Noah would rather not do this, because she's not a warrior of any sort, but she won't give up the Pampas either so here we are. /shrugs/
As for the terms, though, I don't agree to lowering the word limit. The 1000 word limit from the rules is already low enough. I'll do my best to keep my posts as concise as possible, but no promises. My first post will be up shortly.
Stats:
Noah
Female
Adult
Hybrid (arab/pony influences mostly)
14.2 HH
Traits: Wings, Disease Manipulation, Flora Revival
She comes to the Plains knowing that she certainly doesn’t have the upper hand. The little red mare is smaller than he is, and slighter, and her powers don’t lend themselves much to combat; and she never much took to fighting as a child either; but she is not completely untrained. She and Rhonen had led a rather nomadic existence, and she had been forced to fight her way to safety at his side more than once – not to mention the horrors she had faced in Carnage’s quest. Noah is quiet, and reserved, and prefers her flowers and her peace, but she is not a coward and she is not totally unprepared. Despite her relative inexperience, she knows he can’t be that much better off; he’s barely grown at three years old, and probably still slightly off balance from growth and development, and he can’t have much experience either. But far and away, her biggest advantage is her wings.
The air rising from the Plains beneath her is warm – spring has just come to Beqanna, but the red clay has been gathering heat all day and reflects it back at them now as the afternoon peaks. Noah approaches him from the west, where the bright setting sun behind her will make it hard for him to watch her in return, and nearly impossible to see anything but her silhouette. There is no tree cover on the plains, but the sawgrass has already begun to grow, sharp and scraggly in the typical ugly way of plants fed mostly by blood and maybe some rain occasionally. She doesn’t find it ugly – perhaps it is not her beloved wildflowers, but she can see the beauty in every stalk of even this grass and her connection to it is just as strong; with every powerful wingbeat she feeds the grass with the forces that course through her and it grows wildly, mercilessly. In one moment it is fetlock deep, then knee deep, then belly deep, and still it grows; at the same time it grows broader leaves, longer leaves – an overall increase in size.
The sawgrass in its natural state would have been barely a nuisance – short blades crushed underhoof with only the largest of plants even a tripping hazard. At this size, the blades become a painful nuisance, ready to slide between hair and slice into tender skin like a thousand stinging insects. The density and growth of the plants will also quickly become an issue, making him work much harder to move anywhere shoving through dense vegetation, tripping him up and tangling around his legs. She might have the physical disadvantage, but the little roan mare is willing to get creative to protect her Pampas. It’s going to be harder to move, but if he refuses to move he might find himself so entangled in dense greenery that he <i>can’t</i> move – and wouldn’t that be fun?
It would be so easy simply to fell him where he stands without ever getting close – but she doesn’t reach for her other power yet. She can’t quite bear the thought of using it to cause harm to another being; she has only ever used it before to heal. The doubts and shame she had inherited from Rhonen in regards to the other power still course through her soul, a clearly drawn line in the sand that she has yet to cross. She isn’t sure she can cross it and still be herself. Instead she drops towards him, feinting at his head, but half-heartedly, and ready at any minute to pull sharply upwards. She wants to test out his range of motion, see what surprises he might be hiding; she hopes he might become encumbered by the still-growing foliage and trip. It would be a convenient bonus if one of her sharp kicks were to make contact with part of his sensitive head or neck, causing pain or even reducing his future motion or impairing his vision, but she isn’t holding her breath. She just wants to see what he will do – because first, father had always said, you must understand your opponent.
As for the terms, though, I don't agree to lowering the word limit. The 1000 word limit from the rules is already low enough. I'll do my best to keep my posts as concise as possible, but no promises. My first post will be up shortly.
Stats:
Noah
Female
Adult
Hybrid (arab/pony influences mostly)
14.2 HH
Traits: Wings, Disease Manipulation, Flora Revival
She comes to the Plains knowing that she certainly doesn’t have the upper hand. The little red mare is smaller than he is, and slighter, and her powers don’t lend themselves much to combat; and she never much took to fighting as a child either; but she is not completely untrained. She and Rhonen had led a rather nomadic existence, and she had been forced to fight her way to safety at his side more than once – not to mention the horrors she had faced in Carnage’s quest. Noah is quiet, and reserved, and prefers her flowers and her peace, but she is not a coward and she is not totally unprepared. Despite her relative inexperience, she knows he can’t be that much better off; he’s barely grown at three years old, and probably still slightly off balance from growth and development, and he can’t have much experience either. But far and away, her biggest advantage is her wings.
The air rising from the Plains beneath her is warm – spring has just come to Beqanna, but the red clay has been gathering heat all day and reflects it back at them now as the afternoon peaks. Noah approaches him from the west, where the bright setting sun behind her will make it hard for him to watch her in return, and nearly impossible to see anything but her silhouette. There is no tree cover on the plains, but the sawgrass has already begun to grow, sharp and scraggly in the typical ugly way of plants fed mostly by blood and maybe some rain occasionally. She doesn’t find it ugly – perhaps it is not her beloved wildflowers, but she can see the beauty in every stalk of even this grass and her connection to it is just as strong; with every powerful wingbeat she feeds the grass with the forces that course through her and it grows wildly, mercilessly. In one moment it is fetlock deep, then knee deep, then belly deep, and still it grows; at the same time it grows broader leaves, longer leaves – an overall increase in size.
The sawgrass in its natural state would have been barely a nuisance – short blades crushed underhoof with only the largest of plants even a tripping hazard. At this size, the blades become a painful nuisance, ready to slide between hair and slice into tender skin like a thousand stinging insects. The density and growth of the plants will also quickly become an issue, making him work much harder to move anywhere shoving through dense vegetation, tripping him up and tangling around his legs. She might have the physical disadvantage, but the little roan mare is willing to get creative to protect her Pampas. It’s going to be harder to move, but if he refuses to move he might find himself so entangled in dense greenery that he <i>can’t</i> move – and wouldn’t that be fun?
It would be so easy simply to fell him where he stands without ever getting close – but she doesn’t reach for her other power yet. She can’t quite bear the thought of using it to cause harm to another being; she has only ever used it before to heal. The doubts and shame she had inherited from Rhonen in regards to the other power still course through her soul, a clearly drawn line in the sand that she has yet to cross. She isn’t sure she can cross it and still be herself. Instead she drops towards him, feinting at his head, but half-heartedly, and ready at any minute to pull sharply upwards. She wants to test out his range of motion, see what surprises he might be hiding; she hopes he might become encumbered by the still-growing foliage and trip. It would be a convenient bonus if one of her sharp kicks were to make contact with part of his sensitive head or neck, causing pain or even reducing his future motion or impairing his vision, but she isn’t holding her breath. She just wants to see what he will do – because first, father had always said, you must understand your opponent.