Her brother does not have the chance to respond before the surmount of violence rears its head above the dust, the snarls, the claws, the malice - the hail mary of writ blood, and he is crowned with Amara's violence only. Ah, she breathes at last; as she has not known what stills in her breast that could only make her heart run faster, harder, an ancient thrum barreling through the lucid void of nightmare. Soon, still lingers in the air - a taste, a promise, an unspoken threat made real and potent. Another breath. It is shared by the Night Queen, and ripped into the chill that settles, and the heat that rises like a storm from its tomb.

But Iseult is not looking to the Sovereign. She is tenderly removing her precious nephew from her paws, and her eyes are a steady raptor-sweep over the line of intruders, now made apparent by their staggered pride. The uncertainty lingers in their twitches, their unsteady gazes, their defeated sighs. And when Amara's voice rings like a death bell, like a dinner bell - her hounds are swift to answer.

Apollinaire stirs quickly. Astute, not to dare make a leave without courtesy of a devil, of course, of course! Iseult chuckles slightly at this, though finding the quality entirely admirable. She herself is not quite so gracious, but with a quick grin passed over Baphome and his children, she is swift to charge after her newfound cousin in his route to a group that flag the flanks of a piebald lion.

Her cousin charges a lioness lingering on the rim, but Iseult prefers a selective fare and her own intent appetites.

She rushes an ashen male who has not yet fled - and a big, hulking creature is one she finds difficult to ignore. She has spent enough time studying each behemoth that circled the battleground, and he was what was left to her when the dust cleared. Even as a child she was always brutishly ambitious and has forever found delight in a challenge.

With her ears flattened, body low, she springs from the hard ground in an attempt to lunge and grab ahold of the flesh just beneath the left corner of his jawhinge. Simultaneously, her left arm reached with the intention of raking her claws across the meat of his right side; ribs, withers, shoulder, meant nothing to her. Ils ne sont que de la viande.

Iseult vs. @Drakon
Dom Match (hongry)
Round 1 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 8d20: 7 + 19 + 9 + 1 + 4 + 10 + 15 + 6

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 8 + 19 + 6 + 5

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 15 + 14 + 13 + 4 + 17

i'm so delirious if something doesn't make sense pls pm me i'm sorry <3

It was near — that much, he could divine. The air tasted of fervor, a delicacy to warm the palette. The jaw tensed, hearing the passing of words. Oh, yes. How was she who fought for their home? His chin slant, guiding the knowledge he carried to bolster his sibling's understanding of the arrangement. Amara mène la fierté, Jutting his chin rightly, as he spoke. Cassine dirige la famille. It interested him, to see what she would make of it. To see one so young carry the weight of their family's name. To see what the girl queen might make of herself, of the blood and name @Iseult held so sacred.

Worry winnowed away from him, already feeling the tide shift in their favour. His teeth gave a clack, shaking his head at his sister's concern. He cared not to placate, or sing faith. They were quite nearly strangers to them all, after all. Nous n'aurons pas besoin de fuir. Danger would not, could not befall them. Baphome was certain of that. There came no reason to him to explore this fact, and instead, as the children settled about them, gave her shoulder a brush, a jostle. Mais vous êtes invités à prendre n'importe quel prix. And it was then, their cousin swept into action. Eyes traced @Apollinaire's movements, and already he found his feet. Standing then, at his children's backs, allowing them to spill where they may. Ah, à moins qu'Apollinaire ne vous devance. But she too, is gone in a flash. And as he departed from the children, he called across his shoulder. Damn him and his love of banter. Gardez l'œil attentif, mes petites étoiles.

And with that, he stepped around the trio. The leviathan awoken, the weaver of violence beckoned from its slumber. he who walks behind the rows, a scythe lifted from rust and called back from that unholy reprieve. He gave no parting glance towards his little blessings. As @Amara summoned them from the audience he sank into the fray. His eyes clipping from tussle to each perfect song of aggression, a target was found. Whilst Seneca went to fling his little cherub from her playmates, Drakon lay clear. A simpering expression warmed Baphome's cheeks and he charged forward.

