507-05-07 The Lucitana is run on Gateway
From Crossroads Wiki
| The Lucitana is run on Gateway | |
|---|---|
| RL Date | May 15, 2009 |
| Players | Briony Marchora, John Cooper, Marek Paggion, Philomena Caprios, Aileana Ashlan, Guidhael Fiedach, Annabella Forester, Cynara Dhaval, Zane Langdon, Yseult de Caire, Imani Paggion, Willem Paggion |
| Location | South Gateway Isle |
| Crossroads Time and Weather | |
| IC Date | May 7, 507 |
| Season | Spring |
This was a difficult race, and I thank everyone who came out and tried to make the ride. There were surprises both good and bad, though not unexpected. This was the kind of race not everyone was expected to finish, with more losers than winners. Thank you to Cake who helped me not only during the race, but for many hours before. :) --B
John Cooper is here, ready to ride, and nearly all in one piece. Last night's bout with farm animals has taken its toll, but the barkeep is gritty and determined. His mount is no racehorse, rather one of the huge stallions enlisted to lug the Isle of Ale's Rolling Tavern to the beach. While certainly not the swiftest or most experienced horse in the race, Kegbuster is powerful, and one mean sonuvagun. Cooper, though mounted atop the animal, is not at all sure who is in charge.
The former centurion wears double-layers of clothing, and atop his head is an out-of-date knight's helmet, on the back of which is painted, in crude block letters, IAT. John Cooper rides for the pride of the Tavern, and for all those that love ale.
Kegbuster himself has his forefront cloaked in protective leather. He does not, however, sport blinders, the rider wanting his steed to be aware, at all times, of his surroundings and any possible danger. Strewn across the horse's back are four saddlebags, open at the top, and within easy reach of Cooper's hands.
Marek trots up after Imani and Cynara, Smoke, the gray mare he rides, jerking her head back slightly as he pulls up near his sister and her friend. The smile he flashes towards them is easy. "You two ready?" he asks, looking over his shoulder and furrowing his brows. "Where's Willem?"
The Empress comes toward the starting area already within the saddle of her own ebony stallion. The seriousness of the race is not something lost on her, growing up on the Fields, though there isn't anything of nerves to her at all, or her mount below her. She smiles easily as she sees the other riders, lifting a hand to wave in a friendly fashion. "Nice that the rain stopped," she comments, giving her Tinder a pat on the neck.
Aileana shifts restlessly from foot to foot, her hands tight and loose on the reins of her copper-colored horse. Finally, she puts a foot in the stirrup and swings up. She rocks in the saddle as if getting comfortable. "I'm going to die in this race," she calls toward Mena.
Horse? The horse is supposed to have a name? It's a large horse. Probably used to be some Legionaire's warhorse before Guidhael got it. Sitting in the saddle, he looks around at the arriving overs, offering a bow to the nobility that arrives in the process.
Bella comes up the meadow riding a sturdy little Galicenos horse. 12-13 hands high, she's not the biggest horse, but she's got a lot of spirit. Bella is dressed in padded leathers, her tunic in the colors of her Barony. She smiles at Mena and Aileana and says to the Duchess, "You're an excellent horsewoman, Your Grace. I'm sure you'll be fine. I think we Fielders outnumber all the other isles running in this race, put together."
"You're not going to die," Mena says with a chuckle to Aileana. "If you're that scared, you can just bow out," she adds with a wink. This one is in high spirits today. She doesn't often enter herself in the festival races. Or ever. This is the first time.
"No you're not, Your Grace!" the advocate calls out to Ana. No one's dying today, damn it! ... or she hopes so anyway. At the Empress's wave, Cynara dips her head since she can't curtsey, to her and the other important personages entering the race. She straightens at the, her smile flashing over to Imani. What, her, worry?
Briony is here, of course. What is unusual is the squad of young boys on ponies that surround her like a bunch of tousle-haired wasps. A glowing line has been drawn on the grass, which seems harmless enough.
Zane moves his mount into position, sleeker than most of the Stallions, the mare is a bit more speedy, certainly. And, looks as if she is full of attitude, as well. There are no saddlebags about her back, however, nor does the horse have any other protections upon her. He says, as if the thought only just occurred to him, "Anybody cheats in this race an' causes someone else t'get hurt, I'll personally knock yer teeth out." And, the manner in which he says it? Lends some certain credibility that he in truth, would at least /try/ to do just that, and with a vengeance. He takes a few slow breaths, and pats his horse's neck, "Let's show these other Islanders that the best horses are on th' Fields, Cider. You an' me. An' Ana, an' th' Empress, an' the Baroness."
Arriving at an easy trot which slows to a restless walk comes a charcoal grey mare, sleek and fine. Upon her sits a veiled woman, side saddle at the moment, in silver-grey skirt and blouse. The two approach and stop just on the outskirts of the crowd.
Kegbuster, showing his usual spirit when around other smaller horses, begins kicking and bucking, rather showing off. Cooper does his best to sooth the animal, but to little avail. He holds on tightly, only hoping that when the race begins, his steed will move off in the correct direction.
The Empress can be seen to be eying not the other riders, but the other horses for long moments as she waits for the call to line up to sound.
Beneath Imani, her horse paces forwards and back with that high energy that comes from being in such a large group of equines. The look that the healer gives to Cynara and her younger brother is neither fear nor excitement, but a steeled resolve. Even the smile she offers to her dearest friend is tight and superficial. Pushing the horse forward with a deep, encouraging seat, the small woman holds her reins in one hand for the time being. Its ears pricked forward and tail swishing, everything about it says that it's ready to begin really moving. "I do not know," she answers Marek, looking around with some concern. "He should have been here by now."
There is a nod to his sister, Marek idly patting Smoke's neck as he waits for the race to start.
Bella gives a smile to the Empress, as she sees Mena looking at her horse. "Beauty, isn't she?" she says, as the small horse beneath her seems raring to go, stepping back and forth a bit. Bella keeps a tight rein on her for now. "It's my first festival event, I'm so excited!"
Moving toward his spot, Willem Paggion gives a simple nod toward his 'teammates' as he rides his brown and white steed. "My apologizes for running late, I had to be told that my shoulder had totally healed before I was allowed to enter this." He looks toward his sister, knowing that it was likely her doing that he was checked upon.
Aileana just pats the neck of her horse as she looks at the competition with wide eyes. Her horse is more jittery just because of the nervousness of the rider.
Quite the opposite of Aileana, Mena looks cool and calm, as does her horse, despite all the others around. Nostrils flare on the ebony stallion as his rider shifts only slightly in the saddle. Mena grins at Bella and shrugs. "She is a beauty, but we'll see how she runs." Cocky, perhaps, but it's meant in fun.
Striker neighs, stamping his hooves into the ground and jerks his head up once or twice in excitement. Too accustomed to Starlight or Extra, this many new horses causes the black stallion to react so spiritedly to the others. "Down, boy," Cynara murmurs, patting lightly on his neck. When Willem shows up, she grins brightly towards the oldest Paggion brother. "I'm glad you were cleared, it looks like it's about to start, and just in time."
Cooper, having somehow calmed his horse, now maneuvers him towards the starting line, finding a position next to Imani, the healer. He nods in her direction, and offers a thanks for the herbs that she provided him.
The champion of House Barca remains silent astride his slender, gray stallion. An errant breeze ruffles the edge of his black hood, revealing a stray lock of brown hair that wisps across his eyes, but a gloved hand tucks it back inside with severe swiftness before reclaiming the reins.
Bella grins at the Empress. "Yes, we shall see, Your Majesty," she says, giving Mena a playful wink. She clicks her tongue twice, and gently taps her heels against Chocolat's sides, making her way up to the starting line as well.
