The plan had been a brilliant one. Due to the Basin's contract held with the Foothills, the mercenaries of the Grey were off helping them to take over the World's Edge. There was hardly a doubt in Crowley's mind that a few of the Throat's own soldier's had gone off to help defend their sister herd, but honestly, it was a mistake on their part. A very, very grave mistake.

It seemed to be a Plague reunion as the group stalked the borders of the desert land, thankful to have the cover of night on their side at all times. They would tire less easily without the heat of the sun on their backs, putting one less worry on their shoulders as several members of both the Basin and the Plague neared the borders of the Dragon's Throat. As he walked, Crowley couldn't help the sadistic smile that curled the corners of his lips at the thought of how this all might play out. What if the Basin did come out of this victorious, on both sides? And they took reign of not only the World's Edge, but the Dragon's Throat as well?

For all that they had done, they deserved every drop of blood lost today.

At the Weaver's side walked Talbot, his nose dropped to the ground and quivered as he sniffed about. It was hard to imagine that this wouldn't be the pup's first taste of real battle, and because of that, Crowley was confident that he would only do better this time around. After all, today they would be fighting similar creatures to himself, not some wretched dragon spawned from the earth itself.

'Not far now.' The words crept into Crowley's mind from the hellhound's, the sensation still incredibly strange to the brindle. Being able to speak to one another would certainly prove useful in a situation such as an invasion like this, and the dark-hearted stallion couldn't wait to put their new abilities to the test.

The footing wasn't terribly different when compared to slippery snow, but he knew he'd still need to keep in mind that this wasn't the best ground to fight on. At least it didn't make a crunch which could possibly alert the current(for now) residents of the Dragon's Throat. Up ahead, her form glinting beneath the open light of the moon, Crowley could see the Empress' silent command to push forward, and onward he went. It was unlikely they would get very far past the unfinished wall and to the center of the land before they were detected, but at least they were in.

Today, the Throat would fall, and the Plague would be one step closer to their ultimate goal.

[WC ;; 459. Opening post. 0/2 magic/companion uses.]

As predicted, it didn't take long for the Throat to become aware of the threat that had come in through their wide-open door. Most of them were winged, dropping out of the sky towards their desired targets to commence the inevitable battle. Keeping all senses alert, the brindle was prepared to come under attack any moment now, and it was Talbot who alerted him of his approaching adversary.

'Above! Came the young hound's alert, which was more than enough to launch the stallion into action. Digging his hind hooves into the sand beneath him, he propelled himself forward in an attempt to dodge whatever was coming at him. He didn't know at what angle this Pegasus was coming from, for he'd no time to look up and assess that fact, and only knew that he needed to move lest he get pummeled beneath flying hooves of fury.

Crowley had not moved quite fast enough to evade his attacker's move entirely, feeling hooves plow right into the tail-end of the top of his hindquarters. More out of instinct than anything else, the Weaver's ears slicked back and his rear popped up, legs kicking outwards in defense. Keeping at a fast paced trot, the stallion circled to the right to face his opponent and was expecting to be greeted by a whirlwind of sand to his face, but much to his surprise, the grains of the desert had taken to the Pegasi's body in the formation of armor.

From what he could see, his foe was nearly the same size as him, lacking the birthright weapon of a unicorn but instead possessing the limbs of a bird. They ought to be equals, each having an advantage in their own way; the sandy grullo could fly away and bide his time all he wanted, while Crowley had the upper-hand in possessing horns and having the aide of Talbot.

The hornless screamed at him, proclaiming him a 'prick' and that he needed to turn tail now. The corners of Crowley's mouth trembled as they tried their best to hold back a deep, rumbling, sinister laugh, but they failed in the end and it burst forth anyway. "Or else what?" The Weaver questioned rhetorically, though the supposed a part of him truly did yearn to know what this stallion of sand would dare do to him. The Throat stallion could scream like a sailor to him all day if he wanted to, but it wouldn't stop the inevitable fact that the Basin would be victorious today.

But just as soon as the words had started to leave Crowley's mouth, the hideous flurry of wings was coming at him again; and the Weaver could only be thankful for the cover of night that masked the unsightly being. Having not yet ceased movement, it was easy for Crowley to move to the right, going from a trot into a canter. Ducking his head down as the Pegasus grew much too close, the most that the poor sap's hoof hit was the tip of his left horn, jarring the brindle and causing his sight to go wonky for a moment, but otherwise, the kick hadn't done much to hinder him. He couldn't say the same for his opponent's hoof, though.

Circling back to the left, Crowley could see that his foe had grounded himself, dropping the sand that had once bound itself around the grullo's body in a protective manner. The brindle scoffed and nearly shook his head; what an imbecile. Didn't he know that if he truly wished to protect his home, then he should do so using all the advantages that he could? Or did he not care about the Throat after all?

