your boy is a soldier The goliath arrives to watch a fight, and finds several instead. Including one right in front of him - his dear littermate and some little twerp. It’s rude of Léonie to get into a fight and not invite her brother, but Scorpius thinks he can forgive her. The prince barrels toward the fighting girls, aiming to knock the Mire princess over with a heavy shoulder jutting out. He tries to slam his shoulder into the middle of her side, at the very end of her ribcage, at the same time Léonie tries to punch a tooth out of their enemy’s mouth. Maybe he'll break a rib with his weight and speed. His lips peel back over sharp, white teeth, and his blood begins to sing. He knows he is expected to fight alongside his Miroslav kin, and he isn’t about to disappoint his father. But it is more than expectation driving the prince - it’s bloodlust, the thrill of a fight. Scorpius & @Léonie v @Yrsa For Dominance (no one picks on my sister but me) Round I / III Hits: Rolling 4d20: 17 + 13 + 16 + 12 Dodges: Rolling 0d20: 4 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 14 + 18 + 1 + 19 + 2

code // art // do not use without permission

Ghyslaine

The Oasis lions were dirty, she thought in a flash as another intercepted her. The strange lioness (@Hazel) crashes into her, lessening the blow that Ghyslaine manages to land on the lioness Slaine was fighting for (@Halimede). As Ghys slammed into Hazel, her cheek stung as snapping jaws clung to her skin. Immediately, Ghys attempts to turn her head into the lioness her jaws splaying open as she sought to grab whatever part of the lionesses face and jaws she could reach.

All the while she would attempt to keep bulldozing forward trying to push this stranger into those fighting her friend, trying to trip them up so she could get to Slaines side and try to help her defend herself.

Ghyslaine & @Slaine vs @Hazel & @Halimede @Leander
Round 2/3
Hits:

Rolling 3d20: 4 + 12 + 18

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 9 + 13 + 16 + 1 + 6 + 3

Luck:

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

_{art by yumpy}

@Amaroq was not soon left alone; to his side arrive @Freya, a woman smelling strangely of the Oasis, perhaps a telling that not all lions of each pride found feud with one another. Though that hope was soon quashed by the outbreak of fighting between the Mire and the Oasis, seemingly over the life of another lioness belonging to Seneca's rein. Avaneira stiffened, the battle unfurling below becoming larger, more telling of the very same war she'd witnessed before she'd been forced to leave Amaryllis, before she'd been wounded and maimed physically and mentally, the stress of leadership having long taken its toll. She could feel her heart rate spike, her breath hitch in her throat, a pounding in her ears.

She could swear she heard the drums of war again.

Furiously did she suddenly race down the hill, hoping to approach Amaroq from behind and take him completely by surprise. Though it had not been her intention to ambush him at a challenge, held back from her promise if only because it seemed such an inappropriate time, the battles raging on around her had sent Avaneira into a near half-conscious state, intent on tearing down everything in her path that would stand in her way. And he—he who endeavored to bring her to heel—was the only person she could see on the battlefield in that moment. Crimson, burning.

Her front paws came up, hoping to launch herself with forelegs extended and land them squared on either side of his shoulder. Her claws were unsheathed, attempting to dig into the flesh half-covered by his mane. There was a different sort of drive in her attacks, a ferocity not held back but driven by desire instead of anger and fear. It were as if she were committing a crime of passion.

Avaneira vs Amaroq
for dominance
i of iii

they made you into a weapon
and told you to find peace

THE BLOOD ON MY TEETH
BEGINS TO TASTE LIKE A POEM,
LIKE RELIGION -
LIKE THE WAY YOU LOOK AT ME

How alluring - the call of the battle, the siren cries of war. It is enough to draw any soldier into her fire, and Amaroq is no different to their tempestuous wails of shrill violence. The phantom-taste of blood would then flood Amaroq's senses, his ears swiveling aggressively against his skull, their feline curve twisting forward to catch the heated snarls and scuffles invoked by both prides. The fights escalate, brewing in numbers, and Amaroq's piercing blue eyes would hungrily assess the playing field; a multitude of lions from the Mire and the Oasis were now locked in a heady battle, fighting over another woman no less.

