i went to a sermon it made me livid... they called me a lamb to be protected by the Lord they're fools i am no lamb i am THE BEAST THAT EATS THEM and i see no Lord among you

    The fields had become the center of intrigue. A place with an eerie feeling of familiarity that could not be precisely placed. Some memory that eluded conscious examination as a piece of cotton on the breeze; Always moving just out of reach with effortless ease. Yet the fields also drew curious observation of the multitude of creatures that drifted through them. All manner of prey and predator both congregated and migrated through the waving grasses. An endless parade of beings to watch.
    Settled upon a small rise in the land, a hill of sorts and bare of rock or tree, the lioness lay on her right hip. Forelegs spread before her, thick paws bracing the upright head. Bottom jaw parted in a pant, tongue moving in time with breaths. The sun was on its way toward the horizon. Hours left of light, but the sky just beginning to yellow with the oncoming evening. Large dark clouds drifted across the open sky, dappling the fields and the creatures within.
    Content, for now, to lay and watch. Ears rotate on intervals, listening for any change in the base hum of the day. Eyes caught upon the frolicking of a young calf of some hooved prey animal. Watched as it was joined by two others, and they went racing around the herd. An irritated adult snorted and stamped, and the gamboling group scattered. Soon, the heat of the day would dissipate. Soon, the twilight would help obscure the pearl and obsidian pelt of the lioness from the colorblind ungulates. Soon, it would be time to hunt.

263 words | @Skarde

more conquests. more queens. more fucking. then again, skarde hasn't used any of his captures in such a way. metzli might be lost, but there will be other chances at winning sluts. other chances of having as many cubs as the world can manage. an entire pride, him and his wives and babies... now, wasn't that a dream? a dream skarde follows every night, envisioning a complete crowd of lions who will do his bidding and worship him like the god he is. perhaps he is simply making up for his anxieties, or perhaps he truly believes himself to be better than everyone? who's to know. he has many enemies, and very few friends. such is the life of an outlaw.

these fields are beautiful. he's been here before, in his dreams. he runs after his mother, crying for her, desperate to catch her but only watches her fade further and further up into the sky, becoming part of the night as her body dissolves into the stars. she leaves skarde alone and without anyone to care for him, and he screams into the black abyss. why? why did you let him drive me away?

there's nowhere to hide in these grassy plains, truly, and for a predator like him not much sticks around to visit. as he pads through the clearing, he spots a rogue lioness drinking by a small body of water, one he recognizes as the local watering hole of these parts. skarde is tempted to lower himself into a stalking position, but this time he does not. he walks confidently up to the damsel, chuffing gruffly but without a tone of harmless greeting. you there. skarde narrows his eyes. these are neutral lands. and i need wives. his claws immediately unsheathed, the brute begins to stalk her. give me one good reason why i shouldn't rip out your eye before i fuck you?

@devil may cry

i went to a sermon it made me livid... they called me a lamb to be protected by the Lord they're fools i am no lamb i am THE BEAST THAT EATS THEM and i see no Lord among you

    A shift in the background noise gave alert to change in surrounding. The hush of chattering birds and chittering rodents belied the presence of a predator on the move. Black skull turned, first left, then right, blue eyes scanning. Panting ceased as air was inhaled, drawn across the roof of the mouth for testing of scent. An action she was beginning to get used to in this feline form. The heavy musk of male was prominent, and this pushed the lioness to her thick paws. No laying, no vulnerability, was acceptable around the opposite sex. Not when Bastard had shown just what they are capable of.
    The confidence with which the male trod up was as unnerving as it was despicable. The chuff given held all the markers of threat, and the fur along the lioness' spine rose. Steps were taken to align the body head-on with the male, move over the edge of the subtle hill, so that the lioness faced him up at the slight angle. Space of one lion length was kept between them, ears back and eyes narrowed in suspicion. The words came, igniting and inferno within the lioness' breast.
    Feathered limbs bent, creating angled pillars for a firm foundation. Claws pressed out and into the earth, an anchor for traction. Lips peeled back, exposing well-honed fangs. Muscles coiled, breathing increased, senses narrowed to hyper-focus. Clad in armor, weapons at the ready, the lioness let forth a resounding roar. A visage of a hardened battle-maiden, stance set and ready for war. Here's your one good reason.

