Flashback Over the River.

pt i.

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The Wilderness of Cyphrus is an endless sea of tall grass that rolls just like the oceans themselves. Geysers kiss the sky with their steamy breath, and mysterious craters create microworlds all their own. But above all danger lives here in the tall grass in the form of fierce wild creatures; elegant serpents that swim through the land like whales through the ocean and fierce packs of glassbeaks that hunt in packs which are only kept at bay by fires. Traverse it carefully, with a guide if possible, for those that venture alone endanger themselves in countless ways.

Over the River.

Postby Maore on March 8th, 2018, 1:02 pm

3 Summer 263


Astarael didn’t think she could ever become accustomed to being in the saddle, riding at a hard pace across the Sea of Grass in the mass of men and women who were the Sunstrike clan. Her thighs were often bruised from the pounding they took, even though the yvas seemed very friendly to both horses and riders, and she’d become better accustomed to them than she did the hard saddle she’d rode to Endrykas with.

She bounced against the horse under her and groaned at this newest displeasure, the horse responding by tilting her ears back. Astarael, thinking it’d sooth any uncertainty the animal had, leaned forward and ran her hand down the beast’s sweat-licked neck, crooning noises she thought were comforting and reassuring. Someone next to her, one of the family’s young men, laughed and said something to the man riding abreast of him. The stream of Pavi he trailed off wasn’t entirely foreign to the ethaefal, but she was confused, stringing the sentence together as, ‘who does she think she’s friendly to? Euna’s a confident girl; the woman could be taught’.

“Taught what?” The Ethaefal asked, tilting her head. Sun-streaked the deep red tones of her hair, struck her eyes and made them like quicksilver in the sudden way that the light made her appear rosy rather than like marble. She rode in the same attire that they did, dressed in purple scarves and riding breeches, those gold-streaked strands of red braided beneath the elegant crown of her horns, but she didn’t ride like them, and she suspected that was what they meant.

“Not taught,” the first man said, laughing again. The sound was rich against the snorting of horses and the steady creaking of a Seme’s pulled wagon. Somewhere, a child laughed shrilly, and she found herself smiling although she was not a part of the joke The rushing of the Bluevein could be heard, masked by the tall grasses that made this place so dangerous, babbling into the breeze that did little to cool off sweaty faces and flanks. “I said,” and he repeated the word, adding inflections with his hands that couldn’t be said. He added a few more words, and she understood.

“I could be shown some things?” The woman asked for clarification, furrowing her brow and holding tightly to the beast in front of her. The group had slowed a bit, angling towards the Bluevein in preparation to cross it. She’d not done this part of the yearly trek before, but the Strider she rode had and followed the ones before her knowingly.

“Yes,” he answered. Astarael, remembering his name after a long time without it, knew him to be one of the Ankal’s nephews. Duma, she thought. The one on his other side might have been his brother, their similarities striking, but she couldn’t say. “You don’t have confidence.”

“I’m not good at riding horses,” she said, making a face, “still new at it. Learning, though.”

“Oh?” Duma looked at her, and on his far side, so too did his brother. Astarael felt small under their gaze, but she sat straighter and tried to pretend that she knew what she was doing. Duma laughed again, gestured to her, and his brother laughed too. The Ethaefal only now began to think that maybe she was the butt of a joke between them and she looked away, face hot with wounded pride.

“I’m learning,” she said, a little forceful this time.

“Whoever’s been teaching you isn’t doing so well. Come here,” Duma’s brother said, urging his own Strider forward to outpace Duma and give Astarael the opportunity to ride next to him. Duma moved along to the left, around to Astarael’s other side, and she was surrounded.
Maore
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Over the River.

Postby Maore on June 29th, 2018, 9:39 pm

Despite being surrounded, Astarael didn't feel like she was in danger. These were people who had taken her in and fostered her after a long, hard ride, and these two in particular hadn't been outright against her joining them. If anything, she was uncomfortable, and it was due to the harmless feeling of potentially being made fun of by well-meaning tricksters.

