They moved, a mass, a shadow. From the Foothills his soldiers followed, his ebon frame guiding them towards the World’s Edge. The Aurora Basin, northern unicorns, had called them to battle. The Dauntless was ready, and he had chosen his warriors carefully. Accompanying him were warriors of skill as well as warriors that needed to prove their worth. Archibald was pleased with his choices, but could only hope that the Basin would be as well. Confident in himself, the warlord shook the thought of pleasing others from his mind. This was a contract, it was being fulfilled, and Archibald was not an idiot. He was not sending his warriors in half-assed, he was not sending them infants to be slaughtered. He was sending them the Grey, mercenaries. The Dauntless and his military were not to be taken lightly, and this war would prove that over again.

The mist was thick as they approached, wrapping itself around the feet of the Dauntless, encasing and hiding his pristine feathering in a divine way. His bitch, loyal at his heels, moved below the veil. The Dauntless’ golden gaze swept over the trees, the terrain, taking everything he could into account. As the invader, he was at a disadvantage with an unknown territory encompassing him. Despite this, the brutal draft was not shaken. His heart beat firm and strong in his chest, fueling his passion for the art that was going to happen. Around him battles already began to take place. With a pleased smirk, Archibald continued to move deeper into the herd land.

Ink colored ears perked at the sound of a deep, bellowing call to arms. It was a desperate call, one made by a desperate warrior. It was shrill and sent a shiver up the darkened warrior’s spine—a shiver of anticipation, of excitement—and not of worry or doubt. Archibald had chosen his target. Without effort, massive hooves ignited into a trot. The bulk of the General moved through the forest in an almost elegant way, with ears pinned, neck arched, and muscles tightened. Loretta, with her tail straight in the air and hackles up, loped easily at the side of her bond-mate. In the distance, their opponent stood, as ready as a fledgling on the edge of the nest. The eerie mist dissipated around their ankles, a stream glinted against the white light, and Archibald’s steady gaze focused on a familiar stallion. Lace. His dragon, find her. Small and white, remember? She’ll be quick, but she’s yours. Archibald communicated to Loretta, a snort following to emulate her understanding.

Before him spread a creek, frosted over in the early wake of Birdsong. Grunting, the Dauntless stepped down into the ice. Crash! One hoof through, releasing the churning water below to swell up and drench his feathers. Confident, he continued on, all four hooves placed in the water, wet, and then out, continuing his pursuit to his target. Archibald had only met the glazier once, but his lithe frame was littered in battle scars, and the warlord knew well not to underestimate him. Now, however, something seemed different about the grulla. As Archibald attempted to close the distance between them he scanned the stallion before him, taking in as much as he could as quickly as he could. Smaller, but most were, however undoubtedly more swift than the warlord. Archibald would need to unleash his juggernaut, use his bulk to thwart his stone-colored combatant today. Suddenly, Archibald recognized what was different—his legs. They were bruised and bloody, broken pillars of a pristine chapel. Maybe Lace would not be so quick, after all.

With a deep, bellowing neigh the Dauntless burst forward, head thrusting out and jaws opening. Archibald attempted to snap his jaws closed on the point of Lace’s left shoulder, maybe the fleshy, thin-skinned area of the stallion’s chest. Turning his body slightly, the tank continued his forward momentum, white feathered hooves reaching out to hopefully strike over the grulla’s legs as he attempted to barrel directly into, or over, him.

Loretta, having circled wide to the right, looked frantically all around for the small dragon she knew to be all-too dangerous.




