the Rift


Sometimes the Best Medicine... [Paladin | Teaching Spar]

Romani Posts: 205
Outcast atk: 4 | def: 8 | dam: 7
Mare :: Equine :: 14.2 :: 9 HP: 66 | Buff: NOVICE
Kasai :: White Tiger :: Wind Whip Sparrow
#1


Romani

Anger.

That was the main emotion that Romani had been feeling since the successful invasion of the Foothills, and the dethroning of her home. She had dedicated her life to the cause of protecting her home, and that job and the heartfelt dedication had been ripped from her, spat upon, and then the carcass of her previous life had been thrown at her hooves. Mixed emotions ran rampant in the palomino’s breast. One day all would be well; she could think clearly, move with confidence and be fine with the turn of events, but the next… Rage and injustice would fill her, causing her to seek solitary time away from her newly-knit family. Romani knew that Xanthos worried for her, and the mare’s agitation with herself only grew when she realized that there was nothing she could do to stop these blasted, wayward emotions and assure him that she was well.

Would there ever be a day that everything fell into place again? That she found purpose? The Haflinger had sworn fealty to Mirage and dedicated her life to protect the Edge, just as she had done the rolling hills of the Foothills… But despite her rank, family, and the new place she was supposed to call ‘home’, it felt anything but. She had retained purpose with servitude under Mirage… But the bitterness remained. It would plague her, she knew, until someone, or something could help her.

“… But how? Will I always feel like this?” No, this couldn’t be it… It was unfair. It was unfair of her to be stuck in this endless rut of inner turmoil and punish not only herself, but her dear Xanthos and their beloved Jasiri as well. Then why couldn’t she simply pull herself out of this self-induced madness?

The mare stood like a solitary figure against the cliff side of the Edge, her azure eyes dim of emotion aside of regret. The wind was strong here without the protection of the trees, the current whipping her flaxen mane and tail around unmercifully in its wake. The sun stood at its apex in the sky, sending warm rays cascading down to cover the earth in a warm embrace. Inhaling deeply, Romani tried to clear her head, but to no avail. The anger remained. She loathed having not been able to help her family defend their home in the Invasion… Others that made up her old herd had sought refuge in the Edge, much like she had done, but many had not. Idly, Romani wondered just what had happened to them… Or to Jackal.

The mere echoing of his name in her head caused Romani to grit her teeth, bitter anger once more blossoming in her breast. Oh, Jackal… Out of everything that she had found out, knowing that the Thief of Kings had left her family for dead had irked her far more than she had ever imagined. Romani had never enjoyed being around him, and now she knew why. While she had accepted him as the Chief of the Foothills, Romani had sworn her life to the Foothills, not him. If she ever saw him again the mare wouldn’t think twice on giving him a piece of her troubled mind.

“Damn it all!” She bellowed to the skies, rage and self-loathing coating every foul syllable. A thick, flaxen-feathered hoof stomped angrily upon the ground, nostrils flaring and ears tipping back in rage. “Damn it all! If only I could have done something to help…!” Inhaling sharply and breathing in the smell of salt and water, Romani stood at the edge of the cliff for a few moments longer, desperately trying to rein in her anger. She was a warrior… Letting her emotions get the best of her would be a poor thing to do.

Sparing the rolling waves of the sea one last, heart-felt look, the Protector turned on her haunches so that she was facing the tree-line once more. Where she stood was a clearing of sorts, a “C” shape that cut into the thick tree-line, leaving an area exposed. Perhaps once it had been used for sparring grounds, or a play area for youngsters… Immediately the mare’s mind back-pedaled, settling on one word; spar.

“… Would anyone grant this troubled soul a spar?” She called out towards the trees, ears tipping forward and crisp eyes searching for a potential challenger. Yes… Yes, a spar would be just what she needed to help remember herself. The simple act of relying on instinct would do wonders for her wounded spirit.

