Fight Type: spar
Prize: n/a
Contact Made: yes!
Character #1: @Marisol
Bonded: n/a
Magic: n/a
Armor: n/a
Weapons: throwing spear
Current Health: 18
Current Attack: 22
Current Experience: 37
Character #2: @tucson
Bonded: n/a
Magic: n/a
Armor: n/a
Weapons: n/a
Current Health: 12
Current Attack: 8
Current Experience: 10
Prize: n/a
Contact Made: yes!
Character #1: @
Bonded: n/a
Magic: n/a
Armor: n/a
Weapons: throwing spear
Current Health: 18
Current Attack: 22
Current Experience: 37
Character #2: @tucson
Bonded: n/a
Magic: n/a
Armor: n/a
Weapons: n/a
Current Health: 12
Current Attack: 8
Current Experience: 10
hallelujah
i found
jesus when
i drowned;
i found
jesus when
i drowned;
It is a cloudless day, and summer-sultry; the sky is a blue so bright it nearly hurts to look at. Heat casts a wobbly film upon the wine-dark dirt. And silence is king here in the middle of the day, when all creatures with sense have gone back to the shade, but its rule is disrupted by the sound of feathers beating high overhead—louder and louder and louder, until it stops. Abruptly. Completely.
Marisol lands with a soft thud, and her hooves cast clouds of dust up from the earth. In the right light, the dirt that rings her legs seem red enough to be bloody. She looks plainer even than usual, no warpaint, no cuff; she’s always found it a little trite, to come to a battlefield wearing anything but scars. Gods willing there will never come a day where she must lead a fight while carrying a crown. A girl can only focus on so much at once.
Anyway, this is supposed to be a return to normalcy, so she must look the part. No queenly regalia, nor signias of importance. She is only clean and dark and plain, and it is obvious from the confidence in her stride that she has been here before. The steppe is an old friend by now. It has been a home to her for years and years, before she was Commander, before she was even a cadet: hadn’t that been ages ago? It is as familiar to her as the path into the fields or the hallways of the barracks.
So much more familiar than the idea of being a queen.
Her mouth still curls with a little distaste as she thinks of it. Or maybe it’s just fear of failure, coming after her once again with claws like needles and a keen sense of smell. Commander and Queen at once, that has never been done before. Why should she, she with the sharp teeth and the heart like steel, the antithesis of a traditional Terrastellan, be chosen for it?
Who can tell her truthfully—she with the bloodlust, she with the battered wings—that it will be okay?
With a shake of her shoulders, Marisol sloughs off a curtain of red dirt. Her coat is starting to heat up under the glare of the sun, warmth leaching into her muscles, limbs slowly waking up as she moves around the steppe.
The world is quiet but for the presence of birds, singing and chittering overhead.
Mari is not worried that she might have made the trip for nothing: battlefields rarely stay empty for long.
![[Image: ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda...jvUop12efQ]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/c175b84a-409b-40aa-8b86-49ed65b989ee/ddg6quy-9d15dab5-339c-4b09-8b57-20a99fda550e.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcL2MxNzViODRhLTQwOWItNDBhYS04Yjg2LTQ5ZWQ2NWI5ODllZVwvZGRnNnF1eS05ZDE1ZGFiNS0zMzljLTRiMDktOGI1Ny0yMGE5OWZkYTU1MGUucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.j-t9RuUsmMyaVL-O1rvZqbyyPYdOvtjHLjvUop12efQ)