Briony Marchora, Baroness of Burgundy Terrace sits high on a horse seemingly made of gold itself. The stallion vibrates, his coat almost metallic with health and excitement. Dark mane and tail have been bound by soft wraps, and legs have been protected in buckled bindings of leather. The baroness herself is equally equipped. The saddle is light, yet sturdy, lacking any fancy accoutrements of more comfortable riding. She herself wears breeches of worn leather, overlain with chaps tooled in the dancing designs of wild horses and wolves. Her modesty is enclosed in a tight corset and vest, and her arms are covered in thick gauntleted gloves reaching to her elbows. The signature fiery curls have been restrained in a binding sure to keep the hair away from her face, and on her head is a wide, flat-brimmed hat with a tie snug at her chin.
"Riders, prepare yourselves!" she calls, holding the reigns of the stallion between her hands, thumbs curled over the leather. He champs at the bit, capering sideways. "You are about to participate in a legend of my homeland and I applaud you for your courage. I have stationed pages on fast ponies at every step of the path, so we will be able to dispatch news of the race back to your supporters at the festival. The goal of the race is simple. Capture all 6 flags, and survive," the horse minces in place, unable to contain his will to run. "I will not be competing, as I know the course, and have an unfair advantage, however I shall be riding with you. Take your marks upon the line!"
The veiled woman in silver, on a charcoal horse, weaves her way through the crowd to the general area of the starting line. She rises in her saddle and swings her other leg over so that she now sits astride. A silk banner of sorts, with the colour of Mists hangs a little below her saddle, and she has small saddle bags attached.
Leading the large horse to the line with a few gentle nudges, Guidhael steadies himself in the saddle as he prepares for the race to begin, large hands tightening around the leather straps.
Kegbuster, as always with a mind of his own, decides upon his own place at the start, over near the large tribal Guidhael.
Golden eyes flick to her fellow Draughtians. "Go Draught," she murmurs, Cynara pumping a fist in the air towards her comrades in an improvised salute. And then, she'll take up position in the line, with the rest of the Paggions.
Zane leans forward, just a bit, his eyes drifting to the scene ahead of him; the other riders not forgotten, and remaining in his periphery. He only whispers, quietly, "Steady, Cider. Good girl."
Aileana just moves her horse to the start, her eyes almost forgetting to blink as she stares at everyone around her. She swallows hard and to 'prepare herself' she looks upwards and prays. A lot. Very much. She may be near Purist at this point with how fast her lips move.
"Glad you could join us, brother," Marek tells Willem cheerfully, nicking his heels at Smoke's flanks as he steers the mare towards the line along with the rest.
Bella leans forward, resting her chest almost against her horse's neck. She tucks her knees against her horse, high on its sides. She's ready.
As the race is about to start, Mena looses all trace of amusement and camaraderie, and looks toward the course ahead. She leans over in her saddle to murmur something unheard to her horse, then gives him another pat before taking up the reins at the ready. It's go time!
Imani drops her head at the acknowledgment from Cooper a small distance away, eyes softly closing for a moment. And then she turns her attention back to Willem as she moves towards the starting point. "And here I thought that you were going to let your younger siblings prove to be the braver part." At Briony's call, Imani closes her gloved hands around the reins and pulls herself up into a two-point position. Leaning close to the horse's neck, she murmurs something quietly into its ear and gives it a brief pat before setting her eyes forward. "Providence guard," she offers to those immediately beside her, friend and brothers.
Willem nods. "Good riding to us all," he states before he leans forward slightly and gripping the reins with a tight grip. Perhaps a sign that he and Imani rode under the same instructor, his riding position is almost identical to hers. He doesn't talk to his horse, figuring that it knows what it needs to do.
Cooper and Kegbuster prepare for battle. The barkeep leans forward, patting his steed gently on the neck. "Hang on, boy, hang on..." The animal seemingly nods his head. Is racing his true calling?
Cynara narrows her eyes, her hair clear for once from her face. She secures her grip on her reins, bracing her heels low on the stirrups as she hunkers down. To Imani's words, she doesn't look at her, her face forward, but she murmurs back all the same. "Be careful, all of you," she says quietly.
Marek grins, as always the more spirited one of the Paggion brothers. "And after this, it's wine and booze for everyone!" Because it wouldn't be right otherwise. And since he's looking forward, he doesn't have to suffer an Imani Look. Hah hah hah!
The recently completed Imperial Road cuts through the densely growing tress of Ainsley Forest. Coniferous and deciduous trees here grow ancient and tall, their branches twisting into a thick canopy as they compete for sunlight. The canopy blocks out nearly all light that seeks access, leaving the forest beneath shrouded in deep indigo shadows. Birdsong is rare here, the hush of the surrounding forest absolute. The footing is soft and safe for the travel of horses, permitting greater speeds then elsewhere on the course. Here is the place for gaining lost ground or taking a greater lead. It will take several hours for the horses and riders to make it all the way from the meadow to the turnoff where the flags are hanging from a tree. After snagging a flag, riders must turn their mounts sharply or miss the path deeper into the forest.
Aileana finishes her prayer in time to lean close to the horse and kick her heels in. She gulps and gives a merry, "Hyah!" to urge the copper-colored equine along. Before the race started, she was all nerves. Now? She's all nerves, but excitement as well.
Zane doesn't get as good of a start as he'd like, perhaps the mare didn't get her proper footing? Or maybe she's just a slow starter, and one of those horses with the burst speed? He encourages the horse onwards, with a few kicks and whispered words. Leaning over to snatch his flag, he follows tail and in line with the huge Guardian fellow about the sharp turn, with practiced ease. Guidhael can probably hear him telling his mount, Cider, "Nice an' steady, girl. We'll catch 'em." Only confidence in the young Lord's voice.
Yseult, upon the charcoal mare, taps her ride into gear with an almost gentle nudge. This is not a horse that it's wise to abuse. Eventually finding herself in the deep forest, she unfortunately becomes quite distracted by the lovely gloom, and takes an almost leisurely pace so that she can admire the view.
Mena and her horse are like a spring coiled at that start line, waiting for the wave of the flag to go. When it's time, there is a kick from the rider, and Tinder takes off with the rest of the group. Remaining in with most of the group, the flag is aimed for and grabbed successfully. There is no grand showing from the Empress so far, surely, keeping pace with that sharp turn into the forest, but she certainly looks as if she's taking it all very seriously, keeping low in that saddle and tucking the flag away.
Bella is off to a good, but not great, start. Her little horse jumps off the starting line, as Bella shouts, "Yah!" and snaps the reins hard. The Baroness is leaned up against the horse's neck, Bella's long, thick brown hair blowing back in the wind straight behind her. However, her little horse might not be any match for some of these big stallions. She keeps up, but is definitely not in the lead. More like the middle of the pack, so far.
Briony charges out into the pack, her stallion held firmly in check, yet loping with long stretching strides. The baroness rises in the saddle, seeking to keep up with the pack, but not interfere with the race.
Cooper succeeded in relaxing his ride, but too much so. As the other animals break lively, Kegbuster stands there, chewing on some grass. "GO, you danged pony, or it'll be the glue factory for you in the morning!" With that, the stallion bolts forward, weaving his way through some of the other riders. Some ground is made up, and Cooper feels well-positioned. He reigns the large horse back, no longer giving him his head, realizing there is a /long/ course ahead of them.
Driving his heels into his horse, Guidhael's mount starts off predictably.. slow. It's a large mount. Big guy on top. Of course they're going to lag. With large strides, the big horse starts on his way, the tribal staying towards the tail end of the pack. Slow and steady.
With a whispered word, the Barcan rider's stallion surges forward to contest the Lucitania. Though it starts strongly, it steadies into an easy, ground-eating canter that solidifies its position in the midst of the group of riders.
