ORIGIN - A MILD ARGUMENT

The question took him by surprise, and he hesitated, shifting weight from one massive, cloven hoof to the other, Crimson eyes blinked at the distant figure, dark-against-dark, and he struggled to make it out at last.

Tall? Glowing blue bits to his red (an opposite if ever there was one). A pointy thing in one hand. He snorted and lowered his head, attempting another charge, a halfhearted one this time--an almost automatic gesture.

He hit nothing, this time, head coming up as he blinked dully around him. "What is sentient?!" he demanded, moving to quickly back away again.

Round:5/?
Attempt: Charge again, though not as dangerously
Defense:
Injuries:

for those who find the table hard to read:

The question took him by surprise, and he hesitated, shifting weight from one massive, cloven hoof to the other, Crimson eyes blinked at the distant figure, dark-against-dark, and he struggled to make it out at last.

Tall? Glowing blue bits to his red (an opposite if ever there was one). A pointy thing in one hand. He snorted and lowered his head, attempting another charge, a halfhearted one this time--an almost automatic gesture.

He hit nothing, this time, head coming up as he blinked dully around him. "What is sentient?!" he demanded, moving to quickly back away again.

The brute charged again, and this time he was ready: moving neatly to the side, lifting the halberd, driving it down blade-first for the neck.

The sudden tumbling halt and questioning words were just too late: the Sentinel jerked, trying to avert the impalement at the last second.

Perhaps thankfully, he succeeded in... failing, the halberd jerked aside and whistling through the air to impact the stone with a jarring clang. Skull-teeth gritted and he stepped slowly back. "Halt," he rasped, trying to preemptively stop any further attacks. "Sentient is... thinking... speaking. Why has it attacked?" he added.

He had to determine if this bull was a threat.

Round: 5/?
Attempt: Impale Abaddon's neck/throat
Defense: none
Injuries: pretty battered still!

He leapt aside a bit, but he had not been struck, and the beast was speaking again--the gore and trample instinctive reaction was barely averted.

He listened.

Abaddon was not the most cunning beast on the best of days. The Sentinel's odd manner of speaking only confused him further. Head dipped, then rose, tail still going nonstop, lashing his hocks with violent thwaps. "I am Abaddon! I am not It!" he protested, looking away, then back--the Sentinel didn't come for him in that instant. That meant it probably meant no harm--and anyway, he had injured it, by the looks of things. He backed away, remaining wary, hooves cracking against the rock with each step.

Why had he attacked-? This question baffled him, and for good reason. Something had been there, something he didn't expect, so he'd attacked it-! Obviously?! It didn't strike him that "attack the unknown thing" wasn't others' first reaction to potential danger.

"I did not know--what you were. Breathing rock and--shadows, and it spoke," he explained, slowly, wary of some trick.

For those with issues reading the table:

He leapt aside a bit, but he had not been struck, and the beast was speaking again--the gore and trample instinctive reaction was barely averted.

He listened.

Abaddon was not the most cunning beast on the best of days. The Sentinel's odd manner of speaking only confused him further. Head dipped, then rose, tail still going nonstop, lashing his hocks with violent thwaps. "I am Abaddon! I am not It!" he protested, looking away, then back--the Sentinel didn't come for him in that instant. That meant it probably meant no harm--and anyway, he had injured it, by the looks of things. He backed away, remaining wary, hooves cracking against the rock with each step.

Why had he attacked-? This question baffled him, and for good reason. Something had been there, something he didn't expect, so he'd attacked it-! Obviously?! It didn't strike him that "attack the unknown thing" wasn't others' first reaction to potential danger.

"I did not know--what you were. Breathing rock and--shadows, and it spoke," he explained, slowly, wary of some trick.

Pain whistled air past broken ribs, and he struggled to stay upright, rather than doubling over with pain. "It... the Abaddon..." he corrected, fighting to stay focused--and as usual there was no emotion in this, bar a vague sense of opportunity not to be missed--"It may be of use... to the Chaos Forge." He paused.

This beast was, even the Sentinel could tell, somewhat plain in its thoughts--to be generous. There were enough like this in the Forge that he was familiar with the signs. He would have to elaborate. "The Chaos Forge... works within Draco. The cave that lives... There is fighting. Master Vargas leads us. He wishes... to use the strong. The Abaddon... is strong. Will it meet the Master?" he asked.

He wondered if he should try and force it back into its chrysalis, should it refuse; it would be useful to them, its design one of prime form and function. But he was now sincerely doubting he would win such a fight, unless he struck first, and to kill.

He considered it.

"It would receive... food. Water. Training."

Honey first; then the vinegar.

Wariness reigned. He did not trust this creature, certainly--a stranger, made of smoke and fog and confusing words. "I don't need food. I get my own. And water," he responded, the almost childish words incongruous with the growling bass of his voice. Said words were punctuated by a snort, but Abaddon didn't leave immediately--instead he studied the Aperture for a moment.

He was still curious, and his lingering curiosity was shored up by inherent stubbornness. He'd attacked a thing that stood in his way. He'd won (probably?) and now he wanted to explore inside.

The bull started forward, flashing a glance to the glowing blue, careful to keep a safe distance as he spoke. "Move," he commanded, making his way to enter.

