Time had not tempered her. Nor had sending her away to the homelands. With hopes of growth and glory, Father had told her, but Thaïs saw Mother snickering behind him. She had taken as much interest in tales of old supremacy as a young girl could stand, and could recite the names of three generation's worth of conquerors. But it did not make her any more temperate, or any less untamed. Thaïs Tollaire will always live by the beat of her own drum.

So one night, when she decided that the lessons of the elders grew too boring and the boy she'd been spending her time with otherwise had grown far too attached, she left.

And came back here.

And found their scents slathered all over the border.

Much has changed in the year Thaïs was gone. The first, she notices, is that Kvare and Sunder are gone. Heartbreak, however, is an emotion she refuses to wear—so she latches onto what is there instead. Drauhir, Pyrrha; a mix of others, both familiar and unfamiliar, but all equally unimportant compared to her siblings.

But nothing is more relieving than knowing she has a home.

The thought of being anything but welcomed with opened arms never even occurs to her.

---

@Drauhir ♔ @Pyrrha ♔ + anyone else! ♡

Art & table by cala

He had not forgotten her.

How could he when she was the very first thing he ever decided he hated? He recalled how she often stole from him, then cried for Mother when consequence came her way. It was then he learned he despised when someone touched his things, even if it was her. Especially if it was her. She had such a knack for finding his buttons, of pushing him to rage he could seldom call to heel.

And yet, in a strange way, he missed her.

Or maybe he missed what it felt like to know she was near, watched and protected. She had left him, even on Father's command, she had left him. She had missed everything. She did not witness his glorious rise, did not suffer as he had suffered, did not deserve to walk on his sands. The darkest impulses within him screamed to punish her, to rip her flesh so that she would know she could never be so bold again. But that was not sense.

Sense told him that she only obeyed Father. Sense told him in her absence, she was shielded from the cruelty of the usurper. Sense told him that if she were in the Cove, she would be under his protection, safe in a lawless land.

On this day, he listened to sense.

He watched her now as he had when they were children, looming like a predator awaiting the perfect moment to strike. He was certain she knew he was there. She always had. Yet still, he waited.

And waited.

Then, he lunged, attempting to find her scruff and drag her further into the Cove, much like he had when they were younger.

Welcome home, nethel.

Drauhir vs. @Thaïs
Claim of Thaïs
Round I / III
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 12 + 3 + 11 + 17 + 16 + 6 + 14

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 6 + 4 + 13 + 11

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 2 + 12 + 20 + 4 + 6

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE

She wonders why she ever suffered leaving at all.

No one has ever understood Thaïs like @Drauhir ♔ does.

Bitter and contentious as their childhood may have been, it is not anger or guilt that she feels when her brother's scent drifts on the wind. Instead, it is her own brand of relief, and it only looks deceptively cynical. Steal and taunt and toy as she might, it only served to make him stronger—and what a good job she had done. Practically a kingmaker, she is.

But the shift in scent on the borders is telling, and she's only afforded a few moments to ponder all that's transpired in her absence. Father is no longer king, and the absence of his scent entirely hints at something more sinister than a peaceful transition of power. Yet, she is more inclined to think Drauhir wrested power from Kvare through brute force, rather than the harrowing reality of what truly happened.

It does little to ease her nerves, however, when he springs from behind and grabs her by the back of her neck.

Mother is not here to call upon, now.

Welcome home, nethel, he breathes into her nape.

The way he grabs her reduces her to a mere cub, helplessly latched between the teeth of someone larger and stronger. Less a woman and more a thing—to be collected, to be kept.

As dragons often do.

But she is a dragon, too.

Look at you—crowned and comfortable, she laughs, attempting to dig her feet into the ground and stop them both hard in their tracks. Did Father finally bite the dust, or did he fuck off and leave you with his sloppy seconds?

Kingship looks good on him, she decides.

And Caladan, however much a shithole, is home.

