her attacks all land true and she manages to force him back a step. the impact of her legs against his stone-like body jars her muscles, stubbing them, and she hisses out a sigh as her haunches hit the ground. her claws are in his shoulder and her fangs manage to slice across his face. saga starts to swing her head towards him again to bite, but then he's slamming his hard, hard skull directly into her face. the shifting of her position adjusts where his attack lands. the pain is immediate and blinding and white flashes across her vision as she falls back, tearing her claws from his skin. blood pours from her nose, her gums, and she curses bodily, stumbling and shaking her head. she coughs, spitting blood, and sinks down into a crouch as she takes half a moment to try to compose herself. ears still ringing, she lungs again, this time going low. saga attempts to move along his right side, hoping to use her own right shoulder to bump his in the process, as her jaws attempt to wrap around his back right femur.

saga v @Hákon
for dominance
i of iii
hits

Rolling 6d20: 10 + 11 + 16 + 3 + 20 + 14

dodges

Rolling 5d20: 9 + 16 + 14 + 7 + 6

table by ferus & lineart by eerien00dle

his idea works — unfortunately for both of them. their skulls connect and he, too, is blinking back against the sudden and blinding pain. in the process of head butting her he manages to bite his own tongue — teeth jarring in his mouth as blood wells thickly there, mixing with saliva. the good ( ? ) part about hurting the both of them is that the feeling of her claws suddenly tearing from his shoulders is an after-thought. the sting there comes slow but no less piercing and he can feel rivulets of blood tracing down his collar bone to mix with the sea salt below. his muzzle wrinkles in a snarl ( happy to still blame her for this situation they’re in ), as he presses forward. even as his vision blurs from the pain, a splitting headache burning between his ears.

he is a beat too late — before he can do anything, she is lunging forward again. this time her center of balance is lower — her shoulder slams into his right shoulder, certain to leave yet another bruise there. it also serves to keep him off-balance and unable to stop what was coming next. the chimera gains the hold she seeks: her teeth wrap around his leg, sinking into the butter-soft flesh there. a snarl rumbles from his mouth at the feel of the hold, the rend of flesh — having a brief thought of trying to kick himself free. instead of doing that hákon instead snakes his muzzle forward — teeth aiming for her right side as he attempts to score salt-stained fangs along her haunches. as he does, he raises his right front paw to hopefully bring it back down with a modicum of force — attempting to slam it down upon her right back paw.

hákon vs @Saga
for dominance
2 / 3

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 7 + 17 + 18 + 1 + 20 + 19 + 2

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 19 + 18 + 1 + 10

CODE BY LARS

something in the way you're looking through my eyes, don't know if i'm gonna make it out alive ///

their shoulders connect and she groans, aware of how many times now it's been used as a battering ram or a stopping block. the bruise is so deep at this point it feels like it should be jello. she knocks the larger man off balance and manages to snatch his leg in her teeth. fury sings through her and for a moment she grips - tight - intending to make it hurt as much as possible before some realization of what the outcome could be slams into her and she immediately slackens the tension in an attempt to avoid fractures or lasting damage.

but then he slams his foot onto hers and his fangs sing across her flank and haunch, unzipping the flesh and she's fairly certain she can hear a toe crack as his colossal weight crunches on it. blood wets her fur and the warmth is a stark difference to the cold of the seawater they stand in.

she relinquishes her hold on his leg to fold back into herself, eyes slamming shut as the ( misplaced ) anger builds and builds to a boiling point. her open jaws seek to try to latch onto the right side of his face, sinking in wherever they can, even as the twisting motion moves her hind paw and his weight grinds against the broken bones. there's only the need to make him hurt because that's so, so much easier than daring to speak a word of her feelings.

saga v @Hákon
for dominance
iii of iii
hits

Rolling 6d20: 17 + 12 + 20 + 3 + 9 + 7

dodges

Rolling 5d20: 3 + 12 + 8 + 4 + 19

luck

Rolling 5d20: 7 + 17 + 4 + 6 + 20

table by ferus & lineart by eerien00dle

her teeth sink into his flesh and when her jaws tighten, however briefly, he feels it. feels it bite through the haze of all the other pain, knife-sharp with a sort of pressure that makes him want to move — makes him want to thrash and kick wildly. that feeling ( along with the anger still bubbling in his chest ) makes him move without thinking, act with little consideration, and when he slams his paw down it and feels something ( maybe ) give, it gives him pause. well… it should have. maybe, at any other time, hákon might have realized something was amiss but here, he does not. instead he barrels forward — pushed forward by the pain he feels. both along his body and in his chest, as they blur together into something blood-slicked and terrible.

it means, though, that his concentration does not lie with what she is doing — and a split second later, her jaws coming barreling towards his face. a snarl keens from his throat as they sink into the right-most portion of his face, obtaining a grip over his cheekbones, just under his eye. the sound is almost panicked and so is the way he jerks his muzzle, a half-hearted attempt to rid himself of her teeth. certainly doing more damage to himself in the process. despite the awkward positioning, his left front paw raises to “punch” at the right-most portion of her chest — a vague attempt to get her to release him and backup.

hákon vs @Saga
for dominance
3 / 3

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 1 + 17 + 13 + 3 + 2 + 6 + 19

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 14 + 7 + 15 + 11

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 20 + 15 + 5 + 12 + 16

CODE BY LARS

SAGA VS. HÁKON FOR DOMINANCE
— RESULTS —

Saga Hits: 3 + 4 + 3 + 1 luck = 11
Saga Dodges: 2 + 2 + 2 = 6

Hákon Hits: 3 + 4 + 3 + 1 luck = 11
Hákon Dodges: 2 + 2 + 3 = 7

Saga Successful Hits: 4
Hákon Successful Hits: 5

HÁKON HAS WON THE CHALLENGE FOR DOMINANCE!

