They moved, a mass, a shadow. From the Foothills his soldiers followed, his ebon frame guiding them towards the World’s Edge. The Aurora Basin, northern unicorns, had called them to battle. The Dauntless was ready, and he had chosen his warriors carefully. Accompanying him were warriors of skill as well as warriors that needed to prove their worth. Archibald was pleased with his choices, but could only hope that the Basin would be as well. Confident in himself, the warlord shook the thought of pleasing others from his mind. This was a contract, it was being fulfilled, and Archibald was not an idiot. He was not sending his warriors in half-assed, he was not sending them infants to be slaughtered. He was sending them the Grey, mercenaries. The Dauntless and his military were not to be taken lightly, and this war would prove that over again.

The mist was thick as they approached, wrapping itself around the feet of the Dauntless, encasing and hiding his pristine feathering in a divine way. His bitch, loyal at his heels, moved below the veil. The Dauntless’ golden gaze swept over the trees, the terrain, taking everything he could into account. As the invader, he was at a disadvantage with an unknown territory encompassing him. Despite this, the brutal draft was not shaken. His heart beat firm and strong in his chest, fueling his passion for the art that was going to happen. Around him battles already began to take place. With a pleased smirk, Archibald continued to move deeper into the herd land.

Ink colored ears perked at the sound of a deep, bellowing call to arms. It was a desperate call, one made by a desperate warrior. It was shrill and sent a shiver up the darkened warrior’s spine—a shiver of anticipation, of excitement—and not of worry or doubt. Archibald had chosen his target. Without effort, massive hooves ignited into a trot. The bulk of the General moved through the forest in an almost elegant way, with ears pinned, neck arched, and muscles tightened. Loretta, with her tail straight in the air and hackles up, loped easily at the side of her bond-mate. In the distance, their opponent stood, as ready as a fledgling on the edge of the nest. The eerie mist dissipated around their ankles, a stream glinted against the white light, and Archibald’s steady gaze focused on a familiar stallion. Lace. His dragon, find her. Small and white, remember? She’ll be quick, but she’s yours. Archibald communicated to Loretta, a snort following to emulate her understanding.

Before him spread a creek, frosted over in the early wake of Birdsong. Grunting, the Dauntless stepped down into the ice. Crash! One hoof through, releasing the churning water below to swell up and drench his feathers. Confident, he continued on, all four hooves placed in the water, wet, and then out, continuing his pursuit to his target. Archibald had only met the glazier once, but his lithe frame was littered in battle scars, and the warlord knew well not to underestimate him. Now, however, something seemed different about the grulla. As Archibald attempted to close the distance between them he scanned the stallion before him, taking in as much as he could as quickly as he could. Smaller, but most were, however undoubtedly more swift than the warlord. Archibald would need to unleash his juggernaut, use his bulk to thwart his stone-colored combatant today. Suddenly, Archibald recognized what was different—his legs. They were bruised and bloody, broken pillars of a pristine chapel. Maybe Lace would not be so quick, after all.

With a deep, bellowing neigh the Dauntless burst forward, head thrusting out and jaws opening. Archibald attempted to snap his jaws closed on the point of Lace’s left shoulder, maybe the fleshy, thin-skinned area of the stallion’s chest. Turning his body slightly, the tank continued his forward momentum, white feathered hooves reaching out to hopefully strike over the grulla’s legs as he attempted to barrel directly into, or over, him.

Loretta, having circled wide to the right, looked frantically all around for the small dragon she knew to be all-too dangerous.




[PC: 1/4 | WC: 693 | M&C: 0/2 | BBs: Swift and Dance]