---

Thaïs vs Drauhir
For the claim of Thaïs
i, of iii

Hits:

Rolling 4d20: 5 + 18 + 14 + 11

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 16 + 17 + 13 + 5

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 5 + 1 + 7 + 14 + 3

Art & table by cala

His teeth sank deeper into her scruff, the taste of her defiance still bitter on his tongue. Drauhir’s grip tightened as he dragged her forward, each step a testament to his power, to the control he had always craved over her. Thaïs had once been his equal in their endless games of taunts and provocations, but no longer. She could laugh all she wanted—mock his rise to power—but now, she was the one caught between his jaws, not the other way around.

'Look at you—crowned and comfortable,' she sneered, her claws scraping the earth beneath her in a pathetic attempt to resist him.

Her words were a mirror of their childhood, cutting and cruel, as though she could still reduce him to the boy who once snarled at every insult she threw. his lip curled in response, a low, dark chuckle escaping him. She still didn’t understand.

Comfortable? he repeated, voice drenched in scorn. You think this crown is comfort, Thaïs? No, it’s a weight—one you couldn’t even dream of carrying. He yanked her harder, feeling her body fight against him, but it was futile. While you were sent away, I stayed. I fought for this place, for this power. Not for comfort. For control.

She spat her insult, 'Did Father finally bite the dust, or did he fuck off and leave you with his sloppy seconds?'

The mention of their father stirred something colder, sharper in him. His voice lowered, deadly in its precision. Father? He left me a kingdom, Thaïs. Because he knew I had the strength to hold it. He knew you didn’t. The true reason for his absence, to seek out mother, he did not share.

She had not earned it.

His teeth pressed down harder, pulling her forward, forcing her to feel the truth of it. You were sent away because you weren’t strong enough, Thaïs. Not because Father failed. Because you did.

Her mocking had always grated on him, but this time, the satisfaction of seeing her reduced to this—to a mere thing in his grasp—was worth the years of bitterness. But I’ll make sure you understand now, sister. Laugh while you can, but soon enough, you’ll remember exactly where you belong. Under me. His voice was soft but laced with that familiar cruelty.

And with that, he lunged again, teeth attempting to sink deeper, dragging her further under his control. She had missed too much, and now, she would learn exactly what it meant to face him as the king, not the boy she had once known.

Drauhir vs. @Thaïs
Claim of Thaïs
Round II / III
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 10 + 11 + 19 + 1 + 16 + 2 + 20

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 16 + 5 + 17 + 14

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 13 + 16 + 8 + 20

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE

He's gotten stronger. Once, when they were nearly equal in size and strength, Thaïs could overpower her brother in many of their fights. There were few things more satisfying than shoving his head down into the sand, watching as cub rolls rippled in an attempt to unseat her. And when he'd had the upper hand, she would simply resort to calling for their mother, who showed up at her leisure and found one excuse or another to break them up, leaving them both feeling as equally victorious as defeated.

But she hasn't seen Drauhir in nearly a year.

And he has grown—both as a man and as a dragon.

And now her own strengths lay in something other than battle. The subtlety of schmoozing and seducing and sliding daggers into unsuspecting bellies is not as fortuitous when his teeth are in her neck.

Comfortable? he breathes into her fur, as Thaïs continues to try and wrench herself free of his grip.

His words are scornful, grating, just as jagged as they were when they were kids but now the intention behind them is far more lethal. He is no caged and cornered animal, no boy flinging his sword blindly in the darkness. He is honed and experienced, and he speaks a truth that Thaïs has long since told herself thousands of times and denied a thousand more.

She wouldn't ever admit that his words hurt, just a little. She is far too prideful for that. But it is her pride now that wounds her.

Kvare had always preferred his sons. What Drauhir tells her now is something she's always known—driven into her from her first breath. A woman would never hold the seat of Tollaire alone.

And it was easier to send a problematic daughter away.

I don't give a shit what Father thinks he knows, she seethes in reply, and seeks to rise a single paw upward, before attempting to slam it down onto one of his. I chose to come back. Just because you're king doesn't mean I'm any less deserving.

Thaïs refuses to be anything but. If she isn't strong enough now, then she would make herself strong. If she isn't smart enough now, then she would make herself smart.

