Welcome to Gaia! ::

Moira had never put much stock in the idea of reincarnation, logical as she was. As an aspiring dragonrider, she simply preferred to think that at the time of death one simply retired to the cold embrace of between with one’s dragon. What happened next she neither knew nor cared to contemplate. Nevertheless, she was sure that she must have committed some heathenish treachery in a past life to have earned the stroke of misfortune that led her to her current predicament. She mused over this thought as she forced the shovel’s rusted edge under yet another pile of runner beast dung, wincing visibly as the thin metal scraped against the rock. Each scoop let out an ear shattering screeeeeeeeech, but brought her only a fraction closer to having the guest stables finally cleared of the piles of dung and straw that had been allowed to amass over what Moira could only assume had been nearly a quarter of a turn.

Perhaps she had been amongst some invading force and had slaughtered innocent children. Her mighty sword had possibly rained down death blows so mighty and numerous that death alone was not punishment enough for her heinous crimes. Or she might have been a mindless Thread which had spiraled down, taking the life of some valiant rider with her voracious appetite. Had she burrowed so deep into his body that not even the exhaustion of her food source and her eventual dusty death was enough to redeem her? Maybe she had even been a traitorous assassin, her hands stained with the blood of nobility in exchange for petty marks. No, surely not. For none of those crimes seemed heinous enough to earn her a place as one of only two Candidates assigned to shoveling out the stables on a weekly basis.

She must have eaten a baby. Surely only infant cannibalism could rightfully earn such a grueling punishment. Moira nodded to herself as she decided that must have been the case. In her former life, for whatever reason, she had most certainly consumed a small child, resulting in what only seemed like bad luck in having her name chosen for the odorous task.

It was high noon already, and the heat in the outer stables did little to hide that fact. Exposed to the sun on the outer edge of one of the many cavern entrances, the stables were both humid and sweltering; the sea-scented breeze that occasionally gusted through was their only redeeming factor. Even that could not fully diminish the rank odor of several months’ worth of runner dung and molding hay. With the sheer number of candidates and the troubles of overcrowding, it was difficult to keep up with who was doing what, and Moira imagine that her predecessors had little difficulty squirming out of the chore in pursuit of more leisurely activities. The thought of doing the same had crossed her mind on more that on occasion, but the wailing siren that was her conscience prevented any such abandonment. She wanted to sigh, but dared not take so deep a breath. Instead, the candidate flung the full shovel into the cart just outside the stable door and drove the shovel into the mass. The heap held the shovel sturdy as Moira released its splintered handle to wipe the sweat from her brow. A glance to one side would show her a reflection in the dirty trough water.

The reflection that greeted her was one that looked more like a drudge than a candidate. She was covered head to toe with smudges of dust, remnants of the small clouds that rose each time she collided the shovel’s edge with the hard floor. The sweat and dirt had mixed to leave her covered with a thin film, giving her pale skin the closest thing to a tan that it had ever seen. Moira dragged her dirty fingers across her cheeks, leaving stripes that resembled some kind of ancient war paint. She growled at her own reflection, laughed at the result, and broke the reflection with a splash of her hand.

There were hours of work left yet, but it wasn’t even noon, and she’d more than earned a break. Leaving the shovel wedged in the head of dung and hay, Moira turned and slipped quietly out of the stables. Where she was headed – or who she might find to accompany her while she reeked of dung - she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

After marveling at how very physically fit many of the Candidates were, Renna realized -- most unpleasantly -- that she would simply have to step up her game, as it were, if she ever hoped to Impress. So it was with every intention of going for a good jog that the girl set off that day, head high and arms gleaming in a light linen shirt. The first few minutes had been exhilarating! Running until a light sweat creased her forehead and made her clothes cling awkwardly to her skin, Renna had made it all of a couple dragonlengths before she had to slow to a walk. The sun shone merciless rays on her, and every so often, she would struggle to run again -- but it was of no use.

Panting and sweating beads the size of a firelizard, Renna heaved herself to the floor -- sprawling pathetically outside of the stables. Oh, I hope I'm not in dung... she thought, totally oblivious to the presence of other people. No, she just needed to catch her breath, and then maybe she would try to run again. Or maybe just a nice little brisk walk. You know, baby steps.

She shot out a sigh, tossing her bangs in the air, and silently considered standing back up then and there. The feeling quickly dissipated, however, and the girl remained prostrate, scolding herself internally for being such a weakling.