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

She waits for the horned demon like a snake; poised to strike. Yet for a fleeting moment the maiden isn't sure that her playful taunt is enough to draw the dun closer. The feeling is washed clean from her veins when he speaks, and her chest tightens at his words as fear grips her heart. What? The bird goes as far as to lessen the strain in her poised limbs, causing her body to travel closer to the water. Inavva. Have I found a brother?

The hybrid is suddenly no longer interested in dancing to the treacherous beat of battle -- she has already sustained a hefty amount of damage; does she really need more? She can no longer comprehend the idea of inflicting any pain on the barred brute, and the fire that raged in her heart is snuffed out almost instantly. The finger painted stallion may not be her true relative, but how can she justify warring with someone who shares the language of her ancestors? The agony that she experiences from the loss of her people is far greater than any wound that Gaucho can inflict upon her. If she cannot have her true family back, can she make amends with one that speaks their tongue?

Orange eyes watch the dancing stallion as the fire behind them fades with her rage. The chieftess is about to call out to him, to put an end to this nonsense, until he launches himself towards her. At first the warrior is confused by his assault, but understanding dawns on her like fog rolling over a field: there is still a battle to be had here, and this newfound camaraderie between them will not be enough to change that. The gleaming flame that erupts from beneath his wings causes the spark in her eyes to catch again, but it is not with anger that they burn – this time, it is with delight.

A battle cry tears free from the maiden’s maw as the demon approaches her, and the tribal woman thrashes out with her coiled pillars in an attempt to push him away. Her dark weapons collide with his flesh as she has previously intended to do, but the sweet taste of victory is overpowered by the rush of blood that comes when his horns pierce her lip. The hybrid whips her head back to protect it from further harm, but the movement causes the hovering bird to lose her balance. She makes a futile attempt at staying aloft by churning her stained wings, but the pain that flares up from the maneuver forces her to plummet towards the water. Her descent is not so majestic this time around, but the peahen does not fancy a reversion to her comet-like state. Let’s not get set on fire again, shall we?

Following the golden warrior into the bloody pool, the colored vixen adds her own red pigment to the rolling waters beneath them. The dun’s thrashing limbs collide against her scorched hinds as she breaches the basin’s surface, and the maiden responds to the agony by spitting a glob of blood at him. There, that makes the uncouth vixen feel better, although it does not erase her pain. Her body throbs from the fresh bruises inflicted upon her tender flesh, yet even so the bird matches his rear with one of her own.

She rises from the water like a geyser might rise from the earth; unrelenting, powerful, and very, very wet. Droplets of water cling to her vibrant hide as she spreads her wings in a show of her might. They catch the colors that cover her bodice as well as the brilliance of the sun, but neither of the equines seems to notice this stunning exhibit of light. Even as her lean pillars try to strike against the pegasus’ broad shoulders she does not register the fading of the sun, nor the subtle breeze that stirs her feathers. The only detail that the peahen is attentive to is that of her opponent, and he seems to be lacking in blood. The maiden feels obliged to provide him with some of the precious fluid, as he has kindly done the same for her.

No longer raised for show, the hybrid’s wings swing downwards in an attempt to throw the stag off balance. She fumbles for purchase on the shifting floor beneath her hooves as she tries to ram her heart against his, but the act is not committed out of love. The malignant peahen seeks only to harm the handsome brute, and although some may be opposed to this wicked act, she really just doesn’t care. She has suffered enough from the hurts that he has delivered her – it is time for him to do the same.

For you, my iach.



"Talk talk talk."


WC: 800 || Attack 4/4
{iach -- loosely translates to "brother".}
@[Gaucho]

Totally has nothing to do with the spar, but what language is it that Gaucho speaks? Bellona's is derived from Nahuatl. I love that they can converse regardless. And thank you so much for the input! <3 }