Laugh while you can, but soon enough, you’ll remember exactly where you belong, he nearly whispers, Under me.

She reels her head back and howls with laughter.

Under you? Eeewww. Drauhir—you're my brother.

There's a seriousness in her eyes that betrays the playfulness of her tone, a keen understanding in the gravity of his own intentions. Thaïs would not find the cold shoulder of her father or mercy of her mother here. This was well and truly his domain, now.

And she could choose to be one of his pawns, or one of his adversaries.

For however power hungry and ambitious Thaïs is, however, she is loyal above everything. And if that means playing by her brother's rules and tolerating his scorn, then she will endure.

---

Thaïs vs Drauhir
For the claim of Thaïs
ii, of iii

Hits:

Rolling 4d20: 14 + 16 + 6 + 7

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 2 + 3 + 8 + 9

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 9 + 16 + 8 + 14 + 6

@Drauhir ♔

Art & table by cala

His rage simmered just beneath the surface, held in check by the one thing that tethered him to restraint—blood. For all her defiance, all her mocking, there was no escaping the truth that she was his. The Cove, this kingdom he had claimed through the right of blood, was where she belonged. She could not run from that any more than she could run from him. And never again would he allow her to forget it.

Not after all this time. Not now.

Drauhir’s teeth hovered near her scruff, close enough to remind her of the power he could wield with just a shift of his jaw, but he held back. Not yet. He could feel her struggling beneath him, her body still trying to fight, to wriggle free as she always had when they were young. But this wasn’t like before. He was no longer the boy she could overpower, no longer the cub who called for Mother when things grew too fierce. He was something more now—sharper, honed by time and the weight of what he had taken.

But then her paw struck.

Thaïs' blow came quick, a calculated strike that landed against his side with more force than he expected. A sharp jolt of pain shot through him, and for a brief moment, his hold faltered. He sucked in a breath, feeling the sting radiate from where she’d hit, a bruise already forming beneath his fur. She had always been strong, always known how to take advantage of a moment, and for a heartbeat, he grimaced, his body recoiling from the impact.

But it wasn’t enough to unseat him, wasn’t enough to loosen the iron grip he had on her. Pain surged through him, but it only hardened his resolve. She would not overpower him again—not now.

Laugh if you like, he growled, the sound low and edged with a promise. But you will not forget your place.

He pressed down harder, his weight deliberate, attempting to force her deeper into the sand as if to make her understand the gravity of what she faced. Her mockery could only go so far, her defiance only a fleeting resistance to the inevitable. She would learn—here and now—who held the power in this kingdom. His kingdom.

You came back of your own will, he whispered into her ear, the words sharp, cold as the sea breeze that swept across the Cove. And now you will stay, whether it pleases you or not.

His claws dug into the earth beneath him, steadying his stance, hoping to keep her pinned, the tension between them palpable. There was no need to continue the struggle—he had already won the moment she returned. It was not about breaking her, but about reminding her. She belonged here, with him, in the fold that their blood demanded.

You are mine, Thaïs. You always were. And nothing will change that.

His grip would loosen, just enough to give her a taste of freedom, a reminder that while she had a place in this kingdom, it was beneath him. She could fight, she could laugh, but the truth was inescapable. He was king, and she would learn her place, not by force alone, but by the undeniable reality of his rule—

In the end, it would be his will that shaped the future.

Drauhir vs. @Thaïs
Claim of Thaïs
Round III / III
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 16 + 1 + 8 + 20 + 11 + 12 + 17

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 8 + 18 + 12 + 13

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 13 + 11 + 5 + 8 + 20

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE

She had always known Drauhir to be possessive. She's taken enough of his things that she knew nothing else pushed his buttons quite so well. But the rage he wields in cold precision is unlike anything she's seen from him before, and for the first time in her life defiance wars with respect. Deference, in rare show, born not of love or submission but recognition. For however much Kvare ignored his daughter in favor of his sons, he had imparted upon her the most basic instinct: Family is everything.

And just as Father intended, Drauhir is now the head and heart of that family. Thaïs should be—would be—his left hand.