With Talbot at his side, Crowley charged at the Pegasus, arching his neck so that his horns were vertical. As he drew closer to the grullo, anticipating his moving to the left or right, the Weaver made haste to his opponent's left side. Turning his head slightly to the left, his intention was to cause his horns to rake across the Pegasi's face and neck, or whatever they could manage to scrape. A buck followed, Crowley's left shoulder aiming to plow into the grullo's own, before he attempt to turn to the right and put distance back between himself and the Throat stallion.

Talbot was right on Crowley's heels, leaping upwards after his master's attempted ramming, jaws parted and intending to wrap around the joint of Levi's left wing joint. With any luck, he could at least cause a painful flight for the grullo for some time to come.

[WC ;; 774. 1/4 attacks. 1/2 magic/companion uses.]

With his head dropped, the sound of Levi's hooves against the packed sand below was the only signal given to the brindle as to what his opponent was doing. The Weaver kept his head tucked, however, following through with his attack all the same. A moment later, he could feel one horn drag across Levi's barrel with satisfying force. He'd certainly cut into him judging by the grullo's grunt, but he had not impaled him, such a thought nearly causing the stallion to frown. His kick proved to be in vain, however, for his hooves only met the still air of the night before resuming their position in the sandy earth as Crowley moved away from Levi at a lengthy, steady trot.

Talbot's initial plan of attack hadn't worked entirely the way he had wanted to, but his jaws did find themselves wrapped around the lower part of the grullo's left wing. It was better than nothing, at least. The hellhound bit down with as much force as he was able, pulling his legs close to put as much weight on the wing as possible as he began to thrash himself back and forth, left to right. The more damage that was brought to the Pegasi's wing, the better chance they had at victory.

Now that Levi was tied up with trying to deal with his partner, Crowley had turned to face Levi again, having placed himself at the grullo's right. With cold, calculating eyes he watched. Did the Pegasus really think that he could win? Whether the Basin was victorious or not, Crowley intended to shut at least this one's mouth and leave him with a good impression on the Basin. Crowley wanted to see Levi and all of his kind's blood spilled until they were no more, even if they must resort to taking one down at a time.

A yelp catching in his ears as the Throat stallion retaliated, his bite landing right on the back of Talbot's neck. It was successful in pulling skin and fur away, pain radiating down the hound's spine down to the very tip of his pointed tail. It would leave a bruise for quite some time, and it was enough to make him drop from Levi's wing and turn tail, scampering directly away from Levi's left as quickly as he was able in order to plan his next attack from a distance.

It was when Talbot's yelp had rang out that Crowley rushed forward in a gallop under the cover of the eternal night, hoping it would aide him in remaining undetected despite the crunch of sand beneath his hooves. As he drew closer to Levi, the Weaver curled his neck and brought his nose close to his forearms, horns poised and pointed for the right side of Levi's barrel. Using the last couple yards to slow himself, Crowley then threw his head up, intending to jam his spiraled horns into the soft underside of Levi's barrel, but the brindle would be just as happy if he were to pierce any other part of his horrendous, winged adversary.

[WC ;; 521. 2/4 attacks. 1/2 magic/companion uses.]

In mere moments, Crowley found himself beneath Levi, the fool rearing and thus exposing his very tender underside. The brindle was terribly disappointed that his horns only seemed to have pierced the grullo's chest; oh, how he would have loved to see the length of his belly sliced open and his life-force, among other things, pouring out. He could try again later, but for now, he had other things to worry about in regards to flying hooves.

Levi's hooves were successful in knocking into his topline and then into his withers, causing a throaty grunt of pain to leave his lips. The hit to the top of his neck would do little more than bruise and be sore for several days, if not a couple weeks, but the strike to his withers was more painful and would linger for a longer time. Each hit flared with pain, white-hot especially upon his withers, but Crowley was in no position to stay where he was any longer than he had already been there. Shifting himself to the right, he took off into a canter, ears tipping backwards in mild annoyance as his shoulders flared in time to the beat of his hooves.

The Weaver had expected the Throat stallion to come to his left, but he was proved wrong when he heard the other stallion approaching from his right. The two of them were almost exact in height as well as build, so a ramming from the grullo wouldn't be as terribly detrimental as it could be from an even larger stallion. Crowley doubted he had the advantage of speed, either, considering his rank didn't require too much activity and thus, he never found himself building stamina as much as a soldier might. Instead, before Levi could get too close, he kicked out and to the right, aiming for the stud's side, head, legs; whatever he could manage to get a hit on.

However, the grullo launched himself to the left, pushing his chest into Crowley's right hip and effectively shoving him. It nearly sent his hind legs out from under him, and Crowley had to struggle to keep himself upright at such a speed as he was going, especially in the sloppy, sandy footing so graciously provided by the Throat. Head lowered to try and help keep his balance, the brindle managed to straighten back out after what should have been four or five strides, only to be met by teeth when he pulled his head back up. They scraped and pulled away at the skin on the middle of his neck, managing to leave a bare patch on his dark hide. It was a quick, sharp pain, but would be more of a nuisance than anything else as this battle resumed.

