blood we drunk, flesh we ate

The journey had been long, rigorous for the patience and testing for the mind - an amassed questionative of a many whys that haunted every step, baited every look cast back over her shoulder. What in Amaryllis could she not have in the world elsewhere, lounged in the palace-paradise of her mother's home or basking in the bloodshed of outer regions? Even the prey were a hard bite to convince her of any logic, no tastier than they were in the stretching regions, no easier, no harder.

And yet the wind had pulled at her with its howling jeers and distant rumbling woe, that lingering lure of omen that waited north of her simpling desires.

Those that were smothered by the lackadaisical laments of retirement came stirred back to life with the fickle rush of restlessness. She had seen her brother's children in and out of Amaryllis, watched them grow, make their own ways through the world. What was left for her now but the warmth of the sun on her face and the impending certainty that waited in just so many years?

But certainly you hadn't expected her to go willingly into that light?

Chaos. Perhaps that is what it is that drew her back to Amaryllis. She remembered those stirring drums of war, the thunder, the electric in the air - the taste of foreign blood, meat, the crunch of bones. The island was a whole buffet. Why not go sampling its finest features?

The thought of withering uselessly to the encroaching march of age was distasteful. The thought of dying bloodily, full-bellied and red-grinned, was an offer this world had always dared her to snatch. So take it she would, ignoring the pestering wiles of the Passage couriers, king and queen and ally and enemy all, and made to enjoy her peace in her own terms. There was just enough time to think about what she would do with her remaining life, and she would not do so under the obligation of someone else.

Her first destination was the Cay - just after a fresh rain, the clouds pulling veil by veil across the face of the sun, the small patch of land seemed fine as any to gather her mind and strength after the long venture. Iseult found a warm patch in the golden sands and flopped herself on her side, breathing deep the sea air as she leaned back and soaked up the frail rays of sunlight cast between one cloud and the next.

that was a core of the innocent hate _{BG — ART — CODE}

Part vampire Part warrior
Carnivore and voyeur
Hungering, rabid; a ceaseless, silent madness arrests him as the soldier treks onward - his destination, anywhere. His soul, broken. The warm, oceanic air does little to sate his restless spirit, instead feeding his aggravation as a wild, wanton breeze whips the tendrils of his rugged mane about his scarred face. He snarls under his breath, scowling - and suddenly, the sunlight feels too hot, the breeze too warm, and the oceans too loud and brazen against the pinned curve of his ears.

He feels volatile, unhinged; chaotic whispers lingering against the bloodied corners of his lips. He has mourned for so long, grieved for so long, that all that remains of the soldier is an emptied, hollowed husk. He is without emotion now, there was nothing for him left in this fucking world, and he moves with a carelessness that feels haggard, angry. Feral. All feels still in this vast desolation of roaring oceans and bright, golden sunshine. But that's when her scent draws along his path, the aroma of violent femininity both intoxicating and rabidly delicious.

He had remembered her all this time, but his memories of her were not fond - infact, some part of him despised her for leaving a blow to his massive ego. How dare she, defeat him. Humiliate him.

Thus, he follows her scent obsessively and eventually finds her sprawled image along the not so distant horizon. Amaroq is suddenly silent - dangerously quiet; his steps begin to slow down with feline calculation and his powerful body leans into the earth with each low, crouching step. Closer and closer he creeps towards her, the wind towards his face, blowing his scent in the opposite direction. Suddenly, he attempts to close the distance between them as muscular hindlegs launch his rippling form forward. His forelimbs reach out in their violent embrace, attempting to pin her into the earth, his jaws unhinged as they salivate hungrily, aiming to pierce fangs into her slender hips. Surprise, bitch!

Amaroq vs. @Iseult
for Dominance
1 of 3

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 8 + 13 + 17 + 3 + 12 + 9 + 5

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 17 + 11 + 14

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 1 + 16 + 13 + 9 + 7

we all feed on tragedy,
it's like blood to a vampire

blood we drunk, flesh we ate

There is no rest for the wicked - should she have been surprised?

Perhaps she would have been disappointed had he greeted her amiably, stood in the way of her sunlight, charaded with the pretense of a gentleman. To sigh at the droll exclamations of a man's diamond-studded charisma, whatever flirty insinuations one might have made. Cougar. Ah yes, that.

Instead there is only the plod before the leap, muffled by sand, and she has grown too comfortable with the serenitous breeze.

Her skull snapped as she is greeted not by cat-calls or haggard coquetry, but by the descent of claws. Foolish, suffering the bravado of the sore loser, the child, to pick on a tired old woman. A snarl ripped from her jaws as his claws cut into her flesh and her shoulders rose like mountains from the sea - his weight bore upon her hips, his claws dug into the final rungs of her ribs. And his teeth — the horrid thing, the lewd thing, craving to take bites of her womanly figure.

Iseult moved swiftly, attempting to drop her hips beneath the weight of his jaws and twist her body. She would do so with the intention of reaching for his shoulderblades with the dig of her outstretched claws, trying to curl and wrap her jaws around the [mostly left side of his, via positioning,] face. Her ears flattened smooth against the elegant slope of her skull, her eyes narrowed, the flame of fury stirred in the jade gallery of violent whim.

If he thought it was a game or a gamble, she would up the ante.

She would give him something to remember her by.

Iseult vs @Amaroq
for Major Maim
1 of 4

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 13 + 10 + 19 + 8 + 16 + 14 + 20

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 15 + 6 + 1 + 16

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 13 + 16 + 1 + 20 + 11

that was a core of the innocent hate _{BG — ART — CODE}

@amaroq VS. @Iseult FOR major maim
— DEFAULT —

Due to Amaroq not posting within the allotted time, this fight has defaulted.

ISEULT HAS WON THE CHALLENGE FOR MAJOR MAIM!

Please allow the challengers to respond to the fight results first. As per the site rules, if 3 days go by without a post from the challenger(s), they can be skipped. Whichever comes first! Any posts made before this will be removed.

WOUNDED ROLL

performed on discord by @Squid

Amaroq is automatically WOUNDED for losing!

Profiles will be adjusted to reflect the wounded rolls, which, if received, reduce the character’s hits and dodges by -1 for an standardized amount of time. Any wounded rolls received from this fight are considered healed as of 02/16, and are logged in the wounded log. Once healed, post in Trade & Dice Updates to have your dice returned to normal.