we keep all the hurt you never know

mórekr is but a babe unfamiliar to these parts compared to the lengthy time others have called Amaryllis home. yet nonetheless, he's grown accustomed to the lay of the land, least before his and druskelle's return to a burnt and weathered land — ever changing to the whims of nature. he believes in no god, no deity and no higher power; where are your so-called gods now, sigrun?

perhaps the apocalyptic events would do the job for him. with his mission complete elsewhere, he returns to the rike in triumph — blizzard be damned, he looks for them. thick curls twist in every which way, whipped by the wind. frost collecting on back and toes no doubt feeling the extreme cold. a snort leaves him, and eventually, he has no choice but to seek shelter. he knows there is a small cave nearby, from the last time he'd been here, and treks in that direction.

maybe we exist to bleed It is cold and bitter, but surely this place is a viable home. Short of joining a pride, Fálki has been chased from every place he’d begun to build into a den. First the forest, then the tunnels at the ocean, and then the cavern network. Each time, a natural disaster had forced him to leave. If he was still a believer he would say the gods are trying to force him somewhere else, or towards something. He might have questioned himself, his obedience. He would have asked for Vellen’s guidance. Like some lost child, desperate for a cold parent’s approval. No longer that little boy, Fálki knows better. Frustrating as the last few weeks have been, it is nothing more than nature. He heads to the mountains, and finds a small enough cave there to call his own and ride out the worst of the weather. For the most part, it works. But regardless of Fálki’s beliefs, whatever deities or Fates may or may not control destiny have a cruel sense of humour, or simply like to torment him. Or perhaps karma is a fickle bitch, or there is nothing in the universe guiding anything, and luck and chance are never in his favour. Whatever the reason, he comes from his cave and heads into the wind - and he finds a hauntingly familiar face. "You." There is no hesitation between icy eyes landing on the dark Rike and the word spat from curled lips. Fálki does not stop moving, but rather moves faster - lunging through the snow and trying to land at Mórekr’s left side, gunning for his throat under all that curly mane. It is a brutal, unrelenting move that seeks to start and finish this within a second - before he can truly process finding this man, of all of them, here at his doorstep. After years, after wars. All that matters is the anger and rage burning deep within his chest long held back but now hot and bright and free. In Mórekr he can blame everything - the loss, the death, the pain. Everything is his fault, one way or another, and Fálki will make him pay with his life. Fálki v @Mórekr Death Match I / VII Hits: Rolling 6d20: 11 + 3 + 1 + 14 + 10 + 19 Dodges: Rolling 4d20: 2 + 17 + 13 + 18 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 12 + 7 + 19 + 9 + 1 maybe we exist to burn

code // art // do not use without permission

we keep all the hurt you never know

He trudges closer — paws sinking into plush snow with each heavy stride forth, green eyes squinting against the turbulent force of the near-endless snowstorm. Mórekr knows he would find them eventually. The Rike are resilient in their numbers, and no doubt there would be additions to their clan amongst those he’d left behind.

The serpent nears his known den, curling against the wind. A man stands in his way, however, guarding what was once abandoned and now claimed.

“You.”

“Aki.” Oh how his lips curl at the bark of that name. Such thrill (and dread) floods through his bulk. ‘You’re alive,’ he settles on.

Look upon the man where Mórekr has left his mark, again and again. It sends a shiver along his spine to see the work he’s done — healed yet a permanent reminder across a body he knew well.

Their reunion comes with fang and claw. Aki greets him with a blur of movement within the snow. They are both veterans at this dance; weather be damned, they will see it through. Such a shame, however, after all Mórekr has done; the merciful second chance a gift that Aki seeks to bloody.

The dark Rike attempts to pivot his hindquarters to his right in order to face the broken dove head-on. Aki’s teeth clip the skin on the left side of his neck where it meets chest. There it rips hair away from tender skin with Mórekr’s own doing as he leans his head away and up with tucked chin. Ears pin in thick curly mane. His left paw would raise and attempt to curl around the right side of Aki’s neck to push whatever momentum the brown lion had left away and down.

