The girl's (@Delphine) words fell on uncaring ears, the vampire taking his leave of the little group without so much as a backward glance. To him, it was the fire of youth, the desperate grasping for purpose and place so many grappled with before settling into a comfortable niche. She had a name, perhaps, but no rank or title, and no experience (that he knew of) to understand how the situation could erupt. So he would not engage, allowing her to stew in her indignation as he, himself, turned his focus to the bloody battles raging between factions.

Red stained the stone a darker hue, and he noted the way the colors faded and muted as the light failed them. He was more familiar with the sticky black of blood under moonlight, an inky stain that could not compare to the beauty of the vital liquid in the right light. The scent remained, however, an enticing temptation thick in the air. If one paid very close attention, they might note the subtle and somewhat regular swipe of his tongue across his lips, the swallow that almost always followed. He would not drool like a starving hound - he was better than that - but the hunger rose in waves, a sanguine siren song inviting him to come forth and partake.

But that was not his place. And these were not his prey. He remained a pale gargoyle, poised as he was on his perch, dark eyes following the movements of both Apollinaire and Amara - until the Sovereign fell and the starry woman stood victorious.

A draw, in a sense. But not one taken gracefully.

A taunt, more in expression than word, from their own side and soon the visitor, enraged, threw herself once more into battle. Head tilted slightly, considering, as he observed. Sébastian did hope Amara survived, if only so they did not have to endure the ongoing wrath of their prideful visitors. But he would dearly like to taste the fallen before their hearts stopped and the blood began to cool.

code by daanyen || art by rabbit

Like a titan crashing to the ground Amara falls, and the two of them are on each other in an instant. Ludivine relinquishes her hold on the speckled lioness' hip, and being so close to the ground already from the previous pull, she immediately redirects her attention to the lioness' belly. Jaws lunge forward in an attempt to sink into the soft flesh of her belly, while her right paw raises and attempts to gut her fallen opponent.

Burning pain sears through her veins as she feels the claws of her opponent rake through the right side of her ribcage, both along the top as well as the underside, just barely missing the vitals underneath. She can feel hot blood splash from the lacerations, but adrenaline keeps her standing — for now. Teeth sink into the middle of her back right leg, just below her knee, and though she's tempted to kick, she keeps her foot planted for now to give her balance on her remaining three limbs.

Ludivine vs @Amara
Death — V of VII

Hits

Rolling 5d20: 3 + 5 + 1 + 19 + 13

Dodges

Rolling 6d20: 14 + 4 + 17 + 1 + 9 + 5

Luck

Rolling 5d20: 5 + 19 + 8 + 15 + 1

* Dice lowered due to wounded status

Her claws grab flesh and she feels the warmth of the blood spilling from the wounds around her paws as she pulls them along Leo's body back toward herself. Her teeth grab ahold of a back leg and clamp down hard. The release of her hip was unexpected and the back half of her body fell to the ground with the rest of her. Relief washed over her but only for a moment as she felt sharp stings of pain from her belly as teeth grabbed the fleshy primordial pouch and claws raked along her belly. Not deep enough to hit anything vital but blood spilled from her and it was a warning to Amara that it wouldn't take much for her guts to spill to the ground.

Amara pulled her back legs up the best she could, pain rippling through her wounded back leg but she pushed past it. Both back claws attempted to strike out and claw into the side of Leo's neck and shoulder while her front claws attempted to slice into Leo's underbelly once again.

Amara vs. @Ludivine
Death
Round 5 / 7

Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 20 + 2 + 5 + 9 + 1

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 5 + 18 + 11 + 19

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 6 + 8 + 13 + 9 + 17

image by rabbit, code by anyu

The diminutive girl continued to speak, another odd observation leaving her. Well, there'll be plenty of rain here later then, Dysnomia commented.

The fights wore on, and she found herself not entirely surprised that Apollinaire fell. He had lost one death match already, after all. Why should this one be any different? But she wasn't overly concerned with him. What happened to him didn't matter to her, horrible as that might be to think. She ought to be rooting for him, and yet. Instead, her gaze was locked upon Amara.

A roar of triumph left her when she saw the star spotted woman emerge victorious, but it came too soon. The woman who had been fighting Apollinaire, now freed from her bout, turned her attention on the former high sovereign. A low cry of despair left Dysnomia, and she started forward as the woman lunged, but there was nothing she could do. She would only get in the way.

Fucking kill her!

