With the rise of the sun had also come the return of magic, and for that, Crowley could not have been more thankful. Perhaps it was the simple glee he felt for the fact alone, or maybe the darkness had simply driven him mad, but whatever it had been... Crowley could not stop himself to putting his weaving abilities to rather impractical use.

Atop his head, fitted securely around both his ears and his horns, was a flat-topped, violet hat that was wrapped with a horrendously gawdy leopard print. To top the article off was a bright red feather which stuck out from the left side, curling towards the back. Fitted around his neck and stopping near the middle of his back was a garment of the same violet hue as the hat, and at his chest it plummeted in a v-shape before coming back together. Unfortunately, the same awful, fuzzy leopard print lined this v-neck. And, of course, one could not miss the shining dollar sign hanging and clanking about his neck.

Poor Talbot hadn't wanted to participate in this strange... whatever it was, but the growing pup hadn't been given a say in the matter. Covering him was what looked to be the traditional barding that a jousting horse might wear, though of course scaled down to an appropriate size for Talbot. Running over his forehead, behind his ears, to his mouth and under his jaw, a cloth imitation of a bridle sat. Lastly, a sad excuse of a stuffed, human rider was perched on the hound's back, and the mere sight of it had Crowley in hysterics. Both of them looked downright hilarious, but the Weaver gave zero shits.

Just as the brindle began to calm himself from a bout of laughter, he was able to catch the sound of bells behind him, a certainly unusual sound to hear anywhere in Helovia. However, thanks to his distraction, Crowley hadn't caught on to Illynx's approach until she was already well into a gallop. 'What on earth...?' Was the first thing that came to mind; she was a Lady of the Basin, so had no reason to be challenging him, and he could only put it up to the random choice of a spar.

The Gilded came at his left side, swinging her horn with precision from one side to the other. It was successful not only in ripping the precious purple top, but creating a narrow X shape on his shoulder. He sucked in a deep, hissing breath as the sudden pain snaked through him and caused him to push with his hind legs against the ground, an instinct to get away kicking in. It was a good thing he had, for Illynx had kicked out at him in passing, her hooves managing to graze his barrel with a slight thud that stole his breath away for but a moment. Come morning, he wouldn't be surprised if the area was discolored in a bruise.

As he moved himself away and closer to the creek, his nose tipped towards the Lady and never allowing her out of his sight, Crowley couldn't stifle the laughter that built up in his throat as he recalled the words she'd spoken during her attack. "Just try to keep your blood off of it," he spoke up in response, his tone edged with a challenge, "I'm rather fond of it myself!" At that, the Weaver propelled himself forward at the bell clad mare, his neck arching and head dropping in order to put his horns in a vertical position to his nose. His intent was to ram right into Illynx's right side if it was still presented to him, and if not, then anything else that was within reach. Should she decide to wheel about and kick for him, then Crowley was thankful that it was not snow they were fighting upon and instead grass, which would aid him in a more quick and easy stop.

Talbot, as ridiculous as he felt, feared that by doing nothing, he would only be punished with more of these silly outfits. So, deciding to suffer through this, the hound moved into a sprint after Illynx had kicked out at his master, positioning himself behind and to the left of her. When the Weaver initiated his own attack, a ram from what he could tell, the hound moved in for the mare's left side, hoping she would be far too distracted by Crowley to pay him any attention. Once close enough, the hound stretched his neck out and snapped for her left front cannon, however, he kept in mind that this was a fellow herd mate and not some conniving hornless come to reign terror from above. This was merely a spar.

"Talk talk talk"

Crowley | Trakhener | 0 VP
Strength: 5
Speed: 5
Agility: 6
Endurance: 4
Offense Item: 0
Defense Item: 0
Amulet: 1
Magic: 0.5
Companion: 1
HP: 22.5 x 2 = 45

Defense: 7.5
Attack: 4.5
Damage: 5.5

[ 1/3 ;; 799 words. Basically, Crowley is a pimp and Talbot is a horse. ;D ]

While Crowley had not wrapped himself around the idea of impaling his Lady, he had at least expected to scrape or ram into her, but much to his surprise, neither happened. With an upwards jerk of his head, the twisting pillars of keratin sliced through nothing but air, their target lost. Illynx had moved noisily but gracefully away from his attack, her lithe and agile build surely aiding her in her successful dodge. Crowley's only satisfaction came when he spied a vibrant shred of fabric wafting past his peripherals, assuring him that he had been oh so close to making a strike, but it wasn't nearly enough. A bubble of anger welled within the Weaver's chest then, but it wasn't necessarily because he had missed; this bell-laden foe was his superior, and while he hadn't dedicated the time to learn anything about her, his pride couldn't bare to disappoint her with a sloppy fight.

