He hadn't been gone for long and yet... and yet. Things within the north had shifted, had changed. It didn't sit well with Viðarr. None of it sat well with Viðarr. There was something rumbling deep in the chest of the viking. Always a rumbling deep inside him, but this was something else. The north had gone from peaceful, desolate, to something... populated. It doesn't sit correctly. His gaze was sharp, focused, as he took everything in. Always focused. Viðarr would learn of all the shifts, all the changes in time.

Far above his head, there was the soft pattering of rain against leaves. It was peaceful enough, though not quite enough to bring inner peace. Viðarr would only find that in time. Surface calm. Inner turmoil. That's okay. Viðarr is okay, for now. The family was safe, Katla was safe, and he would... he would explain things later. For now, he needed to explore. He needed to regain his bearings within the north, and then reconnect with the family. They had plenty of time. A cloudy, lightly rainy afternoon, and Viðarr had all the time in the world to regain his footing within his home. All the things he needed to do before making his plan.

"Viðarr"

The old scarred woman weaves her way through the huge trees, duel-toned eyes scanning the area as her mind wanders away. Gods how she hates the North, hates the memories it brings up every time she comes here… hates the family that she lost up here. Tove bitterly remembers the attack that left her damaged, voice broken, body scarred, and her brother dead next to her. It was bloody, the grizzlies attack had been relentless and the world had faded away. She had awoken back in the band’s camp, stitched together and packed with pain numbing herbs. But her wounds where deeper than just her flesh and they didn’t know what to do with her or how to help her. So the broken woman had traveled as soon as she could move.

She had left them, or perhaps they left her. Either way, the stitches had torn, the wounds had healed in jagged pink lines and Tove had lived. Yet, her life was as broken as her. There was no purpose, no direction for her. She wandered, the days blending together, grizzlies falling to her teeth and yet it was unfulfilling. But then she had met Kotori. The earthen male had given her a purpose, invited her to help him establish his pack and the scarred woman had agreed. A thin black cord hangs around her neck, a single polar bear claw bumping against her chest with each step she takes. It is a symbol of the allegiance forged, the promise to come when Ko calls his pack together.

Movement catches her eye, pulling Tove from her memories as a huge black form wanders through the trees. Paws stop as she watches the shadow move and she finds another ghost from her past come back to haunt her. The man she had been so keen to follow, who she had trusted her life to… who had abandoned when she needed him most. He now walks through the land and emotions raise within the scarred woman’s chest. They pound into her like a relentless force, stealing her breath and her will to move. She swallows, fighting the tears that prick the back of her eyes as the feelings continue to roll through her. Anger, hate, sadness, loathing. They slam into her, over and over again until all that is left is a hallow shell.

Paws move, pulling her toward the huge shadow, rough, gravel voice calling out, “Víðarr?” A question, a statement hidden within its depths. A silent accusation. She nears him, the feelings crossing her features as she looks at him, unable or maybe unwilling to say more until he speaks.


"Tove Baade"

Viðarr knew that his departure had far greater implications than he intended. He knew that things had gone wrong on a larger scale As soon as the bear had fallen, as soon as things had fallen apart around him, he'd run. But it was what he'd run after. It was his sister, his own sister, that had made off like a banshee into the night. She'd become something else on that night, she'd become something that he worried for, something that he feared. Someone he feared for. It was for her that Viðarr had gone.

An explanation but not an excuse. He owed them an explanation, all of them. Most of all he owed it to Tove, the one that wasn't his flesh and blood but had believed in him regardless. It was true-- he'd let her down. He'd let her down on the grandest scale, and Viðarr wasn't sure what he'd say when he had the chance. It was the valkyrie that he'd run after, and the child that had kept him away for so much longer.

It seemed that he'd get his chance to speak with her sooner than he expected. Viðarr's head lifted from where he'd been tracking across the ground, following each winding scent trail. His gaze fell upon the star soaked woman, softening. Softer than it had been in a long time. His voice, too, is soft when he speaks. "Tove, Jag--" It starts with I, but the phrase dies on his lips. He doesn't know what to say, and it was like all the breath had been sucked from his lungs. All the breath had been sucked from the entirety of the forest around him. "Hej," he finally says. Tone sheepish, head a bit lower set now. Though Viðarr knew he needed to apologize, he wasn't sure how. For now all he could do was... was look at her. The strange, slightly disquieting softness that befell the viking was one he coudn't put words to.

