nothing to harm him, and he should have gone easy on her and saved his annihilation for the fights that matter.

But, adds the little voice in his head, she should have known better than to attack me.

That does not help things; his guilt still pulses through him, and his ears flatten with indecision. Should he leave things here, call it quits and take his victory without humiliating her further? His few morals tell him he should. His body, however, screams for him to finish it.

But suddenly she's jumping, twisting through the air like an antelope. Her long, deadly horn is coming straight for his heart, and with a shudder of horror he realises that she's trying to kill him. The thought is quite alarming, and he's reminded of the last time somebody attempted to take his life in battle. It was Gashad, and it ended very badly for the stupid fucker. But this is different. He feels that he has pushed the mare to this, and his guilt intensifies, although it is now joined by rage at her guile. How dare she attempt to end him!

Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, he hauls his entire goliath weight backwards. The mare's horn misses his chest by less than an inch, and he almost feels Death's cold embrace attempt to grab at his legs and haul him down. It is a close miss, and the leviathan releases a thunderous bellow of indignation. "Fucking hell, woman!" he roars, his ears flat into his mane and his muscles thrumming with displeasure. "This isn't a fight to the death!"

Helpfully, though, his actions have removed his misgivings about attacking again. Oh no, she cannot be allowed to get away with her indiscretion. He flings himself forwards for the final time, leading with his colossal chest once again. He attempts to slam it into her own, to try and barge her over backwards and force her into submission, whilst his jaws snap forwards and attempt to plant a hard bite onto her muzzle. He is sweating, exhausted, thankful that the fight is nearly at its conclusion, but he has to get this final attack in first.

The dragons howl their fury in the distance, as disgusted as he is about the mare's murder attempt. Only Volterra's iron will keeps them from interfering and burning her alive, as the stallion still has no intentions on decimating her completely. It is tempting, but he's feeling merciful today.

Spar for @Sjal !

Thanks for the fight Chaotic <333 After you've done your closing defense, do you want a follow up thread with them?

3/3 - 584 words

vérzés & vadir

coloring & coding credit

RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Själ - 11-12-2016

The ice princess had thought that she would have the advantage at least in speed; after all, the massive stallion is easily twice her size in muscle.  How he manages to maneuver himself so quickly - and avoid her attack entirely - yet again is astounding.  Again the icy grip of shame reaches to grasp her heart, tugging the organ until it feels like it has fallen into her stomach.  If her mother could see her now, what would the DarkEmpress think of her daughter's lack of ability?  No doubt the Psyche of old would have laughed at her before dismissing her.  Why would such a strong, capable mare claim such a weak, idiotic child, one who cannot even land a hit on a fucking big ass target?

In retrospect, this attempted spar probably wasn't the mare's most brilliant plan.  After all, who attacks a stranger on the beach?

As Själ realizes that the impact on her forelegs is about to be much worse than expected (she had been counting on using the stallion's body to buffer her landing), she braces herself, attempting to land tenderly to avoid jostling the tender limbs further.  Her concentration on that fool's errand distracts her until the stranger's roar echoes in her ears.  She lands, and she winces at the sharp pain that shoots up her legs as a result of the sudden weight despite her best efforts to avoid it.  She looks up just in time to see the look of rage on his face (well, she had just tried to kill him, after all) and barely keeps a look of fear from appearing on hers.

Gods, he could crush her if he wanted.

By now, though, she has caught onto his tactic of trying to bowl her over, and as he lunges forward in another attempt to go chest-to-chest, she scampers backwards.  She is not quite fast enough with her injuries to turn and flee, or to hop nimbly to the side; as such, his teeth sink into the tender skin on her muzzle.  The resultant pain (fuck, whose idea was it to put so many nerve endings there anyway?) causes her to stumble over her own feet, further irritating her already battered legs.

And so it is that she comes to be standing weakly before him, a large bite on her muzzle bleeding profusely and a smattering of bite marks across her rump standing out baldly.  She tries to put more weight on her hind legs to give her forelegs a rest and fails, but she is too proud to lie down while he is still in eyeshot.  Instead, the pain drives her to stupidly pin her ears and glare at the behemoth.  "Well, you could have fooled me!" she shouts right back, refusing to be cowed by his masculinity.  Psyche wouldn't have backed down, and even if Själ would apparently never live up to that image, she could not bring herself to simply give up.

Besides, if he killed her now, at least her legs wouldn't hurt anymore.


Word Count :: 508

@Volterra - yes please, a thread after this would be awesome!!  Thanks for an awesome fight!


RE: close combat [vol vs sjal] - Blu - 11-19-2016

Due to a difference of 48 HP, Volterra is declared the winner! Volterra earns 1 vp, Sjal earns 1 EXP