The movement was fluid, a stride, a collision of hunger and thoughtless bellicosity burnished his stare. The beast swung, perpendicular and from the side, seeking to grapple Drakon's hindquarters. He loomed and reached, lifting his weight with the intent to cover the pallor of his opponent's cloak with the coagulation of his own. Ever mindful of the machinations unfurled by his sister's attempts. It called back to their darkened days beyond Amaryllis; a time where this came second nature. One would act, and the other came a smiteful shadow. A pair of devils, a dastardly pair of unspeakable thirst. The heat of his breath spilled past the gaping of his teeth, their gnashing sought to mar flesh wherever it could. His tail whipped behind him, a rudder to stay the balance, guiding his center of gravity to keep as steady as his large figure could manage in the chaos.


@Baphomè & @Iseult v. @Drakon
for dominance
move one of three

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 10 + 9 + 20 + 1 + 8 + 11 + 16

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 11 + 19 + 1 + 6

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 11 + 18 + 4 + 8 + 7

She knew, deep in her bones, that there was no way her older sister would hold herself back. The chaotic nature of Diantha Miroslav was not one to think things through, to consider the sheer danger they were in by being on the sidelines. Even if Rielus won, Victoria doubted the assembled Wolfbron members would go down without a fight. But her sister had a debt to settle and launched herself towards the mouldy cub to attempt to regain some of her lost pride. In moments it seemed, chaos erupted - the red Scillan girl launched herself into the frey whilst a spotted adult attempted to step between them. It was everything she had to back up, to get out of the way of flailing limbs and step towards her father. She wanted to launch her body forward, to battle her way to Diantha's side and show the Wolfbron cubs that they weren't to be messed with. But this had happened before and she had been knocked unconscious - it steadied her mind now to think of the consequences of her actions. It also made her teeth ache, not to join the fray. Then again, her father's wrath had been fearsome when the pair had been returned from Wolfbron the last time and Victoria had a dash more self-preservation than her headstrong sister it seemed. Regardless of what her sister was doing, her attention was briefly dragged to witness the victor - the Wolfbron lioness retained her crown and Rielus had lost. It was a sucker punch, but also the spark and within seconds it seemed, chaos erupted once more. She could clearly see the line drawn in the sand - if there had been animosity between their prides before, there was now downright hatred. Ears flattened and Victoria knew she needed to do something - fight or flee. It wasn't in her to leave her family, but within the space of a few fluttering heartbeats, @Seneca cuts her off and his fierce command is not something she could ignore. Ears pressed firmly against her head, she narrowed her gaze into a glare at her father's retreating hide as he barrelled into the fray - she just hoped that it was to retrieve her sister and not ring her neck himself. With no choice, the Princess turned and moved to slip away. She wasn't the only one - there were a few she recognised from the Obsidian Hollows challenge and it seemed easiest to follow them out. Keeping to the shadows, slipping along behind the High Sovereign in the hopes of making it back to the Oasis in one piece. It almost didn't occur to her to check out the remainder of the Bluffs borders, but when Roan stepped over the borders and she had content that she had remained undetected by the male, she paused and began a more thorough inspection of the borders on her way out. She might not get this opportunity again afterall. Of course, her fathers instructions had been clear - she was expected to return immediately to the Oasis. But he was caught up in a fight of his own and Victoria didn't think he would notice if she spent a little time snooping on her way out. /exit +5 Learn the extent of a pride’s border (2/2) +5 Follow someone through a territory (2/2) (Roan) +10 Learn something about pride/group/family relations (2/2) (AO/WB enemies)

table by koi

"Speech."

What had she expected? Not this. The fight was fierce- now that was expected, but the amount of bodies that appeared to watch was not… Ears had folded against her ears, body crouching slightly to make herself smaller at the hip of her guardian. The royal children were in some sort of squabble, but, Tron figured that they could back each other up or Seneca would protect them since they all sat poised either between his feet or next to him. More lions appeared as the fight went on and then…then it was over and chaos took the reins. Amara’s words rang out and with it, havoc descended upon the gathering. The royal children entered some squabble- something that clearly pissed Seneca off. She heard his command for one and was more than happy to follow it even though it wasn’t directed at her. Yet, she couldn’t.

