the Rift


long time no see

Cirrus Posts: 233
Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT
Whit
#1
Into this world we're thrown

Cirrus felt
alive.

Wanderlust was something that still existed within her, though she found herself always wandering home at the end of the day - it was a nice feeling, a comfort, something she would never tire of. So she didn't wander far this day - the snows kept her near to home, though her magic could have kept the heat of TallSun with her always, it also taxed her if she used it too much, particularly if she went directly against the current season.

So she landed amongst the snow, fluttering her wings so create a great wave of ice and powder, shivering happily as the coldness hit her legs and belly. Cirrus was
alive, she was closer to having a purpose than she had been in years - and she wasn't going to waste it.

A great deep bellow, a challenge, echoed from her maw. Cirrus was a healer, yes, but she was also a protector, a defender - she could not yet choose between them, but she would not deny the current urge to live, the opportunity to grow stronger, to prove herself. She was never one to be idle, to be still - she had her home, an anchor to keep her from drifting too far, and she wanted it to be powerful, strong, a force not to be mocked in the field of battle.

Peaceful times might be upon them now, but they would not last - they never did. Cirrus wanted herself, and her herd, to be ready for when the tides shifted and chaos swallowed the lands again.

Azure pools spied something, someone, not far - she thought she recognised the figure, and called out again - could it be, a soul from her former home, a form she who had been a constant of the sands ever since she had been a child herself? "Cera?!" she called, even as she cantered a path through the knee-deep snow to see him up close, with a friendly grin upon her maw and a gentle song in her throat.

"Hey!" she greeted again, before tossing her tiara with a deviant flick, show me what you're made of - she was too amped up for a fight to be denied one now. "Care to dance?"


C I R R U S
RIDERS ON THE_ S T O R M

bronzehalo.deviantart.com



@Cera
578 words
0/3 attack posts
Frostfall, Thistle Meadow, friendly spar, normal timeline, magic and companions allowed!
as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat


  • I enjoy being tagged.


  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:


    Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
    Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
    Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
    Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
    #2
    Cera
    the Golden Prince

    Pale sun rays colored the darkness of his closed eyelids, face upturned to the sky and smile curling peacefully at the edges. There was no formal patrol tying him to the meadow’s boundaries, no request or command to fulfill with his presence. Instead, the Prince merely soaked in the sun, energizing and relaxing simultaneously. Ilaria was sunbathing on his back, the crisp wind tousling hair, fur, and feather alike. Soon the sun’s warmth would not penetrate the shell of frost and snow, and he would be left strolling beneath grey-painted skies and flurries of snow. His scars ached subtly in his muscles, and Cera opened his eyes to the sun, wings lifting and arching to stretch the stillness out of his shoulders. His limbs followed, carefully arching his crest and his hind left leg, feeling the scars pull in that familiar, aching way as the skin was pulled taut and reluctant across his canvas. The cold had never favored him, so small of frame and with no meat to protect him from the elements; he was a child of the Sun, and the only favor he’d been born with was the abnormal span of his wings that valiantly sheltered him through every winter.
     
    Cera prayed this would be a mild one.
     
    A feminine bellow rang across the snow and dry stalks of thistle, causing pale ears to twitch amidst the mass of braided tresses as emerald eyes sought the harbinger of battle. Ilaria awakened alongside the trumpeting, scuttling up and down his spine in curiosity. Turning towards the sound Cera trailed after it, both intrigued and hopeful. His attempts at sparring his fellow desert-dwellers seemed to always fall flat, and if this stranger was offering an invitation to battle, Cera would at least investigate the proposition. He was a crafter, an artist. Nobody could deny his talent and passion for metallurgy, but they often forgot that he was Cera, Son of Midas. He had grown up shadowing the golden General, and then had taken to trailing behind Gaucho and Hector in turn. He had watched his father send himself off to war, lost and helpless upon the sands, incapable of joining him. There would always be a portion of his soul reserved for the survivor in the Prince, the one that bore the scars on his body with a grim sort of pride. Cera had vowed to work harder, to make Gaucho see him as more than a permanent Forger. There was diplomacy just within his grasp, but this? Perhaps he could begin this part of his plan as well.
     
