THE SAINTS WE SEE ARE ALL MADE OF GOLD;

To his call, an aged empress would appear from the umbrage of the surrounding woodlands. Though her size was dwarfed by the obsidian male, muscles rippled beneath her cloak, rather suddenly as each step would be taken to approach, stopping at a reasonable distance from the general vicinity from his breath. It would be obvious that she was older than most whom fought daily, and her muscles seemed to lock whenever not tensed or in motion. Burning coals would scan the bitch's frame, seeking any injuries or weaknesses to be used for crippling during the fight. A hit on the shoulder should be enough to slow her enough to land a strong blow. Indeed this would turn to be a very interesting fight, simply for practice, but as real as can be. "Best of luck, milady." Only those simple wishes would slip from his inky lips, as he would square his paws, preparing to set himself, should the tempest counter any of his strikes.

** Even if it would somewhat limit his visage, burning coals became concealed by eyebrows, narrowing to fight against the rising dust and dirt in the battlefield, his ears pinning against his ebony skull, as if they did not exist anymore, hidden by a thick mass of fur. Down his back, hackles would rise to create a larger image of himself than that he truly is, seeming now about half an inch larger. Thick banner would rise upward, to align with his tucked chest, to balance should the ebony bitch decide to assult him during attack. Both shoulders would lock together as he spread his ebony stilts, to stand his ground, digits raveling the ground as he would begin to approach, a leisurely lope, but full of tense muscle, bunched more prominently about his back, shoulders, and haunches. From his muzzle, a growl would rise, his chin reeling downward to protect his neck, keeping his own skull low, aligning with the rest of his body, muzzle now contorting into a snarl. He would stop, his body nearly coiling like a spring, muscles teasing an attack at the ebony cloaked bitch.

Suddenly, if not, quickly his body would seem to uncoil, all muscles untensed for the brief moment spent in full sprint toward the ebony bitch, stilts catching the ground briefly upon his toes, before lifting up once more to step again. However, this would not be his plan, as he would feign a move, uncoiling his stature, his body rippling in the motions of a bound, but stopping about the middle, hinds catching upon the dusty soil, kicking up a field of sediment about the ebony female, should she still remain, preparing herself for an attack that never would come, swerving to the right side of she, ebony jaws lunging toward what was a planned bite to the right shoulder of the ebony bitch. Should this assault go as planned, he would latch on and will attempt to use his body to push against the bitch, in movement implied to bring her to the ground. Once more, burning coals became concealed, protecting against the swirling dust, which blocked his vision, but not enough to distort his accuracy, or cause him to shut his eyes, but the same may or may not apply to the old bitch he would battle with.

HADES vs. SVANERNA for SPAR

ONE of THREE

DEFENSE

Quote:The first paragraph after the **'s.

OFFENSE

Quote:Last paragraph.

INJURIES

Quote:None, first round.