Marek snaps his heels against his horse's flanks. "Let's go, Smoke!" he calls out determinedly, and coaxes his horse to speed up, moving past his sister and her friend, and somewhere behind his brother. Like the others, once he reaches that tree, he snags a flag, flanking his brother somewhere from behind and a few yards back. "Go Willem!" he calls out from his saddle.
Imani gives no loud cry, but the squeeze of her legs is all the command her horse needs. It lunges forward, but she quickly finds her and her mount squeezed out by the initial rush of horses. There's a small growl as she has to pull her horse back to avoid a few near collisions, whipping her braid forward over her shoulder. With that rough start behind her, however, the young healer and the chestnut begin to pick up speed along the terrain, transitioning from that rocky canter to a smoother gallop. Eventually, the braid bounces behind her shoulder once more, and goes back to resting along her spine. She narrows her eyes as she realizes that her elder brother is ahead of her. As is her younger brother. This clearly cannot be allowed to stand.
Aileana may have been unfamiliar at the start, but a two hour stretch has definitely reacquainted her to the saddle. She may not be able to move tomorrow, but for now, she's just steadily moving along occasionally chattering to her horse about easy going and relaxing. She could be talking herself through it.
After grabbing the flag, Guidhael and his mount continue on. It seems that he's keeping pace with one of the Fielders, the large mount loping next to Zane's horse as he passes by Imani and Copper, the big tribesman just gritting his teeth as he continues to ride long.
Mena and her Tinder, after two hours of riding, remains in the middle of the pack. She's not completely unused to riding long distances, and knows there's a whole lot of race yet, so she's not quite pushing her stallion as hard as she might later in the race. As long as she doesn't fall off and die.
Bella's little horse might not be big, but she does have a lot of endurance! After two hours, she is still riding strong, and even edging a bit closer to the leaders. Bella takes deep breaths as she continues to ride, her body molded to her horse's neck and back, the Baroness seeming rather experienced in the saddle. She's still going as strong as her horse.
"Hyah!" Cynara cries, and Striker is off like an arrow, launching along the glowing line and through the meadow. She hunkers herself low on the saddle, bracing her heels steadily. The straight run is easy enough, though her eyes widen as Willem runs the course like a pro. "Go Willem! Go go go!" she cries from somewhere behind him. She reaches one hand once she gets to the end to snatch one of the flags hanging from the tree. However, she almost falls for the sharp curve, and it is with only sheer luck and by sharp eyes that she manages to command her horse with a tug of her reins to clear it. After two hours, however, the horse has slowed into a moderate canter, paying attention to the time.
seems quite composed as the race passes the two-hour mark. His posture is still disciplined into the proper form of the consummate rider, back straight and knees firmly set against his steed. As for the beast itself, it maintains its strong pace, long slender legs rolling in a powerful rhythm to bear its rider towards the front of the gaggle of riders.
Barca seems quite composed as the race passes the two-hour mark. His posture is still disciplined into the proper form of the consummate rider, back straight and knees firmly set against his steed. As for the beast itself, it maintains its strong pace, long slender legs rolling in a powerful rhythm to bear its rider towards the front of the gaggle of riders.
Cooper and Kegbuster move along, near the middle of the pack. The animal seems to be breathing well; perhaps even enjoying himself, not at the moment having to haul a huge wagon. Slowly, though, they begin to lose ground. The barkeep makes a strategical decision to allow his mount to dictate his own pace. There will be time, hopefully, to close on the leaders later on. Grabbing the flag, the correct turn is made, and Cooper finds himself next to the healer. He considers for a moment, but does nothing.
Yseult now finds herself almost at the front. That leisurely pace to start was more than just accident, after all. Having heard the race was more than speed, the lady and mare canter ahead after taking the flag. She has removed her veil now, but still grips it in her hand so that it trails long behind her, in concert with her almost equally long hair.
Zane doesn't seem too concerned, he's ridden his horse for hours, before and it seems to slightly pay off as he advances ahead of a few riders - oddly enough with Guidhael. Zane offers his riding 'partner', whom he's been nearly even with the entire length of the course thus far a faint chuckle. "Nice an' steady, friend, an' we'll catch 'em all, yet. Them folks up front ain't seen the nasty part of this race yet." Hell, maybe he'll offer Guid drinks, afterward; and, as he nears to even p with Bella, he calls to her, "Gets more difficult here on out, Excellency." Words of camaraderic challenge, no doubt. Only now is the race really beginning to get into his blood. Despite his intensity, Zane is really having fun.
Marek is just behind his brother, the mercenary grinning wickedly. A movement from his periphery is acknowledged, however, and he eyes Yseult go abreast with him a few yards across.
The disadvantage of not owning a horse is one hardly gets an opportunity to really ride. As the distance between herself and the rest of the crowd continues to grow, Imani has to take a break eventually to stretch out her back, and she sighs as Cynara begins soaring past her, too. Then she speeds up again. As she rides alongside Cooper, the young woman considers him back for a moment, then she stretches up to claim her flag and push it deep into her waistband so she can go back to keeping her fingers tightly on the reins... Perfect for making sure that she can make that sharp turn and get herself onto the right path.
"Big horse. Can handle race." Guidhael says, patting the side of the large mare. "Didn't think so.. would have brought ox." he laughs. Okay, so the tribesman has a sense of humor. If a slight one. "Think women in race.. used to riding?" he asks Zane finally, with a sardonic little smirk.
Willem is seemingly not too fond of the race as it drags on. As minutes become hours, his burst of speed begins to waver, clearly the young man not used to endurance racing like this. Thankfully, he seems strong and determined enough not to drop the ball completely as still holds onto the lead, though the margin is much smaller. As the race goes on, a necklace leaps from his shirt, a signet ring bouncing about on a fine chain. He doesn't look behind, but the sounds of other horses lets him know that there is even less room for mistake and weakness.
The woods that swath over the isle in this area give way to a sunken forest, where many of the trees have been drowned and stand as silent sentinels over a thick carpet of reeds. The bog is muddy and thick, the footing treacherous and uncertain. Fog often settles here in early spring and fall, and songbirds often perch on the reeds to court in summer. Snakes, turtles, and leeches are not uncommon, and biting insects ubiquitous at all times of year. Logs jut from the water like grey skeletons, and frogs chorus from lily pads.
The bog must be traversed before the riders can make their way onto the next stretch of the course. The flags are tied to individual reeds, so mired horses will test their strength to reach their targets. The sucking mud is at least knee-deep to the horses and deeper in other areas. The bog gives way to surer footing of the forest, eventually.
Briony rides along towards the center of the pack, diving into the sucking mud, the baroness and golden horse are instantly sullied with thick, black stinking mud. She splashes and pounds through the reeds, gaining the more solid ground on the other side.
Bogs. This is like home, for horse and rider as Guidhael at first slows his horse down, scanning the territory as the Fen March leader snorts and then decides on a path, taking his horse into it as he starts to cut his way through the slimy thickets and swamps, reaching to grab his flag as he does so, beginning to make his way through the pack as the large horse seems right at home with his rider.
Zane barks a laugh for Guidhael's poor humor, but it's when they hit the bog that he begins to really fall back amongst the other riders, only another near him, and yet another further off ahead. Perhaps frustration takes over his mind, and he begins to egg Cider on, a bit louder, and starting to really push his horse who apparently isn't quite used to the boggy murks of ... bogs. It's certainly looking like this Fielder isn't going to place, much to his own chagrin.
Aileana slows her horse for the bog, her attention fully on the ground before her mount as she tries to pick the best path. She has a mother's touch it seems for getting the animal confident through all of it. She does grab the flag and takes the time to pat her mount's neck as she gets the occasional jostle. Her flag gets stuffed down her bodice as she keeps a keen eye out for snakes and what not, "You're doing great, love. Just think of some nice stallion waiting back at the barn for you, right?"
