There was no sign of the ones she knew, no familiar faces amidst the crowds, and Elsie shrunk back just a little. Maybe she really shouldn't be here -- this wasn't her war after all.

But then a stranger joins her. At first his size deters her, but she manages a smile all the same. And then he speaks and he is gentle and quiet and her floppy ears perk up just a little. "N-no! Not at all. Please!" A wave of a tiny paw to the place beside her, followed by a curious tilt of her head. "I'm Elswyth, who are you?" He seemed as uneasy as she felt, and yet surely he was here for a reason, too?

Before he can answer they are joined by another, a female with flattering words that make her duck her head in an uncomfortable way. Elsie was not terribly familiar with compliments, nor did she often find herself deserving of them, so she wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Finding herself stuttering an answer with a fluttery smile in place -- "oh, um, just uh...watching?"

Because she clearly looked like the sort that liked to watch chaos and carnage. Totally.


@Sirideàn @Helah

Art by Aurora

A throaty chuckle escaped the French man’s maw as his jaws formed around his spine, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, making him dizzy with glee. Oh how he wanted to sink his teeth into someone. He almost didn’t react to it, almost didn’t even notice Riordan’s back legs kicking up into his chest, claws snagging in his mane, ripping the hair and clawing the meat of his chest. The only thing that pulled him out of his stupor was that his jaws had come unlatched from the Merle man’s back and he was stumbling backwards, one step, two step before he regained his balance. Back on all four paws, he would attempt to lurch forwards and try to latch his jaws around Riordan’s right back leg.

a little revenge for the kick and wounds his back legs had inflicted on his chest. Blood had welled to the surface, the heat dancing across his chest as it reached for the ground and tangled in his mane. He would certainly feel that tomorrow. He would try to keep all four paws spaced evenly apart for balance. Ear tucked neatly against his skull, eyes narrowed to protect them. Tail out and claws unsheathed to further help in keeping himself upright.

@Riordan vs @Jean-Claude
For dominance pt. 2
Round: 2 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 6 + 10 + 5 + 8 + 9

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 8 + 17 + 4 + 13 + 6 + 14

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 12 + 16 + 1 + 4

“Speech”

html by castlegraphics; image by Sanctuare

halimede.

Finally, thankfully, @Celestia relented. Halimede quickly withdrew, despite every part of her screaming for more (how against your nature you have gone, Halimede, since having your children). A relieved sigh exhaled from her lips, stumbling a few paces back and nearly falling onto her rump. However, as quickly as she could recollect herself, the striped tabby quickly made her way over toward @Aideen, content to forget the near-fight ever happened.

She had to have known that things would eventually become complicated.

She did not know that she had blown her daughter's cover. That the very woman who had taken her in now stood shocked and uncertain a short distance away, with Halimede and Aideen in clear view.

This gigantic yearling has killed a swamp monster, she warned their would-be opponent, eyes wide as she feigned her shock. Of course, Aideen had certainly overcome many feats; she had won against lions twice her size and twice her age. But Halimede could not help feel that strange and fierce protectiveness, a feeling she'd felt before, a feeling she was certain she'd want to will away after all this time. She's also, y'know, mydaughter, but what's more important is that she's a cold killing machine. So very, very frightening. And so very much a blatant lie.

Halimede had very clearly saved Celestia's life. Hold the applause.

Eisa loathed battle, and she was amazed how tired she is. When the plum male's hips slam into her, they send her skittering, and she knows, somehow the fight is over. And her eyes go to her Uncle, who she aims to push back towards, to stand by- to protect as she glares at the Plains king and female. She feels lip curl in a snarl, as blood trickles down her face, as he talks to her.

"Don't threaten my Uncle!" She growls, her tail lashing behind her, as she tries to draw herself up to her (very much smaller than Aeistrios) full height. She watches them as they make their exit, and wonders, what this all will mean. War? Had she really helped bring war to her home? She felt her heart beat loudly in her chest, as she looked to her uncle, with a frown, and sighed softly. She would aim to come close to him, and but her head against his side gently, before she moved away to go back to stand by her sister @Analia - panting softly.

ART BY KIM, CODE BY LARS

GOD KILLS INDISCRIMINATELY AND SO SHALL WE

Their breath and blood are intertwined. Fangs, saliva, and the foreign scent of another's mouth and the odd taste of his own dry and foul fluids that he had gone blind to, accepted as the cost of living. More pain mashes along his gumline as fangs slice through his intervening lips, blood racing slippery and ever so bountiful. Mouth wounds were a handful. Grab a chalice. A rain of blood as the two part, trailing from the smaller king's grisly hued maw.

His right paw had successfully made its foray, though Vermier's definition of success was unclear. He could have sought to claw deeper but did not. "C'est toi qui tombe... mort, je vais te broyer dans le sol." ("It is you who falls... death, i will grind you into soil.") He speaks with a strangled, long hiss, as though the wind had to grind past every one of his rough intervening ribs. This is nearly a whisper, in that it is knowing, but in terms of volume was conversational (and in that way, inappropriate; to hold a secret party with one's fighting opponent, while one was seeded in war). This seemed desperately important for him to impart, and even when he was bludgeoned across his left cheek he laughed with bloody festering teeth. "Bonjour...." blood streaming down the chemical miasma of a lavender chin, new pinpoints sprouting from his cheek like machine gun fire in a hunk of jello.

Hind limbs danced, their toes splayed and shifting, and stubborn and rebellious he tried to use his weight to push back, trying to keep footing. Hind ankles ached, claws splintering, one knee buckling. Even if he was not wounded and his mind walked among the sober and ambitious, would he see the opportunity he had forgone? Doubtful. What he wanted was, suddenly, his enemy's right limb, the one that had just hit his face. With both his front paws he tried to clasp for it, claws out and clammy and cold, trying to hook inside and out around the bulky upper arm.