[PC: 1/4 | WC: 693 | M&C: 0/2 | BBs: Swift and Dance]

The mountain’s charge was not in vain, with his pearled weapons grazing harshly over charred flesh. The taste was foul, but the shriek that followed the assault was fulfilling. With a successful attack through, the Dauntless thrust his head the opposite way in a protective manner, should any attempt be made on it, though his eye rotated to stay firm on Lace’s movements. The pitch black warrior grunted as his hooves collided with the sodden, foamy earth, negative in their advance for Lace’s damaged legs. Narrowing his gaze, Archibald decided on his next attack, even as he skimmed his body over the length of the grulla’s, nearly throwing him to the side, almost a victim to lost balance. A flash of silver from the corner of Archibald’s eye alerted him to Lace’s attack. The golden-bakced glazier’s face was darting down, aiming to land a damaging blow to one of the draft’s legs. Fool. Shifting his weight quickly, Archibald gathered his balance and swung his hips towards Lace. As he did so, he felt the sting of Lace’s teeth grazing over the top part of his stifle, on the right side, causing the Dauntless to suck in a sharp, short breath. In retaliation, the midnight combatant threw his weight forward and lifted his hind off the ground, behemoth, deadly hooves aimed to what Archibald hoped to be Lace’s head. Even if he could just clip his jaw, the power behind Archibald’s attack had the potential to be detrimental. A determined, dark, malicious smirk began to form in the corners of the warlord’s taught lips.

His hind hooves landed on the ground with a hollow, loud thump, just as Lace’s hooves struck out. They hit nothing but air, throwing moss and dirt into the air, because of Archibald’s new perpendicular proximity to the bloodied stallion. Taking this to his intended advantage, Archibald turned his rump further to the left, simultaneously he moved back two quick steps. Again, the Dauntless shifted his weight forward and threw his hind hooves towards his opponent, hoping to strike the stallion’s side. Archibald hoped to crack ribs, knowing his hooves have easily broken bones before, but even the huff and clash from Lace losing his breath would give the black knight a sense of victory. In this battle, Archibald knew it was his power that he needed to use to overwhelm the grullo. Like Locket, Lace by breed could dance away from Archibald’s attacks, and hit him swiftly, before fleeing once more. However, Archibald did not think Lace would be moving very quickly with the injuries that clogged Archibald’s nose with the scent of blood and burned skin.

In these moments, the General’s thoughts were moving quickly. He remembered the two other invasions his hooves had shed blood in, and he thought of Ailith. Lace and Ailith were built similarly, and Archibald had used his might to overwhelm the mare just as he was attempting to do with Lace now. He also remembered the growing sunlight that lifted with each moment of that war, and inside, for an instant, he yearned for the sun to burst through the sky in that exact moment. The coldness of the World’s Edge bit at Archibald’s skin, the mist eerily looming around the dancing, dueling quad of combatants, continuously reminding the knight how far from home he was. His body was not afraid of the cold, however, his fur still thick from spending most of the Frostfall in the north. The darkness would have been disastrous for this battle, but the fog above them laminated the clearing, absorbing the moon’s light and seeming to throw it back upon them, like a scorned lover throws a marriage.

Loretta, waiting for the precise moment to attack, watched in the trees above her, amber eyes locked on to the darting white dragon. A deep, rugged growl formed in the bottom of her throat as she stalked the creature, her muscles poised to strike. The little lizard jumped, teasing her, waiting to be caught in the trap of her strong jaws. Loretta knew she would be able to jump and reach the annoying companion, her ancestors giving her blood-kin strong, powerful legs. Loretta knew she was capable of jumping at least to six feet, but did the dragon? No, surely not! The creature would have to be omniscient, would she not? Tell me when, and I will kill it. Loretta shot to her bondmate, tail erect and stiff behind her. As Loretta spoke to him, Archibald shifted his weight again, hooves landing on the soft, yet steady, ground. Do not kill her, Lace does not deserve that, Archibald warned her, his hooves moving over the loamy soil as he swung his fore to the right, preparing, and hoping, to turn again parallel to the grullo.