"Viðarr"

The woman dappled with the colors of nebulas walks toward the huge shadow, emotions warring over her features as she goes. For so long, Tove had imagined this moment, even rehearsed what she would do when she saw him. Her words would cut into the tall shadow like the claws of the bears that had taken Bodin from her; each phrase carefully chosen to do the most damage. Sometimes, she dreamed of hurting him, leaving physical scars on his hide for the scars he had left on her heart. All these memories pound into her as walks forward, fully intent on following through with each and every thing.

Yet, as she calls his name, he looks to her and his gaze softens. Tove tries to hate for that, hate him for making her feel anything but anger at him. His voice is soft as Víðarr speaks her name, the word that follows is unknown to her. Anger wars with a deep, unfathomable sadness as she looks at him, this wolf she had convinced herself to hate. But the softness that falls over him washes away every last hurtful thing she was going to say, dousing the burning rage that had kept her going since she had awoken. The scarred woman suddenly feels hollow, an empty shell where once was anger.

Sadness fills her gaze as she looks at the big Viking and her gravelly voice breaking the air again to say, “You left.” It is a blunt statement, but, when it hurts to speak, why mince words? Duel-toned eyes watch him, wanting, needing to understand why he hadn’t been there to hold her when she woke up screaming herself hoarse from the nightmares. When she had awoken after the attack, to find him gone, Tove had felt the bitter sting of betrayal.

But, right know she wants to know why he had left, why everything in her life had changed on that fateful day. So, she repeats her statement but her tone takes on a depressed, accusatory tone, “You left.” Her vision becomes hazy as tears prick at the back of her eyes.


"Tove Baade"

The sadness is one that he wants to share in. A sadness that makes him want to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but in the same moment... Viðarr knows it would be inappropriate. He knows that it wouldn't be okay. He knows that, and yet? One step towards her, and then another, his head still set low. If Tove wanted to rebuke him, if she wanted to strike him, it would be well within her right. Still, the shadow can't help the way that he closes the gap between them with his long strides. He cannot help but reach out, offer the side of his muzzle to hers. The shadow can only open the door for her, and can only hope.

"I know... I know, I left, I should not have," the words are murmured. They're soft, a curse. A curse that's directed at the shadow and no one else. He detests himself near as much for running off on that fateful day, but he has his reasons. "There is no excuse, I'm sorry." Murmured words, a soft reverence, as Viðarr reaches out for her. It's not with force, no. Only longing. Only a gentle longing as he reaces out, softness in his gaze.

"My sister took off, I had to go after her." It's a quiet admission. Not an excuse, and he hopes in every way it doesn't sound like one. An explanation for his leaving, for his too-long absence. It wasn't the whole explanation, no. There was the question of Katla as well, the child that he'd stumbled upon while he was away, but that could wait. It was Tove that had his full, undivided attention for however long she'd have him, today. All the shadow could do was wait for her reaction and weather the storm that came next.

"Viðarr"

Tove looks at the shadow, the huge wolf she had once thought would protect her and his band. A deep, profound sadness rests in her eyes and behind that, burns a small flame of anger. Viðarr had disappear when she needed him the most and that had broken the older wolf. She utters the words, accusing yet truthful and he… closes the gap. The scarred woman’s body stiffens as he approaches, tears filling her eyes as he reaches his muzzle to her. She should rage at him, yell and scream until her voice is hoarse and her body wrung out.

But she doesn’t… she can’t. Bodin is dead and buried, her brother’s presence never to be felt in this life again. But Viðarr… how many nights had she cried for him? Awoken screaming his name only to have her band mates stare at her with that disgusting, pitiful sympathy; as if she was a fragile object that might break at the slightest movement. Through all that she had suffered and screamed until, finally, she told herself he would never return. Yet here he is, in the flesh, whole… alive. A tear slides free, running down her scar riddled cheek and she reaches out, wanting to lean into his touch.

Viðarr murmurs and she feels her chest hitch, head spinning as a sudden wave of dizziness slams into her. He knows what he did is wrong and he does not make any excuses. Tove takes a small step forward, a choked sound escaping from her damaged vocal chords. She wants him to hold her… no, she needs him to. For so long she felt like a wraith walking on the periphery of life, more dead then alive. Sometimes, she wondered why the gods keep her alive, pondered what horrible thing she had done to deserve this existence.