260 words | @Skarde

ah, so she wants to play this the hard way, eh? skarde is more than ready. she doesn't answer, not at all, which leads the massive bulk of a bastard to correctly assume she's in no position to argue. he's taller, stronger, wider, and heavier than her. the lioness, painted black and white with the oddest contrast he's ever seen, stands firm and ready, legs splayed and claws displayed. ah, so now i see! skarde snarls, beginning to circle the creature with threatening postures, head down and shoulders protruding out from under the thin stretch of flesh across his back. stormy eyes stay ever watchful, leering and jeering from their place in his wide, scarred skull. you want to play? well, let's play, then.

the loss of metzli cuts deep. ava isn't by his side as much as she should be, and skarde hasn't felt the need to touch her - at all - since their meeting. he won her fair and square as well, but there's more respect for the gray lioness than skarde cares to admit. at least, with metzli, he could laugh at the damage he and others did to her, call her names, insult her blind eyes, and threaten to touch her in all the awful ways she feared. he loved making her shake, tremble, and cry, while remaining at a good paw's length away. no, he's not as into sex as other guys, which skarde believes will aid him in his quest for ultimate power.

with a roar of rage and threat, skarde rushes his opponent, arms wide and claws curled. his eyes are red now, red with pulsating, battle-ready blood. charging, skarde attempts to hook a splayed paw over the girl's shoulder and shove her to the ground, fangs then mercilessly sinking into the back of her neck and gathering whatever loose skin he can. he shakes her, viciously and violently, as he tries to disorient his opponent enough to where a win might come at little cost to him.

Attempted EXP
+10 Win a fight you started (spars not included)

SKARDE vs. DEVIL MAY CRY
for dominance (claiming), Round 1 / 3

Hits

Rolling 7d20: 20 + 6 + 12 + 3 + 4 + 14 + 18

Dodges

Rolling 4d20: 1 + 3 + 11 + 18

Skarde VS. Devil May Cry FOR dominance
— DEFAULT —

due to two instances of powerplaying in one post, this fight has defaulted.

Devil May Cry HAS WON THE CHALLENGE FOR dominance!

please allow the challengers to respond to the fight results first.

i went to a sermon it made me livid... they called me a lamb to be protected by the Lord they're fools i am no lamb i am THE BEAST THAT EATS THEM and i see no Lord among you

    The male moved around the side. Prowled. Stalked. A guess made at this brute gaining enjoyment from the action, as thought taunting prey. This lioness was no prey. Not when young. Not now. Not ever. Fight, fight, fight like hell until life leaves your breast or your opponent's. Once engaged, there is nothing but violence until the end. Savagery on all fronts, at all costs, to come out the victor. To fail, to become subject to another, is a fate worse than death. This one was the beast that ate the lambs.
    "Once, a male sought to press me beneath his paw." The voice was a bass so deep it thrummed the air, ragged with fury. That was all that could be said before the male charged forward. Thick paws moved the body forward to meet, rear limbs uncoiling to launch the bulk directly against the threat. Close the distance, keep the effect of momentum to a minimum. The outswept paw of the male would catch on the lioness' left shoulder, hook into flesh--pain alighting nerves and stoking the inferno of rage and adrenaline in the chest The press to try to shove her down was counteracted by her move forward, serving only to push her weight onto her right forelimb for balance rather than knock her to the ground.
    Black skull lifted, aiming to try to knock into the bottom jaw of the male as he came down to bite. To try to force him to bite on his own tongue, and try to cause him to sweep his own head up so that his throat might be exposed. Death was an end to a threat. A finite solution to the evil of the world. But she had spared even the Bastard from it, knowing that the humiliation would be his undoing. So her own fangs remained exposed, but closed against each other. Instead, she would lifted her left forelimb high, claws out, to try to slice into the tender skin at his neck. To attempt to cause him enough pain that he might remove his claws from her shoulder and step back.
    Rear paws would grasp at the ground for stability, joined by the fore right; A base from which to push or hold. And that vibrating voice would whisper vehemence once more. "Once, a male sought to conquer me."

392 words | @Skarde

Trade: Barbarian
complete a spar or fight
1/4 action posts

tell a battle story
1/4 action posts

at this point the fight is more a game than a serious conquest. skarde realizes too late the young female isn't interested in engaging with him seriously, as she prattles on about nothing. skarde isn't interested in her story - he's only interested in the heat of her sex, which he doesn't truly want but will claim anyway. because, why not? why shouldn't he? she's here, ripe for the taking, and it makes no sense to the scarred male why he shouldn't indulge. if you saw a cherry pie sitting in front of you, wouldn't you take a bite?

did they? skarde feels blood well up in his mouth as his jaws come down onto nothing, lacerated tongue wounded deeply but not completely bit off. the next attack might hurt worse if his mane isn't filled with thick dreadlocks and knots, untidy and dirty from the life he leads. she shreds off some hair, pulling a tangle off his large, furry collar. for once, he doesn't attack just yet. the brute stares hard at her, eyes narrowed and he snorts, unimpressed. i do not want to listen to your blabbering! skarde swipes at her again, aiming for her nose with very little power behind his strike. i will succeed where he has failed.