She seethed, claws sank deeply into the ground beneath them as her muscles quivered. Should Amara fall here... hell, even if she didn't, Dysnomia would make certain those Rainforest Dieu paid for this.

code + art

+5 Observe a fight (ludi/app)
+5 Observe a fight (amara/leo)
+5 Observe a fight (cass/levana)

---

Even partly blind, blessed by the high light of in the day of a descending season, she could see the muscles shudder under @Cassius ♔' black skin and see the dread strength (like a statue collapsing). The female feigned a stun - allowing him the presumed victory - and yet... she did not rise and seize it? Palpatine blinked, doubting her eyes, though the thunder of determined weight drifting under her paws matched with the hazy interpretation of his actions. A gore patch remained on his victim's shoulder. Triumphant in step, the giant returned to their sidelines.

The female of average size seizes the cleverness left in wanting, and under their male's weight she cut with jaws and fangs. The elder fought with tactics and instinct; ultimately he failed, abandoned, and Palpatine's poor eyesight assumed his demise without lingering. Their other elder, the female one with a dingy black pelt, gained control of the half's skull and neck. From there, a short victory. Only youth saved the half that much length of life.

Palpatine forced relaxation unsuccessfully, shoving herself back and rolling pudgy, oddly-muscled shoulders. "I wanted more enemies," she remarked to @Dysnomia. This comment carried an off-paw tone, heedless to the continuing tension and even the renewed fight beginning in her peripheral shadows until a stringy snarl from her companion snapped it back. Palpatine hunched forward again, claws out. "Victory for Wolfbron!" she cheered, half imitating Dysnomia's anger but in her own high voice.

There was a moment when Elaine hoped it was all over. Her brother had fallen and her mother had won. Her heart felt torn as her mother tossed some flesh toward them. Her icy gaze looked her mother over, the open wounds, the blood that she could hardly see on her black pelt but knew was there. She made a small step toward her, she would need help. She would need a healer. She wasn't able to reach her because Amara finally saw that Apollinaire had fallen and it seemed that her mother was going to make sure that Ludi saw that it was her that was killing Leo.

Ludi saw Amara, her words to Louve caused Elaine's teeth to flash. It didn't matter what Louve may have told her or what Elaine had agreed to. Their mother was stronger then Ludi's sister and at this moment, that was what mattered. She looked toward @Mirai and nodded for her to come closer. She spoke softly just for her daughter to hear. If Amara doesn't win. Go to the Summit and ask for Isla. Tell her you are my daughter. She will protect you. Elaine hoped with all her might that it was true. Ludi would likely be looking to end any who didn't have their blood. She was sure of it and wouldn't want Mirai to get caught up in things. Elaine gave her a long look to make sure she understood before she started to carefully make her way toward her brother.

Her gaze was locked on her mother's second fight. The pair weren't taking it easy on each other and she flinched when Amara landed on the ground. If Ludi didn't make the killing blow on Amara, she was truly worried that the blood loss would. Her mother was older and her body had started to show the signs of that age when Louve took over the pride. She wasn't sure how much longer she would have a living mother and the thought caused her to want to jump into the fight to aid her mother. To give her an upper paw in any way but she knew she couldn't. Her mother would turn and kill her. There was an unspoken rule. Their fights were their own as adults unless the odds were tipped. She took a steadying breathe and stepped closer to Apollinaire.

Art by Lars

all around her chaos reigned.

it was nothing new -- in fact it stirred a thrill in her chest despite the odds -- but settled over her like a strange and comforting familiarity. this was the way the bluffs were meant to be, wild and untamed, seeking vengeance with their claws.

a voice made of teeth, indeed.

for a moment she forgets herself and her place, forgets that she was the one meant to lead them. louve's claws flex against the stone, her gaze riveted on the fights that will dictate her future, the fights that mean everything

"non," comes her command, "laissez-les aller." let them go. but it is too late. too late to stop @Roussel, and for a second he has her attention and she feels a fresh wave of fury. fury that heightens when @Levana stops and @Cassius ♔ launches her own attack.

who were they to ignore her orders? even if louve had not vocalized them she had, clearly, backed the words of her young sister. and now control was lost and a tremor courses through her body. "any z'at are not wolfbron leave. NOW. zhose z'at are... let z'em go." her voice rises above the din, her anger at having to speak out loud what she had thought obvious was clear. there would be words to be had, later, when she could find roussel and cassius alone.

louve's focus is pulled back to the roar of battle yet en route her eyes land on the small form of @Cyrène and her heart clenches tight at the knowledge of what they're all to see, here. of death and bloodshed, of the potential downfall of their mother. her mother. "viens," she calls to her, to draw her close, to seek comfort in the presence of the other. to find kinship in their shared burden, despite the unfathomable gap in age.

