Pierrette (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vestalstone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-06-28 12:20 am
vestalstone) wrote in thearena2013-06-28 12:20 am
Entry tags:
Desert Arena: The little stone
Who| Pierrette and Open!
What| Pierrette arrives to the arena
Where| Desert Arena
When| Middle of week one
Warnings/Notes| Not too much! As will be standard with Pierrette, there's always a risk of mentioned rape, murder and witchcraft.
Ma has not prepared me for this. Confusion warps her mind when Pierrette stumbles off of the strange pedestal into a large, dry expanse of sand and heat. She sways there for a moment, reeling from the physical and mental shock of her abrupt arrival, the skirt of the simple yet foreign dress she had been dressed in before her departure fluttering against her shins. Her mouth was dry, her hands sweating and clammy, the horizon tilting and her vision dancing with sunspots as she took a few short, skittering steps into the hot sands.
Kill or be killed. That was what she had been told. But then, was that not life? Work, struggle, pain, death. This was what she was fighting all along, and yet now she was in the thick of it. But here she was wandering alone. Ma had been there beside her, wearing her mother's face, but now the goddess was gone, having either forsaken her or left her to seek her answers on her own.
Here the goddess would not help her. Here she could not seek Anselm for his wisdom. She didn't even have Gilles, her father with his cowardly nature, jug of wine and his rusted sword.
Magpie fly, magpie chatter... She hummed, a pleasant buzzing settling like locusts at dusk. She swayed in place, arms falling out to her sides and she spun, dancing steps guiding her down the slope and into the distance. I am the magpie, here I fly, here I chatter, I'll follow the road, to where none matter....
Nothing mattered. Not here where the veil of years had been breached. Her only goal was to find what her goddess had sent her for. This was her test, to be forsaken and to prove herself. She was a masc, a child of Elen. Her's were not warrior's hands, but she had cursed the Castellan, had gathered the dying spirits and united them. Pierrette could survive, to push to live and to win, leaving the dust behind her to settle and let her mind sore back into Ma's arms. She would seek her lesson, and defy Satan and his trickery. I am a stone. I do not yield.
She dug her feet into the sand and sighed, head tilted to the sky as she spun.
Shelter, to start. She decided, humming as she danced down the ridge. Then scavenging for supplies. Food, water, weapons... flints if I can find them, sandstone is brittle but can be shaped into a knife. Well enough for a single blow and then a retreat...
What| Pierrette arrives to the arena
Where| Desert Arena
When| Middle of week one
Warnings/Notes| Not too much! As will be standard with Pierrette, there's always a risk of mentioned rape, murder and witchcraft.
Ma has not prepared me for this. Confusion warps her mind when Pierrette stumbles off of the strange pedestal into a large, dry expanse of sand and heat. She sways there for a moment, reeling from the physical and mental shock of her abrupt arrival, the skirt of the simple yet foreign dress she had been dressed in before her departure fluttering against her shins. Her mouth was dry, her hands sweating and clammy, the horizon tilting and her vision dancing with sunspots as she took a few short, skittering steps into the hot sands.
Kill or be killed. That was what she had been told. But then, was that not life? Work, struggle, pain, death. This was what she was fighting all along, and yet now she was in the thick of it. But here she was wandering alone. Ma had been there beside her, wearing her mother's face, but now the goddess was gone, having either forsaken her or left her to seek her answers on her own.
Here the goddess would not help her. Here she could not seek Anselm for his wisdom. She didn't even have Gilles, her father with his cowardly nature, jug of wine and his rusted sword.
Magpie fly, magpie chatter... She hummed, a pleasant buzzing settling like locusts at dusk. She swayed in place, arms falling out to her sides and she spun, dancing steps guiding her down the slope and into the distance. I am the magpie, here I fly, here I chatter, I'll follow the road, to where none matter....
Nothing mattered. Not here where the veil of years had been breached. Her only goal was to find what her goddess had sent her for. This was her test, to be forsaken and to prove herself. She was a masc, a child of Elen. Her's were not warrior's hands, but she had cursed the Castellan, had gathered the dying spirits and united them. Pierrette could survive, to push to live and to win, leaving the dust behind her to settle and let her mind sore back into Ma's arms. She would seek her lesson, and defy Satan and his trickery. I am a stone. I do not yield.
She dug her feet into the sand and sighed, head tilted to the sky as she spun.
Shelter, to start. She decided, humming as she danced down the ridge. Then scavenging for supplies. Food, water, weapons... flints if I can find them, sandstone is brittle but can be shaped into a knife. Well enough for a single blow and then a retreat...