Even as she moved to get up, a lioness was attacking Drakon’s other side, she jerked to the side as she spun to go back towards the Oasis. For a moment she was frozen, another was coming at Drakons back. She couldn’t run. Realization sank in and her already racing heart beat even faster. He’d appeared as a shadow, but what he had failed to realize was that Drakon had his own shadow…she was young, but she could at least distract the man so that Drakon could focus on the lioness. What was the worst that could happen?

Shaking her head, Tron moved quickly forward and then to the side so that she was clear of Drakon’s hip and side. With jaws parted she would launch herself up, teeth attempting to grasp at the facial flesh of the creature that dared to strike at her guardian unfairly. Paws would come up, claws unsheathed in an attempt to grasp at the upper mane of the beast for balance. Tail flailing wildly out behind her for balance, her back legs instinctively positioning in such a way to help brace and hold her weight so she wouldn’t just crumble back to the ground if pushed.


Permission given to engage in fight from Daanyen - Tron is yellow for trespassing.
NOTE: She is only attacking Baphome currently.

Tron & @Drakon vs. @Baphomè & @Iseult
Dominance/ fight fair asshole
Round 1/3
Hits:

Rolling 3d20: 15 + 1 + 13

Dodge:

Rolling 1d20: 12

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 7 + 2 + 6 + 19 + 4

OOC:

Setting: Sunset..

code by corvus

Drakon was content. @Tron had shown up and Drakon had instinctively wrapped her large tail around her for extra protection. Fiery jewels watched as Amara had shown up instead of Vermier and his fiery jewels narrowed. Never once had she told him that she was an ally and perhaps he could've helped eased any tension between the two prides but he didn't an now there was this whole predicament. @Seneca soon spoke to him about who had called for Amara's crown and was curious to know that it was the lead fighter and why he had chosen the Bluff's out of all of the prides. Interesting.

However, that all changed, real quick when Seneca's daughter threw herself into a brawl which caused Seneca to do the same. Drakon was tense now, claws digging into the ground as he watched the area and himself and Tron. He would be content with taking the children back to the Oasis but wasn't going to be the case. Fiery jewels flashed a dangerous gleam and he began to stand up only to feel teeth dig into his left jawline and claws rank against his left side. A growl formed, as he forced himself to focus on the attacker. Tron was nearby, and now his objective was to protect her. Which he planned to.

Growling erupted as Drakon would attempt to bring his left paw up and dig his claws into the woman's right cheek; aiming to push her away from his jawline and neck. Teeth gleamed as lips curled upwards just as he felt another attack coming from behind. A flash back forming from when Sarthak attacked him from behind and the inner dragon rumbled in his chest. "Tron run!" He would shout unaware that she was coming to aide him. Teeth snapped and cut into his flesh as Drakon would attempt to raise his right back paw up - claws outstretched as he shifted his weight on uneven paws - and attempt to kick at the lions stomach. Fiery jewels had seen Tron move but he couldn't tell wear as he kept his tail tucked firmly near his back end. Let's not lose those.

Drakon & Tron vs. @Baphomè & Iseult
Domiance/protection of tron
1 - 3

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 7 + 6 + 20 + 5 + 14 + 19 + 13

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 17 + 13 + 15 + 14

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 11 + 4 + 3 + 15

Violence erupted around him and Ryker was thrilled by the idea he might have been the spark to ignite the chaos (Amara's words, but his actions). This was the sort of thing he reveled in, even if he knew enough to understand it may all end a little too soon for his tastes. Strangers would flee, if they had any sense.

His own target did not allow him to approach so easily, which he hoped meant it would be a satisfying fight. The man turned himself, and the angle changed, Ryker's left paw returning to the ground rather than gripping flesh as intended. The man's shoulder came up and out, jostling his teeth and bruising his nose but not at all discouraging him. Ryker's head twisted, attempting to intercept the stranger's attack on his own face. He crouched an extra inch and pivoted a step to his own left - using his right forepaw as an anchor - in an effort to bring the angle back in his favor, while attempting to sink lower fangs under the bottom of the elder male's jaw on the right side, and his top wherever they might land around the cheek area. Right forelimb shifted in his pivot, pulling back so that Harrow's claws only succeeded in scratching from his right shoulder to just above his elbow joint.