Almost as quickly as Illynx had whirled around and faced him, she was retaliating in the form of a bite. No amount of speed could propel Crowley backwards quick enough to avoid it completely, and to respond in a rear would only expose his belly to that golden knife. Instead, he pushed himself off from where he stood and went to the right, but the gypsy impostor's teeth still managed to grasp the already torn, violet fabric covering his shoulder. The sound of the fibers being pulled and torn away was cringe-worthy, but what had really kicked Crowley into moving away was the skin that was grabbed and torn away beneath it, followed by her taunting banter.

"I was just going easy on you!" He called out as his front hooves met the solid ground once again, his ass now facing the mare. The shallowly exposed flesh of his shoulder flared hot with pain at the intensity of the action, but with little more than a grimace, he pressed on and kicked out with the intent to strike her square in her shrouded shoulder or barrel, or whatever had found itself within his range.

Talbot, on the other hand, seemed to have a bit more luck on his side. His own attack had missed just as Crowley's had, his teeth clacking together as his jaws snapped shut, though the noise was deafened by the incessant ringing of bells. Before he could process his next course of action, a flurry of cloth and bells was suddenly in his face. It was certainly disorienting to the still young hound as it brushed past his direct line of vision and danced across the end of his snout, nearly causing him to sneeze, but the sudden fear that his assailant's hooves would come flying out from behind the flowing garment kept him from standing still for more than a couple of seconds.

Wheeling to the left, Talbot found that this grassy terrain was much easier to maneuver about on than the ice and snow of the Basin as well as the unforgiving sand of the Throat, aiding him in an easier, quicker retreat. As he had suspected, those hooves did strike out at him just seconds later, narrowly missing him and instead sailing over his back just as he had turned. The small man upon his back, if capable of emotions, would have looked terrified as he flopped away; but luckily for him, he would get to keep his head another day.

[ 2/3 ;; 577 words. Crowley goes right, turns his rear to Illynx, and kicks out for her shoulder/barrel.

I meant to leave a summary on the last post but forgot ._. Sorry!]

The feeling of his hooves plowing right into their intended target brought a wicked grin to stretch across the Weaver's face. His first few attacks had been meek at best, and to have finally landed a solid blow upon his Lady caused a sensation of pride to swell within his chest. Maybe he was childish to be so proud of himself at that moment, but Crowley had never been a fighter, or at least a very good one in his own opinion. This was not his calling and it never would be - and that was only proved in the few seconds following his brief moment of glory.

In the moment that his cleft hooves had met the ground beneath him, Crowley had charged forward to put distance between himself and the ring-dinging mare, but her lithe form was more than capable of putting her right up next to him in what seemed to be an almost too fast action. His eyes widened slightly when he spotted her gilded titlesake swing away and then right at him, surely aiming for the already broken, exposed skin of his left shoulder, or wherever else it could possibly cut in to. Illynx's aim proved true, for her horn smacked with impressive force against his shoulder. Pitted against his own momentum of rushing forward, the spiraled grooves of her horn made for an unpleasant experience as it rubbed and pressed into the still fresh wound from her earlier bite. Aside from the immediate, sharp and lasting sting of the horn's strike, it did little more irritate the still bleeding wound.

When he felt the weight of the horn lift milliseconds later, Crowley wasted no time in trying to decode what her next attack might be. As he lost himself to concentration, her taunting words for once fell on deaf ears. Throwing his weight into his left shoulder, the brindle aimed to slam his taller, bulkier body into the smaller frame of the Basin gypsy, whether to knock her clean off her feet or simply cause her to lose balance for a moment. With his neck arched and chin pulled close to his chest, his horns were kept nearly vertical in his delivery and were hopefully no threat to the mare.

Crowley was not alone in his final stand, however; coming up from behind was not only Talbot, but the tiny man who still clung to his flimsy saddle and reins, who looked more determined than ever as he rocked back and forth furiously with every stride that his canine steed took. Together the pair brought up the rear, Talbot's golden eyes ever watchful for flying hooves as he attempted to close in on their skirted foe. Instead of launching an attack of his own, though, the hound set to letting loose a vicious growl and a boisterous melody of barks. It was to be a defensive approach, meant to distract the gilded Lady and, hopefully, lend his master a greater success rate as he executed his final tactic.

[ 3/3 ;; 504 words. Throws his weight into his left shoulder and aims to slam his body into Illynx's right side. Talbot and Tiny Man come up from behind and try to distract Illynx during this attack by barking. ;D]