Yseult can think of no place she'd rather be-- and her horse is no less used to such treacherous terrain. A steady pace to keep from sinking too deep, from hitting some unseen stone too hard. The long-legged mare makes her way, almost with ease, and needn't stop as Yseult leans far to the side to grasp one of the flags.
Mena's horse doesn't like the sucking mud so much, and he slows down as he slogs through it. This does give the rider the chance to bat away any huge bugs that come her way, and it makes it easier to grab the flag and secure it with the other one. Mena keeps her feet lifted high to be out of the mud, and does give her horse some urging on the way to the otherside. Unconcerned with being so far behind, the Empress even chuckles at some of the sounds coming from around her.
Cooper relaxes on his mount, allowing the big boy to do his work. This part of the course is where size matters, and Kegbuster moves along well. If not gaining on the leaders, at least little more ground is lost, and some fall back to join him near the rear of the pack. He passes Zane, and moves ahead of Imani, who seems to be struggling.
Willem gives a frown. "Figures a GREEN FIELDER would have us going through swamp," the Paggion says, mostly to himself as his horse makes its way into the muck. He seems to be taking his time, clearly not used to handling a horse in such 'unique' conditions. As he swats away the bugs, he notices a familiar person pass him among other people. Figures that Marek would do better in the mud. "Enjoying the race?" he offers through gritted teeth to his younger brother.
Cooper and his horse eventually pull out of the mud, grabbing the flag as they continue onward.
Bella snatched her flag from the last course just as Zane spoke with her. "Better save your breath, then!" she shouts to him over the thundering gallop of nearly 20 horses. Then, however, they get to the bog. She gulps a bit, but then her sturdy little horse is carrying her through it, although they are both covered quickly in mud and goo. She carefully maneuvers Chocolat around any trees that are fallen into the bog and poking up out of the water. She gets to the flag, grabs it, and then heads out, praising the horse as she goes. "Good girl, that's a girl," she says. She's still in the middle of the pack, having fallen a bit behind from having to go through the dangerous bog.
Cynara grunts softly, easing her stride as she eases the horse into the swamp, slowing down from the others... but to charge into the bog is to add more pressure, and the more pressure there is, the faster one gets sucked in. "Come on, Striker," she whispers, coaxing the horse to move in a slow, but steady pace instead through the bog. She doesn't do too terribly, leaving herself in the middle, a hand reaching down to grab one of the flags and tucking it behind her.
The Barcan rider clears his throat as he nears the bog, but that is the only detectable reaction from before he gently tugs on the reins, signaling his steed to swiftly ease into the bog. With unhesitating confidence in its rider and a graceful step that defies the ugliness of its surroundings, the gray horse dextrously traverses the length of the bog. It slows only as it passes close enough to a patch of reeds containing a flag, allowing its rider to lean over and snatch the prize before surging forward.
A bog. How lovely. "You can't get away from me that easily Willem!" Marek calls you as he urges his horse forwards. Smoke responds with a snort of breath as she hits the bog and seems only to slow in the slightest. A flash of a grin as he glances towards his brother even as he passes by the elder Paggion. "Even more than before brother." He replies with a smirk, mud splattering his horses flanks as they make a way through with better footing than Willem. "See you on the finish line." He replies as he leans forwards and smirks. "Come on Smoke. Can't let a Guardian beat us." He urges as he snatches his flag.
When her horse takes to the bog, Imani makes another misguide, and finds herself up to her own ankles in the swampy ground. "Oh, for the love of...!" Eventually, she gets herself back on track, however, and fights her way towards one of the last remaining flags and pushing it inside her waistband, too. That done, she sets her jaw and pushes forward. "Carrots for a week," she promises to the animal who bears her. "I will give you carrots for a /week/ if you can just close up that distance. Please?"
On the Western side of the isle, the forests grow thick and the moss clings to the bark of the fallen giants like a creeping green tide. There is life everywhere, clustered in the roots of gigantic conifers and crowded into the slender shafts of light the above branches provide. Pines and cedars dominate this area of the forest, their sheer height alone providing an advantage to their species. Mushrooms and dogwood cluster in the shadows below, and deer and other forest animals are common, feeding on the lush spears of curling ferns. Fallen logs are quickly overtaken by the forest, degrading into a thick peaty mulch below.
The obstacle here is stacked pile of fallen timber blocking the path. The thick logs are rotting and unstable and lined with thick patches of slippery moss. Riders must navigate this obstacle by jumping, climbing, or other creativity. The flags are on the far side of the jump, tied to a branch within easy reach for successful riders.
Coming out of the swamps, Guidhael looks at the mess ahead, and he frowns. Not too long ago, he was in a village similar to the set up here, and his senses tense up as he starts to stumble the horse through the obstacle, the large mare attempting to traverse the obstacle as the large tribal himself starts to rear the horse to the side to kick away at some of the debris to clear that up and get through. It may be a bit.
Finally, out of the bog! Bella gets a little too sure of herself, as she sees the next obstacles. Jumping logs? she can do that in her sleep! However, she doesn't count on how slippery the ground and the logs are, and how high the stacks are for her little horse. She rushes headlong over the first jump, and... her little horse /almost/ makes it. Almost isn't good enough, though, and her horse falls, throwing Bella off in the process. Will she be trampled by other riders while she's laying there?
Yseult, having done so well in the bog, takes a small risk to dismount and give her horse a hasty check, ensuring the faithful mare has gotten no stones to the foot, or leeches. Not much time for thoroughness, though, so once she's assured herself of the animal's fitness, she remounts and this time 'spurs' her on. A bit of speed will make the jump easier, and the pair clear the obstacle easily. Before touching down on the other side, Yseult rises just a bit, carefully timing it with the hoirse's motions, and grasping the flag.
Mena gives her horse a couple of kicks as they start into the forest. Growing up in Emerald Hollow, this is where she should shine, given the number of hours she spend riding through woods just like these. But something goes terribly wrong, and suddenly, she's not in the pack anymore, never making it to that next flag to capture.
Cooper and his righteous steed move along at a steady pace. The bog seemingly took no toll on the large animal, his strength apparently undiminished. As they move onto firmer ground, the barkeep and his mount slowly begin to inch up. Approaching the obstacle, Cooper leaves the problem to his horse. Kegbuster begins to pick up speed. Just as it seems to be the time to leap, instead he just barrels ahead, knocking aside a section of the rotting timber while barely losing stride. Cooper, hanging on for dear life during the collision, remains atop the mount. However, the jostling does release one of his saddlebags, which falls to the ground. A fair amount of banana peels fall out.
Aileana stops for a moment to just evaluate how to best do this obstacle. In the end, she waits to see who gets through and how they do and then follows in their hoofsteps. If a log has proved to not be rotting in a spot, she goes in that direction. Smaller logs, she jumps. She licks her lips and just whispers quiet encouragement to her horse, "Oh, you're a good girl. That stallion will treat you great tonight, won't he?" Her focus is on her horse, and not the others falling away. When she gets to the flag, it is stuffed down her bodice quickly.
The bog clearly has slowed Zane down, and the Fielder Lord remains persistent; seeing the clutter of logs strewn in the path, he goads his horse to jump. It certainly isn't the /prettiest/ of jumps, given the thick muck, and the lack of the horses experience in it, but he manages to just clear the obstacle, to snatch his flag and continue on. A quick peripheral check assures him that Bella (and the others that are down) aren't dead, and are okay. If any manage to look Zane's way, they'll see a rather concerned look on his features - but, satisfied they're still breathing, he pushes on ... but not after momentarily slowing down his horse to assure himself of that. It might cost him something in the long run, but that's a Baroness from his homeland, and his Empress! "Healer's are coming!" He shouts to the fallen, "Be well!" And then kicking Cider, he snatches his own flag and spurns her on to catch up with the pack.