Ryker vs. @Harrow
Dominance/GTFO
Round 2 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 2 + 9 + 17 + 18 + 3 + 11 + 16

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 9 + 18 + 16

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 9 + 6 + 1 + 14 + 4

+1 hit die for pride tier 4

@Druid

I'm a friend of the devil I'm a dangerous rebel

Fighting my way through the sins of the street I'm feeling psycho, psycho Where did my mind go? Biting my tongue and I'm loading my gun Back to the wind, better run, better run I'm feeling crazy, crazy Go 'head and make me It's the life that I can't escape, can't walk away There's blood in the ocean And I'm losing focus I'm a friend of the devil I'm a dangerous rebel

code by corvus

NOTE: +1 luck roll for AO being over pride tier 4.

Much like his barbarian opponent, Ebrahim does not care who this other man is; all he knows is that he smells of Wolfbron and that he attacked first. That, in the mind of the Azar, made him fair game. Things move so quickly, in fact, that he Hardened blade would make contact with the depth of Gauthier's chest; it winds him considerably, from what he could tell, and that alone would prompt a little pride to well within the inners of the ambassador. Good. Talons flay at brunette flank; were he to be looking close enough at the face of his opponent, Ebrahim might be surprised at the macabre smirk that he would find there. But he does not. Too absorbed is he in his own work to think or focus on little else. Paw would come swinging into the Azar's peripheral vision, and - as quick as he could muster - Ebrahim would part his jaws and seek to seize the appendage with glistening fangs in an attempted counter. Pain radiated from his own left appendage as @Gauthier would successfully sink his fangs into slate limb; blood pooled beneath the enamel of his foe. Onlookers could find it amusing, perhaps, that the brutes would end up attempting to mirror one another. Still, victory came only to those who took every opportunity presented to them, and Ebrahim would not falter at the chance to snap and thrash at every attack launched upon him.

GAUTHIER vs EBRAHIM
DOMINANCE
ROUND 2/3
HIT:

Rolling 6d20: 1 + 13 + 4 + 19 + 18 + 9

DODGE:

Rolling 5d20: 11 + 4 + 8 + 13 + 12

LUCK:

Rolling 7d20: 7 + 4 + 11 + 16 + 17 + 9 + 18

^{_{CODE & ART BY D}}

@Amara's stare passes between @Narcissa and she and saga's lips turn up at the corner. she might have used the self control she has but the woman irks her for reasons she can't name. so she lifts a paw and waggles her toes in a taunting wave - poking the sleeping bear. they may have fallen into a tense ceasefire but she has no doubt things will continue to escalate. and she is afraid to say the bezra are going to be standing on the other side, behind enemy lines. even so... she glances at her companion with a slowly softening expression. they've managed to remain friends, or as close to friends as they can be, through it. saga knows she won't hurt the bezra - or her children, her lover - if she can ever help it. it makes things quite difficult to navigate, however, and she stands with a little sigh. regret tinges her voice as she leans closer to the plump woman, a quick brush of her shoulder against the other's. "i should go, before you get grounded." she murmurs with a snort. "take care, drottningarmóðir." queen mother she says, with a little inclination of her jaw. as she descends carefully from her perch, she makes to keep out of the chaos. for once, she's not interested. exit

table by koi // stock

"Well enough," she returns with a mild shrug, her gaze drifting down to where her daughters linger, to where Baphomè and Iseult look after the little ones. There is an unspoken kinship here, and understanding that she and hers are safe from @Saga and that the same is true from her own perspective. She has no interest in severing the ties she's made here, even if does earn the scowling features of @Amara.

Narcissa returns the glower with an even expression, unphased by the silent threat and obvious disapproval. She is a difficult woman to rattle, and the star-kissed queen is playing a dangerous game if she's truly trying to get under the Bezra's skin. "Mmm, you'd best," she agrees with a thin smirk, quirking a brow at the unfamiliar word Saga bestows her with. She has every intention of figuring out what that means later, and she repeats the word under her breath to make certain she remembers it as she's watching the chimera go.

