_{It's a blind faith. A cruel waste. One bitter taste.}

d'Artagnan yawned, it was mid morning and the rising sun began to play havoc on his eyes, the purple flower he had chewed earlier was certainly more than just a pretty, if not skinny, lunch. The seasons was Birdsong and it was the time of year to celebrate to celebrate new life and beginnings, however, donned in an obsidian cape that draped to his knees and tied neatly, but baggy, on red string around a mossy looking bone, d'Artagnan had rather drunkenly dressed for the occasion. Taking a dark sort of glee in his cold, snide humour. A fold of his black cape stuck on the right side of his rump revealing a flash of his blood coloured fur. It was a look continued with an old looking top hat, crimson and tattered, strung around his head and propped over one merlot lobe that twitched inside as the fabric tickled his fur. Lastly, he had completed it with two golden chains knotted into his (fake) blood matted ebony mane, his tail trailing along the floor in a similar fashion. Eyes of a mismatched brown and blue were still glazed, the world seemed too bright around him, his steps were careful as slowly the poisons affect began to wear off and his mind drifted to other things.

He could make out the grassy fields that tickled his fetlocks, flowers scattered the floor and the shade took one look before moving on again, shaking his head. No more of those for a while. There was the odd tree and what looked like a creek running between them, all in all he looked like he had stumbled in wearing a scary costume at a princess party, how ironically pretty the area was. He continued walking onwards and towards the creek, the departure of the poison left him dry and thirsty, but otherwise better and livelier, if a bit too high in spirit. d'Artagnan never quite managed to vanquish his thirst for water as a foal had captured his attention, a stranger who the Nightshade suddenly decided was in his way no matter where he was, arrogantly wearing those feathery appendages that made him sick to his stomach. The child was young, he might as well put the kid out of his misery before his wings grew too big and his head filled with dreams of sunshine and sky. Surely, it would not take long.

Picking himself up into a brisk canter, battered chains clattering on his neck and his inky cloak flapping wildly in the warm spring air held on by some poor creatures bone, he charged at the colt with a rather odd look of glee, as his red tatty hat threatened to shift off one ear and over one eye. Horns of a see through glass nature were angled downwards, aiming straight for the foals neck area, cracked and cloven hooves hungry against the grassy floor. If all else failed, he had angled his large body with an attempt to knock into the side of the boy should he miss. The Doctor foresaw a messy scene, his arrogance not able to think of any other scenario apart from strike you're out. It was that simple. He moved like it was that simple.

Watching from a distance was an ebonite face of canine quality, gazing pools a bored golden and a long, crimson tipped, tail curled into a short, small spiral at the end. He was sat back on his haunches with claws withdrawn and a long forked tongue dumped out to one side, claret markings dull upon his dark hide as his blood rush was not nearly high enough to warrant his angered glow. He sent waves of disapproval to his glass horned captain down the unseen strings of their bond, the child hardly worth their time, but it appeared there was just no getting through to him. His master wanted death, his mind was inaccessible.

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[w/c: 655 || Round: 1/3 || @[Rosario]
d'Artagnan charges with his horns downwards, aiming to slash Rosario's neck and/or barge into him.
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This is an OOC Spar type battle using the hybridized dice system.
WEATHER - It's a nice clear and mildly sunny birdsong day, 10am.
SETTING - A grassy field that goes fetlock high, forgiving and not too wet. Some flowers and trees are around, a creek cuts through in one area near two trees.]