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Post by tallshiips on Jan 29, 2017 14:08:01 GMT -6
Cormac & Aubrey
Late Summer, Year 1700 The events of the Chapter are over, and Cormac's daggers are in dire need of repair. Not entirely trusting the last smith's ability, he turns to the more experienced Aubrey, whom he fought alongside on that fateful night.
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Post by tallshiips on Jan 29, 2017 14:34:35 GMT -6
Cormac
Bloody Flank Raider  Cormac shook his mane with a groan as he struggled to his feet. His midriff remained wrapped in soft white bandage, no matter how often he implored the medic to remove it and let the sizeable gash heal in the open air. Despite his protestations, he did not have the courage to remove the dressing and face the nurse's wrath. How he'd changed, in just a few months. Looking down at the ammonite pendant that swung lazily, spurred into action by his inelegant movement. He waited for it to settle for a moment, trying to draw his thoughts away from the red mare who held one ever so similar to his own. Not for the first time, he was compelled to throw it into the ocean, to let Cascade remove the ever-present reminder of his weakness, but as always something stopped him.
Taking a few tender steps to the corner of the shack, he heard himself gasping for breath already and cursed the little colt that had caused him so much discomfort. But he'd been lucky, the medics had said, that the attacker hadn't sliced clean through the muscle, and he held onto this. The weapon - if it could truly be labelled as such - lay atop of the cabinet in front of him, the emerald horn-tip in three different pieces. The edges were jagged and barbed, where they had fractured inside the stallion's own body, and yet the faces were smooth and polished-looking, where they had split along some of the joints in the stone. Grunting with discomfort, he hauled himself to the opposite side of the dresser, pulling his polar bear cloak across his broad shoulders to somewhat mask the otherwise obvious injury, glad that his telekinesis hadn't been weakened by the events of the raid in the same way that his body had been battered. He couldn't help noticing that his brother bore not a single scratch, as far as he'd seen anyway, while he had laboured for many days even to get to this relatively mobile, though painful, stage.
Glancing across his desk, the dark stallion noticed his daggers strewn across the wooden surface, sheaths lost in the tall grass of some Onean meadow and blades cracked and worn. He couldn't believe that so much damage had been caused by such a routine raid, but even Ansgar could not possibly entertain the thought that nothing had gone wrong. The Valkyries were what had gone wrong in the eyes of most of his comrades, and yet he had been injured most by the colt with the little dog. He dropped his head, mind filled with sadness and regret, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to force him back to reality. The pain caused his eyes to snap open, and he tasted blood. Maybe he'd bitten a little too hard.
Gathering his daggers from the table top, he staggered to the heavy oak door that marked the end of the privacy of his home. The Ghost Knife's great upturned hull rested only a few houses away, and there he was sure he'd find someone adept at working the anvil. And if not, he could always drink away his sorrows.
That began to look like the better option as he took a limping step out of his house and into the blinding summer sun for the first time since that fateful evening. His body complained, but, as ever, his spirit won.
574 words || post 1
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Post by BlueUnicornJ13 on Feb 2, 2017 16:05:05 GMT -6
Aubrey | War-Forged | Bloody Flank Merchant
Aubrey had woken up early that morning and was greeted by the sharp, crisp chill of the morning air when she opened the wooden front door to her home. She tucked her leathery wings tightly to her sides, trying to keep the heat of her body trapped there. Her breath came out of her nostrils like that of a fiery dragon, swirling around her muzzle before dispersing into the air. Aubrey had to admit that despite the uncomfortable chill, she loved mornings like this. It reminded her to be thankful for the roof over her head that the Bloody Flanks had provided her and the warmth of the fire in her mentor's shop where she was able to do one of the things she loved the most: blacksmithing.
A small smile appeared on her face as she arrived at the front door to the little shop. She liked to arrive before her mentor to warm up the forge from the older stallion arrived so that they could work on whatever projects they needed to do the rest of the day without worrying about waiting on the fire to get hot enough to melt even the strongest of metals.
Aubrey turned the key to the front door, unlocking the entrance and swinging the door open to walk inside. The spotted mare walked behind the counter and into the back of the shop where her eyes settled on a familiar shape on her mentor's desk. It was the war hammer that he had allowed her to borrow on her first raid. Her brows narrowed at the thought of that night and the herder mare that they had brought back with them. Aubrey didn't have much of a care for horses that allowed themselves to be ruled by War-Lord Hira, but she couldn't help but wonder what fate she would have. A shudder ran through her and the memory of the searing pain of her wings being ripped to shreds by her abusive ex-husband shot through her.
Aubrey snorted and stomped her metal prosthetic into the wooden floor. She didn't need to be worrying over something that was out of her control. Whatever happened to that mare wasn't her fault, and she needed to focus her energy on more important things like helping to make weapons and armor to protect the horses of her clan.
She turned to the pile of coals and firewood beside the forge and began tossing in the amount that she had been taught to. She sparked a match and tossed it in and watched as the embers began to spark. The light of the fire danced in her eyes. Other days she would have enjoyed the feeling of the fire so dangerously close and burning hotter as the minutes passed, but today, her eyes were clouded with worry as she was haunted by memories of her past.
Word Count: 478 | Post #1
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