[Wordcount: 758 | 800 Word Max | 2 Posts Each with Closing Defense | Magic/Companions NOT allowed.
Setting: The Edge, midday, with the wind blowing North-East, in from the ocean. The large clearing is surrounded by trees on the North, East, and South side, with a cliff side on the West, facing the ocean. The clearing is large enough that a spar can remain a safe distance away from the edge of the cliff.
Other: This is a teaching spar with Alpacadin, who is free to make the first move if he wishes. :D]


The True Soldier Fights Not Because
He Hates What is in Front of Him,
But Because He Loves What is Behind Him.


colourize-stock | arctic-stock | imi art

Paladin the Valiant Posts: 153
Deceased
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 hh :: 15 Years Buff: DANCE
Tamme
#2

I WANT TO FEEL THE PAIN AND THE BITTER TASTE
OF THE BLOOD ON MY LIPS AGAIN</style>



The Valiant, muscular and lithe quietly moved into a small clearing in the trees. The first clearing he had seen in quite some time. On instinct, the trees made him feel confined, but he was slowly growing accustomed to their tighter and more blanketing nature. Slowly, being the keyword. Naturally, his emotions about the Foothills and their rolling, green beauty were mixed. As a warrior, he honored the battle which his daughter brought forth; clearly, they had won. Every ounce of blood in his veins knew that conquering through fair battle was right, but the lingering distaste in his mouth was left by the fact that the Foothills stood little chance. Jackal had crippled it until there was little left. The black dun could not deny that he had hoped that Jackal would be the son he never had - that Silverline's child would be guided by himself, but the cowardly boy had run.

Wind blew at his face as the stallion carefully came to stand just in the shadow of the trees, catching in his short, cropped mane. He blinked crimson orbs against the force and frowned slightly. The stallion listened to her heartache, only able to mirror her troubles slightly. No father could be disappointed in daughters who had such ambition and passion, especially if they could succeed where others, many, had not. Perhaps he was biased; in fact, he was sure he was. Pride filled his heart, but he still could not face them after that massacre. Better, he thought, to aide those who needed help in transition and guard borders who had a similar mindset of his own. In his youth, the stallion had plunged his horn into bloody wars with a grin on his lips, but now? He was not the best diplomatic, but too much was left to passion. Age had shown him that much.

"You could do nothing because the herd was crippled, Romani. I was powerless as well. I watched you get plucked from our ranks and I could do nothing, limited by the laws of Jackal," he said, explaining the truth. Paladin had never been good at comforting others, but he was an honest soul. Sometimes, the truth was a necessary heartache that soothed the burns of later crimes. "Were I you, I would take pride in the fact that you have accomplished much, given your age. One day, you will rise in the ranks, but this... this is natural. War is as sure as death and breathing, an now that you know this, you well be more prepared than I for your inevitable rise to power," he offered with a kind smile.

"You and I are alike, however. I feel the need to fight for the battle I could not wage," he said, taking a few steps backward toward the trees. The stallion prepared himself for battle with the easy of breathing. An inhale, and his figure rippled and tensed, hooves etching deeper into the ground and gaining purchase. Crimson eyes took in his immediate surroundings, mind working in the background easily. Paladin was born into bloodshed, and that sort of history became habit. "I accept your challenge, Romani. May we both learn from each other in this battle."

The stallion, taking no time to pause, lunged forward at Romani with his horn dipped to his chest, hoping she had remained where she was, facing the trees. He tilted his toes into the dirt and tucked his hips beneath him, halting roughly and then throwing his body weight to the left, hoping to catch her off guard and off balance. She was built lower to the ground, stocky, muscular, and ironically, she reminded him of Kri. Paladin had the advantage of height and agility, but in this confined space in the trees, he was not sure that his build would do him any justice. At least he possessed a horn, an extension of his bone structure that worked very well with his flexibility.

Aware of the fact that she may have been able to shoulder his weight if she took it at all, Paladin lifted his front, left foreleg and struck down at one of her front canons, trying to keep her on her toes and reduce the stability that four legs would bring to her low center of gravity.



[(720 words) | (1/3(2?) posts) | (no magic use)
If you want a chance to ear VP for this, do you want to raise it to 3 posts each?
Also, great job with your description of the terrain and weather; that's a crucial step to the first post and you did it very well! ]


Horse

Official Posts: 847
Administrator
Stallion :: Equine :: ::
Official
#3
21 days have passed. Romani defaults to Paladin.
Paladin receives 1 VP.


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