    The figure that approached at heightened speeds was at first distinctly unfamiliar to Cera, but just as the woman cried his name an old memory crackled to life before his eyes and he knew her. “Cirrus?!” he cried in return, grin splashing upon his face as he hiked his knees high through the thick snow, running to meet her. A responding whicker warmed his throat as they drew closer, not quite familiar enough to bump and brush muzzles but the greeting unnecessary anyways. Cera instinctively knew the devilish toss of her bare head, the static energy that seemed to leak from her pores and infect him, and he knew then that she had been the one to call out for a challenger. Cera’s grin twisted, mischievous in a way he so rarely revealed, a golden kitsune peering out from behind his eyes. One wing dipped and Ilaria threw herself into the snow to scamper away and out of the impending battle.
     
    “It would be my pleasure,” he assured playfully, lunging for her with excitable energy, buffeting himself forward and through the snow with a lunge of his wings. It was a friendly spar, but he would not go entirely easy on her, and so he hoped to catch her off guard by leaping into the fray immediately. Hooves poised for the meat of her right shoulder, eyes gleaming like emerald fires and grin large and infectious, hoping to batter her in the face with his right wing when he crashed back down to earth – regardless of whether he struck her shoulder or not. 



    Attack: {1/3}
    Words: 693

    OOC HERE
    IMAGE CREDIT
    Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

    Cirrus Posts: 233
    Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT
    Whit
    #3
    Into this world we're thrown

    To see this relic, this memory, this embodiment of what Cirrus could have been,(- had she not ventured beyond Helovia's borders with Sitka, only to return without Sitka, -) took the mare a few moments to process, to accept. They had met upon the sands of their shared home at the time, Cera decided and guided into his career already while Cirrus slumped indecisively between the art of healing or the art of war. War always wins, she thought wryly at the memory, reflecting on how her current situation wasn't that different to the last time she had seen the painted prince.

    Smiles were bountiful, highly contagious, and danced upon her lips with quick and smooth ease and grace, reflecting his own joy and energy back at him. Blood rushed through her veins, speeding up in response to his playful motions. Her eyes widened with excitement, her limbs danced over and through the snows, knocking the powder over with powerful simplicity. Idly, she watched a red, furred smudge of motion move away from him over the sands, and she feels her heart ache for the hole that beats constantly against her soul. Sitka's absence would always grate on her, no less when she was faced with other bonded creatures - but she had healed enough not to resent them their bond, she had grown enough to recognise her pain and not immediately wish to reflect it on others.

    Cera's words confirm what his enthusiasm has already conveyed, though the abruptness, the suddenness of his initial launch did succeed in catching her off-guard, for she had been momentarily lost in her thoughts of emptiness, loneliness, and nostalgia.

    It is the instincts of a warrior with well-honed skills and expertise that allows Cirrus to rely wholly upon her body's natural reactions, as she digs deep with her hind legs and bows her low beneath the flailing feathers presented to her. She is grateful for her shorter stature in this moment, for she feels the slap of Cera's jointed, feathery appendage against her shoulder, but knows that had she been taller, and less agile, she would not have been able to duck so low, and deflect so easily, the hooves that waved at her shoulder. As it was, she felt the blow of his wing against her right shoulder, but it left nothing upon her aside from a bruise, an ache that would only really hurt if it was strained or touched on again during this spar.

    Damn, she thought with a smile, he took my idea - I wanted the element of surprise!

    Cirrus did not hesitate. As his wing closed down on her, she lunged with teeth outstretched, low and quick, a viper of a strike, merciless with its intentions. Given her proximity, and the snow gathered about her forelegs, she tried for whatever flesh happened to be nearest at the time - the sensitive folded skin behind his right elbow would do, or else the taut, tight skin that covered the area of his barrel just nearby, or even the elegant curve of his shoulder blade.

    Having so recently destroyed all momentum and inertia to avoid Cera's assault, Cirrus pushed herself forward again with great effort and a deep grunt. She tucked her tiara in close, pulling slightly away from the golden prince before lifting it up high and throwing all her weight forward. She wanted to hit him, to knock him over, to swiftly and effectively disable him so that she could just as swiftly and effectively prove that she was the better, the fitter, the stronger.

