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 Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2006 10:01 pm
((The arrival of Surandor and Kaderac at Azale. Feel free to join in, though. Most preferably as the owner of a horse/horses. And especially if, RP-wise, your horses haven't really gotten to the encampment (Or, as Ky puts it, the city of tents) yet. Or even if your horse has arrived in Azale. I mean, anyone can be at a pier for anything, right? It's funner than RPing alone, right? xD))
The deep bass voice of ship rang out across the pier ((Cuz Moon's assuming there's a harbor and that horses are transported by sea to Azale, or at least there's a harbor nearby the desert?)) in warning to the bustle of workers at the harbor. The majestic vessel's deep blue hull nosed into the harbor, and the anchor dropped to hold the ship. Workmen shouted, and a crowd gathered around to await the unloading of the cargo.
Azhra Farrash'ka stood in the midst of the throng of people, each waiting for their own part of the freight. She had been sent by her father to collect a few horses - two - that were arriving at Azale today, on the freighter Marryanne. She rose up on tiptoes, trying to see past the shoulders and heads of the others. As the first of the cargo was unloaded, the crowds backed up their circle to give room for the freight.
Although it was not the first time she had come to the pier for horses, it was the first time she was here alone. All the times she had come before now, her father had been with her - and she had loved the trips. But now, the previously friendly and heart-catching crowds suddenly seemed that much more sinister. She was a little wound up by being alone in the crowds, despite how outgoing she was. She was surrounded by strangers, and people who were not arabian.
At long last, the item cargo had all been unloaded, and the men had once again disappeared down into the hold for the horses. Azhra peered around her at the crates laying about and the people stepping up to each to claim the goods. She had just taken up interest in what looked like an unclaimed crate of liquor when a high-pitched whinny shrilled out across the harbor. At that moment, it seemed as if the world itself and shut up. Azhra looked up from studying the crate, and gasped. A beautifully bred Arabian stallion stood at the top of the ramp. He seemed to have heard her, for her stopped in his crazed movements for a moment - one single moment - and stared at her. His liquid brown eyes, light, seemed to see through her soul. She stood, captivated. But then the moment was broken, and the stallion's shrill cry once again pierced the air as he struggled to rear up against the hand on his halter.
"Wow... He's beautiful." Azhra whispered. The men around her nodded in silence as they regarded the stallion, faintly palomino-golden, with a blanket of white fur upon his back.
"He's gonna be a handful. Hope whoever gets 'im knows what he's doing." One of the men commented, and Azhra nodded in agreement. Her eyes followed the stallion as he was led away. She couldn't see him now, but she could hear his shrill challenge calls and she could see his finely crafted golden ears whenever he tried to rear.
Suddenly, from within the hold of the ship, came an answering whinny, and then a brown head, tipped with a delicate black muzzle, ducked into the sunlight. A sleek Arabian mare emerged from the ship, stepping carefully onto the top of the ramp. Deep, soulful eyes peered out at the world, framed by long, handsome lashes. She tossed her lightly dished face, and a call - distress mixed with joy - was heard. Her body was mottled in color, brown and white, her tail a wonderful mousey gray-brown. She moved hesitantly, following the man leading her.
Azhra pushed through the crowds and made her way toward the horse as more wonderfully bred Arabians were led down from the ship. The horses had been seperated by names of their recipents. She moved closer to the paint mare, who was with the pale stallion. She overheard the two workmen muttering to themselves as they consulted a clipboard.
"These two go to an... Azhra Farrash'ka." One said, taking the pencil from behind his ear and pointing to the two paint horses. Azhra stepped forward.
"There must be some mistake. They should be my father's horses, not mine." She said, shrugging. "I'm Azhra Farrash'ka."
The two men shook their heads. "Ain't nothin' about another Farrash'ka, girly. Just an Azhra Farrash'ka."
Ahzra stood, stunned. They were her horses...?
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Posted: Thu Jun 29, 2006 11:22 pm
Another Arabian waited in the pushing throngs of people. She stood to the side, letting the crowds flow around her. It was the same everytime she came - though it had been few and far between. Voices littered the air like the grains of the desert; the odors of too many bodies, the garbage and sea.
Fellah watched the ship dock and the cargo unload. Each horse was given an appraising look, and she was pleased with what she saw. The specimens were utterly gorgeous, unique in their own way. Yet it was the last one to leave that drew her attention.
The Stallion was moderate in size, but with his head stretched out, nostrils flared in the air, he seemed bigger. The handler let him look over the crowds, being in no real rush to take him down. The Arabians eyes were steel blue, leaping out at her from the black-marked face. The body was steel gray, muscle rippling under the shining coat. Each marking, his mane and tail were coal black. A monochromed Dun.
The red-eyed female hastily left her little nook, pushing her way through the crowds to claim her Stallion.
"Fellah Jizhirar?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Sign here and here 'n he's yours."
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Posted: Fri Jun 30, 2006 12:08 am
Azhra stood for a moment, before grabbing the pencil the man offered her and signing numbly on the sheet. She looked away from the two horses that the men had said were hers. She was so shocked. Her father had many wonderful horses, and even he, such a great horseman, had said she had a special affinity with horses, but she had never expected to have her own, let alone two. Perhaps a job working with her father's horses, perhaps that, but to have her own, she would never have dreamed of it.
Her gaze swept about the area where the horses had been unloaded, and her eyes fell on a beautiful steely gray stallion. With her experienced eye, she could see immediately that he was slightly taller than her own pale stallion, and there was something in his piercing blue eyes that unnerved her slightly. He was so... strong, and regal. She could see it in the very way he moved.
"So you takin' him with yer?" The man's voice drew her back. Azhra shook her head quickly.
"One moment." She said, making her way over to the gray stallion who, like her white-faced stallion, had caught her eye immediately. She approached the girl she assumed was now the stallion's owner with a smile. "He's beautiful." She told her. Her words were more american, lightly brushed with an arabian accent. She had only recently came to Azale to live with her father, maybe only nine or ten months, ever since her mother had died - an innocent victim in a robbery crime scene, in which two of the robbers had opened fire at random. Her eyes, the color of sterling silver, danced as she swept her gaze over the gray stallion again.
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Posted: Fri Jun 30, 2006 8:55 pm
The gray stallion was what all assumed was the last of the horses to unload, for the crowds tightened in anticipation of yet another horse to be led out, and for so long, there was none. And so the crowds had begun to break, with people leaving to join a different throng around the new ship that had just docked.
From the side, Azhra's pale stallion plunged forward again, his every movement radiated hostility and anger at the people who were gathering to stare at him. The painted mare stood to the side, well-mannered as anything, letting people tentatively stroke her nose.
She was just about to tell the other Arabian girl that those two were the horses her father had bought for her, when from deep within the Marryanne's hold came the clash of hooves against wood.
Azhra stared over at the ship. A handful of men, four, were struggling with a horse within the ship. Everything was still for many moments, save for the loud snorts and whinnies of the horse from the inside, and the clatter of hooves and shouts of the men.
Then, rearing and bucking, and being a right hard job, came a beautiful yet extremely strangely colored stallion. A brown blanket covered pale gold and white points, and his mane and tail were white tipped. Azhra stared in wonder. He looked so much like a dog she had known...
She watched as the horse seemed to calm, but she could see a smart gleam in his eye that told her he wasn't quite done. Then men relaxed, and two of them let loose the halter and stepped back. Then suddenly, the stallion yanked back, ripping the halter from the grip of the men's hands. Yells of shock and pain rang out as the horse dodged forward, weaving in between the men skillfully as he ran forward, headed for the other horses.
Azhra stepped forward calmly, her hands raised as the stallion headed toward her.
"Easy, boy..." She muttered as he drew up, looking confused that she had dared step in his path. He stood and regarded her, his eyes warm and friendly, but dancing with that same mischievous sparkle. "Come on..."
She reached forward, inching slowly toward him. He seemed to consider her for a moment, then decided she wasn't worth it, and dropped his head with a friendly whicker. She took hold of his halter and gave him a pat. "Good boy."
The four men came rushing up, panting. "Wow, she got him!" One said.
Another leaned his hands onto his knees. "Just as well. He's hers, innit?"
"What?!"
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Posted: Fri Jun 30, 2006 9:51 pm
Curious red eyes watched the female tame the Stallion. She was waiting on yet another horse. A tanned hand stroked the side of her gentle Budhra, whom was enjoying the attentions of those who stopped to pet him. Even the children loved him.
That was a relief to Fellah, who had plans to stud the handsome Dun. His gentle nature should breed into his foals, with the right mares.
The Indian ((the India Indians, not the Native American ones ^^;; )) shook her head, long black curls flying free. In Azale she wore the typical garb for the females, the one that only left her eyes visible. Here in the port city she donned leather: leather tunic, leather leggings, leather boots.
