Joint RP with Quaunaut of http://www.quaunaut.com/
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My breath quickened in anticipation. She wasn’t like any of the other competitors I had seen today, this Draenei woman with a wild look about her. She eyed me once over from the top of her Wintersaber, and craned the large cat’s neck, turning him into position. The hawkstrider beneath me flapped his wings impatiently, adrenaline from the past three fights rushing through him as it did me, but hardly exhausted. He crowed -- a sharp, brittle sound piercing the silent air.
My opponent charged.
I instinctively raised my shield, its weight on my arm barely noticeable from years of training, and with my lance raised I kicked the sides of my mount and shouted, “Hyah!”
She thrust out her lance in a jab, a low grunt escaping her lips, an attack full of strength.
I don’t joust linearly. The birds of the Sin’dorei are bred for agility, a swiftness of speed. It would be a dishonor to their nature not to use it to one’s advantage. I quickly squeezed the sides of the bird beneath me with my thighs and leaned to the left, strafing out of the way of the frontal assault. Her lance grazed my shield, and I inwardly cursed. She was faster than I had anticipated. I rounded, the hawkstrider’s talon digging into the dirt, and faced her once more, sending my mount into a full gallop, wind catching my hair and throwing it behind me.
My opponent barely had time to turn around. The Wintersaber was fast, but it was lumbering trying to turn around, and I knew I had the advantage. I grounded myself in the saddle, putting my weight behind my right arm, and I thrust out my lance, hitting her shield squarely. The adrenaline pumped through my veins, and as I felt my lips spread into a grin, I realized that I hadn’t had this much fun in weeks—
She forced back her shield and knocked my lance to the side. Taken off-guard, I knew I wouldn’t be able to counter her attack. I kicked my mount into a side run to gain distance, bringing my lance up to my shield to create a defensive wall, but she was catching up. Fast. In seconds she was parallel with me, and she swung out her shield. I blocked with my own, but her speed gave her strength, and I felt my right boot slip from its stirrup. A swear fell from my lips, in Common, a habit I had picked up from the goblin sailors.
I tried to throw myself back upright onto my panicking mount, when I felt the saddle slip sideways and underneath the bird’s abdomen and drug me down with it. I hit the ground, left foot still caught in its own stirrup.
“By the Light-damned Well!”
I pulled my boot free in time to see my opponent riding up to my side. “I... well, sorry then. I don't usually let the fight get to my head,” she apologized in Common, smirking as she said it and wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her light blue complexion was flushed with exertion, and her long, grey-blue hair was as tussled as mine.
I pushed myself off the ground and brushed off my pants. Embarrassed, but certainly not giving in completely, I looked to the mounted Draenei and smirked back. “One should be humbled now and then,” I replied. “Well done.” She may have won the joust, but I would be damned if I let her embarrass me further. I deliberately set my lance and shield on the ground and patted the beak of my unhappy hawkstrider who was fidgeting and picking at the slipped saddle with his beak. I unhooked the straps and started to fit it properly between the bird’s wings.
The Draenei started to turn her mount away, but hesitated. “You... you speak Common fairly well. You don't see many Blood Elves who still do.”
I glanced towards her. “I was raised a member of the Church of Light. We attended often.” I refocused on the saddle, setting it square on the bird’s feathered back. “At least, until the war in Lordaeron.”
I gave a small laugh, pushing my hair out of my face. “I am sorry, I did not mean to tell you my life history.”
“No, no. I ask about your history, you tell me about your history.” She dipped her head and took a deep breath before dismounting from her own saddle. “I’m Israia,” she offered softly.
For the second time today, this Draenei woman—Israia—had caught me off-guard. It was true, at the Tournament we were all fighting towards a common goal, but we certainly wouldn’t be considered allied…
Unsure of her intentions, of my intentions, of everything in this moment, I felt myself lower my eyes and make a slight bow. “Luisette,” I heard myself reply, “of the Dawnrise family.”
Israia offered her hand to me, the faintest of smiles upon her lips. I offered my own hand in return. “A pleasure,” I said in Thalassian, a customary greeting.
“I’ve never heard of the Dawnrise family,” Israia suddenly said, “though I’ll admit, most of the High Elven literature that was in the Keep has mostly been… burned.” Her eyes broke away from mine.
I shook my head reassuringly. “No,” I said with a soft laugh, “a small priest family from an even smaller town might not be referenced much.”
Israia nodded. “Ahh, right.” She hesitated, and I bit my lip, suddenly nervous and feeling hesitant myself. “Well, uh, good fight,” she said abruptly. But quietly, she added, “I hope to see you out here again,” and before I could say anything else, she swung herself onto her mount and started back towards the stables.
Suddenly remembering where I was, I took in my surroundings, and caught another combatant looking my way. My face flushed, feeling hot, and I pushed back my hair again and grabbed my provisions and setting them on top of the saddle. I was in no state to ride.
I was… curious.