From where he was, positioned no more than a hundred yards away from the pair, Talbot watched Levi with hungry eyes, pacing along at what would currently be Levi's right side, ready to leap forward and run in for another attack on the Pegasus.

Dropping his hind-end and cranking his front legs to help him stop, Crowley turned his head to the right and aimed to take a bite out of Levi's rump as he passed by. His stop was made more difficult than it should have been due to the sand underfoot, sending him sliding a few more feet before he finally stopped. Straightening back up, Crowley turned himself to the left and continued at a trot, head turned to watch Levi's form for the next oncoming attack. Crowley was thankful for the Moon's light from above, otherwise, he wasn't sure he'd be able to see his opponent at all.

"C'mon," the brindle spoke up with a wide, conniving grin marring his face, golden eyes shining with malice, "Is that all you've got?"

[WC ;; 635. 3/4 attacks. 1/2 magic/companion uses.]

Crowley was sweltering, his barrel heaving from exertion; he couldn't imagine what this invasion upon the Throat might have been like if not for the boundless night, granting the Basin attackers cover from the heat that should have accompanied Birdsong. The question as to why the sun had disappeared completely from the sky was yet to be answered, but for now, the brindle was completely elated with not having to deal with it.

From beneath the moonlight, Crowley could see that the grullo had turned to face him, even laughing at him to surely mock his words before answering with a 'no'. A portentous grin was quick to slide across the Weaver's face, and his barrel rattled in effort to hold back his own laughter. If this Throat stallion thought him to be crazy, then he was right in his accusations.

At the moment that Crowley saw the stallion dig his hooves into the ground, growing rigid, the Weaver was again on the move, transitioning from a trot to a gallop in one fell movement. He knew that magic was still abound throughout the lands of Helovia, even if some weren't fully and properly functioning like this one's apparently was. As he moved, curling to the right with the intent to make a large circle around Levi and hopefully throw his aim off, he could see the grullo forming an impressive wall of sand. Crowley had been witness to many types of magic before, but never anything like this. He knew not what it would do, nor what speed or power it possessed until it was finally launched at him.

At the same time, Talbot had made his final move and pushed himself into a ground-covering run, intending to come up from behind on Levi's left, yellow eyes locked on the grullo's neck. Despite the crunches of sand as he moved, the hound was otherwise silent as he came closer, hoping Levi's focus would aide him in executing a successful attack. When close enough, the hound of hell pushed himself from the desert floor and propelled himself into the air, jaws parting and aiming to wrap around Levi's throat. If his aim was true, he would tighten his jaws as much as he was able and proceed to ring his own body left and right to try and strangle the stallion.

It came at Crowley like a tidal wave, the granules of sand rolling over one another as they barreled towards their target with remarkable speed. A normally witty creature, Crowley found himself without a thing to say this time, nor a way to get himself completely out of the situation. All he could do was prepare to lessen the blow, and so he dug his own hooves into the ground below him to come to a halt. Again, it was difficult to do so very quickly in the unfamiliar terrain, and the wave of sand drew ever closer in those few extra seconds. When stopped, Crowley turned his hindquarters towards the sand and thus, Levi himself, closing his eyes and widening his stance to brace himself.

The wave hit full force, and though the Weaver was somewhat formidable in size, he couldn't completely hold himself up against the power of it. It pushed him, unwillingly sending him forward a few feet until he struggled to stop himself. Stretching his front legs out, he clambered to find purchase on the loose ground and keep himself upright until the brunt of the wave had dissipated. His rear stung, feeling as though a million needles had suddenly pierced his hide. As his hindquarters had taken most of the force of the attack, they were sure to bruise and be sore for days to come. Even with his ears pressed against his neck, some of the sand still managed to get in them, but the worst of it came when the granules flew into his nose and gathered around closed eyelids.

Eventually, the wave was gone, and Crowley was miraculously left standing. Battered, bruised and beaten, but he had not fallen. Opening his eyes, Crowley was met by the waiting particles of sand which more than happily took to obscuring his sight, causing a biting and stinging sensation. With every breath came an unpleasant clot of sand, and though the brindle would very much like to dislodge it all, his focus needed to remain on the fight; Levi could be above him for all he knew. Turning to the right in a semi-circle, he readied himself, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw that Talbot had moved in. Another callous grin spread across the Weaver's face, and he let out a long, haggard breath.

Let this be the end of the fight, as well as Levi's life.

[WC ;; 800. 4/4 attacks. 2/2 magic/companion uses.

You too, Ava! :D I enjoyed it a lot!]