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Posted: Fri Jun 30, 2006 10:20 pm
"Easy there, Shakil. Handsome one. And that shall be your name." She murmured. This feisty but overly friendly horse couldn't be hers. Three horses. Her father must have gone crazy! She gave him a pet, and he nuzzled her hair meekly as she led him over to the other two Arabians.
Once he had settled comfortably, Azhra returned to other girl.
"Sorry, I didn't really think when I just left like that." She said, with an apologetic smile. "I never thought my father would get me three horses." She said with a shrug. She saw the wary looks of the few people who had not scattered at the arrival of the fun-loving stallion. "He's not bad," She said, pointing to the stallion she had named Shakil. "He thinks it's all the game. He's just playing. I could see it in his eye." She stared over at him as he shook his mane and stepped toward the crowd. Azhra chuckled as the crowd took a step back as one.
Azhra had been born in America, and although she had been to Arabia before now, she considered herself more American than she did Arabian. Right now, she was dressed in jeans, a loose t-shirt and a baseball cap, always having been a bit of a tomboy. She had refused to wear the traditional Arabian clothing, which angered her father and those in Azale greatly, but, as her father reasoned, she American, and not really so much Arabian. Her hair was straight and reached down past her shoulders, more brown than black and streaked with gold from the sun.
"Have you lived in Azale long?" She asked the girl. Her own fifteenth birthday was not far off, and it was exactly a week before the day her mother had died. She had lived in America for fourteen years - all her friends were there, and she hadn't wanted to move. But her father was the only living relative she had, and although she didn't know him well, Azale had been her only choice.
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Ocean_0f_Fire Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Jul 01, 2006 8:40 am
It was pointless for Fatima too say, but when Kyjoto invited other Americans to Azale it made her cringe. Her sister was too friendly and it drove her nuts. Fatima and her sister were so diffrent. They were raised in two diffrent countries, and though they spoke the same language, had the same father, and liked the same things (horses); they were two utterly diffrent people.
Fatima watched Azhra, flipping her hair back as she removed her head garb. "Maybe my sister isn't so bad."
When their father became to old for the horse buisness he left it to Kyjoto, not her. Even though she was much older, she wasn't any better. Well, mayabe was in that she rode horses every day in America, and she owned a horse farm with her mother. Fatima walked to Kyjoto's tent her silky drapes of clothing fluttering behind her.
Kyjoto smiled watching her four little foals sleep in pairs. Anwar and Amurra; Sameh and Rayhan. The little devils in her life kept her so busy, she had almost forgotten that more people were coming to Azale this week. Her scheduale was so packed, and it was hard for her to follow the days being so used to the American days and nights. She cursed rubbing her eyes as she lefther yurt wearing a t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts.
Her sister was right infront of her and the way her face was contorted she wasn't happy. "Don't say it Fatima, I don't want to hear it."
"You are a disgrace to out father, and you are worthless in this city!" Fatima blurted to her sister. Her words had not even grazed the top of Kyjoto's head. Fatima growled following behind her. "Why don't you ever listen to me? And what in the world are you wearing?"
"I'm wearing my clothing, and I'm going to announce soon that my clothing will be law." Kyjoto yawned again, petting Anwar's forelock as he followed behind her. She smiled pushing through into the feed tent filling her bucket with grains and a few apples.
(Drama llama! dramallama )
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Posted: Sat Jul 01, 2006 7:14 pm
(Omgyay! Casual clothing shall be LAW! rofl blaugh
Maybe I should wait for Soul to make a post... But then... o.o)
At that moment, there sounded to be a sort of a scuffle behind her, and with a triumphant snort, Shakil came trotting around the ring of people, he held high and his tail up like a banner. As he swept around toward her, she gave a wave of her hand.
"Hey there! Shakil!" The horse heard her more than saw her. He stopped and stood, poised, for a moment, his ears pricked and nostrils flaring gently. Then he gave a deep nicker and broke into a fast trot toward her. She caught his halter, petting him. Then he suddenly seemed to catch sight of the gray stallion, and before Azhra had time to start to lead him away, he shrilled a challenge to him, and half reared. Azhra went with him, closing quickly near his head. He had gone near crazy at the sight of another stallion, and tried to plunge forward. "No!" Azhra drew her hand back, pulling on his halter. "Shakil!" The stallion paused, nuzzling her hand. He didn't rear up any more, but his eyes were alight with something akin to eager friendliness. Azhra stared at him. "You, my friend, are you weird horse."
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Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 7:16 pm
"Your horses are-"
"We're sorry, Miss Jizhirar, but you're two horses weren't on the ship. They got unloaded to the wrong stall." The burly man gestured for his two assistants to lead the two into the stall.