"The yvas isn't like a saddle," the Ethaefal said, to precede whatever it is the brothers had been about to say. They let her have a word. "Nobody told me it'd feel like this, like I'm almost riding a horse bareback."

"It's easier this way," Duma said. "The horses can free themselves if they get stuck. I can show you once we stop for the night - watch out for this," he parted from Astarael and his brother, making a wide berth around a dip in the ground that'd been nearly invisible in the tall grass. She and the other Drykas went the other way, the rest of the party sluiced neatly on either side after them, and merging once more ahead. Going around like they had,she could see how someone might have once used the dip to hide from inclement weather or mounted pursuit, and perhaps had been in the past. Bones littered the inside, a testament to untold stories. Her companions didn't mention anything about this, but before she turned and faced forward again, Astarael noted a young man dismounting to scoop up the bones and deposit them into one of the pouches on his bandoleer not devoted to rocks for his sling. Not unfamiliar with something to macabre, Astarael said nothing and gave her attention back to Duma.

"There are no reins," Astarael continued. She'd had trouble turning the horse so far, but her mount was familiar with the motions of her herd and had followed them. She was intelligent, and the Ethaefal appreciated it, though she disliked not being able to do it herself. Should she pull the horse's hair, or pat the side of her kneck? She asked these questions of Duma, her hand gesturing through Pavi handsigns that were a combination of archaic and modern, much like her language was. It'd become better with time.

"It's in the legs," Duma said. The Bluevein was at their side now, although the Drykas gave the river some space, as it'd just rained and the river was still engorged with the water, making for treacherous footing. They'd have to cross it eventually, but at a shallow arm. It was apparent to Astarael that her companions were familiar with this. "Watch."

The Ethaefal looked at him, green eyes smouldering in the hot summer sun, but the motions he made were imperceptible to the unknowing eyes watching him. His mount responded, turning out away from her and his brother, into the path of a broad Seme who also veered. Everybody righted themselves and the Ethaefal laughed at the chastised expression on the young man's face. He'd done it without his hands moving from the leather handle that served as a place to brace the rider, so she assumed it was the thighs or the feet that'd been doing it, and she gave it a shot.

The first attempt, exerting pressure by tensing her inner thighs, was uncomfortable. The trousers she wore were an eye-opening introduction to the world of fully covered legs, and she felt tight and constricted inside of them. Her horse didn't respond, and her motions were subtle enough that Duma missed, although one was looking out over the Bluevein and not at her. So, she tried it with her foot, gently nudging against the mare with the inside of her calf, and trying to remain stiff in her seat. The mare turned, as desired, but too sharply. Astarael righted her quickly, almost toppling off the horse's back and yanking hard on her mane to catch herself. The other Drykas moved in, ready to help her balance, and Duma's strong fingers helped ease her grip out of the mare's mane. The animal had been responsive, so the Ethaefal's face burned with some humiliation, like she felt like she had failed.

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Maore
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Over the River.

Postby Maore on July 1st, 2018, 8:10 pm

"You have to turn your upper body, too," Duma said. It had been a handful of bells, the procession of Drykas progressing further along the Bluevein to where it swelled north. They might cross here, depending on how deep it'd become, and she was excited to see the horses move over the water. Further north east, she'd been told there were ruins, although nobody had been clear on the name. It seemed like they'd not spent time at the ruins in living memory. "When you want the horse to move, she can feel it. She's very intuitive."

As Astarael had progressed, she'd kind of felt that. The mare listened to her when she addressed it, and responded easily to the press of the Ethaefal's leg against her sides, but she wasn't good at encouraging the horse to take less severe turns. Euna was a patient mount, and there'd been no notable danger to challenge the fragile control that Astarael had so far exerted over the beast, so it was a good learning opportunity that Duma - and his brother, Casi, as she soon learned from their rapid-fire conversation and his impatient blurting out of the name, took advantage of. They were talented horsemen, she had come to see, willing to perform for their own amusement and to the entertainment of their cousins. Everyone here being related to one another, except for the Ethaefal herself having no actual blood relation to this cluster of people, it wasn't much more meaningful than harmless fun.