i went to a sermon it made me livid... they called me a lamb to be protected by the Lord they're fools i am no lamb i am THE BEAST THAT EATS THEM and i see no Lord among you

    The thrust of skull into chin met with success. Success at a cost of a bruising to the bridge of the nose. Tender for a day or two afterward, that much was certain, but for now only a minor detail. The intended effect was had, and that was what mattered. The scent of blood came as the male bit down on his own tongue. Satisfaction, deep and raw, bloomed in the chest. Teach him to watch his tongue--in more ways than one.
    Claws retracted from the flesh of her shoulder, leaving behind puncture wounds that smarted like hot coals. Pain fueled anger. Anger fueled aggression. Violence, at the level it existed so far, had not been enough to cause the male to back down. So, up we go. As her claws swipe through mane and come clean without flesh, the savage snarl on her muzzle increased in volume.
    "Once, I was seen as a broodmare." Pupils constricted as a faint, faint, memory tried to surface. Lasted only a fraction of a heartbeat. Then eyes were nearly black with the dilation of rage. "Once, that Bastard sought to beat me down and use my womb." She would not relive the past. She would never become what was wanted of her. And she would never bow to a male's word.
    The male swiped at her face. Close-quarters as they were, momentum for increased efficacy could not be gained. Given the lack of effort put behind the swing, too, little was done. Skull tipped down slightly to allow the claws to rake across the bridge of the nose and roll right off, leaving only minor abrasions in their wake. Fool.
    With left forepaw free once more, with rear limbs a firm foundation from which to spring, with balance regained to free right forelimb for use, the lioness attacked. Back les uncoiled their muscles as skull was lifted once more. This time, as the fore of the lioness' body rose, both forelimbs reached out in tandem with an open maw. Both limbs, claws out and hooked, tried to wrap around the male's neck. To try to put him in a hug and pull him close. This while readied fangs snaked for the bottom of his jaw in an attempt to clamp upon the throat or chin. To try to grab and hold rather than bite and release.
    This time, it was not about getting the male to back off. Now, it was about positioning this one so that she could show him the error of his ways.

423 words | @Skarde

Trade: Barbarian
complete a spar or fight
2/4 action posts

tell a battle story
2/4 action posts

she talks as if the story of her life is one to cry over. skarde hardly agrees. he finds the time to scoff at her rendition of "broodmare," of her life as simply a babymaking machine, for he does not see the sin nor the suffering in such a life. women give birth to babes, men replenish their womb when it becomes barren post childbirth. so the world turns. he blinks dumbly, unmoved by her story, and completely disinterested in learning more. the attack is half-hearted, but the woman seems convinced otherwise. all at once she lunges, arms splayed as she goes for skarde's mane. at first, he lets her, wincing with a loud roar of displeasure. the feeling of claws sinking into his skin, even if they barely penetrate through the thick mass of hair, hurts no less.

you will get off of me, demands the man, frustrated and angry despite his calm, level voice. this female is stupid - weak, and he wants no part in fighting her. when the prospect of defeating her on an easy playing field slipped away, skarde's ambition went with it. he attempts to shake his neck, desperately trying to get her off of him and free. if he is successful, skarde simply decides to back out of this challenge. he knows when a fight is no longer worth his time and energy.

you're crazy, he snarls. beautiful, but insane. enjoy telling your story to someone who cares. because he surely does not, nor can. skarde attempts to bat her away, trying to pull back many steps so that he is a free warrior once again. we better not meet again, he warns. because the next time i see you, i will kill you. that i swear. friends don't let friends suffer - but then again, she isn't a friend, is she?

skarde exits
figured i didn't need an escape roll since this defaulted anyway

code and table © rudi / lux luciferno studios

i went to a sermon it made me livid... they called me a lamb to be protected by the Lord they're fools i am no lamb i am THE BEAST THAT EATS THEM and i see no Lord among you

    All action was disregarded. All ire and violence tossed aside as figurative attempt on air. The male shook himself clear, backed up, and gave heed. The lioness replanted all four paws on the ground, muscles recoiling. Fangs remained bared, ears back, eyes narrowed. A low growl, threat and promise, continued to emanate from the chest. Little did this man know what his words had enacted. A grave mistake for his life. Should they meet again, she would return his threat, with interest.
    It was not until the defeated male had slunk clear of the scene that the armor and weapons were lowered. And not for many minutes more before finally cast aside. Then, and only then, did the pearl and obsidian battle-maiden retreat to the meadhall to regale the tale of this fool. Slipping down the hill, and away, she left.

141 words | @Skarde

DMC exits unless stopped.