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.

he rips himself from her jaws and swings his massive paw to slam into her chest. she's been battered so often there that the impact is enough to make her vision go grey at the edges. his weight versus hers, too, means she stumbles back and falls into a deep crouch, legs splayed to keep herself standing. fury radiates along her body like heat and she rips her lips away from her yellowing fangs. vellen help me. she thinks because even as she longs to rip into him, there's a deeper desire that she doesn't dare name lest it shadow her gaze. her claws sink into the shore beneath her feet and she lashes her tail as she finds her feet. unsteadily, she sways until she can settle her weight firmly, favoring the wounds and new hurts she possesses.

but, still, she can't let go of it. not really.

her eyes narrow and her brows tighten, ears laid back to her split skull. "viltu kjötkílóið þitt í verðlaun?" saga hisses, taking an exaggerated, slow step closer, baring her throat in an open, taunting challenge. "a gift for brigid dearest." she doesn't know when to let well enough alone. "i'm sure she would prefer my pelt on her den floor." angry, still wielding words as weapons. she spits to one side and turns away to limp back to her stone. without hesitation, saga struggles her way back to it and peers sullenly out at the offering she'd tossed out to sea. hardly the outcome she's desired.

"farðu frá mér þá." she demands of him, unwilling to be the one to have to skulk away. she may have lost but she's not leaving - he is. or so she likes to believe. perhaps he'll spite her demand and remain just to irk her. or perhaps he's not quite done with her, yet.

@Hákon

ART BY BUNNY, CODE BY LARS

the grip on his face, suddenly, lessens and it's not quite relief that floods his veins. a surge of something, razor-sharp and electric surges through him as she pulls away. he takes a half-step forward — intent on following @Saga even through all the pain but the moment he lurches forward his body reminds him of the battered, bloodied state she's left him in. a growl rumbles in his chest even as the victory sweetens nothing; it feels as hollow as the snarl she wears as she presses closer. almost as if she's intent on meeting him halfway to go another round. and — he wants that. because even this pain and fury was better than nothing. any touch, even one as violent and blood-soaked as this, was better than nothing.

their almost-shared language lingers between him and his ears pin, the corner of his mouth angling up. a sneer, more than a snarl, even as the victory means little and less to him. there is a trophy here that he wants but it's not a pound of flesh, and even that half-formed realization is enough to shut him up. keep it, he says, turning his bleeding muzzle to the side to spit blood into the water circling his ankles. the mix of blood and saliva all but floats on the salt water and it's easier to look at than the sharp, terrible look on her face.

he doesn't recognize it as such, but the feeling in his chest is awfully close to regret.

jag är ledsen för din man, ( i'm sorry about your husband ) he says, though his tone sounds anything but. too angry to swallow down his pride and appear remorseful or sympathetic for pressing her so. there's more words, too, he could stay but they burn to dust on his tongue at the look on her face, the easy way she dismisses him. as if he — as if this — means little and less. fine, snarls the little voice in the back of his mind. fine. with nothing else he turns on his heels and leaves, a trail of blood and rage burning behind him.

exit

CODE BY LARS

neither one of them seem very keen on halting the battle - and that's why she runs from it. why she takes her seat on the stone again to distance herself, to take the temptation away because they're too alike in this moment for her to trust either of them. her toe throbs as she pushes off to gain the upper ground, but the adrenaline singing through her body is enough to let her ignore it for the moment. her jaw is clenched and her heart is hammering and there's a horrible, building pressure in her chest that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pain. and what sense does that make?

he finally spits out a response and she jerks her head around to stare at him once more, bristled and bloodied. her pupils swallow the brown of her iris and her exhale is a shuddering growl. she's not even good enough for him to take his prize, then? it hurts - it shouldn't hurt. this whole situation, their whole situation, is fucked up beyond belief and that maddening pressure is building, building. she nearly launches herself off the stone at him in another wild attempt to feel something other than what she's feeling now.

but he continues and her spine snaps straighter than she thought possible. her legs tense and she stares in a mixture of disbelief and rage down at him. his words are some form of sincerity but his voice is flat, sharp. still angry. her muscles vibrate and she stumbles forward a half step before jerking to a halt like a puppet on strings. he doesn't look at her, staring at everything but and it doesn't register. not really. was he simply so disgusted that he couldn't stand to look at her? she's not his beloved, so he can barely even suffer the taste of her blood on his tongue? this self loathing is new and it only serves to make her angrier and angrier.

and so in the moments between his would-be apology and his leaving, she scoffs and curls a lip in a sneer to match his own. "afsakið trúlofun þína," she hisses, ears flattened to her split skull. it's said with all the derision she's felt about the situation - and here, she can finally admit it. she hates it, she hates brigid and hates her place at his hide and she doesn't have to pretend to be disgusted. angry. but he doesn't know why there's such anger, perhaps he'll simply assume it's the lingering anger at his comment.

he turns and stalks away and she waits until he's out of sight before sinking to the stone in a boneless heap. and then she waits a few moments more while that pressure builds and builds and builds until she looses a ragged, wordless scream. and she hopes he's far enough away that he'll think it's just the song of the sea, relentlessly crashing against the chamber he'd just left.

exit

ART BY BUNNY, CODE BY LARS