Grullo and red, like he was stained by blood. Little white fox companion. Skinny and tall, but athletic. Unicorn.

Snorting, Einarr tipped a wing and let the warm draft carry him toward the Halcyon Flats. In his mind, a wandering stallion might find this place appealing, just as he had. The area was warm, and the wind was rough and heavy. Einarr had to keep his mind completely focused to balance in the air, and he only knew the winds would be as treacherous on the ground. The sun beat down without faltering on the black stallion, causing a mirrored reflection to flicker on the reflective surface of the water-covered sands. Even as he flew now, toward battle and a challenge, Einarr knew he enjoyed this place. Next to the Dragon's Throat, the warden held this setting in high esteem. It reminded him of where he had grown up, where he had learned to fight and fuck and worship his gods. It was unique, and Einarr felt his heart beating in rhythm to the winds that ripped across the open expanse of mirror-like desert.

After flying for what seemed like hours, Einarr spotted a mirage-like figure dancing on the glass-like ground below him. The stallion's face hardened with his resolve and his armor sprouted to life from his wings. It was a comfortable weight, though the stallion was still adjusting to the way it felt on his back and against his skin. Tightening his muscles, Einarr coiled his body some and descended. Sienna eyes, like burning hot embers, washed over the bodice of the charge before him. He, in the very depth of his breast, knew this was the stallion Ampere had sent him after. The ashen stallion matched the description the Chancellor had given him, down to the very last hair. He was a grullo--like Einarr's father--dipped in red markings like blood, and a spiraled red horn touched his brow. At his heels, a tiny fox followed him. Before his hind, cloven hooves touched the ground, Einarr bellowed a command. "Voodoo! Release Dragon's Throat Key, or face Einarr!" His voice was deep and laced heavily with the power of his rank magic, Battle Cry. The magic had afforded him an upper-hoof in the past, subduing Histe momentarily to let his attack land on her brindled body. He hoped now, that as Einarr descended on him like a massive angel of death, Voodoo would falter in fear.

Einarr's hooves finally touched to the ground and his body armed itself for battle. His dark neck arched above his powerful chest, center of gravity lowering as he prepared to spring towards the stallion. Like massive flags, Einarr's wings steadied at his side, ready to engulf the rushing wind and send him airborne once more at a moment's notice. Large nostrils flared as Einarr snorted, eying the blood-stained stallion. Ampere had said Voodoo was once a warrior on their sands, and that meant Einarr could not underestimate him. Their warriors were the finest in Helovia, with the skills to outmatch any opponent. However, Einarr was a guardian of the sands, no mere warrior among them. He was blessed by the Sun God with skilled magic, showing his standing in their army's hierarchy. Einarr, a warden of the sands, was a force to be reckoned with, and every movement he made demanded respect and awe.


[PC: 1/4 | WC: 665 | Challenge for Voodoo's DRAGON'S THROAT KEY. | Setting: Halcyon Flats, midday. Sunny, bright, warm. Very windy.]