Spar Grasshopper (Max vs. Stellanor)


 5.5  10  9  69 
ATKDEFDAMHP
 Pegasus 
SPECIES
 Novice 
BUFF
60ʜs
HS

Maxence

Warden of Mokosh


MAXENCE

The coldest of frosts was choked by the waking of the sun—a sight that the Warden watching in reverence from his place upon a hillock, his gaze passing over their landscape. The escape of a night that had turned the moors a pale shade of mint and the mountains looked bluer than ever. With each step the soldier felt the satisfying crunch of frost underhoof, and as he wandered out onto the endless fields he noted a flock of lake birds crossing the peach-coloured sky. 
Their Vale was becoming home to many.
A fox had laid it's footprints across the moor in an organised game trail, not once suspecting that it's den and lair were now so easily discoverable by the new inhabitants of his vale. As Maxence roamed their valley he uncovered more and more secrets, but also more and more worries. There were some who may have trusted in this landscape far too much and had become too at home within the safety the land and others provided. When the time came would those who seemed to have little in the way of training be able to hold their own against the wild? 

The Warden's ever-worrying mind fell to the likes of precious Eurydice; so small and talented, and then to Stellanor. So intimidatingly intelligent... and incredibly beautiful.  
To lose either one of them to the snatchers would be a great loss. 

There was only one gift he could give that would enable them an advantage against such threats; Proper combat training. He had woken early to seek the lowest point of the moorland for a flat training area, his gaze raking over each hill and dale until he saw a flat plain amongst the vale. That would be their training ground. With nothing but sky overhead and mountains and pine in the distance, it was a place for clear thinking, honing and learning.
In a few beats of his wings Maxence had landed upon the field, the frosted grass rippling like an ocean under the current of his wings. "Stellanor!" the Warden roared, "Today you will train with me."

Setting: Mokosh at dawn
Words: 353
Attack: 0/3 
Summary Max finds a place to train in the moor and calls for Stellanor!
Tag: @Stellanor 







MERCY PREVAIL
OVER MY WRATH
Permission to use magic & minimal power play on Maxence.



 5  12.5  4.5  66 
ATKDEFDAMHP
 Equine 
SPECIES
 Novice 
BUFF
975ʜs
HS

Stellanor

Professor of Mokosh


(“...shhhh ‒”)

Stellanor undoes the buckles of her harness with the utmost care ‒ from the smooth, elk-leather rings and burnished, bronze fixtures, the parchment keeper and telescope pitch and elicit soft, complaining rustles and twangs
It is a small miracle that she feels secure enough to remove these treasures from her body and leave them behind. 

She readjusts the fox stole on her withers and tucks her harness gently away in her bunk. Wrapped up in her wolf skin cloak and wished adieu till sundown, she winds her way through the cave system and out into the open air…  

(‒ a rangy black bear sow stands, hunched and round, on the trapper’s trail, watching them with small, dark eyes.
Stella whimpers, pressing her cheek against her father’s thigh. Fears grips her throat like a fist ‒ everything in her demands flight. She takes strands of his muddy tail in her teeth and tugs desperately.

He stands firm; 
“shhhh ‒”
)

...sunlight glitters on the thin crust of frost, melting into small puddles of thaw as the young sun peeks and splays through trees and mountain spires. The earthy, cool breeze holds the scent of pine and ling in its airy fingers; intermingled, is the pervasive, mineral-soup whiff of the hot springs, their vapors curling to the air like spirits longing for the sky. She inhales, her white lashes fluttering together ‒
‘Stellanor!’ 
Her straight, fine head snaps in his direction. Amid the heath and rocky soil of the lowland, he cuts a commanding figure. 
The breeze blows curls of her pale hair around her face, impervious to her blowing and spitting them away from her eyes. ‘Today you will train with me.’
Her brow furrows, silver hooves flashing with each tentative step taken.

(“‒ Stellanor, shhh…”

The sow stomps the ground with her broad, front paws, clacking her molars together in sharp, cautioning pops.