Standing here, with Viðarr, the huge man staring at her with a softness and gentle longing in his gaze, Tove feels the sharp dagger of bitterness twist in her guts. He speaks of his sister running off and sadness, pain, and even understanding roll across her features. She stands at a crossroads at the scarred woman hesitates. Finally, she speaks up, her gravely tones and rough voice causing her wince as she says, “Bodin died. You left. The band…” A shrug of her heavily scarred shoulders show Viðarr that they were not there when she needed them.

Finally, she lifts her eyes, meeting his icy silver blue gaze. Pain stretches the lines of her mouth thin, tugging the corners of her mouth down in a frown. Her heart hurts and, as the dam breaks and the tears begin to fall, she hoarsely whispers, “I lost everything.” Voice cracks as a sob wrenches itself from her chest, the pain and anger she had kept bottled up after Bodin’s death finally breaks free.

Her knees suddenly feel weak and Tove crashes down as great wreaking sobs course through her body. Wave after wave of emotion hits her, drowning the scarred woman underneath their powerful current, dragging her into a bottomless pit of despair. The world fades away until all that is left is her and her grief.


"Tove Baade"

Viðarr reaches out, there's nothing else he can do. He reaches out and takes hold of the woman as best he can, large head draped over her smaller neck. Holding. Carefully holding as best he can, for as long as she'll have him. It's a gentle gesture, but a vulnerable one-- one Viðarr knows can backfire. If it does, then that's on him, too. If she wants to lash out, if she wants to push back... it's his fault. Still, the shadow cannot help it. He cannot help himself, in all of this. He worries only about helping her, in this moment. If Tove will have the tender embrace, Viðarr won't be the first to break it. It's now that he can catch her as she falls, or catch her... as best he can. This is the kind of thing that's never come easily to the shadow, a man of action, not of words. Physical comfort he can do, emotional... that's less something that he can offer. Still, Viðarr is gentle as he touches the woman. "I know... I know, I'm sorry," the words are quiet as he presses them against her neck, holding as tightly as she'll let him. She'd lost everything, and he hadn't been there to help pick up the pieces. He hadn't been what she deserved, and he had to live with that mistake. Mistakes... it wouldn't be his first, it wouldn't be his last. Mistakes that wouldn't define him, but still, he was just a man. All Viðarr can do is hold her now, as best he can, for as long as she'll allow. It's his fault. All of it is... all the shadow can do is care for Tove, if she'll let him. Carefully, gently (seemingly too gentle, for the hulking creature that he is), he runs his nose across her cheek, her ears. There was nothing he could say to make things better, no, the man of few words he'd always been. All Viðarr knows is do. Viðarr

The world fractures into a million shards of glass and they all lodge in the scarred woman’s aching heart. Viðarr reaches out, offering a tender embrace and the gesture is so simple, so… vulnerable that Tove almost yanks herself away from it. It doesn’t seem fair, this is all she had wanted after Bodin’s death and it had been denied. How can he think that this is okay now? She could be angry, lash out and strike at the big shadows throat and make him hurt as much as she had… like she still is. Muscles tense, her body becomes rigid as his strong arms wrap oh so tenderly around her broken form.

Anger bubbles in her chest but, underneath it all, she is just a hurting woman who needs to feel loved and… seen. Her body suddenly relaxes, muscles going slack and she sinks into him, pressing her scarred face into the hollow where his neck meets his body. Tove could strike the tender area and make him bleed but she does not. No, instead she coats the dark fur with her tears, allowing all the grief that she had tempered down for so long to come up and out. Her legs give out and she expects her knees to strike the ground in a painful jolt but… they don’t.

Strong arms hold onto her and she latches onto his apology, keeping it close to her heart as the grief rolls through her. Sobs wrack her frame, rubbing her throat raw aa Viðarr tenderly cradles her and Tove continues to press into him, allowing the sadness to carry her away as he rubs his nose along her face. She doesn’t know how long she cries at the injustices of the world or how long he holds her but, when the sobs slow, Tove hoarsely says, “I loved you Viðarr. And… I thought you felt the same. I wanted to die that day… and every day after that.”

Her words hang heavy in the air between them, the scarred and defeated woman finally admitting to him and herself what she had felt. Tove presses into Viðarr a little more as she admits, “I had no purpose until I met Kotori. I… I still don’t belong but at least I have a place to call home.” The band is gone and the woman feels no kinship to those that had abandoned her when she needed them the most. But not Viðarr. She has always felt and will always feel some form of love for the huge shadow. Maybe that is why his absence had hurt the most.