mórekr vs. @fálki
for death
one of seven
attacks

Rolling 8d20: 16 + 4 + 8 + 20 + 17 + 14 + 13 + 5

dodges

Rolling 4d20: 14 + 8 + 20 + 16

luck

Rolling 5d20: 15 + 10 + 13 + 6 + 9

maybe we exist to bleed He has dreamt of this. Woken from sleep with the taste of Mórekr’s blood in his mouth, and even as it fades with his waking, the sweet idea of it lingers. But it has only ever been a dream, a fantasy that had kept him clinging to life as he recovered from the injuries left as a parting gift. Days, weeks, and then months had passed before he had begun to accept that there would be no revenge, before he could begin to… exist. Not live, or heal. He could never truly live because he had died that day. Aki Sigrun had died praying to a god that never answered, and never would. The pale beast snarls when he hears that name, as if Mórekr has any right to utter it. Fálki’s teeth catch hair and skin, ripped free from his grasp before he can follow through, but that fleeting taste is enough to convince him this is real. This is happening. It’s almost enough to make him believe Vellen might be offering him a second chance at redemption. Mórekr’s paw comes down heavy against his neck, a wordless demand that he submit. Fálki takes the brunt of it, willing to take the damage and none of the pressure. The growl he makes as he refuses to bend might be a warning enough. He will not bow. Never again. His skull dips and twists upward, attempting to lunge forward and grab hold of the dark lion’s meaty upper muzzle. He tries to lift his left forepaw and slam it into the right side of Mórekr’s face - aiming for his eye, where he would try to rip into the socket and remove the eye or tear it to shreds. Either way. This isn’t like last time - Mórekr might still be the seasoned warrior but now so is he. Fálki does not fight half-heartedly, held back by his emotions. He is no longer a green boy or a naive fool in love. His heart is as cold as the ice and snow around them, and he has come to kill. Himself or Mórekr. One of them will stain the snow with their blood, and that will be his redemption. Fálki v @Mórekr Death Match II / VII Hits: Rolling 6d20: 13 + 4 + 1 + 10 + 9 + 5 Dodges: Rolling 4d20: 6 + 12 + 5 + 8 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 3 + 6 + 5 + 8 + 9 maybe we exist to burn

code // art // do not use without permission

we keep all the hurt you never know

he expects the submissive bow of head — to see that marked mug to crash into snow below them, where mórekr could be mórekr and taunt further with words. the dark man enjoys provoking aki; it’s his job to do so. if i can’t have you, no one can.

but the trembling boy has grown into a man over the time they’ve last seen each other. hardened blue eyes pierce him — fire alight in ones that were once drowned with emotion, sobbing with hurt. a door long locked, covered in ivy and forgotten, abandoned in the back of his mind with ripped caution tape floods with light.

a true snarl curls on splotched lips — scrunching in the face of aki’s pure hatred towards him. the broken dove ducks and lunges up, mórekr takes the chance to attempt putting further pressure down along his left arm assumedly still across aki’s neck. he shifts his muzzle to the side so teeth catch his right cheek, purposefully attempting to brush his own muzzle alongside aki’s and sink teeth into aki’s right cheek.

as such, aki’s hungry and ever searching left paw clammers the already tathers of his right ear — sinking claws and further shredding the appendage no matter it’s hidden status in thick curly mane.

mórekr vs. @fálki
for death
two of seven
attacks

Rolling 8d20: 12 + 9 + 14 + 7 + 8 + 20 + 17 + 1

dodges

Rolling 4d20: 8 + 13 + 19 + 4

luck

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 17 + 14 + 5 + 9

maybe we exist to bleed More and more pressure builds against his shoulders as Mórekr attempts to hold him down, pushing him toward the ground. Falki snarls, refusing to bend and likely suffering for it. His focus doesn’t waver from his attack, however, but his teeth miss their mark and sink into the less giving skin of the dark lion’s cheek instead. Falki’s skin crawls, all too aware that the brush of Mórekr’s muzzle isn’t at all accidental as he moves. (Unwanted, long buried memories of achingly similar and yet starkly different touches rise from their graves.) But then, those fangs dig into his upper cheek in an affectionate cruel kiss, and the Sigrun revolts against the touch. As his claws dig into thin skin, he attempts to immediately drag his limb downward to try and rip as much skin and hair as he can while returning his paw to the ground. At the same time he attempts to jerk his head backward to free himself of those teeth and closeness. With the additional weight on his neck it’s nearly impossible to move much at all, and the pressure makes him want to bow - so Falki pretends to begin to buckle under Mórekr’s weight, dipping down and then suddenly attempts to shove forward and bulldoze into the Rike’s chest with his shoulder. He wants Mórekr on the ground. Where he belongs. Fálki v @Mórekr Death Match III / VII Hits: Rolling 6d20: 3 + 14 + 10 + 6 + 20 + 16 Dodges: Rolling 4d20: 5 + 18 + 14 + 4 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 6 + 13 + 8 + 9 + 16 maybe we exist to burn

code // art // do not use without permission

we keep all the hurt you never know

venomous kiss — a shared mark left on each cheek as mórekr finds his mark on the other. the reaction is instantaneous; aki wants to rip away. mo lets him tear asunder at his hair and ear. he drinks him in; rippled muzzle settling — controlling the emotion that bubbled up from within him.

eventually aki does bend (over already?). the dark man finds himself chasing the feeling. where aki breaks down, mórekr instinctively attempts to tighten whatever hold he has on the broken dove.

clever boy though has gotten used to his clipped wings; he comes up from underneath him, mórekr realizes the pressure much too late. aki slams into his chest, breath escapes his lungs at the hit with a choked cough — blood spitting from the bitten tip of his tongue. chin sore from the knock a boney shoulder gave him.

mórekr releases the hold he has on him, stuttering back and attempting to make space between them himself with the use of the momentum aki gives him. he places his left arm back to the snow-covered ground. tail curls over his back. you want your place back that badly?

spitting blood to the side, he shifts muscles; taunting with the curl of a lip and an eyebrow. that it?

mórekr vs. @fálki
for death
three of seven
attacks

Rolling 8d20: 20 + 16 + 8 + 1 + 18 + 12 + 13 + 17

dodges

Rolling 4d20: 4 + 12 + 18 + 8

luck

Rolling 5d20: 19 + 20 + 7 + 2 + 8

maybe we exist to bleed They collide; the impact sends a shock wave through the Sigrun’s frame. Hopefully it hurts his opponent more than it bruises him, but Falki isn’t about to stop and take stock of his own damage. Single-minded on the kill, he regains his footing as Mórekr backs off a few steps. There’s a second where he pauses, braces, expecting the dark man to lunge for him - but nothing comes. Icy blue eyes lock onto toxic green. Not a word is said, but he understands all the same. It’s a trap, it’s bait. Mórekr wants to have the advantage of stable footing - Falki knows continuing now is likely a deadly mistake. But if he does not, it won't end. It will never end. Falki lunges toward him once again, attempting to kick his forelimbs off the ground at the last second and try to wrap them around Mórekr’s neck while his open jaws attempt to clamp around the Rike’s nose and upper maw. Fálki v @Mórekr Death Match IV / VII Hits: Rolling 6d20: 8 + 13 + 9 + 12 + 17 + 7 Dodges: Rolling 4d20: 13 + 8 + 3 + 14 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 5 + 2 + 10 + 9 + 8 maybe we exist to burn

code // art // do not use without permission

we keep all the hurt you never know

haunting in his posture he ignores the bitter cold that seeps into his bone — ignoring it all for the warmth of the game but oh, how empty he feels once aki is a distance away. he knows at this point the sigrún wouldn’t resist the bait dangled in front of his face, however, so he remains a cheeky statute — come get me.

the lunge is predictable in his course — so very fond of targeting his face, as if scarring it would ensure that the nightmares ceased. the gunfire wouldn’t.

mórekr braces. his bulk leans as teeth clash into his upper muzzle, lower canines puncturing the edges of his two-toned nose. arms embrace tight around his neck. now it is aki holding him.

a trill escapes him — lips parting brief and quick in their swift attempt to lick underneath the broken dove’s chin.

with it, the dark man attempts to throw up his own arms and wrap them around aki’s shoulders postured above him with a twisting motion, attempting to throw him to the left.

mórekr vs. @fálki
for death
four of seven
attacks

Rolling 8d20: 6 + 13 + 5 + 17 + 20 + 18 + 11 + 10

dodges

Rolling 4d20: 12 + 18 + 4 + 5

luck

Rolling 5d20: 6 + 9 + 2 + 11 + 8

maybe we exist to bleed It's fatal, perhaps, for both of them that they know each other so well. Apparently not even years can undo what they had once had, and how they'd come to understand every singular movement, every shift and subtle change. It's a dance they've shared many times before, in different settings, with different music. But it's always the same beat. Falki's fangs sink into flesh, and he tries to hold it. Tries to tear it as much as he can - wouldn't it be fitting for the Rike to match the scarred beast? His skull snaps sideways, but that tongue still slithers across his chin, and it takes him off guard like a static shock - He has enough sense to attempt to cling to Mórekr as he loses his balance from the attack, and tries to bring the lion down with him into the freezing snow. Falki tries to roll with the momentum of falling, tries to end up on top with his limbs still grappled to him. Fálki v @Mórekr Death Match V / VII Hits: Rolling 6d20: 20 + 19 + 1 + 4 + 8 + 7 Dodges: Rolling 4d20: 3 + 8 + 17 + 6 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 19 + 2 + 11 + 14 + 15 maybe we exist to burn

code // art // do not use without permission