She descends, and fury follows with her.

It is a banner she Carries, evident in every seething step she takes. Her sister, her soul, is gone. There is no scent trail or tracks in the snow to follow, there is no sign of blood or a scuffle or anything. Nothing to go off, just an aching absence in her heart and a cold, empty bed. It's as if sheol had vanished into the ice, but....

Faolán knows better.

She lives with monsters, after all.

Claws click against the ice as she prowls down the hallways, looking every inch the wolf she was named for. Plush fur is bristled and raised, power in her squared shoulders and swinging hips. Anger seems a physical thing as she prowls forward, seeing only red in the spaces typically reserved for ice-blue. Wordless but not silent, a growl rumbles in her chest and fills the path before her -- a thread in itself pulling her towards her minotaur.

BG — ART — CODE

He is warned of her coming. Warned by clacking beaks and ruffled feathers, by a frenzy from the flock that watches him. Draven does not understand her fury but he believes them all the same.

It does not matter, in the end

The beast does not move from his bedfurs; he watches the pelt he has hung over the entrance, waiting patiently for her to find him. Red thread becomes a noose that he hangs himself with; giving nothing to her anger when he should have at least given it respect.

At the very least he stands, tense and ready, prepared for whatever scuffle she might bring to his chambers.

"Come little wolf," he murmurs, taunting, as her rising growl races across his skin. "Come and show me your teeth."

The birds chatter and caw, a tremble of uneasiness threading it's way through the flock. Good. Let them know, let him see. Nothing he could do, now, would shield him from her ire -- it's a pulsing, living thing and the little wolf is hell-bent on destruction. On revenge. His words were useless, after all. The shreds of his promise fluttered away like ribbons, carried off in the wind.

And sheol was still g o n e.

Even here there is no trace of her. The absence of her soul-sister leaves her howling, and she bursts through his door without a single care to her own well-being. She sees red ( and not just the thread that ensnares them both; not just the rose petals that wilt so prettily in her room ); they have made her a monster and here, she will prove it to them. To him.

Long claws unsheathed, she flings herself at him -- intent on barreling straight towards him. Pretty features are screwed up in a snarl, muzzle tight over pearly teeth, the very same that snap forward. Faolán attempts to crash into him head-on, chest to chest, as her muzzle tilts up in an attempt to grab him either by the throat or the underside of his jaw. He is bigger and he is stronger, but she is furious; winter wakes the wolf, and here she howls with loss.

She will make bjorn regret.

She will make this g o d bleed.

faolán vs. @Draven
for revenge & minor maim
Round 1 / 4
Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 11 + 20 + 14 + 18 + 8

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 7 + 10 + 4 + 17 + 3 + 12

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 16 + 14 + 8 + 3 + 4

BG — ART — CODE

she comes on a wave of fury. red-hot and fiery, the thread has become a web of chains the little wolf flings upon him.

oh little wolf -- didn't you know you cannot trap a God?

draven does not move as she thunders towards him, he absorbs the collision of her smaller body, bracing himself against the impact. he cares not for the bruises she will leave -- welcomes them, even, sadistic bastard that he is -- but is less inclined to let her teeth find his neck. not when they whisper of death and blood-letting versus the twisted affection he yearns for.

he drops his chin towards his neck, protecting it, so that her teeth find purchase across the bridge of his nose instead. a snarl tears from his throat at the blood that immediately spills as he lifts his heavy left paw and attempts to sling it across her smaller shoulders. his claws are unsheathed and he does not hold back; if she wanted to dance he'd dance.

he seeks to sink them deep in to those shoulders, to press her down to the ground before him. draven does not know the source of her anger but he meets it with his own and if he has anything to say about it the day will end with them both drenched in blood.


draven vs. @Faolán
for defense/minor maim
Round 1 / 4
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 20 + 11 + 12 + 2 + 18 + 14 + 16

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 1 + 20 + 18

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 3 + 17 + 16 + 6 + 15 + 20

he does not move, he does not budge. he stands tall and firm against the onslaught, her wintry rage made physical. she feels so unlike herself here, so othered from her body and mind — they work in tandem, a wolf pack hunting together, but faolán does not feel in charge of her limbs, moving. she does not feel in charge of her mind, blank with red-hot rage. it’s her, but it’s not; she is the monster they have made.

( and maybe that means he’s already won. )

colliding into him probably did more damage to her than it did him; he’s taller and broader, a rock to break her waves upon. it knocks the breath from her lungs and already her chest is tender, heaving as her heart races inside of it. her teeth don’t find purchase across the stern column of his throat like she wanted ( like she craved ), but instead sweep across the bridge of his nose. that’s fine too and a snarl wrinkles her muzzle at the taste of hot blood splashing across her tongue.

more, more, more, howls the darkness inside of her.

she does nothing to keep his paw from slamming down upon her shoulders, nothing to stop his claws from piercing the skin there. plush fur helps to buffet his claws but there’s little she can do to stop the weight of him from bearing down. nothing except — both her front paws aim to come to rest atop his right paw, in an attempt to stand upon his foot. long claws unsheathe, hoping to pierce his paw as he did her shoulderblades — let him use his own weight to break his own toes.
faolán vs. @Draven
for revenge & minor maim
Round 2 / 4
Hits:

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

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 3 + 6 + 20 + 12 + 11 + 13

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 15 + 16 + 4 + 12 + 14

BG — ART — CODE

her teeth dig deep in to his nose, his blood drips from her mouth, and he only grins. grins and laughs, a strangled sound broken off when her claws sink in to his grounded paw.

her blood spills across the claws he has sunk in to her shoulders and now his gaze lands there. riveted.

blood spilling over toes, pouring from her neck, drenching them both.
soaking them both.
drowning them both.

