(no subject)
Characters: Rogue (desig_survivor ), an NPC griffin named Windmere, open to anyone
Date/Time: We'll say... well, sure, January 31, midafternoon.
Location: The stables on Melee Island, or more precisely a cleared space outside of the stables.
Rating: PG?
Summary: Rogue is training himself on griffin riding. Is there anyone in the neighborhood?
Lying prone on the griffin-saddle, Rogue took Windmere through her paces. Weaving between upright posts, lurching and surging over fallen ones, and riding in circles at various speeds, until she was moving at a feline gallop, forelegs and hindlegs and forelegs again.
He didn't fall off. He didn't even slew around a lot, even when Windmere decided to jump a fallen post, spreading her wings and gliding for a second. Nor did he yank the reins. Rogue knew now how to brace with his hands and feet, how to grip with his knees, exactly what to do with his elbows. It was nothing like flying a pointer, but he was a fast learner, and he'd come a long way in something like two weeks.
Windmere was fairly old and could only keep at a gallop for so long. She slowed, yearning towards the water trough. He reined her away from it, had her stop, and slid a little too quickly out of the saddle, twisting the reins a little as he unwound them from his forearms. She bridled at him a little, ear-crests flattening against her head, taloned forefeet tearing up the sod.
"There, girl," he said in the low, soothing tones that the griffinmaster insisted on. He sounded like he was making a clumsy seduction attempt, but she settled, fluffing her feathers and raising her ear-crests in what he'd been told was bird for a smile. "There. I think we're almost ready to try flying, aren't we? Though I don't know how I'm going to get you to take off."
Date/Time: We'll say... well, sure, January 31, midafternoon.
Location: The stables on Melee Island, or more precisely a cleared space outside of the stables.
Rating: PG?
Summary: Rogue is training himself on griffin riding. Is there anyone in the neighborhood?
Lying prone on the griffin-saddle, Rogue took Windmere through her paces. Weaving between upright posts, lurching and surging over fallen ones, and riding in circles at various speeds, until she was moving at a feline gallop, forelegs and hindlegs and forelegs again.
He didn't fall off. He didn't even slew around a lot, even when Windmere decided to jump a fallen post, spreading her wings and gliding for a second. Nor did he yank the reins. Rogue knew now how to brace with his hands and feet, how to grip with his knees, exactly what to do with his elbows. It was nothing like flying a pointer, but he was a fast learner, and he'd come a long way in something like two weeks.
Windmere was fairly old and could only keep at a gallop for so long. She slowed, yearning towards the water trough. He reined her away from it, had her stop, and slid a little too quickly out of the saddle, twisting the reins a little as he unwound them from his forearms. She bridled at him a little, ear-crests flattening against her head, taloned forefeet tearing up the sod.
"There, girl," he said in the low, soothing tones that the griffinmaster insisted on. He sounded like he was making a clumsy seduction attempt, but she settled, fluffing her feathers and raising her ear-crests in what he'd been told was bird for a smile. "There. I think we're almost ready to try flying, aren't we? Though I don't know how I'm going to get you to take off."