Paladin jerked his head up, watching as the moon rose in the sky, illuminating the waters in a familiar way. The black dun stallion furrowed his brows, however, at a disturbance on the water. He had ventured south for another exercise in the deep sand, trying to break free the aches that had begun to plague his joints and to keep himself fit enough for battle, but it seemed that battle may be arriving early on this moonlit night.
The stallion paused, squinting his crimson orbs to try and make out the shape in the distance. He realized with a crash of his heart to his hooves that the monsters was above his eyeline, nearly plotting out the moon in a disturbing silhouette. What should have been a body was made up of a swirling darkness with white fangs. Somehow, a type or armor plated its body and it began to move forward toward the sand. Orbs of unsavory make flung onto the sand and the smell made the stallion back away, able to almost taste the poison linger on the roof of his mouth.
Glowing eyes marked the location of a face and thus a skull, giving Paladin enough of a biological marker for battle. He narrowly dodged a poison orb by dancing to the side and leaping forward, and as the creature screeched the name of his land, he surged toward the monster, white tail streaming behind his fit and tried form. Should this be the day of his death, let it come in battle. Let songs of heroism be sung in his name and the lips of children whisper his name in worship.
"You know nothing of the name you speak, demon! he roared. The old general settled into a familiar pattern of cause and effect, steeling his mind and allowing the blackness inside his own soul to rise. He was raised in war and blood, and the taint in him reveled in destruction. In these moments, he allowed that taint to run, to fuel his body in a way that gentle passion would never be able to.
Paladin dipped his chin to his chest and braced the muscles along the back of his neck. He dodged another poison orb and then lunged, aiming to impale the beast's leg with his pearly white horn. If they could cripple the beast, then perhaps they could fell it, bring it down to their level.
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[O] [Endless Night] The tides are turning vile