    Cirrus may be broken, she may have left a trail of ruin and destruction in her path, but she was strong, and fit, and sure of herself in a battle of physical prowess. The Earth Lord's journey had helped her heal, and grow, and choose a place to properly, finally, completely call home. She may have been born in the desert but her heart and soul yearned for the water and wind of the Falls and the people that the lands contained. Cirrus surged forward, hoping to connect her chest against Cera's right side and unbalance him, hoping, praying that the choices she had made for house and home recently would give her the strength and determination to win.


    C I R R U S
    RIDERS ON THE_ S T O R M

    bronzehalo.deviantart.com


    717 words
    1/3 attack posts
    @Cera
    as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat


  • I enjoy being tagged.


  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:


    Cera the Golden Prince Posts: 419
    Outcast atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4.5
    Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE
    Ilaria :: Red Panda :: Heal Brit
    #4
    Cera
    the Golden Prince

    Be careful, Cera, Ilaria murmured from the tree she’d shimmied up to watch the battle. Cera heard it resound inside his head but he didn’t fully understand the implications, the clear concern and deeply rooted fear in her heart that spoke of more than the possibility of him becoming physically injured. Instead of lingering upon it he dove straight forward into the battle, lighthearted and joyous. There were no burdens to carry into the battle, the shadows receding beneath the sunny reunion he’d been presented with. Joy and adrenaline kicked up in his blood, a mischievous grin alight on his boyish face as he saw the flash of surprise on his childhood friend’s face when he lunged for her. He laughed as she ducked beneath his flailing wing to avoid him, losing sight of her beneath the pale obstruction of his own feathers. Cera had no experience with fighting, and he felt simplistically secure in her presence – enough to engage in this dance against her. In a way he was childishly naïve, viewing their interaction as a playful romp rather than something that could hurt. Something that could hurt in ways far deeper than a twinging muscle.
     
    The solid thwack of his wing against her shoulder was a gleeful satisfaction, and Cera’s hooves landed solid upon earth once more without any sort of connection. Squeaking happily beneath the effervescent bubbling of adrenaline in his veins, he kicked his heels in an excited little crowhop, hopping away to the left. He lost view of Cirrus in the blur of his own feathers, the natural barrier and downfall of his own species acting against him as he danced to the left to try and reveal her. The sting of teeth glancing without warning off the hard swell of his rib bones shocked a squeal out of his mouth, right wing instinctively lurching higher to reveal the minx that had bitten him and throwing his thin, agile bodice to the left. He was unaware that his constant motion had knocked her teeth against him in a way she hadn’t intended, but Cera had always been a hyperactive, restless soul. Snow kicked up as he sprang away, a cold shock against his hocks that startled his brain into motion. 

    Cera had no experience, nothing to draw upon but half-remembered memories of watching Midas or Gaucho spar on the desert sands. He had known pain, so much pain in his short life. His stories were written across his skin in thick scars, and yet he had somehow still miraculously managed to avoid this particular brand of confrontation. Cirrus’ bite was the first wound ever accrued through battle, and Cera didn’t have the slightest clue how to proceed. Scrambling for time and space his legs stumbled beneath him before he was lunging further to the left, trying to get space between himself and his partner, hoping his long-limbed superior speed would help him momentarily evade any other attacks. He didn’t want to run forward like a coward and have her laugh at him, he just wanted some space and clarity of vision!
     
    At least until he stopped losing his shit.
     
    What do I do?! he yelped towards Ilaria, fumbling for any idea of where to go next and what to do. He knew about biting and kicking, but he was woefully underprepared for something like this. Something that required skill and practice, which Cirrus clearly had but Cera - also very clearly - did not. Before Ilaria could respond Cera glimpsed Cirrus lunging for him from the corner of his eye, and immediately panicked. Delicate forelimbs locked hard into the frozen earth, and Cera kicked his hindquarters heavenward, hooves lashing out as hard as he could in an instinctive blow to try and catch her in the shoulder or lash across her chest.
     
    The moment he regained his balance, all four hooves square on the earth, Cera drowned beneath his regret. He was fighting on instinct alone, but now the adrenaline was transformed from joy to terror and shame. What if he hurt her for real? What if she hated him, when they had only just been reunited? Cera didn’t know where the boundaries were, and he realized it far too late. The only battles Cera had ever engaged in had been fights to the death. Kill or be killed.
     