Amaroq will feel the brazen tension unfurling instinctively from his own body, his muscles quivering in their wicked anticipation, feeling the urge to run up and feed the fire with his own brand of violence. Thus, @Freya's question would be no more than silk gracefully flung over his head, and by now he is just half-paying attention to the smoky lioness; both his ears pinned forward, and the ghost of a snarl beginning to lift his upper, sable lip. He feels irascable, indignant, impatient. Heat floods his senses, and a growl threatens to erupt from his semi-parted, humid jaws;

He will begin to say his name, half-heartedly paying attention to Freya now: "Amar--" And then, it is out of nowhere, something - someone - tackles him, violently, his jaws slamming closed by the suddeness of the impact. He will first feel the clawing sensation of sharp talons sink into the muscled flesh of his shoulders, and he will feel the blood and bruise, blossoming wickedly against his flesh. What the hell?! He is bewildered, his mind racing a million thoughts, not expecting to be rushed from behind, to be taken completely off guard.

As Amaroq stumbles forward, tripping, the red titan would instinctively turn around during his mid-fall, attempting to swing a powerful arm and lock its curve around wherever his assailant's head is postitioned. He has no idea if this move is possible in his current position (of falling down), and yet he still tries and attempts to take any hold of this stealthy assasin, that has come to pounce on him. In all the commotion, he will take in her otherworldly scent: timber, winterberry, and the sharp taste of undeniable, ferocious femininity. Could it be her? The woman from the mountains? His mind is a blur now, frenzied, intoxicated, absolutely bewildered - his heart torn between love and war. He thinks, however, if he is going down - @Avaneira is coming down with him.

Amaroq vs. Avaneira
for Dominance
1 of 3

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 6 + 1 + 15 + 11 + 18 + 13 + 16

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 5 + 15 + 13

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 11 + 17 + 8 + 18 + 13

Art © Aurora

Oh, who is that his eyes spy out? @Branco was snooping around now, uncovering a woman that Lothar hadn't noticed sitting there beforehand. Cheeky bastard. His eyes shifted back to Alaric's battle, even as another one exploded nearby. The duo of men was interlocked in what only looked as a rather violent french kiss. Lothar knew that gluing back a tooth should Alaric lose one would be a difficult feat, and he doubted the Mire King would allow his brother to experiment on him. A shame, truly.

It seemed as if the Mire woman who challenged for somebody was met with two responses. Lothar felt his skin crawl, wanting nothing to do with this but knowing full well that should the need arise he will fight for his brothers. The familial duty would never evade him now that he was here. It was unfortunate that this land was bursting at the seams with energy that he couldn't ignore.

Another woman joins the fray, evening out the score. Alaric emerges victorious, putting the young pup in his place. As expected. Some fights quickly turn into chaos, with two children fighting on the sidelines. He sighs, bored with this whole charade, feeling as if the air was buzzing with an intensity that he disliked.

His eyes trail to @Amaroq & Freya speaking, settling mainly on the supple curves of the grey mistress. Suddenly, the fiery boy was ambushed from behind by a pale woman. Interesting, he stands up, slithering around the chaos and seeking to approach @Freya. "Hallo," he greets with a smile. "Want to get out of here?" His accented voice asked. Smooth.

coded by flea + art by rabbit

There is another that had entered the fight, not an Ecrosian. Slaine could smell and hear them, though her visual scope was taken up entirely by Leander. It is not a surprise to the clanswoman, that the opposition would seek to outnumber them and try to ensure their victory. They were afraid of losing. The lioness the scots woman had chosen must have some great value indeed.

Slaine's right claws met their target but it proved a double edged sword as Leander then took hold of the raised paw with his teeth. The lioness could feel the sharp crunch of her toes, possibly even a break in one of them. But she wouldn't let the attacked go unchecked, attempting to flex her injured toes and the talons encased in his mouth to try and slice at any soft flesh within, hopefully the tongue.

Held in place by the hold upon her paw, Slaine could do little to escape Leander's right shoulder slamming into her side, ploughing against her ribs and leaving her both bruised and gasping/growling for breath. Her jaws coiled back from his cheek as she sought to catch her breath.