Cooper, almost too late again, reaches out and grabs the necessary flag!
Barca seems to be getting into the race for the first time since its beginning and as he views the obstacle of lined logs, an audible "Hah!" is issued from the depths of his dark hood and he spurs his mount forward. The gray steed powers forward towards the logs... then abruptly veers to the left, tossing its head as if refusing to answer the challenge before it. The Barcan rider is compelled to take several long, costly moments to soothe his troubled mount before trotting back a good length for a fresh start. Finally, after an uneasy, tense charge towards the obstacle, the horse leaps up and out, allowing it to barely pass the lined logs and giving its rider the next flag.
Once Imani is clear of the bog, she regains her confidence.. Yeah, okay, her feet are muddy now and she nearly lost a boot. She /didn't/ lose the boot, and her gelding's hooves are pounding on more solid ground now. Back onto terrain of a sort more familiar to her, the young healer is quick too begin expertly picking her way over rotten logs, finding the lower ones to jump as she pushes her horse forward. "There's a boy," she coos, even as she rests her hands against his neck. When she stretches her hand up to claim the flag, pulling it down too to find its place among the others in her belt. There may be healers coming, but this one is speeding past. She may owe a horse some carrots.
Cynara narrows her eyes. Now it's time to speed up. "Hyah!" the advocate calls, the stallion galloping faster and faster as the road is cleared when riders start to fail this next course. She is careful to have the horse leap from steady ground, navigating and leaping over fallen logs. Approaching the obstacle, she holds in a breath, and makes her horse soar over it, blades of grass and bits of wood flying at her wake. Keeping her body low, she reaches out and snags a flag, stuffing it in her pocket. She dares to look over her shoulder. "Come on Imani!" she calls encouragingly.
Briony's stallion takes a wandering path over the logs, not as a single jump but as a series of hops. He knows this route and has seen this obstacle before. The Baroness whistles to the pages, and immediately someone comes to assist the fallen.
Willem clears the bog, almost glad to see the fallen logs once more. Leaping through the logs as well, he finally gets to the log pile in question. He carefully guides the horse up the logs. It's slow and allows some of the more skilled riders to take the lead or catch up, but Willem is determined to do his best to continue on, even if his brother is no longer still in the race.
Bella has enough sense to get out of the way of the other riders. Groaning, she pulls herself slowly along the ground, until she is off to the side. However, her horse is on its side, right in the middle of the obstacle course. It's screaming. Ever hear a horse scream? It's not pretty.
The path ends abruptly, into a path that only the most foolhardy would take to the shore below. Most horses will view this path as trying to run off the edge of the world, or perhaps they are afraid of the height! The drop to the shore below The flag is at the very edge of the cliff face, along the scattered rock path.
The path ends abruptly, into a path that only the most foolhardy would take to the shore below. Most horses will view this path as trying to run off the edge of the world, or perhaps they are afraid of the height! The drop to the shore below The flag is at the very edge of the cliff face, along the scattered rock path.
A breeze traces along the entrants to the race, tugging at their garments and seeming to trace each one as if it were particularly checking them out briefly.
Falling behind in the race as he gathers one flag, the wind startling the horse for a moment as the large mare starts to find it's way along the small path that pack animals would have a hard time with, much less something as large as Guidhael's mount as the tribesman snarls curses at the goat trail.
Briony makes it to the edge, though her horse balks and throws up his head, not wanting to take the path downwards. It's treacherous, to say the least, and he knows the sensation of the rocks sliding under his hooves
Cynara slows down at that, tugging on the reins and letting her black horse pick at the ground gradually. It's foolhardy to go off the cliff, after all, and she instead spurs her horses to tromp down the incline, reaching out to snatch the flag and stuff it with a tight-fisted grip down her pocket.
Yseult or her horse succumb to nerves briefly, perhaps, as the animal begins prancing at the head of the path, allowing those who were a little ahead of her to further the distance, and those who were behind to catch up. As a few riders pass her and descend the path, Yseult backs her mare up and just pauses a moment. Perhaps she found that breeze a little unsettling, a little odd. Eventually she urges the animal on, however, and this time they descend, albeit cautiously.
Perhaps Zane's concern cost him more than he realized? But, while his mare may take a slow, cautious trek down, Cider does so unflinchingly and without pause - likely enough it's Zane himself holding the horse back and forcing her to go slower than she otherwise might, for fear of her hurting herself. He moves slowly down the trail, but safely so, to claim this flag as well, still bringing up the rear of the race.
Aileana stops her mount and honestly prays her way to the edge and then down the very narrow path. She actually gives the horse her head fully to let the animal pick her way along. The horse will do better than she will guide. She just prays and grabs the flag as it comes by, "Oh sweet Light you must have some plan for me still." One hand touches the cliffs edge as if to make sure she and the horse are not tumbling. Somehow the horse and rider trust thing works through this, and at least once when the horse's hooves slip, she gives a squeak -- at least once.
The lines of the Barcan champion's form betray his intensity - no longer does that easy air of confidence seem to emanate from him. Instead, he is bent sharply over his mount, his steely lapis gaze scanning the upcoming path with all the concentration of an animal knowingly entering a trap. His signals to his steed are minute yet instantly responded to and though as his hands play at the reins in a deceivingly gentle manner, the gray horse which bears him moves forward with all the sure-footed confidence of one who trusts its commander. The flag is gained speedily and man and horse both surge to the front.
Willem finds it harder and harder to keep up with his past success. From time to time, he clutches his shoulder, feeling the pain of pushing a newly healed body part. He merely grits his teeth and pushes on though. As it comes time for the decent, Willem slows as well, doing his best to make his way through the pass without a near-death experience, gripping the flag when he gets to close enough to the cliff face. Considering the difficulty of the ride, that is easier said than done.
Marek seems to have come out of the bog too quick, or something decided it took a liking to one of his horses feet as she was swimming in the muck. There is a moment of hesitation, a pause of as Marek realizes that something is wrong just as Smoke's foot gives way in something and down go both rider and horse. Hard. Very hard. With a roll and a snap of dry wood and something else. Smoke? Well she's up after a moment of lying there stunned. Marek though isn't so fortunate, and remains lying on the ground out cold.
While her horse may not be afraid of heights, Imani very much is. As her horse bravely throws herself over that path's edge, she lets out a terrified squeak and it takes her a moment too long to shift and begin leaning backwards. It throws her horse off balance for a few steps before it recovers and she begins standing up properly in the saddle, her back nearly touching that of her horses to make the angle less grueling. The position also frees her hand to grasp at the flag and finally seize it to plunge it into her belt with its fabric brethren. She can barely breathe, and her hand holds the reins with a grip tight enough that the white knuckles would be visible if not for her black gloves.
Fortunately or unfortunately, she lost track of her younger brother in the bog and woods, so she doesn't know to start panicking for his sake. She'll nearly panic for her own instead.
John Cooper's groin is /really/ beginning to hurt; last night's now-dead chicken having had his revenge. Still, there is no quit in the man or the horse as the path suddenly takes an unexpected turn. Downward! Faster and faster they go, Kegbuster seemingly only having one gear and no breaks. Solid footing disappears; but for a while, the horse is not bothered.@emit
Then all hell breaks loose! Kegbuster makes a foolhardy move, attempting to pass another rider where no room exists at all. He /nearly/ recovers, but the ground is just too uneven, and he flies off the path, landing on his side, only narrowly missing going off the cliff! Cooper himself is only saved from total disaster by hanging tightly to his fallen steed's reigns. He's down, he's battered and bruised, but alive! Compared to his encounters with the chicken of death or the Baroness Marchora, this race was a walk in the park.
