Does this darkness have a name?

It would appear it does.

A Dark Past;
Shadows loom over the treacherous hills and mountains of Alderann, stretching across the landscape and the soldiers bellow. The moon, in full bloom, shone bright in the grim midnight sky, a silent reminder to those who care to look that the night was still young. Not that many had the time to look up; most were busy trying to stay alive or stick their knife in someone’s back. But one rider stood to the side, apparently not all that bothered with all the death around her. Beneath her, a dark stallion stood, his feet stamping impatiently, his ears flickering to and fro. His rider paid him no mind as she did the battle around her, and instead let her mind wander.

‘For how much longer must this war commence?’ She thought, solemnly, a stray hand going to her steed’s messy locks; some of which had escaped the constraints of their bounds. His head perked at the touch of his rider, hopeful that they could finally join the fray.  “Eager this evening, aren’t we old friend?” Vayneth, his rider mused. He gave a sharp snort and shook his head, his loose hairs flaying around him. The female dark elf chuckled softly, patting his neck before gripping his reins with two firm hands. “Then we shan’t keep them waiting any longer.” Vayneth growled, spurring her steed on into a prompt canter, leaving the safety of the mountain’s shadow and towards the steep hills ahead.

Danube made little work of the bumpy landscape towards the battlefield on the hilly platform ahead of them, but it was the charge towards the battle that he and Vayneth took most pleasure in. Their hearts racing as his pace quickened, as she drew her sword, gleaming red and silver, twinkling bright in the moonlight that cast down upon them. Chasing his shadow, Danube’s gold armour rattled against his flexing muscles and his overthrow trailed behind him along with his tangled dark tail which had curls in its curls. On his helm, Vayneth had been bestowed the pleasure of using her alchemy skills to brew a poison, which now adorned the tips of his steel unicorn horns. These horns were not only on his golden helmet, but were seen dotted around his armour, such as the shoulder plates which were more often than not a darn nuisance, and the guards on his legs. But it was essential for him to wear all this armour, or at least, so his master has said. Vayneth cherished her stallion, a final gift from her brother who had ceased returning from battles long ago, and she was determined to take good care of him. And she had. Not a single scratch disrupted his gleaming coat, a perfect contrast of deep dark chocolate and ivory white. But alas, all this armour could way a horse down. And so Vayneth had made the ultimate sacrifice of surrendering her own heavy armour to weigh less herself, and to accompany her, a much lighter weight weapon. It took some time getting used to the thin steel sword which did much less damage than the two handed great sword she had trained with previously, but it got the job done, even if it took a more precise hit. Still, Vayneth’s armour wasn’t useless nor, and she would gladly note it looked pretty identical. Black and minimal. Typical really, but the war cost more than lives these days. Never the less it was better than nothing, and Vayneth was glad that she had the armour on, despite it hugging her around her stomach and chest as if it were supposed to make her appear thinner. Not that it needed to, Vayneth was frail enough as it was, something that her brother had once jested about many times over. Her usual purple robes however were much more loose, her long sleeves sometimes got in the way along with her ‘v’ neck and dress, but like many things she paid it little mind. Clothing was not important in battle, and if it got torn then so be it. She’d rather the dress was ripped than the skin on the back of her mount.

Speaking of whom, Danube was having a whale of a time pounding his shadow in the dirt beneath his hooves. A small smile spread across Vayneth’s thin lips as she ushered him on, finally approaching the slow climb of terrain that was the hill. His armour was heavy, and his rider didn’t help despite not wearing much herself, but Danube clambered up the hill, his hooves sliding into the loose dirt, stirring a slight twang of panic in his breath. A soft hush came from his rider’s lips as she leaned in close to his neck, one hand twirling his mane around her fingers where they took a firm hold.

Vayneth was life. Without his rider Danube had no reason to charge into battle, nor endure the frantic kafuffle of war. Without him Vayneth was doomed, or rendered useless until the army replaced him, which of course she would never allow. His failure was not an option, and this pushed him forward. When faced with larger foes, or unfavourable odds, Danube stood tall – or perhaps reared to show off to the ladies/stallys – and cried out a war cry and charged towards death. Why? Because his rider asked him off it. He would die for her, in short, and she for him. Their bond was a two way street that no foe or disaster could ever severe. With this in mind, Danube and Vayneth could never truly fail.

Atop the platform of the battlefield, two armies battled it out. For victory, for honour, for the prize both would slay anyone for. The desire for the end shone bright in each soldier, in each mount – albeit some a little brighter than others, but it was always there. And each for their own reasons. Some for love. Others for vengeance. And then there are those, the bloodthirsty, who do it for the adrenaline, for the thrill. And it is those riders and mounts, who’s bound can never be broken.

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Read the story above? Here, have a cookie Vayneth made! And don’t worry, she didn’t sneak any of that black poison into it…maybe

Oh Vayneth, how I wish I could sneak you out of Alderann and into the world of HARPG where the stolen Snjorrir's have been rehomed. Poor Danube misses you!

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Had a LOT of fun with this, story and all - even if my hands are pretty sore right now x'D Oh well, 1 down 6 to go!