"Tove Baade"

She goes stiff, rigid to the touch. It's in this moment that Víðarr anticipates an attack, and knows in his heart of hearts that he deserves it. If she wants to lash out, if she wants to fight, if she wants to sink her teeth in... frankly, he would let her. The shadow had harmed her in every way other than physical, and he knows that it's her right to strike him now. His position here is a vulnerable one, and if it would make Tove feel better, then he'd let her. He'd invite it. If he could offer her an easy way out of all the hurt, all the pain, all of it... Víðarr would happily allow it. The shadow knows it's not that simple. Though she relaxes, Víðarr does not. He maintains the tight, tender hold on the woman as she sobs. They resonate as an ache through his chest, through his entire body, but it's all he can do to absorb them as best he can. If he could lend her some of his strength, then that's good enough for him. Softly, from somewhere deep in his chest, the shadow hums a soft song. It's a warrior's hymn, something taken from his mother. Soft, resonating, the sounds deep and steady. A song for marching, yes, but a song of togetherness. Something meant to bring them together. At Tove's words, though, he falters. The shadow's heart hammers in his chest. Now was not the time for words to fail him, but it seemed that anything he'd say would come up short. "I did... of course I did," barely a whisper when they finally come, an admission that he'd been keeping from everyone including himself. Víðarr's speech is murmured, and maybe a bit shaky. Though he was no stranger to pure emotion, this was still hard. When he finally speaks, the words are hushed. More words than he's strung together in fuck if he knew how long. More words put end to end in the common tongue than he's maybe ever spoken, but they're important. They carry weight, and sit heavily in the little space between them. "Käraste, my people... we deal in raw feelings. Hatred, terror, rage, desire... it's what makes us dangerous. We are not meant to be loved." Words spoken slowly, with purpose, and he arranges them carefully. When he's done speaking, though, Víðarr doesn't let go. He can't do it. He can't let go of her, not in this moment. The shadow would not be the one to end this embrace, maybe it's in fear that if he does, he'll never see her again. Kotori, a man that he hasn't seen, hasn't met, but he already hates. If Víðarr were a rational man, he would recognize that hatred as misplaced. The shadow has never been particularly rational. Though he blames himself in all of this, it's easy to blame this stranger too, for keeping Tove away. Still, he does not voice this. It wasn't the right moment. He takes a shaky breath, willing his voice not to crack. "There will always be a place for you by my side, if you want it." Softly, the words come. "But this is not the life I want to offer you." The shadow's words are hushed. Shaky. His life wasn't the sort that you offer to someone like her. Though the shadow wants to provide, in every sense of the word... for now he cannot. "Víðarr"

Víðarr holds her as she sobs, his arms wrapped tightly, yet tenderly around her shaking frame. Tove’s body melts into his bigger one and she buries her face in his fur as her tears soak his shadowy coat. She lets out everything that she has been holding in and, for the first time since Bodin died, she actually grieves. Emotions roll through her, crashing with all the force of a wave against a breaker as she drowns underneath it all. Everything falls away until all that is left is an empty abyss. Yet, in the darkness, a sound pulls at the fringes of her mind, calling her back to the world and the person who is holding her.

It may not be a lullaby but the older wolf knows it something purely Víðarr, something that is a part of him and that he is giving to her. Slowly, the world resolves and the sobs finally slow, allowing Tove to speak of how she had loved him and he admits that he had loved her too. The knowledge hurts and yet is validating at the same time, knowing that he had felt the same is a small boon to her wounded spirit. But those days are gone and, with each passing minute, they feel further out of reach than they ever had. The shadow speaks of dealing with raw emotions and how they are not to be loved and a small, harsh laugh escapes.

Pulling away from him slightly, Tove swipes a paw across her eyes, angrily trying to rid her face of the weakness the tears show. His next words have her stilling as fresh emotions roll through her; happiness, joy, relief all wash through her. It was all she had wanted when she had been in his band but now that the offer is there... she hesitates. Duel-toned eyes look up, catching his gaze as she tries to read his face, the need to find something hidden in there that shows he doesn’t really mean them suddenly overwhelming her. But there is nothing to convince her that he does not mean every word and she allows her paw back to settle back on the earth as she quietly contemplates his offer.