Her attention is drawn for a moment by the concern of @Hiccup, a soft smile drifting across her lips. "She's alright. We have little ones underfoot, we've been rather busy I'm afraid," she hums, trying to dispel his worry. "I'll send her to you soon, yes?" Narcissa offers with a little bob of her skull.

Her gaze then flashes to @Ragna, who had been on Saga's opposing side, a brow quirked. "You should go too, before they try to make a snack of you," she admonishes gently to both her and Hiccup, like a concerned mother would. Whether they know how literally true the words are or not, she can't know.

And then she is descending from her perch, pulled into the heat of the fray with a fervor in her gaze, a fire in her breast. It's been so long since she's been part of the bloodshed, and she can't deny that she misses it. It's a golden opportunity to get her claws dirty, and her youngest brood would do well to learn by example. Fight for what's yours, always.

She lunges forth, a burly titan launching herself into chaos as she descends upon the unfortunate man that @Baphomè and @Iseult have set their sights on. No one ever said the lions of the Bluffs played fair, and if the intention is to drive them out, then the more the merrier. Narcissa approaches perpendicular to @Drakon's right shoulder, attempting to smash the brunt of her left shoulder against his own whilst her jaws snake down, down, down, driving forward in an attempted effort to grapple at his right wrist, hoping she can rend him of his balance and make him crumble beneath the weight of their empire.

narcissa, baphomè, iseult vs drakon, tron
for dominance
move one of three

Hits:

Rolling 9d20: 3 + 14 + 19 + 15 + 20 + 4 + 5 + 18 + 9

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 16 + 20 + 3 + 12

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 11 + 2 + 12 + 15 + 9

*narcissa has +1 hit die due to wolfbron bluffs pride tier 4

you should see me in a crown

table by sentinel / art

It is a rush that runs down the length of her spine to heel the call of warfare, the slake of her tongue bathed in blood and grit, to christen her clean claws with meat again. At long the moment is pure, sanctified in the holiness of violence and the solitude one's own teeming brutality; rabid, ravenous. Iseult has hungered for chaos. Hunts could not sate it. The gamey, stringy meat of hares and the earthy spice of venison could placate it only briefly, but her appetite is particular, her palette sensitive. None sweeter than the juicy cutlets of these monstrous men, the mouthwatering musculature and spritz of testosterone.

Little disappoints her when her teeth find the fatty rind of flesh just beneath his jawline - though her tongue first rakes the thick, dry matting of mane - and her claws cut smooth through the flesh of his ribcage. Even if it is short-lived, she enjoys it all the same, the old friend of open veins, lion-meat. Her eyes could roll in the back of her head for the sake of her tastebuds even when his claws are sinking against the hardness of her cheekbone and his pressure mounts to push her away, no! Not yet. For a moment she releases only slightly if to adjust her grip, but before she can, there is a streak of ruddy rush in the corner of her eye, and all her pleasure fails her.

@Baphomè joins the fray. Perhaps she should be thankful, grateful, blossoming with adoration for her helpful brother. Instead she growls ferociously, albeit muffled by mane - NNNRRRF! before Drakon's pressure and her own distraction betrays her hold. It was her prey. Her meat. Blood warming the gaunt angles of her cheek and dribbling under her chin, she hisses at her brother as he munches down on Drakon's hindquarters, but a youth attacks him and another flurry of motion reveals the oncoming force of @Narcissa.

Brimmed with frustration, Iseult is brought back to the ground for just a second before she re-focuses her attack.

With a quick square of her hips and the balancing act of a swinging tail she attempts to evade the press of his left arm with a duck of her head and lunges head-on with the intention of latching on to the tendon & muscle where his left arm meets his chest. As if dragging a carcass away from the hunt, it is her intoxicated intent in her famished, bloody fever-dream to pull him (or a piece of him, so be it) from her greedy family. Her temper rises beyond its boiling point as the clock draws on and company grows, madness consuming.

Iseult, @Baphomè, @Narcissa vs. @Drakon ♔, @Tron
Dom Match
Round 2 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 8d20: 19 + 7 + 15 + 10 + 3 + 16 + 5 + 17

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 20 + 7 + 1 + 18

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 7 + 16 + 10 + 14 + 5