Descaro watched as more souls declared themselves on the battlefield, happy that more of his comrades appeared than the allied Qian forces. Maybe they weren't dead meat after all. Although it was too early to be thinking thoughts like that. Mauja's words pierced the air as he announced their main targets and to attack as a group. That made sense, especially when one had advantage of terrain. A small but morbid smile cast itself onto the lips of the mahogany brute as his King ended his speech, Descaro didn't intend on dying on this battlefield against a disorganized rabble. He laid his ears back and roved his eyes over those from the Throat, these bastards had stolen his friend and the brute wasn't about to let them get away with it. He let a low, husky chuckle ripple from under his breath. The time was now. Time to put some bodies into the ground.

The King moved first, an up thrust of spikes aimed at the four commanding the rear. The advantage of his magic showing all its colours as it allowed their frosted leader to attack from long range. A skill to admire indeed as it also opened up the advantage of attacking another almost simultaneously, which is what the appaloosa steed did as he went for the young Aaron. Descaro snorted, this chessboard was unlike any he'd seen before. Normally one would place pieces on the board to protect their King. However, the ice monarch of the Worlds Edge was not really one to sit behind the lines and watch from a distance. Which is what the Qian leaders seemed to be doing right now.

One by one the defenders of the Edge began to move and defend their homes, each picking an opponent with horns bared. Descaro's heart stopped briefly as Alan charged straight for the leaders, the two deadly looking dragon creatures stood in her line of direction. The idiot! Mauja told us to avoid them! Mouth agape he was sure she had just charged to her death but suddenly the flighty bay veered off and aimed straight for the golden paint that stood a little way to the side. The Conscript sighed in relief and turned his attention back to the battlefield. Clearly Alan had more of a mind than he first thought. A flash of red caught his vision and captured his attention. He watched Faelene, her elegant horn low and dangerous. Descaro turned his eyes on the Phantasm's target and bolted off in the same direction, he was only slightly taller than his comrade but towered over the little Tares. Something about the obsidian femme before him reminded the steed of Iris, was this her daughter? His expression darkened as he remembered the image of Iris and Voltiac. If this truly was their daughter, Descaro felt no guilt charging at her now. He could not and would drown any emotion. Those feelings would only hinder him. This was Tares's own decision to face the Edge in battle.

Faelene appeared to have aimed her horn for the shoulder, her long and twisted branch looked deadly. Descaro pounded his hooves harder into the ground, a toned front end stretching out further. The incredible stride powered by the bulk of his hind end. His horn was not lowered like his comrade's however, instead Descaro went for sheer power. Commit yourself. He gritted his teeth in determination and attempted to power the weight of his body into Tares's right side, hoping his brute strength would be enough to unbalance the Throat Soldier. "Let's finish her quickly, Faelene!" He cried to the red head before bolting a short way, allowing himself some space to construct his next attack or defence.

Blood pumped at a rapid rate around his body and the beat of his heart drummed inside his dark lobes. Turn. Think. Fight. The words chanted in the vaults of his mind, the rhythm keeping him calm and allowing the steed to think. It was still early on and this Throat child may not be all she seems. Fur bunched together on his neck as he made the sharpest turn the bulk of his body would allow, oculars snapping to his opponent and comrade. Worried for Faelene's safety but eager to see the extent of the damage they had made. Soon the air would be full of the screams of battle and the stench of blood. The stallion just hoped their forces would be efficient in their attacks and remember the teamwork Mauja had commanded.

[w/c: 758]