[PC: 2/4 | WC: 800 | M&C: 0/2 | BBs: Swift and Dance]

Archibald’s first buck had been unsuccessful, his immense hooves assaulting nothing but air. This caused the Dauntless to grind his teeth together, to set his jaw in iron determination. However, as Archibald sent his second attack it landed with ease. As his feather covered daggers smacked over Lace’s shoulder, Archibald shivered with a sick delight, taking in the sweet melody that was the deep thud that the white hoof made in the contact with the already damaged shoulder. He remembered, for a quick minute, how great the sensation felt when he had done the same thing in his battle with Jackal. The sound of his hooves delivering a devastating blow was a perfect hymn in the ears of the Dauntless, resounding deep within his heart. The Dauntless was too caught up in the attack to realize Lace’s upright position, and it cost him a blunt hit from a falling hoof. No amount of quick movement over the mossy earth could have saved his muscle from the scrape, but it did not bleed. The pain that shifted over his right superficial gluteal muscle, and Archibald knew it would be a long trek back to the Foothills. Tucking his chin and grunting, an anger boiling in his sweating body now, Archibald tightened the muscles of his hindquarters, feeling the drumming and warm sensation of the two bruises that were formed over his stifle and the muscles that covered his right femur even greater.

As Archibald shifted his weight, he felt Lace land on the ground near him. Taking advantage of it, Archibald quickly shot out a cow kick with his right hind leg, hoping to smack a detrimental blow to Lace’s left hind leg, aimed in the area between his hock and his fetlock—hopefully, the General would hit and demolish his cannon. Archibald did not feel remorse for the glazier, did not feel guilt for his brutal attacks. No, Archibald was a mercenary, a soldier, a machine trained to kill and to destroy. Lace was defending his home, and there was nobility behind that in which the Dauntless could find respect, but Archibald did not feel bad for aiding in this invasion. It did seem that the time that these two stood on the same side of the battlefield was so long ago, but alas, it was not. It was ironic, really, how Archibald had helped the Qian gain this territory, and now he was helping remove them. Oh, how the tides turn.

Lace shifted quickly, and the abrasive attack snapped something in Archibald’s mind—the grulla was desperate. He was losing steam, losing patience, losing his mind of battle. The more-lithe, but smaller, soldier struck towards the black knight’s head, his teeth aimed to blind the right side. Refusing to let this happen, the trained killer ducked his head and turned his hips slightly away from Lace. Archibald then turned his head towards Lace and darted upwards, jaws open with teeth aimed to snap over Lace’s exposed throat. As the Dauntless moved, he still felt the sting of pain on his hind end, reminding him of his adversary’s abilities, despite the grulla flailing for an attack. The thrusting motion the Dauntless used brought his right shoulder up, and as he attacked Lace’s throat he attempted to ram the point of his shoulder into the grulla’s chest.

Loretta’s growl erupted into a vicious, curdled snarl as she bound up her muscles. Finally, as the small dragon swopped down towards her, Loretta leapt. Her dangerous jaws swung open, aimed to snap closed over the small reptile and take her captive. The bitch’s sharp canines were ready, her prison of ivory white teeth yearned to spill over and taste the crimson liquor of blood. Loretta’s jaws were posed to hopefully grasp Fajira’s bodice, right below her wing. C’mere, little birdy. Loretta sneered into Archibald’s mind. Remember; don’t kill her—for to live without your companion would be worse than death. Loretta could tell the white was taunting her, while still trying to stay focused on her bonded, which Loretta wished to take advantage of in this attack.

The night air seemed to hang heavy now, wrapping itself around the soldiers with a tight hand. In the back of his mind, Archibald wondered if the Moon Goddess was watching these events unfold. She probably was, from her perch of safety on the surface of the white orb, dangled in the sky delicately. The light from which shone through the canopy of the forest, radiating the mist that danced around the hooves of the dueling pair. The coldness of the night nipped at Archibald’s wet body, the feathers hiding his dangerous hooves soaked with the dew and darkening with foliage and debris.











[PC: 3/4 | WC: 787 | M&C: 1/2 | BBs: Swift and Dance]

There was a sadistic satisfaction that rolled through the red bitch’s clamped jaws, the taste of dragon scale and flesh exploding on her tongue. As she came down her legs bend to absorb the shock, but slight pain tingled up her paws. With a quick lash to the left, Loretta hoped to smack the small dragon against a tree and render her unconscious. The warning from her bonded not to kill the creature was gone; instinct took over the red dog’s mind, deafening her to any command from Archibald. The malamute was a prisoner of the aggression towards prey her kin, so close to the wolf, possessed. Loretta’s body, with muscles tightened and coiled, ready to spring, began to shake with a bloodlust and desire for death.