The tears no longer fall but there is still heaviness around her as Tove looks to the ground, leaning back into him while searching her heart for the answer. Finally, her gravelly, hushed voice breaks the silence as she simply says, “No.” While everything in her screams for her to accept his offer, the older, broken woman cannot do that to him. After a moment, a sigh rolls out and she moves to disengage from the touch she had craved for so long. Unable to look him in the eye, she says, “You deserve better. I am scarred and broken and will live out my remaining days trying to be useful to my pack.”

It is wall, an attempt to block Víðarr from her heart by mentioning the pack she has sworn fealty to. Truthfully, she wants the shadow to find happiness and love… even if that not with her. Finally, she meets his eyes offering a sad smile as she says, “Find someone who makes you smile and give her a chance to make you happy. You deserve more than you think, Víðarr.” A heavy sorrow hangs around Tove as she turns to leave, the need to slink back into the hole she had crawled out of overwhelms the broken woman.

After a couple steps, she stops to look back at the shadow, sorrow and longing written into every line of her face as she says, “I love you, Víðarr.” It is an admission to herself and to him but also a way of letting him know that, because she loves him, she will not inflict her miserable existence on him anymore. More tears fall but Tove quickly snaps her head around and moves to leave, allowing the shadow the opportunity to get on with his life… without her.

-exit Tove unless stopped-


"Tove Baade"

She was wounded, and Víðarr didn't know how to fix things. How to fix her. He had to try, right? He had to try, and yet was he even in the state to do so himself? There was no telling. The shadow had never been anything of a healer. No, he is a dealer of harm, of chaos, of destruction... she should have never been caught up in that. She shouldn't have been caught up in that, but here she was. Here she was in the flesh, for him to hold tight to. She was real, and solid, and here. She was here despite everything, though the shadow could sense it wouldn't be for long. There was something, someone she was bound to in a way different than he. Tove shifts away from his side. No, it comes, and he can barely stifle the whimper that builds in his throat. Only nearly does Víðarr manage to choke it back, setting his massive head on large paws. He understands, though he doesn't want to. "Käraste, it is the warriors who wear the scars," the shadow's words are gentle. "They will always make you more, not less." Víðarr speaks softly, though she moves to widen the gap between them. He would let her move freely, let her go if she wanted, but he's not pleased with it. Víðarr's breath was shaky, and he let go a soft sigh. "You deserve more than you know, and I suspect more than you will accept." It's an assessment, a genuine one. If he knows Tove half as well as he thinks, the shadow has gotten it right. He can't help but watch her, studying carefully. Sure, the shadow is studying for a reaction, but there's something else. There's the worry in his heart that this will be the last time, at least for a long while, that Víðarr lays eyes on her. For a man who's never wanted anything more than to be let run wild, as a scourge on this land and any he can reach, he doesn't know how to care. He doesn't know how to care like this. It's foreign. And then she's on her feet. He can feel the moment slipping through his fingers, and the ache as it resonates in his chest. Her words, and he ay he feels... Víðarr's head spins. He can't help himself as she walks away, stumbling to his feet. "Stanna hos mig," the shadow has run out of words. These are the only ones he has left, and they're all he has to offer. A plea where he stands, rooted to the spot. A plea that the shadow can only hope will be answered. "Víðarr"

Watching Víðarr lay his head on top his large paw nearly breaks the scarred woman’s resolve but she manages to hold it together. It is strange to hear the shadow use soft tones but the words he speaks work to lift Tove’s heart. For so long, the galaxy-cloaked woman has thought of herself as ugly and broken because of the wounds she had sustained from the grizzly bears. Yet, the only wolf she has left in the world, the only one that she truly and deeply loves, thinks they make her more. A silent battle ensues inside the woman’s chest, but, in the end, she decides to try and let the large shadow have a happy life.

Still, his words have her ears slicking back in quiet defeat and her heart breaks as she shakes her head, turning her back to him so she can walk away from Víðarr. Tove hears him shifting behind her, knows he that is getting to his paws but she continues to walk away while tears once more dampen the fur on her cheeks. The words he speaks have her halting in mid step and, while his foreign words are strange to her earsm the emotion and intent behind them connects to her heart. Uncertainty grips her soul as she feels torn between two worlds; being with the wolf she loves or keeping her commitment to Kotori.

