As she charges forward toward the behemoth, her ice-colored eyes glance down and see that she has wounded the stallion. There is a thin line of an injury on his leg where he had kicked him. It was not as satisfying as hearing the sound of a snapping bone, but it was pleasing indeed. Her magic seemed to work its wonders as well, causing the bulkier stallion to falter. Her own exhaustion ebbed away as her magic faded. She felt the strain in her muscles, in her breathing, but it was nothing she could not push past. Aviya wielded this magic her entire life. It was all a part of her—cursing others and controlling their minds and actions, and feeling the effects of her strain. Infiltrating the minds of others was not an easy feat, most could not do it, but Aviya was a skilled assassin of the mind. She could push through her own fatigue, finish this battle, and come out as top dog.

The distance between them is closed rapidly, despite Aviya’s hooves sticking and slipping on the moist soil below her. She wished for the hard pack terrain of her mountainous home. There was no hindrance there, she was a rocket on those grounds. This place was too wet and she did not understand why anyone would want to live here. There were mountains and waterfalls and overgrown brush, but it was nothing compared to the fortress she and her people inhabited. There was relief that it was not her leaders that were claiming this land for them and the herd, but it was minimal to the frustration of her muddy hooves and stained white legs. Her speed seemed to be in her favor, even with the handicap of the landscape she traversed. Aviya’s left shoulder slammed into the stallion’s left flank and knocked him off balance. The impact of her armor against the stallion’s rump pressed the metal into the point of her shoulder and a dull, throbbing pain thumps through her muscle. Groaning, Aviya presses on.

She is only a stride forward when the idiot throws his assault. A sharp, quick pain erupts across her left, upper thigh. It is not unlike the pain that throbs in her shoulder. Rostislav managed to smack his head into her, through he was greeted only by the white gold that covered her body in a protective embrace. If the mare could snarl like her father’s hellhound, it would be the sound ripping across the battlefield. Instead, she gives a shrill cry of pain and anger. How dare he. The stallion needed to admit defeat—Aviya was bearing down on him, and the Aurora Basin and World’s Edge’s armies were left with barely any fight. He had some audacity, some tenacious grit in him, but it was pure arrogance that would send him crashing at her feet.

In retaliation, Aviya ducked her head down. She aimed to stab her horn down into the stallion’s exposed gaskin. It was a vital muscle, she knew, in the operation of the leg. Like the sentinels that protected their land up north, horses could be brought down so easily when their legs were taken out of commission. Her motion was quick and fluid, meant to only stab down once like a scabbard. Quickly, Aviya lifted her head back up again, chin raising high, to protect herself from the lashing of his thick legs. A blow from his hind hooves could leave her demolished, and today she would not let that happen. Turning on her heels, Aviya hoped to swing her hips towards Rostislav more, and she let her left hind leg shoot out in a cow kick, aimed in hopes to hammer against his front left knee. As far as power went, Aviya was lacking against the stallion, but if she could manage to continue going after his weaknesses, she knew she would be the victor. It was a pompous thought, for most, but Aviya was the dark princess of the Aurora Basin, a victor by her blood alone.

The hum of battle was the rhythm Aviya’s heart beat to, her blue eyes glancing around to see her comrades. Most of them were standing, waiting for battle, for an opponent. Even Deimos and Ophelia—her leaders in arms—did not have anyone locked in against them. Just moments before, Aviya had wanted the stallion to admit his defeat, to end his own suffering, but now Aviya wanted him to press on. She was their only fighting warrior, and she would earn her stripes today. Another cry left her lips, a cry meant to call the attention of her superiors, to alert them to her prowess. Look my way, see how I defeat my opponent! She mentally called.




[WC: 795/800 on Microsoft Word | PC: 2/3 | Aviya's Armor: :: [Item: Armor | Lightweight metal crafted by the Dragon's Throat, it is white gold color in appearance. Covers her the back of her head, neck, shoulders, chest, and flanks.]