She doesn't let it show in the smirk that creeps to her lips as her foot connects with his and sends him reeling. But she cannot hold back her gasp as he presses down, and the pressure of his weight is near enough to send her crumpling. They're similar enough in size still, but he's gained more than a few pounds on her since they were cubs, plump and deceptively cherubic.

Eventually, they skid to a near-stop. His mouth is by her ear, his voice low and grating.

You are mine, Thaïs. You always were. And nothing will change that.

Then use me, wield me, she snarls back, I am not another pretty sister to add to your collection. I am a dragon, and I will fight or fuck every man in Amaryllis to prove it.

If it was his will, and his future, then Thaïs would have every part in it she could so that she, too, could reap the benefits of his legacy.

---

Thaïs vs Drauhir
For the claim of Thaïs
iii, of iii

Hits:

Rolling 4d20: 19 + 18 + 6 + 8

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 9 + 3 + 10 + 16

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 17 + 18 + 8 + 15 + 5

@Drauhir ♔

Art & table by cala

@Thaïs VS. @Drauhir ♔ FOR THAÏS
— RESULTS —

Thaïs Hits: 3 + 2 + 2 + 4 luck = 11 hits
Thaïs Dodges: 3 + 0 + 1 = 4 dodges

Drauhir Hits: 5 + 4 + 5 + 5 luck = 19 hits
Drauhir Dodges: 2 + 3 + 3 = 8 dodges

Thaïs Successful Hits: 3
Drauhir Successful Hits: 15

DRAUHIR HAS WON THE CHALLENGE FOR THAÏS!

The results of this fight cannot be acknowledged ICly until either both challengers have responded or 3 days have gone by — whichever comes first. Any posts breaking this rule will be removed.

It was only when she ceased to resist him that he finally gave her a reprieve, releasing pressure. He permitted her to stand before him as snarled, impertinent as ever. It was a slight forgiven only because she offered something far more valuable than another lesson in where she belonged. You need not sound so eager, nethel, he said, his words almost a tease.

Ours is a blood meant for greatness. I will not let it be squandered, he stepped away from her then, turning toward further into the territory. I do not share Father's view of your... imperfections. Under my rule, you will be provided every opportunity to prove you deserve the blood flowing in your veins. The rest— he began to walk away. —is in your paws.

It would not behoove her to be disappointing.

Now, come.

Exit Drauhir

@Thaïs

ART BY RABBIT, CODE BY DEE

The tension mounts and mounts. Skin snags between teeth, cuts, digs in. Pressure—an invasion. Until finally it is too much, and Drauhir must know it is too much, for shortly after she feels the relief of his canines pulling free of her skin. Something of a strangled gasp shudders past her lips, and she stumbles, before quickly regaining her footing. Despite being disoriented, Thaïs turns toward her brother, her face burning with both anger and embarrassment.

You need not sound so eager, nethel, he teases, and her cheeks burn hotter.

But then he steps away, and the cold air that floods in his absence eases her nerves and the fray of her fur along her spine. Finally, she feels as if she's able to take a full breath. What fire was tempered moments before reignites twofold, and his cutting words make her wonder if she's strong enough for a rematch.

She opens her mouth to retort, but then it suddenly snaps shut.

That sense of undeserving rears its old and ugly head; a feeling Thaïs had spent years quashing under entitlement and cockiness. The sight of Drauhir reaching the pinnacle of power, of wielding it so freely and openly and tauntingly, reminds of her all her doubts and downfalls. And she can nothing but obey—for despite her defiance and frustration she has never known anything but the innate, driven-in instinct to serve.

And so long that Thaïs is a Tollaire, her imperfections are his. Her blood is his.

You make it sound so easy, brother, she seethes as he turns away, Na foeg im nî-nóna a vië.

Maybe then, Kvare would have seen the asset she is. Maybe then, she would have been able to beat Drauhir in a fight where it finally mattered.

Defeatedly, however, she falls in line behind him.

---

Exit Thaïs w. @Drauhir ♔
¹ Too bad I was not born with a cock.

Art & table by cala