A movement on her other side caught her attention, Halimede's claws arrived at the Noble's neck (on the right side), ripping free clumps of blue fur. Slaine winced with the sharp tugging sensation and reacted by swinging her jaws over her right shoulder (her right limb was currently engaged with Leander) to snap out at Halimede's left paw.


Slaine & @Ghyslaine VS @Halimede & @Leander ♔
For Halimede
Round 2 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 7 + 4 + 19 + 10 + 11 + 16 + 9

Dodges:

Rolling 5d20: 15 + 13 + 7 + 18 + 4

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 5 + 8 + 13 + 16 + 2

code by corvus

The berserker is unabashed, uncaring for the big spotty man that resides beside Leonie; ignorant of politics, of kings and queens beyond the swamp, of the paltry things that fall between right and wrong. Nothing is black and white, and certainly not for demure things without their pound of flesh. Yrsa knows always not to challenge her brothers' authorities, their bruising mien, their sharp tongues. But it is Luther she imagines cut up beneath her claws and teeth, Luther she feels driven by the impact, he alone pounding a shoulder in the tender line of her jaw.

The sense of it was entirely cathartic.

She had never dared to fight back against her brothers - their acts were love, after all. She knew. It was the same as Mutter had done for her when she kicked her away from warmth at night, rolled her away from her embraces, bruised and bristled and mottled. It was to teach her hardness, to eradicate those soft inclinations, those tender moments of vulnerability.

But oh it was sin to ever consider swatting back, biting back, ripping her brothers asunder and snarling wildly at the descent of a burly paw. Now, oh now. Sin she would, sinning deeply, roughly, mercilessly.

Yrsa, the little mad thing that she is, has learned to accept a decent brutality with a sort of numb grace. The bruise blooms against the curved bone of her jaw - she knows it, feels it for the heat and pain that suddenly sprawls from teeth to neck - it hurts all the way in the roots of her teeth, and it is even possible that she has swallowed a baby fang. But the rest are useful yet and use them she does.

They are made for crunching, tearing, chomping, their gnarling vice intended to wildly gnash and rip for flesh, limb, ligament, even when the bruise deepens. If anything the straining ache is fuel: it unlocks primitive rage, it ignites the frenzied chambers of her heart wherein lie those resounding pulses of blithering hatred. The cub she is trying to mangle shrieks - but it is music to her ears, a clear distant ring of some trembling bell, a sound so satisfying and true. Yrsa only snarls wilder in her agitated assault.

The clear din of the howl is smothered by the abrupt breathless sip of metallic air - she is bulled from her side and her eyes seek the source wildly. Another awful spotty creature; but this one is eclipses the size of the two tangled girls, and the sheer weight of him clears the breath from her lungs.

Yrsa is resilient, though blown aside. She knows that the awful act only worsens - her strength and prowess is inferior to boys, and her heart shuffles a step or two at the peripheral glance of his brawn. But he is not Rike, not Starke, and she refuses to back down. Even if the odds are shifted out of her favor, her morale does not stumble: even in a loss, being ganged by two cubs is a story and challenge she happily accepts with grit and volatility, and she will cut her name into both their stripey, spotty skins.

Those bruises flourish, flourish like blooming violets in the heat of her skin. And the deeper the pain, the more brilliant the ravening, the clenching thorns of her violence.

She does her best to allow as small an amount of time as possible from one movement to the next. Though her breath sputters in the untimely clutch of her sore ribs, she shelves the strain and gulps the stinging cold air and digs her hind legs in the dirt with a spin - and eagerly reaches to grab ahold of the new cub. She intends to wrap her arms around the upper part of his neck from below and dig her razor teeth in the tender underside of where chin meets throat, attempting to kick her hind legs with claws extended for his mouth & hopefully catch the face of his sister if she's also come for her.