She kind of envied them for their skill and spirit, feeling just a little dull in comparison.

"It doesn't feel right," the Ethaefal said, after manoeuvring Euna to avoid Casi, who'd blatantly stopped in front of her to make her have to turn, or collide. Euna would have definitely diverted herself to avoid the large horse Casi was riding, but the Ethaefal wanted to participate. The motion had been uncomfortable, but she couldn't grasp the right word to share that information. Someone behind them - Amali perhaps, who'd enjoyed the show with his wife and daughter - laughed and said something, to which Casi and Duma had also laughed. She thought she understood it, a joke about the stiff posture of a virgin afraid to ruin her wedding night. It was actually enough of a comment to embarrass the Ethaefal, but she didn't return a jab at the man. She didn't know how to return it.

What Astarael did do was encourage Euna into a faster gait to outpace her self-imposed teachers and their friends. She did this by sitting straight in the same stiff position Amali had laughed about, and giving Euna a few short, quick squeezes with her legs, her hands grasping the handle of the yvas in something of a death grip since she'd come to expect the bouncing that'd accompany picking up speed and didn't want to get unhorsed. She'd been doing well so far in staying in the saddle, and didn't want to imply to these people who'd taken her in that she was cursed rather than just incompetent. There were very negative connotations with being thrown out of the yvas.

She let Euna guide herself through the herd, trusting the mare to not lead her astray. Reputedly, Euna had been the horse younger riders were allowed to ride when they weren't comfortable doing it on their own horse, hadn't bonded with a strider, and weren't willing to continue riding with their mother or in the bed of a wagon. Frankly, the Ethaefal was in the best hands that Endrykas could offer, and it showed, because even at this trot, Euna was very conscious of the surrounding horses, and seemed to pick out where her own friends were with an ease the Ethaefal would have attributed to a socialite. Behind them, Casi, Duma, and Amali exclaimed, calling out for her to slow down. Amali's wife and daughter were laughing, delighted, and a few of the other riders that'd been witness to the whole thing had also laughed. Euna knew what she wanted and didn't stop for them, and Astarael was along for the ride, knowing that if she'd have asked for it, the horse would have waited. She did encourage Euna to slow, though, by sliding her legs forward, closer to the withers, and squeezing as she leaned back in the yvas. That made sense. It felt right. Maybe once they crossed the river, they'd pause to drink, and she could ease out the aches and pains in her backside.

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Maore
the void behind my teeth.
 
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Over the River.

Postby Orakan on March 23rd, 2019, 2:41 am

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ImageCiraaci
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Skills
● Riding - 3XP
● Horsemanship - 1XP
● Interrogation - 2XP

● Observation - 3XP
● Socialisation - 1XP
● Wilderness Survival - 1XP

Lores
● Self: Astarael: First name used amongst the horseclans
● Horsemanship: Soothing a mount
● Interrogation: Asking clarification
● Dumo: One of the Sunstrike Ankal's sons
● Riding: Yvas are different than saddles and like riding bareback
● Riding: Avoiding hazardous terrain
● Wilderness Survival: Natural changes in terrain can be used for protection from the elements
● Riding: Yvas have no reins and give the horse more freedom of movement
● Wilderness Survival: Avoid rivers and streams following heavy rains
● Riding: Using your legs to steer when using an Yvas
● Yvas: Appearance, mechanics and uses
● Riding: Striders are intelligent and can sense where you want them to go
● Riding: Using your whole body to give your horse cues
● Euna: An intelligent Strider and patient mount
● Casi: Dumo's brother
● Struggling with the language barrier
● Riding: Prompting a horse into a faster gait
● Drykas Culture: The importance of remaining in the Yvas
● Riding: Moving knees forward and leaning back to slow a mount

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Stunning as always. Thanks for the read! Do let me know if you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade and don't forget to delete/edit your request in the grading queue.
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