Archibald stood solidly on the shifting sands of the Endless Blue, his mountainous figure resembling the unmovable figure even more so than usual. The sun was high and bright, shining down on the waters of the sea jubilantly, as well as warming the Dauntless’ dark coat with its bright rays. The last time the ex-chief had been here he reunited with Aaron and Ophelia, and he also met Chester and Myrddin. The oddly colored, tiny creature had been bothering the old, blind stallion, and it was clearly painted that everyone in the group wanted the pink and purple creature to bite his tongue. Archibald, a creature that was easily annoyed yet able to keep it cast carefully inside, seemed to come apart at the stitching lately on that factor. Maybe meeting Chester had something to do with that, or maybe his dethroning—no one could be particularly sure.

But on this bright day, Archibald was itching to stretch his muscles and fight. Darkness and anger churned inside of him, something not too unusual since his battle with Jackal, and he was ready to expel it carefully through more battles. The Dauntless was itching for another good battle, now that the sting from Gaucho’s attacks had left his body, and he was just as ready to cause pain in another like he had done with Gaucho. He wanted to watch another bleed, maybe even ask for mercy. Restlessly, as his thoughts gathered and swelled, Archibald began to prance in place, neck curling and ears rotating forward. The muscles in his scarred neck, dark shoulder, and scarred rump flexed, showing his power. By his might, he was ready to strike another down here today, on this beach. With his prancing the wet sands underneath him gave way some, his colossal hoof prints digging deeper and deeper with each movement. The dark stallion snorted before tossing his head, man and forelock flying wildly into the Tallsun air, and from the caverns of his body erupted a sickening neigh—a call all warriors would recognize.

Turning carefully, and slowly, Archibald began to pace on the beach. His tail flicked irritably behind him as his eyes and ears scanned for a potential opponent. Loretta sat a few yards away, head resting on her paws. Encouragingly, she sent messages of Svetlana the Stormchaser, dead underneath his hooves, as well as images of Roanne the Sentinel, equally as dead and bloody beneath his hooves. Smiling a dark, sadistic smile, Archibald shivered some, remembering those wonderful victories. Each had happened in the Deep Woods, a landscape far different than this beach, but Archibald was sure he could slaughter someone just as easily on the sands of the Endless Blue. The blood would look better here, anyways.




[WC: 458 | Set in the Endless Blue, midday, close the the tide. Archibald is currently standing on moist sand for more solid, but slippery, footing. No companions allowed, but magic is fine with me. | 3 fight posts, 1 closing defense. | Des can attack first.]