The trail down Whitecliff is treacherous and narrow, and made more for human traffic than those of anxious horses. Only foolhardy souls would dare to take horses down this path, where the footing crumbles beneath hooves and clatters down to the crashing surf far below. The flag is located halfway down the cliff face.
Yseult is young, and therefore can wear the title of 'fool' without shame. Once her horse has recovered from it's initial fright, it makes up distance with a fortitude required of any Mistian.
"Come on boy, you can do it." Cynara turns her head to look over her shoulder. She can see Imani behind her, she's just pulling up abreast Willem and gaining after the two riders in front - the strange, hooded man and Her Grace. She digs her heels into the flanks of her horse, pulling the reins upwards to coax the horse to put more pressure in its hind legs than the front, rear hooves digging into the dirt to keep the animal from pitching over. Halfway past, her hand reaches to grab onto the flag and stuff it in her pocket. " Oh...whatever your name is, my new horse love. Just keep...going, right? Stallion. Barn. Finn. Tent. It will all be over soon." So says the Aileana mantra as she and her horse slowly pick their way down the path -- read, the horse picks her way down the path and the Green Field's leader hangs on for dear life.
As whoosh of breath can be heard from the -Barcan rider- as a patch of earth and rock gives way beneath his stallion's right hoof, but a sharp pull on the reins draws the beast back before they both plunge off the treacherous trail. Without taking even a heartbeat to regain his composure, the black rider orders his mount to continue down the path of the race. He is riding the wave of his adrenaline now, eschewing conscious thought and studious calculation in hopes of surmounting this dangerous leg of the race on sheer agility, courage, and instinct.
As the large horse continues to plod along, it seems as he gets the flag, he has familiar company. "Zane. Still in race. Good." he says, as Imani catches up, and the large man arches a brow. "..good horse. Nice ass." he says to his erstwhile companion, and now.. there's a purist with the tribal and the fielder.
Briony's horse just hates the cliff, though he patters down the cliff. The Baroness leans far back in the saddle, her mud-spattered body poised and her eyes hard against the trail ahead of her.
The fearlessness of the 'duo' of Zane and Cider begin to suddenly pay off. There's a moment where the path widens, and seeing it, he spurns his mare forwards upon some briefly softer ground, to catch some distance. Used in some manner to the rocks beneath her hooves due to the hard rides Zane normally takes her on, experience seems to pay off in the venue as Zane catches up a good distance to the rest of the pack and starts to show a bit of momentum. "Good t'see you too," he cheers towards Guidhael, "Nice an' steady, eh?" A flash of teeth to the oversized Guardian, in a wide smile. "C'mon, Cider. Let's show 'em what we've got, girl."
Willem continues down the cliff, but his ride is more like crawl, the Paggion rider clearly not taking any chances. "Greetings, Mistress Dhaval..." Will states in a somewhat distracted tone as the fellow 'teammate' catches up with him at last.
While Imani may not have any great clattering recoveries of distance, she is at least still in the race. That has to count for something. Still lagging well behind the leaders of the race, the healer finds herself beside a tribal and another man she doesn't know. The commentary as she tears along the treacherous path is not lost. She turns her gaze to him just long enough to glare. "Keep your eyes off my buttocks and on the terrain," she snaps to Guidhael before turning her own attention in that direction and pushing forward to seize her flag. Into the belt it goes as she moves on!
"Your buttocks block view of terrain." Guidhael says matter-of-factly. No distracting the purist, is there?
The rocks which jut up precariously across the expanse of what would otherwise be a serene beach interrupt the sensations of calm and peacefulness which might invade. The jagged stones are awkward to navigate past, the geological jungle threatening to shred cloth and flesh of those who wander too close to the silent sentinels. The water laps at the edges of the beach, but it does not rise to face off against those guardians of this area.
Erosion has crumbled White-cliff, creating a slurry of rock where the sea constantly presses ashore. The footing here is slippery, and uneven, resulting in many a twisted ankle to merrymakers who visit the shore. Seaweed often coats the rocks after a storm, and seals often pull ashore to bray and gnash at any who'd come too close. There are two jumps here on the slippery beach with flags hanging from string on the other side. The obstacles are composed of sharp rock and are close enough to be taken as one dangerously wide jump, or as two individual jumps.
Aileana definitely takes this obstacle as two small jumps and has once again picked up the reins to guide where needed. She trots her horse where it seems more sturdy and walks where it doesn't. She keeps speaking to her mount, "Don't look at the barking seal...things. Just keep going, right? Stallion. Barn. Do I even own you yet? I will after this if we survive."
"Master Paggion, I can't see Marek," Cynara tells him breathlessly as she comes up to him. "Do you think he'll be alright?" Imani is still behind them, at least, but she's a little nervous as she can't seem to find their other teammate. But she falls quiet after that, given it's hard to carry on a conversation... but given the new terrain, her critical eyes catch sight of the rocks and jagged stones up ahead. Jumping.... her horse loves to jump. And -water-! Oh if only Linette were here, she knew of her horse's fondness for water. Determination hardening the features of her face, she slows further, maneuvering her horse carefully around the rocks.... but when the jumps come, she grits her teeth, and digs her heels into her flanks, taking a chance and taking the leap.... and clears it, landing to move past the hooded rider and towards Her Grace who is now in the lead.
Zane clucks his tongue, his words of encouragement seem to have lifted the spirits of the horse who had been sufficiently downtrodden by the experience of the bog. Two quick, light jumps - nearly symmetrical in their manner, and of high caliber, and Zane not only manages to clear each with style, but he passes Imani, shouting in his wake, "Now my eyes are off your obstacled buttocks," with a laugh. Snatching his flag, he begins to take a more aggressive stance, "C'mon, Cider. C'mon," he encourages her. "Not far, now. We can take this."
Yseult, scanning the terrain ahead, makes her plan. Two jumps for a nimble but less muscular horse. She slows the mare for the first bit, letting her pick her way and gain confidence for herself on the treacherous ground, but once the mare recognizes the need for a jump, she picks up speed on her own. Yseult prepares to do her part-- sit steady and grab the flag.
As the -Barcan rider- powers toward the next challenge, the question must arise in the minds of all, competitors and spectators alike: Is this one a gambling man? It appears he IS, as he spurs his horse forward with an obvious intent to jump over the jutting rocks in ONE great leap... only to have his steed fall short by three handspans. The beast screams as it lands on an upthrust slab of stone, and its rider is flung clear off its back, landing on an unwelcoming nest of smaller stones with a jarring thump!
After his comment, as the trail continues to twist, Guidhael starts to spur his horse along, determined to be in the lead for the jumps as the horse hits the jump point, the big horse take one big jump, which helps him close the gap.
Cynara snatches the flag when she clears the jump, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She's never doing that again unless she has to save somebody!
And Aileana does get the flag too. Yes.
Guidhael gets that flag, too!
Willem hrms. "Considering where I last heard from him, I am almost certain he is fine. He likely got careless and fell off his steed," Willem states. He appears ready to say more when the Advocate passes him. Getting passed by an advocate, for some reason, Willem refuses to let this stand. "Heiah!" he yells as he stirs the horse to run, barely making the lengthy jump and securing another flag.
Last in the race now, Imani refuses to quit. Refusing to quit, however, does not mean that she's impossible to distract. There's a loud cry of frustration as she forces herself to slow down and cautiously take the slippery rock, losing ground to the two men harassing her. Slow and alive is better, she has to remind herself, is better than dead. Behind everyone else, she takes the last flag still hanging after she flawlessly takes the jump in two sharp bounds. "There's a boy," she coos again, even as one of the ties of her braid slips loose, allowing the waving auburn tresses to begin unravelling along her back. "Goooood boy. Steady, now."