The polar bear claw that hangs around her neck suddenly burns against her skin and a deep, sad sigh rolls past her lips. Turning back to face Víðarr, Tove turns her duel-toned eyes up to catch his silvery, gray gaze. A deep, bottomless sorrow pools in her eyes while a small, tired grin tugs at her lips. Their words seem to be falling short but there is one language that they both speak fluently. Softly, passionately, Tove says, “Fight me Víðarr. Show me how much you love me. Fight with all the passion you have for me.” Hopefully he understands what she wishes, that this fight will be their way of showing each other how passionate they are about each other. The scarred woman settles into her well-practiced defensive stance, turning her mind to the fight mere moments away.




Tove vs Víðarr for Spar
Round 0/?
Age: Over 1 year
Size: Large
Build: Medium
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Hunter
Specialty: Bloodletter

OOC: Will be using my (under Hermes OOC) black cat’s foot for this fight


"Tove Baade"

She shook her head. That was all. He knows... Víðarr knows. A shaky sigh and a dip of his head, he nearly turns away the moment she does. The movements are mirrored. She freezes. So does he. Caught at a crossroads, with his heart pounding in his chest. Emotions have never made much sense to him, and words neither. Still, there was something that hung in the balance here between them. Something important. Something that he couldn't just walk away from, though he was yet to admit that. The weight of Tove's sigh is one that he can feel in his own chest. A tug, a pull that he can feel too. There was something about fate's golden thread that had put him here, back in her path. Back where he could see her, and back where he could touch her. Maybe it's touch that was the most damning of all. For all the things that he doesn't understand, Víðarr understands touch twice as well. As long as he could rely on the physical, he didn't need words. Tove knows that too. Though Víðarr couldn't hurt her, he knows that it's not what she wants. This is something different than that. This is a search for understanding. He only nods once, the feeling in his chest indescribable. Tense, on edge, and yet bursting. There was anticipation here. A desire to prove himself. Desire in other ways, and so much more. Far beyond that. Víðarr himself doesn't understand and doesn't need to. With one long stride forward, and then another, and with one more he's closed the physical gap between them. When the dogs make as if to move with him, the shadow offered only a deep, resonating growl from low within his chest. This was for him and him alone. With a confident strike, Víðarr reaches to grab the woman around the shoulders, to spring upon her and take control of the situation. It is bold, brazen, but the shadow is a confident beast. Still, his teeth remain well clear of Tove's smaller frame, only snapping in the air to the side of her face. There was no malice, no. If Víðarr had something to prove, then he was going to make a show of it.

Víðarr vs Tove for Spar
Round 1/?
Age: over 1
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Heavy
Offensive Battle Accessory: Spiked Gauntlets
Defensive Battle Accessory: Lamellar Shirt
Skills: Expert Fighter & Master Hunter
* I'm making the decision to omit his companions from this fight for IC reasons

There are times in life when words fail to convey the depth and breath of one’s feelings. As she turns to leave the man who she has fallen in love with, Tove feels her heart begin to shatter into a million pieces. Emotions, jagged and raw tear apart her insides and she stops. They are bound together, for better or worse, the galaxy cloaked woman will forever be caught in the orbit of the Viking man. So, were her words fail her, the scarred woman turns to something she knows will all them to show how they truly feel.

Turing to face him, her rough vocals issue the challenge and she is relieved to see the understanding that crosses Víðarr features. She easily settles into her practiced defensive stance, watching as the shadow warns off his two dogs. This fight is for them, and them alone. A smile tugs at her lips as Víðarr strikes out, reaching to grab her shoulders and take control of the situation. Muscles release their coiled energy and she easily slips underneath his arms, ghosting beneath his grip to appear in open on the other side.

Duel-toned eyes sparkle as they dance, the heat of battle flooding her system with adrenaline. Tove counterstrikes, leaning in and darting her face toward his neck in an attempt to hit him. Her mouth does not, as she instead tries to bump his neck with her nose. It is a battle and she wishes to show him how deadly she can be. This is a fight where passions overflow but she bridles herself by refusing to bite him. She will not injure him, only show him how powerful she is.



