Frustration pricked like a swarm of fire ants beneath the surface of the Emissary’s skin; it felt like a thousand little bites at once, as though all the emotions that she kept so carefully repressed were trying to gnaw their way out of her. Whether she liked it or not, the prelude to war seemed to follow in her steps like a hungry dog or to hang like a thick cloud of fog above her head, preventing her from seeing anything else. Seraphina liked to think of conflict as an inevitable product of civilization, but the conflict that kept her so preoccupied lately was one that could have been avoided by simple inaction. What had been done could not be undone, and now she – or they, but this failure stung her more than the she imagined it did the rest of the court, because it was her responsibility – was left to flounder in the aftermath, as out of her depth as she had been while drowning in the cold, black water of the maze. She’d failed then, too, and much as she wanted to hope she’d learned something from the experience, it left her feeling numb as anything else. Whatever the ghostly man she’d encountered in the maze meant to teach her had been lost on her, if he meant to teach her anything at all. Seraphina could only recall stumbling back in darkness, relying on the ghostly illumination of starlight to guide her steps as she hoped that the beast that had pursued her would not return to hunt her down again. Now she was stumbling her way home in another kind of darkness, trying to fumble her way free of her own foolishness and emptiness before it caught around her throat like a noose. Maybe it was this desire for clarity that sent her tracing familiar paths to the Steppe, returning to the warlike ways of her adolescence, to the blood and broken bones that had made her Seraphina.
Midday heat throbbed against her shoulders, but, when compared to the deserts of Solterra, the sticky humidity was pleasant. She picked her way across the hole-pocked turf carefully. The landscape had changed, of course, since she was last here, courtesy of the little creatures that burrowed beneath the surface and those that battled above it, tearing up the grass and leaving the ground upturned and near-barren. (This all reminded her again of the maze, and her little prairie dog companion – she hoped that it was alright, then chided herself for her sentimentality.) It was a manic scream from the far side of the Steppe that sent her in search of her quarry, a hint of morbid anticipation in her step. The sound could not come from the lips of a creature in its right mind, and that knowledge nearly gave her pause. However, she’d caught sight of no other partner while wandering, and she had never felt genuine fear in a fight before anyways. The worst that she could encounter was the pale face of death, and Seraphina, a creature who saw life as something that simply was, rather than something of value, had no reason to fear the end. It would always find her eventually.
The source of the unearthly wail was a beast of a stallion, though barely larger than her in stature; rather than a creature of lank and length, he was muscular and warlike, much like her save for the elegance with which he held himself, a stark contrast to the mare’s stiff, nearly mechanical posture. (She was more fluid in combat, of course, but Seraphina always maintained the illusion of restraint.) The one aspect of his anatomy that was enough to give her pause was the intimidating set of antlers that sprouted from his skull, ink-black but laced with fragments of sunlight; those would be dangerous, as she suspected they were more than capable of ripping her flesh to ribbons given the opportunity. More dangerous even than his antlers was the anger that seemed to radiate from him like heat from desert sands. She watched him warily as she approached and called out from across their uneven battleground, though it was little more than a gesture of customary acknowledgement.
“It seems something ails you, stranger,” Her voice was cool and crisp, despite the clear threat that the man presented. But it doesn’t matter. Ears pinned back, and eyes narrowed to sharp, serpentine slits. “Perhaps this will help.”
Solis guide my steps.
She was in motion almost as soon as the words passed her lips, teeth bared in a vicious mockery of some predatory animal. Seraphina wrenched the ground from its place beneath her hooves, sending up a spray of dust and chunks of turf in her wake. She was forced to charge him, and she knew that he could see her coming; the holes that riddled the ground only slowed her, and there had been some distance between them when she approached, anyways. She needed, then, to be deceptive in her attack. Her thoughts, then, shifted to the chief source of her irritation, and she found herself left with an idea. As she neared the stallion, teeth still bared in a snarl, she seemed to trip over the uneven ground and lose her balance, legs buckling and lurching to bridge the last few steps between them. However, as soon as she judged the distance between them short enough to bridge with relative ease, Seraphina snapped up onto her hindquarters and pawed with no particular aim at his scalpula and sternum, sharp hooves aiming to tear at his flesh and bruise the bone and muscle beneath.
Midday heat throbbed against her shoulders, but, when compared to the deserts of Solterra, the sticky humidity was pleasant. She picked her way across the hole-pocked turf carefully. The landscape had changed, of course, since she was last here, courtesy of the little creatures that burrowed beneath the surface and those that battled above it, tearing up the grass and leaving the ground upturned and near-barren. (This all reminded her again of the maze, and her little prairie dog companion – she hoped that it was alright, then chided herself for her sentimentality.) It was a manic scream from the far side of the Steppe that sent her in search of her quarry, a hint of morbid anticipation in her step. The sound could not come from the lips of a creature in its right mind, and that knowledge nearly gave her pause. However, she’d caught sight of no other partner while wandering, and she had never felt genuine fear in a fight before anyways. The worst that she could encounter was the pale face of death, and Seraphina, a creature who saw life as something that simply was, rather than something of value, had no reason to fear the end. It would always find her eventually.
The source of the unearthly wail was a beast of a stallion, though barely larger than her in stature; rather than a creature of lank and length, he was muscular and warlike, much like her save for the elegance with which he held himself, a stark contrast to the mare’s stiff, nearly mechanical posture. (She was more fluid in combat, of course, but Seraphina always maintained the illusion of restraint.) The one aspect of his anatomy that was enough to give her pause was the intimidating set of antlers that sprouted from his skull, ink-black but laced with fragments of sunlight; those would be dangerous, as she suspected they were more than capable of ripping her flesh to ribbons given the opportunity. More dangerous even than his antlers was the anger that seemed to radiate from him like heat from desert sands. She watched him warily as she approached and called out from across their uneven battleground, though it was little more than a gesture of customary acknowledgement.
“It seems something ails you, stranger,” Her voice was cool and crisp, despite the clear threat that the man presented. But it doesn’t matter. Ears pinned back, and eyes narrowed to sharp, serpentine slits. “Perhaps this will help.”
Solis guide my steps.
She was in motion almost as soon as the words passed her lips, teeth bared in a vicious mockery of some predatory animal. Seraphina wrenched the ground from its place beneath her hooves, sending up a spray of dust and chunks of turf in her wake. She was forced to charge him, and she knew that he could see her coming; the holes that riddled the ground only slowed her, and there had been some distance between them when she approached, anyways. She needed, then, to be deceptive in her attack. Her thoughts, then, shifted to the chief source of her irritation, and she found herself left with an idea. As she neared the stallion, teeth still bared in a snarl, she seemed to trip over the uneven ground and lose her balance, legs buckling and lurching to bridge the last few steps between them. However, as soon as she judged the distance between them short enough to bridge with relative ease, Seraphina snapped up onto her hindquarters and pawed with no particular aim at his scalpula and sternum, sharp hooves aiming to tear at his flesh and bruise the bone and muscle beneath.
Summary: Seraphina shows up ready to fight Ammon, even though he's being kinda scary. She charges him, feints and pretends to trip as she approaches, then rears up and tries to hit him in the chest with her hooves. Also, some thematic music or something.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: October 2nd
Tags: @Ammon, @
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