The first was a Stallion, gold copper in color with a mane and tail like fresh cream. Two white stockings were placed on his front legs, matching the white star on his head. He had a deep chest, long loins and wide forehead. A racing horse, a smart one as well. He was perfect for her first racer. The palomino snorted and jerked his head as he caught sight of the Dun stallion.
The handler murmured to him and tied him to the other side of the stall. Brown eyes peered back at the other Stallion.
The second was a fleabitten gray mare. The specially-imported Arabian danced nervously as she was led in. Lean, long legs and a nice body. She would be able to breed and race. The mare tugged at the rope that bound her to the railing and seemed to sigh.
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Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 7:54 pm
As the other girl was busy with the two new arrivals, Azhra brought Shakil back to the others and tied him before going back over.
"Wow, they look great." She said, seeing the dark palomino and the fleabitten gray. The way the mare was built reminded her immediately of her own paint mare, who had been bred as a Dressage horse, rather than a racer, but the long clean legs and finely built body of the gray mare was reminiscent of the paint that was hers.
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Posted: Fri Feb 16, 2007 8:28 pm
((DUN DUN DUN! Moon is posting here again! xD))
Azhra sat down on an empty barrel at the port, remembering the day so long ago when she had come to pick up some horses for her father, only to realize that he had gotten them all - three - for her. She sighed wistfully, remembering vividly the sight of the Marryanne pulling into harbor, the unloading of the horses, and the shock that had run through her at the three horses that had become hers. She remembered, too, her first meeting with Shakil, the way his soulful eyes had glinted with a mischievous fire.
The girl sat and stared listlessly into the dark waves of the churning sea. She was waiting for two more horses today, and another a couple days after, and she had found an inn of some sort to stay in until it was all over. The ship had been delayed today, and she had been sitting for well over three hours, simply staring into the unfathomable depths of the sea, trying to spot any sign of life in the ever moving blackness of the water.
She knew what the two horses arriving today were. One was the old gray that had once belonged to her mother's friend, and then his daughter. She had seen the gelding once, unexplainably calm and trusting. She had gone to visit him with her mother that day. The thought of her dead parent brought grief welling up within the girl's chest, and for a moment, she thought to unleash the sorrow that had been pent up inside her for so long. But she held it back, balling her hands into fists as she tried to turn her thoughts away from her old life in America.
The other was an abused rodeo horse. A mustang, a beautiful one, she had heard. Azhra had been furious when she had been told of the abuse the mustang had suffered, and had gotten her friend to buy the mare for her immediately. Now, she had been sent to Azale on the same ride as old Westrion, where Azhra would do her best to restore the mare's trust in humans and in life.
Then from far off in the misty distance came the deep bass boom of a ship's whistle. The Dharbai was coming in. Azhra looked up, abandoning all thoughts of her mother, and stood, peering through the mist with all the others, searching the horizon for the ship, until at long last, they saw a shape emerge through the heavy curtain of white, cutting through the murky water like a knife as it nosed into the harbor.
As if following unspoken instructions, the crowd formed a ring to allow the crew to unload. First came the caskets of alcohol and rum and food, along with clothing and salt and anything else imagineable. The horses came next. There were not too many, perhaps half a dozen, which were led past the throngs of people into the waiting area, where each horse was tethered on its own. Azhra moved toward the horses. She felt a lump starting to form in her throat at the familiar sight of old Westrion, and more memories returned to her. The day her mother and herself had gone to visit, and they had ridden double on old Wes bareback. And he didn't even flinch when she, the little girl of only seven years old, had clamped her legs tight around his side to keep from sliding off.
"Azhra Farrash'ka?" The voice jerked her back into reality. She had reached Wes and had started to pet him unconciously. She withdrew and her had and nodded, a little embarrassed. "Sign 'ere, please, ma'am." She did and the sailor tipped his hat to her. "He's the sweetest thang, miz, that he is."
"Oh, Wes, it really is you," She murmured, stroking his nose. Though it had been so many years since she had last seen him, the old horse whickered in recognition. "I have to find... Jinglebell." She said reluctantly, pulling herself away from the horse that connected her to her past.
Azhra scoured the small line of horses for a mustang. There was only one, a pure white mare who was dancing against her halter and shying at every sound. She was completely worked up, her white coat starting to glisten with sweat as she tried to avoid everything. Azhra felt her heart go out to the mare.
