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Memories like foxglove bloomed in her mind, erupting from the ice and snow like a plague. Poison. She attacked, her actions on instincts she had yet to form on the battle field. Her heart hammered too quickly, flashes of pain from Mauja’s teeth along her spine making her twitchy, actions uneven and off. For as graceful and calm typically displayed, Ophelia was a child in battle, so new to the art of war though she had been born into a cacophony of violence. Bloodshed was fickle; you could be born from his loins but never be claimed as his heir. She felt the bastard child now, feeling the aching pinch from his teeth at her haunches as her hind legs whistled without impact behind her body. Hooves met the ground awkwardly, movement still restricted by the silver plates adorning her pale form. Ungainly steps faltered as she approached his body, intent on settling his skin around the tip of her sword.
Magic echoed between them, peering just in the immediate future of his precarious faculties. Panic, if you could call what Deimos felt as panic (he was quite the enigmatic man), rang like a warning sign in her head, startling the pale princess. She was unused to being recognized while refiling and categorizing as the secretary of memories. Ophelia blinked, the disruption breaking her connection and thus her physical actions since the two were so intimately linked. Mid-step into the swing of her neck, she felt her powers wane, the expression of confusion faltering on his face as her steps did. The great stallion dodged while she was plunged into the ocean of her memories – the last one she had recalled. Her battle with Elsa. Sand sank at her hooves, and she stared out over the cascading edge of the sky-island. The pegasus mare shifted at the opposite end of the arena, about to move into her attack, and Ophelia inhaled ice. No, this was not right.
One foot forward and one foot fell. Ophelia hit a rock in reality that did not exist in her memories, and she blinked, conflicting images overwhelming her mind. Dual colored gaze swept upward, seeing Deimos dodge her grasp and Elsa lunge forward simultaneously, the weight of stress on her body breaking the flawless synapses firing in her brain. As if time had slowed, her two knees landed on the hard gravel and scraped up the skin of her otherwise pristine pelt, past and present merging into now. Pain shivered up her legs, and she scrambled to regain her footing, shaking the last of the memory from her mind and trying to reorient her position. Battle. Battle with Deimos. Do not look a fool!
The graceful dodge of her ferocious opponent escaped from her periphery, and she turned her head, quickly, snapping into movement though her forelegs groaned in protest. Move. Just keep moving.
What felt like minutes lasted but seconds, and she had little time to avoid the billowing flames from his draconic jaws, erupting in cataclysmic agony against her left side. Mauja. The heat kissed her sides again, guarded only by the silver surface as she groaned, shoving her toes into the ground and launching herself forward and away from the brunt of the blast. Lacking natural instincts, every action was calculated, sometimes just a little too late. Tinek, unable to endure the confusion and pain jolting through their bond, swept downward in a pointed arc, opening his jaws and exhaling a bolt of ice and winter. The fire around her barrel puffed out, releasing her from its cruel embrace and chilling the pain at her side. Vision, fogged by pain, cleared long enough to act. Her breath shook as she tried to move, every step yanking bubbled skin over ribs where empty slots of her armor failed to keep her safe.
Knowing she had little time remaining in this fight before succumbing to exhaustion and agony, she rested naught before attacking once more. Carefully, she schooled her features, unwilling to allow her king the pleasure of seeing the inner evidence of his destruction written so plainly on her elegant features. The glint of her eyes narrowed, and she loped forward, attempting her magic once more out of desperation rather than logic. Again, she attempted to filter his mind, trying to erase her most recent position as she stabs wildly with her horn toward the point of his left shoulder. If her powers did not hide her from his sight, she prayed that they at least distracted him long enough to lay damage which displayed her prowess rather than taxed thoughts. Though, from the blood dribbling down the front of her canons and the festering burns at her sides, she honestly doubted the positivity of this impression.
[[(795 words in word) (2/3)
Ophelia falls on her own knees for the critical miss and takes a burn to her side for Deimos' damage. She then lunges forward and tries to stab him in the front of his left shoulder while attempting to, again, erase her position from his mind!
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@[Deimos]
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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[JUDGED] Reap elsewhere [Deimos Birdsong Battle]
