Déodat came from a line of warriors. The soldier life ran through his very veins and part of him believed there wouldn’t have been any way for him to escape it even if he wanted to. In his youth all he knew was war and fighting. Since the fall of his homeland he had tasted of many different things. Yet even with the peace that he had experience, the Blood Prince knew what his purpose was, and he would always crave the thrill of the battlefield. Nothing compared to that when one would see their enemies on the opposing side, and you charge in to prepare for that first clash. Before Helovia, he came from a line of blood that was held in the highest esteem. Nowadays, he was a simple foot soldier, there was a chance though that this could change. Just as the crown had shifted to the heads of Deimos and Illynx, the powers were shifting within the army.

Déodat was ready for a good fight. He was ready to feel the blood of his opponent upon his horn, and crush them beneath his hoof. Of course there wouldn’t be any attempt at his opponent’s life, or serious maiming, he still had every intention of giving them something to remember him by. Victory or loss, the Blood Prince would ensure that this opponent of his would have to fight tooth and claw. He wound ensure that if his opponent had any hope of winning, they would have to fight, there would be no easy victory.

Now it was time for the foes to meet on their field of battle. Only one of them could take that second step toward the crown, toward the title. Déodat moved with a sort of predatory style, and there was a almost hungry look in his eyes. Every muscle in his body was well-rested and no longer sore from his previous expedition. Déodat wouldn’t let himself get cocky, but he had every intention of crushing the opposing force into the dust.

As he reached the appointed place of their battle, the Blood Prince’s gaze briefly flicked up at the sky as snow began to slowly drift down. Snow was no foreign object on the field of battle, that he had in his advantage. There would be the fact that he knew next to nothing about his opponent against him, that didn’t change a thing though. Plenty of times he had charged into battle against a foe who’s name he didn’t even know. This time it would be no different.

The Blood Prince stood there with his held high, and his every fiber sent off challenging vibes, and the fire in his eyes only grew. He scraped his front right hoof against the snow, taunting and challenging. There was no rush for the him to attack, so he gave it over to his opponent to see how precisely how he would react to his taunts and perhaps he would throw in some jeers as well. Not many could keep a clear head if they lose control of their temper, the Blood Prince was an expert on the subject of tempers.

[@[Zar'roc]
Setting: A clear patch central in the Basin. It is a chilled day and there is snow falling around them, with quite a bit of snow already on the ground. It is about mid-afternoon time.
0/3
No magic
No companion
You may have the first attack]
"talk talk talk"