"Miz Farrash'ka?" It was the same sailor. Azhra whirled around and signed the page with a flourish, hurrying to the mare. The mustang squealed at her appearance and jerked back hard against her halter. Azhra leapt back. "Whoa..." She muttered. There was no way she would be able to transport such a flighty horse back to Azale without a sedative. She bit her lip. Much as she hated using drugs on horses, it was a must.
"Um..." She swung back to the sailor. "Would it be okay to leave them here? I have another horse arriving in two days, and... um... yea." She felt at a loss for words with shock at the horrible condition the mare was in. She was painfully thin, and Azhra guessed that she had not ever had enough quiet to be able to snatch more than a few bites of her feed. Her mane and tail were tangled and matted, and her white coat was stained and dirty. She was a very scruffy sight. The sailor nodded. For a moment, it seemed as if he was about to mention money, but decided against it and left.
-----------------------------------------------
The Seawyrd nosed into port, and the goods were swiftly unloaded. Azhra sat astride the tethered Westrion, leaning her chin against his well-muscled rump. "I wonder what he'll be like, Wes," She told the gray gelding. Every day since he and Jinglebell had arrived, Azhra had visited them, although she spent little time with Jinglebell due to the distress it caused the mare. "I heard from dad that he's a real special horse. I wonder what that means?"
Just then there was a whinny from within the ship. A whinny pure, unadultrated joy and happiness, and then appeared a tiny little sorrel mustang, his ears pricked, a sailor walking at his side. He wore no halter and the sailor was not touching him at all, yet he walked like a dog on heel. The sailor held his halter and lead, and the little mustang pranced his way over to the holding area. Azhra slid off of Westrion's back and wandered over to the mustang. He tugged at his lead and whinnied at her. So surprised was Azhra that she stopped fully in her tracks for a moment, eyes wide.
"Are ye miz Farrash'ka?" The sailor at the little horse's side asked. Azhra nodded dazedly. So this was her new horse. "We call 'im Cupid." The sailor said with a smile, looking fondly at the little horse.
Cupid.
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Posted: Tue May 27, 2008 4:01 pm
Sabirah sat on a crat next to the Seawryd blowing on her nails like somebody with nothing better to do. Her name meant 'patient' but right now, she felt liek she was going to rip the eyes out of the next person who looked at her if she didn't get her horse. She had been waiting for months for her first horse. Of course she was a rider, a talented one at that. But still, she wished for something more than just somebody elses old farm pony to ride around on. She looked at the ocean and wrapped her arms around her legs. She was getting cold for some reason. Cold feet, much?
Her blue optics gazed up at a horse coming off the deck to greet another girl. It was an adorable mustang. Looked like the perfect horse. She looked up at another man who led a large chocolate brown mare off of the ship. She had a beautiful white mane and a banner which she held high, a very proud mare indeed. The mare, like Sabirah, had blue orbs, more of crystalline orbs actually. It's markings were unique, two little white dots about an inch above her eyes and some form of markings all over the rest of her. A small, pudy, balding man looked at the note attached around the mare's head. For she was only being led by a string around her neck. If she had any desire to leave she would have. "Miss Sabirah Yamha," he said with a hevily accented, French voice. He was probably serving out jail time and had come with some mustangs.
Sabirah jumped up at the sound of her Arabic name. For she was born in America and had come to Arabia, where she changed her name from Jenna to Sabirah. She was known by both of them. She quickly scurried over to the big mare. Using some things she learned in school she quickly spoke to the man. "Thank you sir!" She stroked the mare's neck with elegance and pride. "Elle est très magnifique. Merci et adieu!" She is very magnificent. Thank you and farewell! She smirked as she read the note around the horses neck. SHe was from her father, whom had always abused her and made up for it by sending her gifts. he was the reason she had left and she would never forgive him. 'Dear Jenna, or whatever your name is now,
This is Shakira. She is a beauty is she not? This little mare, no, big mare is just like you. She is more headstrong than ever and it took hours to get her on that ship. She is quite unique, just look at the markings on her. I miss you helping me with Thoroughbred horse racing. Maybe Kira will help you in some races? As the aristocrats would say 'vous n'êtes personne avant que l'on ne parle de vous' (or 'You're no one until you'r talked about), and boy will she keep them talking! (He knew her all too well.) She is rideable if she lieks you, otherwise you better watch your back. She has a great conformation, very elegant, and carries herself with pride. Au revoir, Dad.'
Smiling, she led her horse away and tucked the letter in her shirt. She vaguelly scanned Shakira. "Good girl..." She pet her back and legs, feeling the horse melt beneath her touch. She pulled herself up with Shakira's white mane and walked her around the crowd of people to look for some other new horse owners.
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