For those with issues reading the table:

Wariness reigned. He did not trust this creature, certainly--a stranger, made of smoke and fog and confusing words. "I don't need food. I get my own. And water," he responded, the almost childish words incongruous with the growling bass of his voice. Said words were punctuated by a snort, but Abaddon didn't leave immediately--instead he studied the Aperture for a moment.

He was still curious, and his lingering curiosity was shored up by inherent stubbornness. He'd attacked a thing that stood in his way. He'd won (probably?) and now he wanted to explore inside.

The bull started forward, flashing a glance to the glowing blue, careful to keep a safe distance as he spoke. "Move," he commanded, making his way to enter.

The Sentinel, for a moment, hesitated. Some part of him wondered if he should continue trying to speak with the bull--to properly communicate with it and establish a rapport. To try and convince it.

The other half knew full well that striking first, and striking hard--as Abaddon had done initially--was the most important part of a fight--and that Abaddon was now moving past him. But-... he was far, really. Smart enough, at least--or instinctive enough--to keep a distance between them.

He debated. And when the bull had pushed past, he decided to take the opportunity--a few swift, near-running steps forward and a thrust of the halberd for its neck.

There was no warning given.

Round: 6/?
Attempt: impale Abaddon's throat
Defense:
Injuries: trampled and stuff

The Sentinel had been half-trampled, and was not perhaps as fast as it could have been--and Abaddon was already wary, alert to its presence and location. One ear was swept back, even, to listen for its approach.

But he was fascinated, too, by the strange light and the moving, breathing cave ahead, so that his attention was somewhat split. His reaction came a fraction late, a spinning leap to meet the unknown attack with horns and head. Abaddon hadn't expected a weapon--he was unfamiliar with them, and the extension of reach that they offered their wielders. Headbutting a point was not a good idea, but if he were lucky he'd simply knock the thrust aside.

Round: 6/?
Attempt: Avoid the strike/hit the halberd away
Defense:
Injuries:

For those with issues reading the table:

The Sentinel had been half-trampled, and was not perhaps as fast as it could have been--and Abaddon was already wary, alert to its presence and location. One ear was swept back, even, to listen for its approach.

But he was fascinated, too, by the strange light and the moving, breathing cave ahead, so that his attention was somewhat split. His reaction came a fraction late, a spinning leap to meet the unknown attack with horns and head. Abaddon hadn't expected a weapon--he was unfamiliar with them, and the extension of reach that they offered their wielders. Headbutting a point was not a good idea, but if he were lucky he'd simply knock the thrust aside.

For a moment, the Sentinel was simply... lost for ideas. The massive beast had simply flung aside his precision strike, utterly unconcerned with his cunning and his aim. He could-... Do it again, or back away--but the brute was faster than him, of that there was little doubt.

Thinking fast, he dropped down (the pain seared through his chest) and, with a grunt, shoved the halberd forward. The intent was to thrust it between the bull's four legs, to trip him up and tangle him, to drop him to the ground--but even if he succeeded it'd be hard not to get the halberd wrenched from his grasp. He'd have to be ready to follow up quickly.

Round: 7/?
Attempt: Tangle the bull's legs in the halberd
Defense:
Injuries: trampled and stuff

The bull felt cold metal slam his knees, and he went down roughly, the heavy thud of his weight behind his joints scuffing them too-hard into the rock. A grunt escaped him, and fury boiled up in him--righteous anger, this time. This thing--this stranger--had attacked him, after he had let it go!

He struggled to keep to his chest, at least, instead of falling over to his flank entirely, leading with a swing of his head--his horns holding the line while he tried to get his hooves back under him.

Abaddon lost his balance, instead, thudding over on his side after all--cloven hooves flailing at the air as he fought to get them out from the tangling halberd. Down, open to attack--panic and rage both flared.

For those with issues reading the table:

The bull felt cold metal slam his knees, and he went down roughly, the heavy thud of his weight behind his joints scuffing them too-hard into the rock. A grunt escaped him, and fury boiled up in him--righteous anger, this time. This thing--this stranger--had attacked him, after he had let it go!

He struggled to keep to his chest, at least, instead of falling over to his flank entirely, leading with a swing of his head--his horns holding the line while he tried to get his hooves back under him.

Abaddon lost his balance, instead, thudding over on his side after all--cloven hooves flailing at the air as he fought to get them out from the tangling halberd. Down, open to attack--panic and rage both flared.

Round: 7/?
Attempt: Self-defense with horns
Defense: ~~uh, horns-~~ jk nothing
Injuries:

The black bull went down in a crashing heap of muscle and bone, to the Sentinel's relief. He made an attempt to jerk his halberd free, while the brute was flailing on the floor--he could drive the blade down, then, and perhaps into its throat.

"It must remain here," he rasped, by way of explanation.

He yanked at the metal.

It was stuck, pressed down between immense bovine legs, the bull flailing and kicking so that the Sentinel had to lean back. The wounds he'd endured were beginning to take their toll, the weary strain and pain of snapped ribs biting into him. Fury flickered through him and he tugged harder--but the halberd was out of reach.

Round: 8/?
Attempt: again: impale throat
Defense:
Injuries: trampled, ish