Dancer

By Convergence

• May 5, 2017

Age: Mid 30s

Gender: Male

Species: Non-Pony

Appearance: <p> Dancer's slender body is marked by the sharp contrast of black and white stripes common to most zebras. His muscular frame gives him a sharp but not imposing figure. Dancer's mane and tail are cut short and square, completing a simple soldier-esque look. Dancer always has his sword sheathed on his left shoulder in a leather wrap.  </p>

Cutie Mark: <p> A black sword hilt with a blade that curves around itself forming a spiral. </p>

Personality: <p> Reserved, calm and mentoring. To those he knows, Dancer will often provide his spiritual insights whether they are wanted or not. Once earned, his loyalty is a passion that cannot be contained. When provoked he becomes fierce and ultimately unforgiving. </p>

Backstory: <p style="color:#272a34;"> Easily sidestepping a clumsy swing of a wooden sword, Dancer looked into the eyes of his opponent, "the foal thinks that if she swing harder she can hit me." A scream of rage punctuates an aggressive lunge, rolling under the blade Dancer recovers and strikes. The flat end of his sword bashing the mare in her side, knocking her over. "The foal is angry. Anger clouds your vision and misleads your hoof. A Blade feels nothing, is nothing except the wind in it's face. In battle you do not fight your opponent, you duel yourself." </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> Knowing nothing good would come from resuming practice, Dancer dropped his training sword and walked to his hearth where a gentle fire lit the room. "Come," he said, pulling a kettle from the flames and pouring a single cup of tea which he handed to the mare. She knew better than to object. Drawing his sword and placing it on a table between them, he said, "let me tell you a story. A story about who I am and where I am from." The tea tasted awful and made her feel queasy, but as she drank her anger and fear dissolved. She had trouble focusing on anything but his words, she could almost see, hear and touch what he was describing as if she were there.  </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> --- </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> Long ago, before you or I were born, my people lived in a land so vibrant it put your Equestria to shame. We lived and loved in a world without fear or danger. A gift to my brethren from The Mother. The Mother planted the seeds, tended the fields and protected our homes. We grew lazy and took all that She did for granted. We did not show her the respect she deserved. Scorned, The Mother punished us so that we could learn from our actions. Our crops died and the color slowly drained from our land. As hunger entered our hearts, the peace in our land was broken. </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> This was the home I was born in. My people were divided intro tribes of about thirty zebras, some more, some less. While you have doctors, merchants, scholars and many different professions, we only have three. The Blade, you and I would be Blades. Born with a sword on our hoof, we are trained to be warriors both body and mind. We are taught what is right and honorable, and only when we understand can we become a Blade. The Khan is the most powerful warrior in a tribe, he is the leader of the tribe. The only way to become a Khan is to slay a Khan in combat. The SoothSayer is wise beyond their years. Their births marked by impossible events, or what you would call deformities. Zebras that are irregularly birthed are closer to The Mother, as she has deemed that they are worthy and need not prove their strength. SoothSayers can cure the ailing and see beyond the confines of perception, they can foresee the future.  </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> Crops only grow in small patches scattered across our landscape. Only enough to feed a tribe for a week. These patches are not large enough to share and are often claimed by multiple tribes. Our land is locked in perpetual war to feed our families. War in my land is not like yours. There is no strategy, no siege, no magic or bows. Only the blade. Every battle fought is through single combat, to prove our strength and devotion to The Mother. To prove that we cherish her gifts and that we would gladly lay down our lives for her. Only the strongest, the purest can partake of her gifts. If The Mother deems our life worthy, after we are slain she will take us to The Unblighted Land. The land of plenty that my brethren once knew. </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> That is the life I had. My only worth is the blade at my side. The only thing I could feel was the devotion to make myself stronger, faster, sharper so that I could prove myself as a Blade. One day, my tribe had a great war with another for a large patch of thistle grass. Battle after battle, I fought and won. Until their Khan deemed me worthy and challenged me.  While his faithful watched, we danced. We danced for hours, our minds and bodies failing, our blades matching swing for swing. eventually in his exhaustion he gave me an opening, I took it and he fell. I claimed what was mine, the blade of  a Khan that  I now wear at my side. But in the wake of the war, our numbers diminished greatly that if I took them as my tribe, we would die of starvation. The Mother judged me and found me unworthy to lead. So I was cursed as a Khan without a tribe, unfit for The Mother's blessing.    </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> I wandered the landscape alone. With nowhere to go, knowing my incompetence. I should have starved, but I was able to survive through scavenging and working where I could. Fate did not want my life to end. As time went on, the land grew greener and food more common. I had stumbled upon Equestria, which I suppose is my new home. Now I make a living the only way I know how, by being a blade. The only meaning I could find in this land is to teach others the lessons I have learned, so that they could embrace a better fate than mine. That is why I am here, that is who I am. </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> --- </p> <p style="color:#272a34;"> Walking back the arena, Dancer picked up his practice sword. "Now rise. Feel the weight in your blade, the motion of your arm. Become nothing more. Revel in the beauty of the dance. Prove your strength, prove your worth and strike me." </p>