As Loretta moved to hopefully smash the poor, little creature, razor-sharp talons scraped over her face. Closing her eyes quickly in defense, Loretta winced and took several steps backwards, feeling the dangerous tail smack against the thick fur of her neck. On her face, where the fur was thin and Fajira had focused most of her damage, began to bleed, but the thick fur of her neck protected her skin from puncture. Despite the pain that erupted across her face, her amber eyes were protected by her quickly shut eyelids, and Loretta began to shake her cranium back and forth, left to right, hoping to disorient the small lizard if she had not already knocked her to a forceful sleep.

The clip of Archibald’s hoof against Lace’s shook up his leg, vibrating the sore bruising on his stifle. The sensation did little for the pain of it, but the warlord inwardly was disappointed he had not crushed the leg of his opponent. Lace’s hoof clipped over the Dauntless’ neck, just behind his poll, thwarting his attack on the grulla’s exposed jugular. Tucking his head quickly away from falling hooves, Archibald grunted with the impact of his shoulder against Lace’s chest, and he pushed hard with his powerful hind legs off of the loamy soil. He remembered his first spar with Romani, with such a similar attack throwing the halflinger, heavier and most sturdy than the glazier, to the ground. With the quick hope, Archibald wished Lace to fall to the ground, for his body to finally surrender to the power of the General, for him to cry out in agony and defeat. But as Lace fell away from Archibald and his feathered white hooves came back to the earth, he realized it was all different.

Archibald’s body surged with a sense of panic and anger as Loretta’s emotions struggled with success and pain. Widening, Archibald watched with glistening golden eyes as Lace moved, quicker than he had seen him through the entire battle, and gallop towards his companion with a rage that Archibald had seen before. Archibald threw his weight to the right, pushing his body into a gallop as quickly as he could in the short spurt, and he arched his neck and bound his muscles, angling his body to hopefully crash directly into Lace’s, hoping to send the grulla away from his path on Loretta and into the nearby trees. Rage fumed within the chest of the Dauntless, and as he charged, a deadly tank poised for death, Archibald slammed his front hooves into the ground, wishing his magic to surge forth and shake the ground beneath them with more powerful tremors than he had ever released before. Straightening his neck out quickly, Archibald opened his jaws, hoping to land a hard bite on Lace—anywhere he could, hopefully drawing blood and bringing his attention back to the dark warrior.

GET OUT OF HERE. Archibald screamed inwardly, pushing Loretta away with mental force. Loretta, panicked, opened her mouth. The red bitch dropped her hold on the dragon and swung around, amber eyes widening with fear as she watched Lace’s dangerous hooves aim for her. Yelping, the malamute jumped forward and away from the weapons, feeling them just smack over the tip of her tail. Fear filled the dog’s mind, reminding her of the Thistle Meadow, when Knox had attempted to kill her for punishing Manhattan. Unlike that day, Loretta did not run for the safety underneath Archibald’s hooves, for he would surely trample her in his attempt to protect her, Loretta ran for the safety of the thick underbrush that laced the World’s Edge forest. Darting to the left, Loretta jumped into a thick, prickly bush that ripped her sides. Despite the pain, the dog continued to run, body straight like an arrow.

From the depths of the earth, Archibald’s magic finally shook the earth in one, powerful wave, lasting only seconds before it stopped. Archibald shifted forward, thrown balance from the earthquake, but hopefully he would smash into Lace.







[PC: 4/4 | WC: 799 | M&C: 2/2 | BBs: Swift and Dance | Archibald's magic only lasts about 5-7 seconds, but it is all focused in one powerful wave. It is also broken between paragraphs because it is delayed, another effect of the SWP.]