illynx,

Illynx's mocking laughter was mimicked by the vagrant, drawing her bemused smile into a grim and hateful line as her golden gaze bore into the pitch outline of the black devil. It was all fine and dandy for one to share in a good laugh with the sword maiden when the joke was available for all to enjoy, but that particular jab had not been intended for the wretch to find humor in. The dim light caught the jester's pale eye, sending a chill through the former corporal as she observed it's sinister flash in the pale light, the white face of the invader, while grey and murky in the dim glow of the heavens and magical embellishments in the treeline, reminding the mare that she all to often leaped into battle ahead of her good sense. Perhaps it was best that she had not noticed how very haunting this particular horse appeared, the wickedness that seemed glazed upon her frame, for it had allowed her to fearlessly confront her opponent rather than doubt her own fire against the frigid soul of Confutatis.

The damaged ear and it's whole counterpart rise from their flattened stations at the black bitch's words, however; a test, the golden eyed queen reiterates in her own mind, looking to the invader who tossed compliments into over eager ears with a flicker of interest. Her ego purrs, wishes the wench to continue in her tales of the Gilded Blade and her glorious achievements, all her disastrous failures forgotten in the half choked appeasements that tumbled forth from the Skull Faced harlot. Her intrigue is quickly swept away, however, as the allure of the mare's initial statements evolve into threats and black mail, and it is now Illynx's time to laugh once more, the sound tinkling through the air like so much broken glass.

"How many bodies can you offer me but your own?" she cooed, her dark rimmed lips peeling back in a cruel smirk, belittling the mare's offers of advice; Illynx didn't need advice. She had a seasoned, battle minded unicorn general at her disposal for such planning. What she needed, more than anything, were warriors, bodies to throw into the front lines; as far as she could deduce, sheer numbers had been what had cost them their battles, not any lack of planning or sufficiently trained soldiers. "Your ego is vast, but not your army."

The dust had settled, leaving the peculiar intruder a well defined shadow atop her trunk, the lights borne from the Haruspex some distance away in the center of the lake providing just enough light for Illynx to discern her black figure from the star dusted, indigo sky. The bark of the tree groans under the weight of her opponent, and her smile grows all the more edged in razors. "As for my people..." a pause fills the air after her delightfully feminine tones draw to an elongated close, her gaze slipping out across the Basin for a momentary second before harshly finding their hold on the silhouette of the bartering and bleeding equine, "my concern for them is of little importance to one such as yourself. You are not one of my people. Are you really so absorbed in your own fantasies of power that you know nothing of the land you seek to dominate?" Illynx had to assume that she had somehow missed the "unicorns only" memo that much of the realm had already caught wind of, else wise she would not be here, offering only her hornless and weak body to a mare that had little concern for what threats the bleeding wench tossed her way. A long, steady gaze is given to her plain brow, the lack of adornment upon her equine's face, her mind slipping away to how Deimos or Ulrik would react to such an insolent horse; the mental images were quite thrilling, indeed. "They will not have you, hornless, and I will not parlay with a bitch who calls my generals fools and then threatens my life while trying to save her own wretched skin. You yourself have said that this battle is lost to you, and yet, you attempt to ease my wrath by further inciting it?"

"I am not afraid of you, bladeless Confutatis, daughter of warlords, and neither are my kin," proudly her crown raised, golden eyes flashing in the bleak midnight world, her lips curled into an expression of rancor so volatile that nearly all traces of beauty had left her finely crafted features, "and unless you can prove that you have a right by blood to stand on my mountain and alongside it's warriors, get the fuck off of it."

Perhaps the log would help her down.

intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire