Do you really want me dead
or alive to torture for my sins

She is here, his moon, his she-wolf. His hunger, his violence, his passions, were now searing like a rabid animal gnawing at his chest. Desire, lust - longing. So much longing. His heart both ached for her, loved her, and hated her. There is a brief pause where realization settles, withering his patience; his passions ablaze with the sudden nearness of @Avaneira, the slenderness of her own body so hot and warm, burning like a hurricane next to his.

Thus, his extended paw would grapple furiously in an attempt to catch her in a headlock, and although he whacks her, instead of craddling his arm around her head like he wants to; she is swift to retaliate by biting his paw, instead. Her fangs will snag the padded flesh there, the blood now dripping, although he eventually shakes free of her grip. Her snarl now echoing with a feral hunger, ringing against his ears, and his own ragged snarl would echo back that same wolven ferocity.

So - down, down, down Amaroq crashes.

To the floor he goes. His muscular body unfurling against the earth, his ribcage now aching.

(Fuck - she's so beautiful. He thinks, he wonders, being so close to her, to touch her, to breath in her sultry scent and know that she is not just a ghost, not just an illusion.)

The pain in his bitten paw is searing, flooding his senses, blood running through his black nails, and the crimson droplets are flung to the earth like rain. He falls to his side, a heavy and booming thud; and in attempt to catch her, Amaroq will throw both his forelimbs forward, hoping to extend his reach and wrap his burly embrace around any part of her. Maybe around her waist, or her hips. He would seek to curl his arms around any part of the woman, attempting to crush her smaller body against his masculine frame.

Amaroq vs. Avaneira
for Dominance
2 of 3

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 13 + 8 + 11 + 5 + 14 + 18 + 12

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 15 + 10 + 16

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 16 + 12 + 7 + 11 + 14

Art © Aurora

He is late to the party, but comes nonetheless. For the sweet nectar of bloodlust and ripping organs beckons him in. Pulling the vagrant hound forth like a disobedient dog leashed to his master's ensnaring prong. It is a scene that is all too delightful for a man of his stature, one of in which he should not be present within for the fear of over-exuding what his sickened mind can handle. How long until he pursues those around him? How long until the fine thin line snaps? Breaking off unto the night to leave nothing but the shallow and empty shell of a man who had been once and would become again. The disease is heavy. A sickness from within that refuses to be quelled by nothing other than the taste of that from his own kind. It is not fair how they indulge within the taste of others flesh while he is sentenced to watch and -

Quiet.

He wills their voices unto silence, unto a deafening and eerie ring as laughter filters through one ear and out of the other. He searches, amongst the crowd and sea's of gnashing bodies for the one's who torment his every thought - only to be met with nothing but a blank stare and the naught of splattering crimson before his pearly white mane. It is not safe here, but he does not care. Hunger drives the sick man to stay, and to satiate such a desire would require him to succumb to the wills of his demons. Waiting...watching his challengers pursue in all out warfare. The Starke man had not lied. The devil was alive, and here his imps stood before them.

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One pointed ear twitch towards @Fallon in order to better receive her words, though Myra was hesitant to take her gaze off of the conflict unfolding before them. She hummed approvingly, gaze flicking briefly back towards Alaric before she nodded, both in agreement with Fallon’s assessment and as a way of showing that she was pleased with that specific turn of events. What were all these whelps thinking, picking fights with Mire King left and right? It didn’t seem terribly realistic for them to expect anything other than getting trampled in the dirt.

Back to Slaine’s predicament…the huntress’s muscles tensed, ready to charge forward to offer aid when a third contender decided to enter the ring, but Ghyslaine proved to be faster. How very bold the ashen woman was proving to be. It pleased her to see it. She should try to speak with the younger woman again sometime soon, perhaps reoffer a spar between the two of them.

Reluctantly, she pulled her gaze away to look at Fallon once more when the monochromatic woman introduced herself, offering a polite nod of her head in return. “Call me Myra.” She can scarcely even think to inquire more about her newer pridemate before the telltale sounds of yet more battles began erupting in various places all around them. She pinned her pointed ears back, sweeping a narrowed gaze over the growing pandemonium with a sigh. “Once it starts, it can’t be stopped, it seems.” Her claws unsheathed, leaving deep furrows in the dirt as she flexed them agitatedly.

It was too difficult to make out the details of exactly what’s happening in every scrap. Trying to jump in now might just cause more confusion and harm, though she desired nothing more in this moment than to do so. For now, she remained stiffly seated, tail lashing behind her and kicking up dust. “Best stay on your guard.”

ART COPYRIGHT IRISH

Chaos was alive here. The land breathed it like oxygen. Against the wavering slopes of the bluffs she can feel their energy, and here, in the midst of her usual adventures she finds a plentiful supply of earthly air - twisted with sickening violence, yet somehow only more pure.

Through the blood she strains, shifting unseen across the ridge, whiskers fanned. Scents came and went, her mind, unfurling her expertise in order to pinpoint who was who. She was too late to know the true reason for such brawling, but her main interest was upon the grey snake that had penetrated their borders and wounded one of their ranked.

He was Ecrosian now?

*Charax is hiding*

Rolling 1d2: 1

_{art by yumpy}

He can feel the boy falter and he knows he has won. It is enough to bring a bloodied and wolfish grin to his lips as they break apart — Alaric barely notices the red that pours from between his teeth. The cuts in his mouth will be a pain to heal, but in the end it matters little.

With a vicious snarl as @Antares sends a final paw flying towards his face, Alaric hefts both front paws from the ground and seeks to shove them against the boys chest. It is enough (combined with unbalanced footing) to cause the younger male to trip and fall.

Alaric thumps back to the ground and loses a deafening roar, filled to the brim with testosterone and driven by his victory. Venomous eyes narrow on the boy as he snaps — “go home, child” — in a way that is clearly meant to be insulting. His attention slides to @Seneca and his lip curls, knowing full well that this moment means they are truly enemies.

His focus, then, is pulled to the other fights. Both of them uneven, unbalanced, unfair — it is another nail in the coffin of his opinion of the Oasis. He worries for Slaine and Ghyslaine but leaves them to their fight, more closely watching the two cubs that have ganged up on his daughter. Alaric will leave her to right — this experience is the best kind of lesson — but rest assured she will be getting a talk later about disobeying his command to stay home.

He moves towards @Myra and @Fallon, his anger evident, and flops down beside her. “they fight dirty,” he grumbles, uncaring who might overhear him. Perhaps @Vághan might have an opinion, the Starke king notes the look on his face with detached curiosity.


(Sorry if I missed anything! If so please nudge me and I’ll edit, phone post!)

code by corvus

By now, this challenge had turned into a skirmish -- that much Leander was aware of. Lions from both sides jumped in and began to battle for Halimede, and that was simply where Leander's attention remained. He could not even begin to fathom what may lay ahead if the Mire were to take her agains her will.

Though pleased with his new found purchase on @Slaine's paw, Leander feels the Ecrosian woman flex her toes, wriggling the sharp talons so that they sliced the tender flesh within his mouth. Claws lacerate the sides of his mouth and his tongue, leaving deep wounds that poured blood fiercely. Crimson liquid seeps from his jaws and splatters to the ground as the Miroslav reluctantly releases his hold.

Instead, his attention now focuses to the exposed left side of Slaine's neck, large bloodied jowls attempting to gain hold and pierce the skin of the blue-tinged lioness. The Heir lifts his right paw, talons unsheathed, and attempts to stomp on the woman's left forepaw, aiming to keep her pinned.

@Leander, @Halimede & @Hazel
vs.
@Sláine & @Ghyslaine

For @Halimede
Round 3 / 3

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 2 + 11 + 18 + 5 + 6 + 9 + 3

Dodges:

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 5 + 6 + 15 + 13

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 9 + 19 + 12 + 7 + 8

your boy is a soldier The goliath boy slams into the girl, and it aches. He hopes it hurts worse for her. No sooner do they collide that she attempts to wrap snake-like around his shoulders and neck, his exposed throat. Yrsa’s fangs catch in the fat of his neck and her claws rip into skin (wasn’t sure about the claw attack so keeping it vague, sorry). Scorpius snarls in pain, the sound childish and more like a whine than a manly growl, and tries to wrap one of his forelimbs around her shoulders and immediately tries to simply drop his full bodyweight down on the girl’s front half and pin her under him - while Leonie attempts to pin her from behind, and hopefully end up on her back and lower half. Scorpius & @Léonie v @Yrsa For Dominance (no one picks on my sister but me) Round I / III Hits: Rolling 4d20: 4 + 12 + 17 + 15 Dodges: Rolling 0d20: 1 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 16 + 13 + 19 + 9 + 8

code // art // do not use without permission

halimede.

She was caught between the two women. @Ghyslaine's continued shove into her only seemed to push her further toward and potentially into @Sláine. A frustrated hiss escaped her lips, but it was quickly abandoned as fatigue began to settle in, the quick succession of their brutal dogpile wearing on her and bringing forth a swift-approaching conclusion to their battle. Certainly, onlookers may find it unfair; but the point of battle was winning, not fairness. At least, in Halimede's eyes. There was no such thing as an honorable fight. It was only ever eat or be eaten.

The blueish lioness' jaws clamped around Halimede's paw, and she cried out, the sensitive spots between her toes quickly being cut into by the woman's sharp canines. Forfeiting the paw to her jaws instead of trying to rip it free, Halimede made one final attempt to attack, taking advantage of the proximity of her opponent's head now that as was biting her paw and reaching toward it with her own opened jaws. She attempted to bite at the top of Sláine's snout, hoping to bite down hard enough to force them to part ways.

Her eyes, though bleary and half-lidded, are able to spot @Leander on the other side of Sláine, and she can hear the commotion between Ghyslaine and @Hazel happening behind her.

Halimede, Leander, & Hazel vs Sláine & Ghyslaine
for Halimede
iii of iii

Hits:

Rolling 4d20: 18 + 16 + 13 + 20

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 1 + 9 + 11 + 5

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 5 + 16 + 10 + 12 + 8

Ghyslaine

Her cheek feels like it is on fire, at the grasp that the lioness has on it. Should she rip herself free and try to launch one more attempt to help Slaine? She debates only for a second, before attempting to rip backwards- as Hazel pushes back against her- not caring that her flesh will rip in the jaws of the other lioness.

She attempts to barge forward, attempting to dart past Hazel to slam violently into either the lioness attacking Slaine, while her jaws open in a hail mary at attempt to dodge Hazel's interference and help her friend.

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

Rolling 3d20: 15 + 6 + 7

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 7 + 4 + 3 + 5 + 6 + 18

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 18 + 7 + 2 + 1 + 19 + 9

_{art by yumpy}

There is an intensity that crease within his brows. A gaze that only a killer could hold as magenta eyes float to and fro from each of the bodies colliding, crimson collecting amongst the murky outcrop of the pits melding. He catches to figures of a few familiar faces immersing themselves in the throes of battle. There stays Halimede, and then the girl from the boneyard. A few others that he can't quite put names to, but he's seen their faces before. Once in a dream - or perhaps a nightmare. So much for little war.

Vághan shifts, eyes flickering towards the words of the Starke man with heavy intent. He's still not quite sure whether he is fully here or if he's stranded in some sick and distant memory. Should I fight? It is a genuine proposition. With a quirked brow and a slightly tilted cranium, Vághan allows himself to query the throes of what quarrels @Alaric shall have him take. Say the word and who. I will not hesitate for you. Let me out of the cage, and feed my inner beast.

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