Bellona
To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.

The hybrid’s rapid descent is uninterrupted until the warm breath of magic jets towards her like a geyser. The hot air pushes against her crisp figure, working itself through her feathers and causing her wings to fan open at her sides. The heat is uncomfortable on the parts of her that are burned, and her waterless pools crack wider in amazement as the smoke begins to ignite. She has no desire to feel the bite of the flame again, and the maiden works her flying instruments in an attempt to get away from Gaucho’s magic. The bird realizes that her momentum from the fall is preventing her from rising above this new threat, and panic coats her walls with a second layer of ugly paint. The flames that the warrior has come to respect have morphed into a pair of fiery pursuers, and she is running out of time to react.

Driven by the memory of the pain, the bird ends her attempts at flying above the flames and instead divulges a plan that should result in minimal burns. Pulling her wings in at her colorful sides, the bird succumbs to the pull of the earth as her body shifts so that she descends headfirst. Her eyes ache from the heat and the air as it rushes past, but they are ever watchful as she nears the first eagle. The warrior kicks out with her throbbing hinds when the spirit is almost upon her, diverting her course so that she is angled to the left of the fire. Her breast and wings pass by the flame unharmed, but she cannot say the same for her blistered flank. The peahen suppresses a scream as the skin stretching from her right thigh to her coronet is enveloped in flame.

There is one more enemy for her to evade, and the beautiful maiden has given up on graceful tactics for the day. She does not perform a stunning pirouette, or twist her body in a backflip, or fight against his magic with some of her own. Instead she shifts her body so that she can fall behind the approaching beast, and she flinches away from the closeness of its heat against her abdomen. The warrior is unprepared to meet with the earth, however, and she reaches out with her supports at the very last second.

Chocolate hooves slam into the ground as if from the force of a freight train, and the pillars that they are attached to quake from the impact. Pain lances up each of her legs, and the weakened columns supporting her rear collapse from the strain. What is left of the blaze on her right hind limb is put out by the damp moss cloaking the earth. The peahen’s chances at walking away from this fight unhindered have dwindled to almost none, but the warrior’s fierce pride is untouched by the humiliation that will come of it. As long as the blood of her people flowed in her veins, the peahen would never lower herself to licking her wounds. Her tribe fought to the end in their last battle, and she would most certainly do the same in hers.

But this is not my last.

Ignoring the playful words that the brute tempts her with, Bellona picks up her throbbing limbs and plants them firmly in the ground. They will not fail her a second time; not when she has a use for them. The peahen bunches up her scorched hindquarters, the taut muscle stretching the burns and causing some grief, but she tosses her head to keep her mind off of that. All she asks of her aching body is to send her off one last time, and her colorful assembly of singed parts yields to her plea.

Pushing off from the emerald-colored earth with a painful wrench of her legs, the bird takes to the air with a powerful swing of her wings. Although she yearns for a way to repay the stallion for the lessons he has given her in the magical arts, she is unequipped to do so. Flying near where the demon and his snake wait, Bellona churns the air with her color-stained sails, hovering a few feet above the bloody basin. The muscles in her breast tense as she raises her pillars in preparation; if he comes within reach of the coiled vixen, she will be ready to rise up and smash her legs against his rack, and force him into the water so that she can put his flames out for good.

"Are you scared, momauhtiani? Do you need your fire to fight your battles for you?" A vicious smile plays on her lips, and she hopes her taunt is enough to entice the stag closer so that she can drown him.



"Talk talk talk."


WC: 800 || Attack 3/4
momauhtiani -- coward

That means so much to me hear you say that, Aud! Your criticism has been fantastic, and I feel like I've learned so much from this spar and we are just approaching the halfway point. I'm not too impressed with my "trained warrior" for missing twice, but that's what I get for taking on Helovia's best fighter. :P I'm still having a great time trying to dodge attacks and take realistic damage, though!