    Cera had already taken one life. What if I kill her? The terror swamped him, and the moment his balance was back, Cera ran forward to try and regain the space and momentum he’d lost with his kick. Suddenly Ilaria’s words made far more sense, because he could feel the stress drawing on his delicate mind. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. She’s not hurting me. This is fun, just fun!
     
    His scars ached mockingly. 



    Attack: {2/3}
    Words: {799/800}

    Cue Cera freak-out! :D

    OOC HERE
    IMAGE CREDIT


    @Cirrus
    Please only tag starting posts, spars, and threads collecting dust!

    Cirrus Posts: 233
    Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 6
    Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 :: 8 HP: 69 | Buff: SWIFT
    Whit
    #5
    (02-22-2016, 06:07 AM)Cirrus Wrote:
    Into this world we're thrown

    Cirrus fought. She fought, and she felt alive because of it. The mare was never one to shirk from a fight, a spar, a test of one's body against another's - and that was one of the many reasons why she was walking the path of a warrior (though she was yet to make that official). A warrior, she thought as she went through the motions of war, with the ability to heal. To heal, and to destroy - all that mattered was the order in which one used their abilities.

    The thoughts trickled through her mind, slowly but surely adding to the definition that was Cirrus - what she was, who she was, who she was becoming. The Earth Lord had gifted her with the ability to heal, he had blessed her rain with the power to rejuvenate, to restore - wash she squandering that gift by choosing the path of her father anyway? The Ardent had wanted her only to heal, yet he had allowed her to attend all of the warrior's training that he held on the desert sands, he hadn't denied her the opportunity to spar and learn even while she studied beneath the Illuminant's wise teachings.

    Every footstep she made, every bite she landed, every beating she took in return, further cemented her resolve, her decision. Perhaps, after this scuffle, she would have grown the courage to finally actually approach the Champions of her home and ask - no, prove - that she was worthy of a position in their ranks. A simple life of a foot soldier would not be enough to sate Cirrus, however; she would have to prove herself worthy of much more.

    Suddenly, she knew what she wanted. She wanted to be Champion.

    She would be Champion.

    To do that, she would defeat all who stepped in her path, with merciless efficiency - and that included poor, hapless Cera. The pinching of his taut skin between her teeth was a victory that blossomed further pride at her own prowess within her. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think herself as so much better than he (- perhaps it was simply realistic -), she couldn't stop it though, the confidence, the joy, the pleasure she got from knowing she had landed a hit. Perhaps she should feel guilty for inflicting pain on another - but she didn't, particularly when she knew she could alleviate those pains and aches so easily afterwards.

    (Perhaps she should tell Cera that, too.)

    Cera was slick and quick, he seemed to slither out of her reach like a bar of soap in a shower. He was hyperactive, mobile, his movement erratic and unpractised, his counter to her strike awkward and jarring. Cirrus could read him easily, the tension in his body practically screamed what his intentions were before he performed his (rather inelegant) buck to the heavens. The cloudmare ceased her attempt to ram him, to shoulder him to the ground, feeling the wind stir as the nearness of his hooves passed by her neck and shoulder. She bent away from the motion, crouching, leaning away, barely dodging the blow but dodging it nonetheless.

    He's quick, I must be quicker, she encouraged herself, not hesitating: as she watched his feet return to the earth she surged forward again, teeth bared and tiara raised high so that she could try and reach across his back, still on his right side. With a fierce, violent simultaneity, hoping to catch him off guard, she pressed forward and upwards again too, spreading her wings to try and encourage some extra lift from her shorter stature, stirring the powdery snow around them so that they might dance in a blizzard of their own creation.


    C I R R U S
    RIDERS ON THE_ S T O R M

    bronzehalo.deviantart.com


    622 words
    2/3 attack posts
    @Cera
    as changing as unforgiving as the wind, as bitter and chilling as the cold, as warm and deadly as the heat


  • I enjoy being tagged.


  • please do not feel pressured into mirroring the length of any of my posts
    I write what I feel at the time
    and hope everyone else does the same c:


    Official Posts: 847
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    Stallion :: Equine :: ::
    Official
    #6
    Cera defaults to Cirrus.
    0.5 VP to Cirrus.


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