+10 Use a creative move in battle (put it all on right arm!)

@Alexander ♔ vs @Vermier
OH
3/5

Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 8 + 7 + 11 + 5 + 17

Dodges:

Rolling 5d20: 6 + 18 + 4 + 20 + 11

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 4 + 7 + 10 + 3 + 12

That laugh. It unleashed something dark and angry inside the merle beast. A snarl boomed from his maw in response. As the weight lifted from his hindquarters, the wounds left behind were smarting and quickly blooming with bruises. He'd place his hand paws back firmly on the ground, bobbed tail flicking irately at his rear. Claws dug into the stone beneath him, teeth flashing as his body twisted to try and face his opponent.

This movement was hindered when the other beast lunged for his hind leg. Teeth dug into the thin flesh around his ankle, and only spurred his anger on. * A forepaw would lash out, aiming for whatever he could reach - mostly for the face or shoulder. It was an uncomfortable position, but one necessary to act quickly in this unexpected fight.

Riordan would think him a coward if he hadn't had the experiences he did. Sneaking up behind one was nearly a tactic to gain advantage in a fight. It was the fault of the other for not paying attention to their back. Rio knew he'd failed in his surveillance and tucked that in the back of his mind. The Savante must improve, must structure himself as the perfect Savante warrior. And with that came keen eyes and sharp instincts on the battlefield.

He could only hope that his mother hadn't witnessed his failure.

Riordan vs. @Jean-Claude
for Dominance
Round 2 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 6d20: 18 + 19 + 17 + 2 + 11 + 20

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 16 + 8 + 6

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 1 + 2 + 9 + 5 + 19

@Cirilla played innocent and Nero laughed in her face. "Sweetheart, you don't know the first thing about my mother. She drowned me herself. She raised me. She's proud of the man I've become, the father I've become, the husband I've become, the wars I've fought in on behalf of the Sigrún. The lions I've maimed for Vellen. And you," he said, flicking his wrist in a dismissive gesture, "are nothing but a fangirl playing at a game she doesn't understand. So yes, try to act big and tough all you want. You are not and will never be anywhere near as accomplished and revered as Saga; what's more, I honestly forgot you existed until just now. That's how insignificant you are and that's how little your opinion means to me. So go run along, Cirilla. Go try to impress someone else." Nero flashed his teeth in warning, hoping he'd driven his point home.

No one fucked with him when it came to Saga. No one.

code by dee

Septima hadn't attended a challenge since before her children were born. She had hidden away, safe behind the borders of the Oasis, until she woke with a start to hear the Savante calling for battle. Her ears drew forward inquisitively, wondering what a victory for the patriarch would mean for Andal. If they withdrew all of their forces, it would leave her home quite barren and that was concerning. She was hopeful for his victory, of course, but also selfishly hoped he and his kin would remain lest her children lose some of their protection. Septima needed to see the outcome for herself and picked her way to the caverns, finding a spot where she could remain fairly covered but noticeable if anyone bothered to look. The lioness craned her neck to get a better view and kept her eyes and ears open, always on alert in case of an ambush. +5 Observe a challenge and learn the results +5 Attend a spar or challenge to assess the wounds

Riordan’s claws sliced quickly and effectively into the meat of Jean-Claude’s cheek, bruising and blood blossoming across. He can’t contain the snarl that rips from his throat, how close the Merle lion had come to snatching one of his eyes, if not for the angle at which he had his jaws closed around the other’s ankle. He pushed the anger down, after all what did he expect from starting a fight? For when he inflicted wounds there would always be a price for it. left front paw would lift from the ground attempting to hook around the front of Riordan’s left leg, trying to pull towards his own body, to offset the Merle lions balance and pull him to the ground. much like their first bout he would try to bring him to the ground, to revel in his victory as the man lay below him. Perhaps a bit cocky, he wanted to see if he could do it again.

@Riordan vs @Jean-Claude
For dominance pt. 2
Round: 3 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 8 + 4 + 6 + 19 + 9

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 8 + 3 + 14 + 11 + 5 + 18

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 4 + 3 + 18 + 15 + 10

“Speech”

html by castlegraphics; image by Sanctuare

The beast spat words he didn't understand. All he could do was speculate and assume that they were not the words of a friend. Another time, another place - Alexander may admire Vermier's fortitude and apt for battle, but fate was cruel. There were no allies here and the party raging between them would come to a pained end eventually - with one overcoming the other and a further grudge held.

He knew this creature belonged to Louve's family, and if his family did not need this place...did not need it to thrive, if the monster of Wolfbron had not mutilated many of his family, perhaps the Savante could have lived peacefully beneath the Dieudonne Sovereign. Despite all of that, this was still not personal on his part.

Alexander was simply a man who needed to provide for his family. The caverns of the Hollow called to them all.

His opponent does something unexpected, if only because it was both risky and unconventional. Limbs reach out for his right limb and Alexander feels talons rip into flesh, rending it as they sink deep. Instinctively he wishes to try and remove the Hollow's Sovereign from his limb, Alexander attempts to jerk it toward Vermier.

Right paw curls up into a fist almost and attempts hit the left side of his opponents jaw. This would cause the claws in his crimson limb to slice into the flesh more with the upward movement, but he wanted to discourage further action and hopefully stagger the ghoul.

Alexander vs. @Vermier
For Obsidian Hollow
0 1 2 3 4 5

Hits:

Rolling 8d20: 11 + 4 + 8 + 14 + 6 + 18 + 12 + 20

Dodges:

Rolling 5d20: 7 + 10 + 13 + 12 + 1

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 11 + 7 + 5 + 10 + 20

code + art