At the southern end of Gateway isle, the beaches are composed of soft nearly white sand. The beach is protected from heavy wind and rain. The sand slopes gently down to the water. The tides here are not so severe and even at high tide much of the beach is still out of water. Further up from the water, the sand is soft and deep, closer to the water line it is easier to get purchase but there is the pull of the waves.
From the waters of the shore, the flags are set on a barrel a quarter mile away, with the pavilions of the Festival clearly visible in the distance, a spectacular backdrop for all the remaining riders. This is a sprint, where speed take's it' toll as well as endurance, over the packed sands of the beach.
This is where Zane /should/ excel. Really. It is. He takes Cider out on the beaches all the time! But for some reason, the horse doesn't seem to pick up and move as the others, and while he catches back up (yet again!) with Guidhael, there is a look of frustration as Imani passes him; and the others gain a bit of distance, yet again. "Damnation!"
Aileana has a sturdy little mount it seems and as the view of the tents comes in, she points to them in the distance, "Barn, girl! Stallion, girl! Run like you want a good tumble!" She spies Yseult near her and lets out a whoop! "Get on, girl! Go! Like...really go!" She kicks her horse's side to urge her on quicker.
And Aileana grabs the flag. Really, she does remember those things.
Although one of many with a coastal lordship, Yseult still benefits from her knowledge of a coastal ride. She immediately steers her mare to the water-- where the mare is happy to go. This pair is fond of water. Once her horse's hooves hit the water and the splash of the surf springs up around them, Yseult urges speed but once, letting the horse's spirit take them home.
After that momentary burst of speed, his large steed flags, and Guidhael gets passed by Purist Buttocks. He has to slow, grabbing the flag at the same time as Zane, and he shakes his head. "Drink plenty. Later. Admire ass. Later. Ride now."
Briony sends her horse crashing into the sea. Waves crash over her and she gets a good mouthful of seawater. Coughing, spitting, her horse squeals his displeasure as he kicks into the water.
Striker follows, reluctant to give up his lead as he plows into the surf and starts to move forward. He seems to be progressing well... for a moment, until the horse suddenly shrieks as a lone crab somewhere in the waves claws his hindquarters, and hard. The horse rears upwards at the sudden jolt of pain, throwing Cynara off the saddle entirely and dumping her into the water. She resurfaces... it's just water after all, sputtering. "Go on!" she calls back to her fellow Draughtians. She doesn't look too hurt, just very wet.
"EYES OFF MY BUTTOCKS," Imani cries as she flies past Guidhael and Zane again, her horse's hooves tearing across the smooth white sand of the beach. And that's when she sees Cynara fall. She nearly stops, but she hears the Dhaval woman tell her to keep going. Well... That means she's healthy enough to do that. And so... Keep going she does, closing up at last on her eldest brother, seizing the next flag as she flies past. "C'mon," she continues cooing. "Just a little further. Just a little faster..." She presses down a little further to the gelding's neck and continues to beg the beast for just a little more.
The end of the race is almost here, Willem thinks. He will not fail now. He has a chance to win! While his legs ache and his horse is not happy, they both push on, taking the flag as they being to increase in speed. "I will not fail," Willem says through his teeth which are tightly clenched once more.
Linette chose a place far away from the race course already, safely out of the path of pounding hoofs. And then the riders come charging towards the finish line, and her breath catches in her throat - there's a flash of familiar brilliant red hair. Soaking wet, coughing, and not on a horse, but it's Cynara, and she's safe. "Cynara!" Linette calls, the name coming out in a gasp of relief. And suddenly, her smile can almost find its way back, lifted by hope at seeing the others on their way towards the end.
Aileana pushes her horse by tucking down against her neck and pumping her arms in the rhythm of the horse's stride. She just keeps her eyes on the finish line, shrieking, "Two stallions if you can pull this off! Go girl! Go!"
Zane and Guidhael have pretty much been riding together the whole race, with a great view of Imani's deriere for the last part of it. But, the big horse and the big tribesman are just tired after all that crazy stuff, so his horse starts slowing, heavy out breaths after such a hard ride. "It fine. You good horse. Serve well. Not eat later." he promises.
Briony is the first to thunder over the finish line on her once-finely groomed stallion. She is muddied and soaking wet, and immediately turns to see whom crosses behind her. Her place doesn't count, of course. She pants through her teeth.
"Mistress Dhaval." Whispered primarily to herself, the papers that Emmaline had been busying herself with are tucked away into the satchel lying next to her. Where she had seated herself earlier, there's been movement of rising and leaning against the railing of the pavilion for a better view. Lifting one hand to catch the woman's attention, she's making her way towards the advocate if possible. Pity, she doesn't have a spare dry cloak.
While he isn't racing for the lead - or, rather, competing for it, as others are too far ahead to catch up in so short a strech, Zane spurns his horse on, neck-in-neck for last place with the man he's rode the majority of the race with for one reason or another; Guidhael. "C'mon, Cider," he calls, "Good girl, c'mon," he calls. But, ... oddly? Zane won't stop at the finish line - unless guards make him. He'll slow the gait of his horse down, and ride directly towards the healer's tent in a slow careful trot, before dismounting, panting all the while. There's concern, clearly, on the rider's features.
Yseult and horse like the bog. They enjoyed the woodland road. The cliff was exhilarating and the surf only slowed them due to an urge to have a caper in the water. But ultimately horses are made to run, and the pair who have kept to the front for nearly the entire race at last surge past Aileana. The slight female with the long blonde hair, on a horse of solid charcoal grey, sail across the finish line. They don't stop, but slow, and the blonde rider steers her horse into an easy circle. Gallop, to canter, to trot.
"Go, check on Majesty and Excellency." Guidhael says, bringing his own horse down to a slow trot. He just moves along in a slow circle.
Duke Raziel raises his hands and claps, as Briony passes the finish line in a measure of ironical humor, appreciative of the rider and the finish, both. Yseult's finish in second place, however, his him smiling just a bit wider, and leaves a glint in his eye. He claps, louder, and calls, "Good showing, Mists! Well done, Lady!" In a rather loud voice.
Aileana knows she's close to the front and as she passes the line and starts to pull her horse up, she asks, "Who won? I finished!!!" And then she turns her filthy horse around to see who finished with her, "I finished!!" She starts to scan the crowd for her husband or kids.
Imani closes distance, fast and hard, gaining only more distance the Tribal and Fielder. None of that matters in comparison to the fact that her brother's in front of her. Her /elder brother/ is in front of her. If she were any weaker a woman, there would be a stream of expletives pouring out of her mouth. Laying down close against her animal's neck and red hair pounding against her back after being knocked free from the braid that once held it. When she thunders across the finish line, however, it is well behind that sibling. But it's well in front of those dirty buttock watchers. Well, at least it's not a complete wash.
She abruptly brings that gallop down to a canter, only to drop it two a walk moments, seamlessly transitioning through the middle gaits. Once she's at a walk, however, her blue eyes scan the crowd with a growing concern now that her concern for her own well-being is less overwhelming. "Marek. Where is Marek?"
Godfrey cranes his neck again with the arrival of more racers. When he sees that there are people who had survived whatever trauma had been endured, he lifts a gloved hand to his brow and wipes away a sheen of sweat. "Got-damn," he says as he places his free hand on the shoulder of a passing guardsman. "Not everyone's been taken down."
The rain stops falling from the sky.
Annnnnnd there comes Willem and his steed. The pair are covered in sweat, mud, grime, and sand... but they are still coming in strong. As it comes to the final stretch, there is a final push as the horse makes great pains to close the gap. Coming in at the front end of the pack, Willem takes awhile to slow his horse down and get it to a place where he feels he can stop it and dismount it properly. Once he does, he leaps off and lands on his feet.