@Elaine is there, as is @Valaine; both ever present and ever ready. louve does not have an answer for either of them; louve, instead, merely shares a look with each in turn before her eyes return to the fighting, to the future that hangs in such a delicate balance...

be ready that look seems to say, though she is not certain what for.

@Tripfire joins them, then, and while she does not look to him she does, finally, speak again. "prêt à tout ce qui peut arriver." ready for whatever may come -- and it is, again, blindingly clear that her words are meant for any of the dieudonne and wolfbron that are gathered near.

louve does not notice when cassius wins his fight, she does not notice anything once she watches her husband fall. no matter that his fate was sealed the second he attacked a matriarch, no matter that she knew his death inevitable, the thud of his body against the ground was nearly enough to pull a scream from her throat.

she bites it back, her teeth clacking together with audible force, her throat clenching against the wail that threatens to rise. her gaze does not move from him, not even when her mother fells her own opponent, not even when @Ludivine begins to speak. the words are meaningless, her eyes riveted on the too-still body of her husband, of the man who she had loved more fiercely than she had ever believed to be possible.

louve does not hear her co-matriarch, she does not see her mother slice in to the belly of the fallen sister.

there is nothing else in this world except for him and the gush of his blood on wolfbron soil. again.

how many times would he bleed for them?

but still he bled.

and -- oh -- now the world draws back in to focus. now the sounds return and there is more; snarling and screaming and ripping and tearing. sounds that tell her there is MORE happening, more fighting.

amara, again. ludivine, again.

now she moves without thinking, towards the prone figure of @leontine on the ground, bleeding her life on to the wolfbron stone. how easy it would be to finish her, to finish what her mother had started. or, instead, to call forth the healers and save her. to beg them knit her flesh back together and stop what her mother had started. from where she stands she looks to apollinaire, then to the fight that rages, and a frown furrows her brow.

there is no salvaging this. there is no saving this.

so louve watches, and waits, and cannot help but hold her claws at the ready.

I am not a woman, I'm a god

code x art

Blood seeps from the wounds in Amara’s belly and it makes the cannibal monarch practically feral to be so close to the sanguine wine — to have it coating her lips and nails, like grotesque lipstick and nail polish. While she does no major damage, her opponent doesn’t even try to roll away from her greedy hunger, and Ludivine is determined to end this one way or another. Her front end is already low to the ground from earlier movements, so it doesn’t take much to drop her hindquarters to the ground as well, throwing her entire weight down against the bloody ground beneath. As she does so, she attempts to crush Amara’s head underneath her limbs if she doesn’t let go of her leg.

From her new resting position with her belly carrying her balance now, she lifts her left paw and strikes towards Amara’s back legs, attempting to hook into and bleed one of the vital veins on the inside of her opponent’s thighs. Her attack is aided by the fact that Amara stretches out both back legs to attack her, back claws managing to rake long claw marks along the left side of her neck and shoulder. Her jaws and right paw once more both lunge for the exposed belly an inch out of her grasp, once more trying to rip open the thin flesh and reach the organs inside. She feels the other’s talons deep into the right side of her ribcage once more, deepening lacerations already there and sending a spark of pain — and rage — through her.

Ludivine vs @Amara
Death — VI of VII

Hits

Rolling 5d20: 14 + 13 + 8 + 20 + 2

Dodges

Rolling 6d20: 7 + 10 + 14 + 20 + 18 + 3

Luck

Rolling 5d20: 1 + 10 + 14 + 11 + 7

* Dice lowered due to wounded status

Her claws rake across flesh and kick into Ludi's neck and shoulder. She knew she should move away but couldn't. A nap. A nap would be nice right now. She was already lying down, it would be easy, aside from the pain. The thought fluttered through her mind before fluttering out. The pain is what kept her holding on right now.

She caught the movement of Ludi's body coming closer and she let go of the leg she had been holding onto and turned her head upward attempting to bite at the underbelly that was getting closer to her. She didn't care if it covered her face as long as her teeth were able to sink in and drink from the blood that was under the flesh. Would death by smothering feel different?

The pain of claws on her thigh was numbed by the fatigue now as was the repeat attack to her belly, pulling away more flesh from her belly. Vital places close to being exposed. The attack to her thigh missed anything vital for the moment and she attempted to curl her back some so her belly was more out of reach as she attempted to kick Ludi's face again. It was not longer a battle of glory moves, both worn from their first fights, but still, the force behind every movement had the final ending the same.