Yrsa vs @Léonie & @Scorpius
for dominance
Round 2 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 2d20: 18 + 12

Dodges:

Rolling 2d20: 11 + 4

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 16 + 10 + 6 + 20 + 17

There was no way for Léonie to really know if she’d been successful in knocking out her enemy’s teeth, as she had hoped. What she could feel, however, was the gremlin’s needle-like teeth that punctured her skin. She was acquainted with such pain, given how frequently she and her brothers brawled with each other. Her familiarity with it kept her from reacting out of panic when those teeth bit down, though she certainly hissed.

No sooner than that pained sound had rushed through her bared teeth, the unexpected happened: her opponent was knocked aside by an unknown force. The canines in her shoulder were ripped out in the movement, which inadvertently caused them to further carve her flesh as they passed through. Léonie snarled and winced, yet when she opened her eyes to what she assumed would be her father standing over the hairball, she instead found @Scorpius, and her love for him deepened. Not that she would tell him so — in fact, she was more likely to poke fun at him for being late and nearly missing the excitement.

But that would come later, seeing as how they were then rather preoccupied with the Mire pest — who was, to her aggravation, trying to catch her brother by the throat. Léonie quickly gave chase, perhaps too quickly, as she overlooked the kicking hind paws. One clipped her right cheek when she tried to move in and forced her back a step or two in surprise — yet it would not keep her away.

While the hairball went for her brother’s throat and mouth, the grey child tried to circle around, attempting to position herself at the top of her enemy’s head, where those pesky rear claws were much less likely to reach her. A snarl peeled back her dark lips as she sought to reach out and snake her forelimbs around the other girl’s mid-neck, to try to squeeze her trachea shut and choke her into submission. In the same motion, Léonie made an attempt to clamp her teeth down one of the girl’s ears with such ferocity that there was no question as to what her intention was: to completely chew the thing clean off.

Ugh, if only she had bigger teeth …

@Léonie & @Scorpius vs. @Yrsa
Dominance
Round 2 / 3
Hits:

Rolling 2d20: 7 + 20

Dodges:

Rolling 2d20: 5 + 14

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 2 + 14 + 20 + 3 + 19

coded by flea | artwork by ale-tie

She is halfway between frenzied and want. A large part of her doesn't yield in her desire to make true of her word to him that day, while another is desperate for him to prove her wrong. She spots out of the corner of her eye a large red paw aiming right toward her face, and @Amaroq is successful in his strike, batting at the side of her head and nearly taking her off her feet, held only because she'd been able to brace her forepaws in her own attack. A loud snarl exhaled from her lips, staring him in the eyes - Gods, those icy eyes.

Her jaws opened, attempting to grab onto the very paw that he had struck her with before he could pull it away. Her teeth would attempt to dig in between the pads, biting hard in a rather non-fatal place, perhaps an even in-between of her emotions in the heat of their battle.

Avaneira vs Amaroq
for dominance
ii of iii

Hits:

Rolling 6d20: 17 + 13 + 8 + 2 + 3 + 19

Dodges:

Rolling 7d20: 14 + 10 + 15 + 13 + 9 + 12 + 17

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 3 + 8 + 1 + 7 + 12

Hazel's shoulder burns with pain as she collides with the Mire lioness. She is not a learned fighter, but she knows enough to protect herself - and her pride - from jerks like this. Her teeth dig in and she attempts to maintain that grip on Ghyslaine's cheek, trying to bite into the flesh as hard as she can and deliberately loosening her neck muscles to allow her skull to move with the other woman's movement; hopefully it would force Ghyslaine to rip her cheek free or allow Hazel to stop her further. As such, the damage from Ghyslaine's teeth attack is pending.

And while Hazel tries to maintain her grip, she feels the shove of her opponent and attempts to push against her right back - trying to avoid knocking into her fellow Andal pridemates and trying to keep Ghyslaine away from where she wants to go (which she assumes is at her friend's side). Hazel's paws slide across the ground and her claws dig in to the earth, scraping hard, and so she lifts her right front paw and attempts to swipe it across the other woman's face.

Hazel, @Leander & @Halimede v @Ghyslaine & @Sláine
For Halimede
Round II / III
Hits:

Rolling 4d20: 16 + 12 + 1 + 13

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 20 + 2 + 7 + 1 + 4 + 11

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 15 + 7 + 9 + 19 + 1

_{BG — ART — CODE}