"A good race by all!" he exclaims as he gives a wave or two. Then his legs quiver a bit before giving out entirely and Willem lands face first on the ground. For any cocerned, a hand goes up with a slightly muffled yell of "I am well!"
Briony finds a groom waiting for her on one of the ubiquitous ponies of the competition. She moves to dismount, and wobbles when she hits solid ground, her knees hardly knowing how to hold her weight any longer. She reaches for something, or someone, to support herself. "Good show! Congratulations to those who finished! I salute you," and she does, her muddy glove tipping off her brow. She bows low, a fine flourish before her.
"It seems the winner this day belongs to the isle of Mists! Who knew any from that place could ride? You have taught us all a lesson this day," she smiles and looks around. A page brings wreathes of flowers to the winner and her horse. "Mistress Yseult. Come forward and I shall give you your prize to present to your Duke."
"Imani!" Linette shouts. She's still safely away from the riders, planted on the ground - all she can do is wave her hand broadly through the air, grinning ever more widely as she sees her friends come safely in. "Cynara!" Her other arm tightens around Ysora's shoulder - and even if she winces at that faceplant from Willem, she's still back to happiness.
Uninterested in the presentation of the prize - or, for that matter, anything else beyond what lay in the healer tent, Zane dismounts his mare, pauses for a few moments to regain the feeling in his legs, before pushing into the tent and disappearing from view. Those looking his way would note the concerned look in his features.
Needing a cooldown as much as her horse, Yseult keeps the animal moving. The pair might look less dirty, at a glance, than some, but this is only due to their colours. But when time for winner-stuff comes, she steers the weary but still-excited horse towards the winner's circle. There she takes a groom's hand and dismounts. Having no loved ones in the race-- or apparently any in the crowd either, the tallish girl's attention is on Briony. She inclines her head.
The clouds drift away revealing the night sky.
Aileana just rides her horse around, keeping the horse moving until a handler comes to take it from her, "I'm afraid to touch the ground here. Where is Mena? I need to go see her and see if she's...all right." Assuming that's where her cheering section would be right now.
Duke Raziel claps a bit more, and gives a rather bemused glance Briony's way. He says nothing, however for the moment, allowing the young Lady de Caire to bask in her moment alone. But, he does await, with grace and apparent pride, the presentation.
Kissing her hand and laying it against her steed's sweating neck, Yseult at last gives the animal over to a groom. For that moment only, as she watches her winning companion be taken, there is a small smile tugging at her lips. Otherwise rather serious, she glances around for her liege.
Ysora lets Linette's happiness buoy her spirits at least a little. She looks at her sister in law and then out at all the riders newly arrived. They may be hungry. So she lifts ehr voice and asks politely, "Would anyone like some wereshark?"
Godfrey claps the shoulder of another guard, Orley, before he rumbles, "Make sure the healing pavilion's secure. We got a mix of common and noble, an' the Knights only look out for royalty." That said, he makes his way over to the procession of winners from the race.
On the mention of wereshark, Godfrey looks askance to Ysora as he passes by. "Hell with wereshark, give them some whiskey."
The Baroness is weary, and it shows on her features that look older than their years. A page brings forth a covered object. Briony tugs her gloves off with her teeth, and reaches back to undo the tie in her hair. Curls, battered by grit and waves, are reluctant to tumble down and stay in a sticky mass at the back of her head.
"I am the last of my kind," she says, her tone somewhat bemused. "This horse sat upon my father's mantle, and every time the Lucitana was run in the Terrace, he would say that the horse would bring us fortune and victory," she smiles, her gaze softening slightly. "he is dead now, and it's time for fortune to smile upon a different isle. Though it's maker is unknown, I present this horse to you as a gift of my barony, and my family." The Baroness hands the heavy horse to the woman. It must weigh 30 pounds.
She coughs more, Cynara lifting a hand to wave to Linette from where she is. Approached by Emmaline, she gives her a smile. "Willem did magnificent," she murmurs to the young woman. The Paggion brother did tie for second place after all. With that, she struggles to get off the beach in her sodden coat and breeches.
Imani offers a quick wave in Linette's direction, the sound of her name enough to grab her attention, but not dispel her concern. Her eyes narrow more. "Marek?!" Once she finds the stablehand who gave her the horse, the healer has him hold the gelding just long enough to rapidly dismount. Once her feet hit the ground, her legs begin shaking. But she doesn't stop. Instead, she stumbles in the direction of the Healers' Pavilion. Everything else fades in the presence of a protective elder sister's concern.
Yseult extends her slender, mud-spattered arms to take the horse, but the moment it seems about to drag her to the ground, someone is surely kind enough to come and hold it for her. "Thank you, your excellency. I am deeply honoured." Her voice is low but possesses that audible quality which is taught to most nobles in their youth. Again she looks for Raziel, and upon at last spotting him, she approaches him and deeply curtsies. If her thighs are sore, she manages to conceal this fact.
Cynara blinks when Imani starts heading to the pavilion, and she looks over at Emmaline, concern in her eyes. "Emma I think I better..." With the youngest Paggion brother down, she turns to sprint towards the pavilion. Team Draught sticks together, and all that.
It takes a lot for Emmaline not to wave eagerly at Willem as he lands, sliding her gaze towards Imani and back to Cynara as she speaks. While all smiles - and brightly at that, it hasn't hit that Marek's either straggling or one of those who were injured. Until Nara moves away or begins to. Then? That smile fades with a quick nod of her head. "Alright."
The waxing gibbous moon Diuturnal rises over the eastern horizon.
Duke Raziel remarks, "Very well done, Lady de Caire," in a tone of speech measured for the public venue. "You have proven your tenacity and prowess, your cunning and your ferocity, and your willingness to endure for your Isle, and your Empire. Rise, and be pleased. For you are the champion of the Lucitana. And that is no small feat. You've earned the awe of your fellow Mistians, and the respect of those of the other Isles. Now," he bids, "Go. Rest. Eat. I'll have your mount seen to; bathed, fed, and pampered. Enjoy yourself, Champion. You do quite deserve it."
"You deserved it. I only wish I had one for each rider.... which reminds me. The stallion I rode today is yours," Briony wavers a smaller smile.
"To those brave riders who came in second place, I offer the cash prize, as designated by Her Majesty, who um.. cannot be here right now," her brow furrows slightly. "A custom saddle made to fit is yours as well.... and to everyone who waited for us... drinks are on me!"
Yseult tells Raziel, "I hope that you will take the horse her excellency has so kindly bestowed upon us," a nod towards the statue, "and let it belong to our entire isle." She then bows her head and says something more softly to Raziel, before turning and offering a curtsy to Briony.
Yseult mutters to Duke Raziel, "... I do as..."
Briony limps off to go fall on a hay bail and drink some ale.
Duke Raziel takes the horse as it is presented, "It shall have a place of honor upon my mantle in the Mists Tower," he conceeds, "So that all visitors there, both of the Isle and not, may know that we do more than dress in black, and cast spells from afar upon our Isle. We are as fierce competitors as any in the Isle," he bids, with warm humor, and some seriousness as well. "And we do so enjoy it." He nods to Yseult, "Again, I say, well done, Lady."
With his approach to the winners' circle and Briony's limping departure, it is mere coincidence that the two intercept. He holds up his fingers in greeting to the Baroness, then inclines his posture in respect. "Well met an' good race, Baroness."
A guard supports Phineas as he comes out of the healer's pavilion with Aileana and Zane along with him. "So the Mistian won?" he asks in complete disbelief. "Fuck. Razielf's goin' ta be a crowin' cock fer a while."