a snarl bubbles from his throat -- "enough!" -- and he attempts to pull that paw from beneath hers, shifting his weight to his hindquarters to allow both forepaws to be off the ground at once. her claws mangle it, leaving deep gouges and (possibly) torn tendons as he attempts to wrench it free and lift it to join the other. bleeding heavily, seeking to dig right claws in opposite of the left, attempting still to pull her down, down, down.



draven vs. @Faolán
for defense/minor maim
Round 2 / 4
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 12 + 3 + 13 + 15 + 5 + 14 + 1

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 11 + 16 + 17

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 18 + 14 + 6 + 2 + 1 + 19

his laugh rumbles and it’s infuriating, only adding to the rage that courses through her. enough, he snarls, and she laughs too. it’s a broken, bubbly thing — the sound roiling from her muzzle with flecks of his own blood. it coats her tongue, the inside of her mouth and suddenly the taste is unbearable. no, she spits the word with physicality; the glob a mixture of saliva and his blood, intent on spitting it into his face. returning it from whence it came. you took her, she hisses, and now i will take from you.

he pulls his paw from underneath her; he’s stronger than she is, and she can do little to stop him aside from make sure it hurt. oversized claws remain unsheathed and pointed, hoping to dig in as he yanks the appendage away from her. his other paw remains a weighted nuisance, especially when the other joins it. she is no match for the weight of him, nor his strength — despite her stubbornness, her legs will buckle beneath her, it’s just a matter of time.

intent on delaying the inevitable her muzzle snakes forward, intent once more upon going for his throat. the wolf has tasted his blood and wants more, even if the taste of it disgusts her. instead of aiming for the column of his throat though, faolán’s jaws aim for the underside of his chin — hoping to grab and hold on, maybe even pull him down with her.

faolán vs. @Draven
for revenge & minor maim
Round 3 / 4
Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 15 + 6 + 10 + 5 + 7

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 14 + 3 + 10 + 1 + 9 + 12

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 7 + 12 + 3 + 10 + 13

BG — ART — CODE

you took her she spits with vitriol and venom, saliva and blood splattering across his muzzle. drops of it land in his eyes and he snarls, jerking back and away, blinking furiously against the nasty sting.

"no," he snaps despite the disorientation, a protest that is so quickly swallowed by the fiery burn of her anger. lost to the ice-walls of their home as they are painted (drop by drop) with blood.

he anchors his paws on her shoulders, unsheathes his claws, attempting to sink them deep enough to draw her out of this madness. he is careful, but barely, teetering on the edge of no return. a glint shines in his eyes, a hint of the tenuous hold he has on the God that roars to life.

this time when her teeth come for him he meets her with his own, jaws parting as he arches his neck, snapping down in an attempt to lock them in a blood-soaked kiss bite. draven attempts to intercept her teeth, to sink his own in to the top and bottom of her muzzle, to force them to close and thus deny her any more of his blood.



draven vs. @Faolán
for defense/minor maim
Round 3 / 4
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 2 + 19 + 16 + 12 + 5 + 13 + 8

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 17 + 2 + 10

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 9 + 2 + 20 + 16 + 7 + 3

his denial is easy and quick. no. simple as that, as if that is enough to temper her ire. she’s gone! faolán all but screams, voice shrill and echoing in the confines of his bedroom. surely disturbing his flock and the other bjorns besides, but she does not care. let them know, let them hear. this damnation of hers is not a secret, nor is the blame she lays at his feet. sheol, her soul, is gone. and of course he is the one to blame.

( what was a promise to a monster? )

she does not see that glint in his eye, she does not realize the restraint he uses against her. if she did, she would only rally and press harder. her teeth snap forward but once more she is denied her prize; once more, he shifts enough to keep her from digging in with the fervor she so desires. his muzzle all but encompasses her own — a suffocating kiss, his teeth digging into the top of her nose and the underside of her jaw alike.

between her attempting to thrash her own head, happy to shred her own muzzle if it means getting him off of her, and the length of their fight, it becomes too much. finally the weight of his paws bearing down on her becomes too much — she is a stubborn creature, but she is no match to his strength. a snarl rises from her chest as her knees buckle beneath her, her right paw rising with the intention of grabbing him. her claws seek his forearm, hoping to jostle him as she looses her footing.

and hopefully, sending them both to the ice below.

faolán vs. @Draven
for revenge & minor maim
Round 4 / 4
Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 2 + 6 + 17 + 19 + 3

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 17 + 8 + 7 + 16 + 15 + 19

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 14 + 17 + 2 + 10 + 13

BG — ART — CODE

faolán is a tempest, a hurricane. fury and grief and anger and loss weigh heavy in her voice, shrill and echoing. distantly he is aware of the flock, uneasy, but they do not enter the den. they do not come and he is relieved for it; this is not a tangle for other eyes to witness.

"stop," he snarls before his teeth pierce the skin of her mouth and she shakes, half-mad with the need to escape. draven is aware of the damage he causes and releases the hold, fighting the urge to bite harder, to rip and tear and ruin.

finally -- finally! -- she crumbles beneath his hold, reaching for a last desperate grasp on his arm. her claws sink deep, there (he makes no move to avoid them) and he snarls again as he sinks down with her.

draven attempts to shift as they fall to the ice, shifting a paw to her neck, pressing the weight of it there. there are no claws this time -- bubbling blood over his toes -- but only heaviness meant to steal her breath and force her to slow down.

"i promised," he snapped, saliva splattering as he fights the urge to sink his teeth in to that pretty little neck, to put a permanent end to this madness. it rises alongside a different desire; for she was so damned beautiful in her fury.

draven ignores them both, steely eyes focused on hers, intense and unwavering. "we will find her."