ULRIC
Warden of the Dawn Court
we are men amongst mountains, pressing into the night
The Stormsinger calls him forth to the battlefield once more.
Before, they had been mere strangers, coming together in the Steppe by little more than chance, but since then Ulric had seen her again in Delumine. The situation had been less than ideal, tense for the many who had been present, yet surely Aislinn more than anyone.
Although Ulric still didn’t understand the details of that evening during the harvest festival, his opinion of the stormy mare remained all the same – that she was a force to be reckoned with, a worthy opponent who had managed to strike him down previously - a total badass, for lack of better terms.
The Warden’s blood thrummed in his veins, excitement palpable in the air around him. Leaving Delumine behind had not been an easy choice, but with a promise to Somnus that he would return at once and assuring that their wariors stood on guard, Ulric headed to the rugged battleground just southeast of the Dawn Court.
Emerging from the trees beyond the creek, Ulric spots the lady of the hour with ease, her ebony coat standing out against the brilliance of the rising sun behind her. Facing the sun, already the Warden is at a slight disadvantage, and so he treads carefully over the burrow and hole riddled ground of the steppe as he approached, the silken ribbon woven into his mane billowing gently at his side.
“Hero?” He repeats with the quirk of a brow and the cock of his head, a positively amused grin spreading across dark lips before he hummed. “Guy could get used to that.”
But as much joy as the roan finds in playful banter, not to mention being referred to as a hero, it wasn’t the purpose of their union here today. No; they were here to fight, to shed blood and help make the other a stronger, more able-bodied and experienced individual.
Without another wasted moment, black rimmed ears dip backwards as the roan begins. His hooves strike hard and fast against the ground beneath him, stretching far and then drawing short in order to avoid losing a foot in the burrows that he could see. As he nears, he does not slow, and points himself towards her left side. Muscles tense and coil beneath his silvered hide, drawing his hind legs in beneath him as the fronts stretch out to halt his charge, hooves sliding and grinding against the uneven ground. Dropping his head, the Warden strikes out at the Stormsinger, hoping to pinpoint her tender flank.
"Talk."
Before, they had been mere strangers, coming together in the Steppe by little more than chance, but since then Ulric had seen her again in Delumine. The situation had been less than ideal, tense for the many who had been present, yet surely Aislinn more than anyone.
Although Ulric still didn’t understand the details of that evening during the harvest festival, his opinion of the stormy mare remained all the same – that she was a force to be reckoned with, a worthy opponent who had managed to strike him down previously - a total badass, for lack of better terms.
The Warden’s blood thrummed in his veins, excitement palpable in the air around him. Leaving Delumine behind had not been an easy choice, but with a promise to Somnus that he would return at once and assuring that their wariors stood on guard, Ulric headed to the rugged battleground just southeast of the Dawn Court.
Emerging from the trees beyond the creek, Ulric spots the lady of the hour with ease, her ebony coat standing out against the brilliance of the rising sun behind her. Facing the sun, already the Warden is at a slight disadvantage, and so he treads carefully over the burrow and hole riddled ground of the steppe as he approached, the silken ribbon woven into his mane billowing gently at his side.
“Hero?” He repeats with the quirk of a brow and the cock of his head, a positively amused grin spreading across dark lips before he hummed. “Guy could get used to that.”
But as much joy as the roan finds in playful banter, not to mention being referred to as a hero, it wasn’t the purpose of their union here today. No; they were here to fight, to shed blood and help make the other a stronger, more able-bodied and experienced individual.
Without another wasted moment, black rimmed ears dip backwards as the roan begins. His hooves strike hard and fast against the ground beneath him, stretching far and then drawing short in order to avoid losing a foot in the burrows that he could see. As he nears, he does not slow, and points himself towards her left side. Muscles tense and coil beneath his silvered hide, drawing his hind legs in beneath him as the fronts stretch out to halt his charge, hooves sliding and grinding against the uneven ground. Dropping his head, the Warden strikes out at the Stormsinger, hoping to pinpoint her tender flank.
"Talk."
HISTORY HAS ITS EYES ON YOU
➳
all contact is permitted and encouraged
