Post by Rinafera Woxwitty III on Mar 15, 2007 1:13:10 GMT -5
Rinafera picked up his rusty old claymore, looking at the tarnished blade. It had a gem pommel but still looked old, due to the weather. Rain fell down from the sky and on to the Barracks. The hare got up and looked out the window. He hated rain. Rainy days were gloomy at the Horde, but then again, every day was gloomy at the Horde. He smirked as he thought of the armies he fought in long ago. A Captain in the Long Patrol, an Elite Private at Guardians of Mossflower, and now Colonel of the Horde, the hare was experienced and prepared. It was a long walk from the Barracks to the Courtyard, so he almost decided not to go. Perhaps the rain would let up after I go outside. Rinafera thought to himself as he left the Barracks.
Rain fell upon his head like a waterfall, and he even thought he saw hail. Rolling his eyes, the hare dusted off his now wet green tunic. The Colonel looked down to his scabbard and saw his scimitar; it was a magnificent sight. That scimitar had killed many vermin and fought many battles, but only fought a few spars. Rinafera yanked the strap of his haversack and placed it over his shoulder. Grumbling, he walked along the wet camp. What does it take to get some jolly creatures around here, eh, wot? He said to himself negatively. The hare unsheathed the claymore from his back, where he had the strap near the haversack. Spitting on the blade, he wiped it off and sheathed it again.
Rinafera had three sparing weapons: a scimitar, a claymore, and a back-up knife. He stumbled along as his brown eyes picked up the courtyard in the distance. Turning, his eyes flickered to the on-lookers. Nothing here but a bunch of rubbish fools. The hare told himself as his black boots stepped into a puddle. Thunder sounded far away as he approached the courtyard. The day was getting gloomier by the moment, and Rinafera dreamed of days gone by when he fought along side the hares of the Long Patrol. Salamandastron was a glorious place. But the Horde? The Horde was dark and gloomy. 'Neutral' vermin were allowed to walk free and kill as they wish, and the leaders acted as if their soldiers were a piece of rotten food. But now, he was one of those leaders.
An army mentality mentally and physically prepared him for things like this. He was a warrior, and that was all that mattered. Rinafera grumbled as no beast showed up to spar him at the Sparring Court, and rain still constantly fell upon the hare. There was no reasons for him to stay, but he needed to stay in case some beast actually showed up. Colonel Woxwitty unsheathed the scimitar and waved it through the air. He practiced his technique and style, making smooth motions through the air. The scimitar flowed with his body perfectly, and the hare knew practice had paid off. Finally, after 22 seasons of fighting in an army environment, Rinafera was promoted to a high position. Captain was good, but it was only over one Regiment. Now, he was co-second in command of an entire Horde. It did wonders for his self-esteem. Turning, he barked out a challenge to any fighters.
"Some beast jolly spar me, wot! My scimitar needs to hit bally flesh! Who dares fight me?
Rain fell upon his head like a waterfall, and he even thought he saw hail. Rolling his eyes, the hare dusted off his now wet green tunic. The Colonel looked down to his scabbard and saw his scimitar; it was a magnificent sight. That scimitar had killed many vermin and fought many battles, but only fought a few spars. Rinafera yanked the strap of his haversack and placed it over his shoulder. Grumbling, he walked along the wet camp. What does it take to get some jolly creatures around here, eh, wot? He said to himself negatively. The hare unsheathed the claymore from his back, where he had the strap near the haversack. Spitting on the blade, he wiped it off and sheathed it again.
Rinafera had three sparing weapons: a scimitar, a claymore, and a back-up knife. He stumbled along as his brown eyes picked up the courtyard in the distance. Turning, his eyes flickered to the on-lookers. Nothing here but a bunch of rubbish fools. The hare told himself as his black boots stepped into a puddle. Thunder sounded far away as he approached the courtyard. The day was getting gloomier by the moment, and Rinafera dreamed of days gone by when he fought along side the hares of the Long Patrol. Salamandastron was a glorious place. But the Horde? The Horde was dark and gloomy. 'Neutral' vermin were allowed to walk free and kill as they wish, and the leaders acted as if their soldiers were a piece of rotten food. But now, he was one of those leaders.
An army mentality mentally and physically prepared him for things like this. He was a warrior, and that was all that mattered. Rinafera grumbled as no beast showed up to spar him at the Sparring Court, and rain still constantly fell upon the hare. There was no reasons for him to stay, but he needed to stay in case some beast actually showed up. Colonel Woxwitty unsheathed the scimitar and waved it through the air. He practiced his technique and style, making smooth motions through the air. The scimitar flowed with his body perfectly, and the hare knew practice had paid off. Finally, after 22 seasons of fighting in an army environment, Rinafera was promoted to a high position. Captain was good, but it was only over one Regiment. Now, he was co-second in command of an entire Horde. It did wonders for his self-esteem. Turning, he barked out a challenge to any fighters.
"Some beast jolly spar me, wot! My scimitar needs to hit bally flesh! Who dares fight me?