“...you can’t run from everything, darling. Sometimes, you have to stand tall.”
)

She eyes him curiously ‒ cautiously ‒ as she approaches; her sable lip pinched between her flat, front teeth as she works her long hair into controlled updos and plaits. She draws to a large, dry rock, its rough skin pocked with pale, mint-green lichen. Craning back, she lips the precious, white pelt from her shoulders, and drops it gently onto the stone, before stepping ‒ delicate and wary ‒ to face the Northern Warden.

“I’m afraid you may have your work cut out ‒” she speaks, voice hitching momentarily in her throat.
A loose strand of forelock has already wriggled loose, falling over her eyes. “But I’m here. Perhaps, tougher than I look…”

There is borean spirit in the very territories and marrow of her being ‒ that agile, slim form, like birch trees at high-moon; wolf calls and granite whispers. Along the borders, dwells fear, like the lapping of an angry ocean ‒ it makes her coiled and taut, the sinewy muscles beneath her pale skin flex and unclench in nervous breakers as she shifts from foot to foot.

Her father once told her, on an old trapper’s trail, a bear sow grunting her keen displeasure at their trespassing: “Fear is the most important instinct of all ‒ it is savagely primal.”


Setting: Mokosh at dawn
Words: 537
Attack: 0/3 
Summary: Stellanor joins Maxence, very apprehensive, and perhaps a bit excited, recalling a story of her father teaching her the how to be brave. (Is Max daddy now?) An intoduction, because it didn't feel right that Stellanor would quite be able to launch the first attack!
Tag: @Maxence  



 5.5  10  9  69 
ATKDEFDAMHP
 Pegasus 
SPECIES
 Novice 
BUFF
60ʜs
HS

Maxence

Warden of Mokosh


MAXENCE

She was maiden of snow and of ice, cloaked irrevocably in the colours of her homeland. Wherever her footfalls graced the grass the folk would look and they would know she was a woman of skyfall and snowflakes. of the North.  Maxence watched those footfalls of pale grace and blue prints, his eyes of oceans laying open and wide as he drank in her approaching form. 

Perhaps somewhere in his cold, dark chest there waited a black heart that fluttered at the sight of her heeding his call. 

"Stellanor" the soldier spoke in a voice that was tougher than leather, but somehow as warm as a campfire. "My work cut out? What ever do you mean. Anyone can fight with the right teacher."
 Was that a smile that broke upon his maw? A handsome, heartbreaking smile that creased the fine lines around his eyes, lines and scars that had accumulated after years of stress and torment upon the battlefield. While he had aged rapidly and his skin was no where near as fine as the youthful complexion of the woman who stood before him, his features remained chiselled and strong. 

But as quickly as his mind had lost itself in Stellanor's radiance, it found itself once more in the steps he took across their battleground. Each was precise and calculated, his gaze passing from his opponent's poll to her hocks in an effort to anticipate where she might move. 
"First lesson — Always move!" he spoke, turning slowly upon his hocks to change the direction in which he paced around the circumference of their crude arena. "Watch your opponent's every move — if you cannot see them or what they're doing you will have no chance of defence." 

Would blood be spilt here? Would it be his? Would it be hers?  Maxence became anxious as he tread the battleground, eyes affixed upon his opponent, muscles rippling beneath battle-hardened flesh. He wanted to train her... but he did not want to harm her in the process. 
It just wasn't possible.
He would go easy, hold back on any tactics, allow her the chance at a proper defence.

"Defend!" the warrior bellowed as his footfalls took him away from the outer perimeter of the arena, wings beating upon the current of highland winds as he lunged forth. His attack was slow, lumbered and precise, aiming his chest into the maiden's own. In an ideal world she'd skip out of the way, defend easily or attack back but she was no expert. With his shoulder blade bore as a weapon, Maxence aimed the point of his right shoulder toward the depths of Stellanor's throat. 
Eska, watch over her. 
But Maxence felt Stellanor's presence, the sheer proximity of the northern siren who's skin was bound to meet his own and he gasped. Eye's wide, they sought her own. 

She had him frozen like ice.


Setting: Mokosh at dawn
Words: 478
Attack: 1/3 
Summary Max paces around the arena before he crosses it, lunging at stellanor and attmepts to thrust his shoulder into stellanor's chest. 
Tag: @Stellanor 



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