Tove vs Víðarr for Spar
Round 1/2
Age: Over 1 year
Size: Large
Build: Medium
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Hunter
Specialty: Bloodletter

OOC: Will be using my (under Hermes OOC) black cat’s foot for this fight


"Tove Baade"

Nearly everything about Víðarr is raw. He is real in every sense of the word. Raw, real, unhinged even. He's never made himself smaller, not for anyone. Not for anyone, and least of all for himself. There is something that finds a home in him, something that could be dangerous if not handled properly. Not even the shadow knows how to handle himself properly-- he doesn't need to. An element of danger courses through him. That danger makes Víðarr who he is. Just as anything else, it's a part of him. Tove easily slips the attempted grapple, smaller and quicker than the shadow. He smiles to himself as she does, something he very well should have expected. Smaller, lighter, more nimble than the berserker. As she strikes for his neck, the shadow tips his head to bare it. There would be no balking, instead it's an invitation. Tove was within her rights to hurt him if she wanted to. Maybe Víðarr would even feel better if she did. To hurt someone so dear to him... it had to be criminal. He can't begin to apologize. All he could do was atone. There is power, too, in restraint. They dance together, an understanding between them. A dance as old as time, as old as the hills, as old as the gods themselves. A religious rite, and something else. Something deeper. A push and pull, the tangles of fate. Víðarr follows her movements closely, rarely more than a breath between the two of them. He stepped into Tove, drawing to his full height, but his movements are blunted. He will not harm, no. The shadow will only try to take what he feels is his. With movements that are deceptively fluid for such a hulking creature, he would try to pressure into her, to wrap a foreleg around her. An attempt to draw her into him. If Víðarr could get close enough, he'd move to cover the back of her neck with his muzzle, and then his own neck. The desire is to hold her tightly, like it's the first time over again. Like he could start this over again and not ruin things. Only time would tell.

Víðarr vs Tove for Spar
Round 2/2
Age: over 1
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Heavy
Offensive Battle Accessory: Spiked Gauntlets
Defensive Battle Accessory: Lamellar Shirt
Skills: Expert Fighter & Master Hunter
* I'm making the decision to omit his companions from this fight for IC reasons

Battle. Lately, this is the only time that Tove really feels alive. While this may just be a spar, the familiar tingle of adrenaline hitting her veins causes a chain reaction within the woman. Her pupils dilate, pulling in more light and sharpening all the shapes around her. Nostrils flare as she inhales deeply, pulling in more air while also dragging in the scents around them. Víðarr smells of steel, oiled leather, pine needles, and sweat and the galaxy coated warrior drinks in the strength of him. They dance, her nose striking his neck without her mouth ever opening.

Fate draws them together, pulls them apart, and slams them back just like the fight that unfolds. Where words fail, their actions speak and they fight as if they are shouting at each other. They never back off, a whisper of air all that separates their forms as they move. He moves, a foreleg snaking out to wrap around her while he pressures her. Tove does not falter, instead stepping into him as he hits the back of her neck and lays his neck across her. Anger flares hot and jagged in her mind, hating that it has taken him this long to see her.

A warrior’s spirit in a delicate female form, once beautiful, no scarred and ugly. Tove feels the all too familiar sting of tears in the back of her eyes and strikes out, mouth still firmly closed as she aims to hit the man in his chest. A leg shoots forward, attempting to wrap around his foreleg and pull it out from underneath him. This may just be a spar but she is determined to win… or at least show Víðarr just how strong of a warrior she truly is.



Tove vs Víðarr for Spar
Round 2/2
Age: Over 1 year
Size: Large
Build: Medium
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Hunter
Specialty: Bloodletter

OOC: Will be using my (under Hermes OOC) black cat’s foot for this fight


"Tove Baade"

And the winner is...

VIDARR

TOVE must give up by submitting, fleeing or passing out. Totals: TOVE Attack Roll: 93 Defense Roll: 4 Agility Roll: 8 Perception Roll: 33 Total: 138 Attack[93] + 30% Bonus[27.90]: 120.90 Defense[4] + 5% Bonus[0.20]: 4.20 Agility[8] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 8.00 Perception[33] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 33.00 Total[166.10] + 40% Bonus[66.44]: 232.54 VIDARR Attack Roll: 78 Defense Roll: 81 Agility Roll: 17 Perception Roll: 4 Total: 180 Attack[78] + 45% Bonus[35.10]: 113.10 Defense[81] + 15% Bonus[12.15]: 93.15 Agility[17] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 17.00 Perception[4] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 4.00 Total[227.25] + 20% Bonus[45.45]: 272.70