Death.

Amara vs. @Ludivine
Death
Round 6 / 7

Hits:

Rolling 5d20: 12 + 10 + 15 + 3 + 9

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 13 + 14 + 10 + 15

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 17 + 1 + 5 + 10 + 18

image by rabbit, code by anyu

She stands with @Sébastien, her favorite ghoul, as the little impromptu begins over the grisly memento. His quiet French is answered with a curious look, a sly smile curling her lips. Je ne pense pas que je veuille essayer. I don't think I want to try. she does not regret pulling apollinaire from the depths of his grave, but he was whole. This man-- or what was left of him-- was.... not.

Idly, though, she wonders if she could.

That thought is whisked away, feeling the tense, trembling energy of apollinaire behind her. She turns to look at him but their eyes do not meet; he is staring, only, at the remnants of thr skull. Something itches at her brain when she sees the expression upon his face, but she puts it aside when the woman from the rainforest begins speaks. Her explanation is meager but probably true. The man who's head was here hardly seemed the terrible enemy they made him out to be, though-- apollinaire had ultimately lived, had he not? Was reaching for a crown such a terrible thing? Idly, her gaze flicks to louve before it shifts back to the other matriarch.

And, oh. LUDIVINE is angry, and the other woman with her is too. Ears tip forward curiously to see it, and inwardly she's almlst... pleased that it's being directed at louve. There's smug satisfaction in seeing that even if it does not last long. It vanishes, like a candle being snuffed out, to see @Apollinaire leap forward. And yet.... she understands. There is no fear in her chest at the sight of papá leaping towards the jaws of death again, only a burning sort of pride. it is what he wants, and therefore he is allowed to do it; no longer is apollinaire dieudonné a chained hound for them to call to heel. If he was a dog, then he has finally slipped his bounds, and he was free to be as rabid as his heart told him to.

And lazare loves him for it.

Clearly, the others do not feel the same. Elaine snaps at him and tells him to stand down and lazare snarls, even as the ghoul at her side moves away to go scold the others. She does not care about that at the moment ( though she might, if her little aunts dared to harm him ); instead, her gaze lingers on the fight. Her father's fight, because he is what matters. She notes, belatedly, that her grandmother throws herself at the other bristling cousin, but what was a grandmother compared to papá?

Lazare dieudonné looks away from this fight just once. once. and it is to look at @Louve as she vows to anyone listening: il paiera pour son crime ears tick forward, strangely calm amongst the exploding chaos. Oh? oh? was that so? Quietly, carefully, she unfolds herself and rises to her feet-- her skinny, angular form looking sharp for once instead of just slight. A switchblade kept sheathed, for now, but even a hidden blade begets more blood.

It is strange, the way the other bluff members gather to louve's side. They needle and beg, clearly seeking instructions from a woman who would not give them. There was no price to power, she'd said, long ago in a dark graveyard, and here the matriarch will learn just how wrong she is. Edging closer to the fray she seeks to settle back at SÉBASTIEN's side though she says nothing to him. She does not even look at him. She is looking only at apollinaire, and so lazare sees the exact moment that his fight is over. And so lazare sees the exact moment that he loses, again. And--

She lets out a shaky exhale, something close to relief.

There is a moment, of course, where the world seems to stop. He does not offer any last words, not like the last time. He does not seek her eyes, not like last time. Instead the world seems to freeze and immediately, on reflex, she steps forward. She can save him. she can save him again. again, and again, and again. However many times he wanted, however many times he needed. But-- lazare stops herself. She pauses, caught in that half-moment between heartbeats, where apollinaire is still alive and louve is still silent.

She looks at her mother, noting the sovereign's inaction. Noting that it was the very same inaction that had left lazare bereft any sort of reward for saving her husband before. Noting that it was the very fucking same inaction that had plagued their family since the day she was born. Lazare looks at her mother, and stops. Digs her toes into the soil as ludicrous shouts her own vile, her anger a strange match to the emotion buzzing in her veins.

Death was not the end, she knows; she'd learned that much by now. But she would not give life again so easily, not when it'd been thrown back in her face again and again. Apollinaire bleeds out here and she does nothing to stop it, and yet there is nothing close to grief in her chest. Death is not the end; today will just be a new beginning.

And Lazare dieudonné smiles, sharp and keen.