ADMIN NOTE: Challenges are always AW.

An eerie sense of lifelessness haunted the sun-dried plains; troubled by the wandering ghosts of slaughtered souls, polluted by the once-crimson stains of spilled life, though sheddings now discoloured to that of nauseating brown; cooked into the veins of corrupted surfaces, seared into the palms of defeat. It was sordid to say the least, fluctuating breaths of decay would infiltrate reluctant lungs, curling at the base of porous sponges only to be thrust athwart, as if in trepidation of catching something infectious. Hardly a favourable destination to hub upon the defeat of a naive babe; what was so incredibly royal about sharing ones blood with so many other dismal rabbles before era? A King deserved greater, did such a desolate hell merit the taste of an angels being? Hardly. The ghoul would hover motionless beneath the expanding of premature sun, beaming within the magnificence of his superior aura. Today Alacritis would learn of his prominence, heed to his initial victory. Just one of many, no doubt, for loss was not an option for a fiend with such impenetrable pride; towering walls guarding the soul of his writhing persona. Hence the fine selection of warriors that would saunter so regally in his wake; for only his greatest would be presented to the eye of a mounting enemy. Reputation was of upmost importance, one would notice. And so she would be summoned; the wench that stood so foolishly between he and his obsessions, the magpie that would pick so unwisely at his fortitude. A king didn?t fancy being denied of what he wished, and those that imprudently chose to do so would be rapidly reminded of irrational decisions. And they would learn, if he chose to give them the chance of existence.

>>> ooc/ open to taurig, argent, sendoa, vixe & oddity + chrysanthe's chosen wolves

The day had come. It had only been a few days, perhaps a week or so since he had stepped before the Valhallan borders, a silent wall of solid muscle and raw power ready to defend his father lest someone decide to throw a low blow or take him by surprise and that's what he was doing today once more. As much as he didn't agree with what Isardis was doing, the white ghost was his father and King. The young Knight had sworn his loyalty to him and he wasn't about to go back on his word. Without having to ask him to come, the grey-blue brute had simply followed his father to the battlefield. It was an unspoken command to accompany him and Taurig understood perfectly. The young man had never actually participated in an actual war or spilled the blood of another opponent. He'd sparred countless times with elder warriors in his pack, with his own mother even, but never thrown down with a real opponent. But if his training sessions were anything to judge by, the man wasn't one to take things lightly, especially if someone's life was on the line. The stench of blood and decaying flesh was pungent in the air, causing the man's ears to flatten against his skull. So this was what a battlefield was like. It was an expansive area, mostly made up burnt grass, dried up with the sun, the occasional set of bones decorating the earth. Icy gaze was cast forward, intent on his father's pale figure as he padded behind, senses on high alert. As much as he wished his father didn't have to fight, he would have to allow it. Isardis was the one challenging, not him. He was simply a bodyguard, one to make sure that after the fight, were he to loose or win, that he would not be gone after, or else they would be met with the solid wall of muscle and teeth. The pale King halted before him, the Knight mirroring his father, stopping towards his left flank, gaze dancing across the battlefield, searching for the figures of the Valhallans that were to accompany the queen as his father called for her. He'd been the first of the Glaciem's to arrive. But he wasn't worried. He knew the rest would quickly follow. Talk like this

He heard the summons of the boy king, of the radical that dare step foot on the soil, preach to own that which was not his. He had heard of the idiot, and if he was daring to step in arms against Valhalla he was a fool. They had allies that were as powerful as anything else. Though, admittedly, perhaps it were not such a bad thing...not only would it show Valhallans that their training was not in vain, not only would it show them that they had to be prepared, but perhaps they would understand that everyone who had pushed them was not a calloused idiot. Gideon, rarely showed a face that showed care, and even dedication, though this day he would wear it proudly. A snarl ripped free of his lungs and he appeared on the battle ground.

"You're the pretty boy everyone's whispering about? Someone should teach you a lesson, I'll let Chrysanthe dictate if she does it or I do," He stared at the heathen in disgust, in anger, and in complete and utter irritation. The day would sing a lot of things that were to come in their future. Valhalla was truly going to put on their war-faces for once. Finally, he did crack a smile, lacking the inhibitions to remain as stoic as he had wanted to appear, and a chuckle escaped his lips, "Sorry, sorry, just what kind of bitch-ass man looks like sir-prances-a-lot the pink pony?"

Cormalin

Cormalin padded along the edge of the Battlefield, before he took off at a low trot, head level with his shoulders, tail raised in the beta stature. The new Alpha male, Gideon had already arrived, and he studied the male with a raised brow point, causing one point of his star to raise, as he took a place nearby, waiting for the rest to arrive. Isardis and the darker male from the border incident. Gideon?s ill show of Valhalla?s honorable qualities rankled at his mind. Chrysanthe would fix that. Pink Pony? Tail flicked over his haunches as he sat, studying the two Glaciem males. He noted the discomforted look of the young, dark male and almost smiled. ?Not a very pleasant place, is it.? It was a casual statement. He didn?t like the place much either, but it did have good terrain for a fight. Silence returned for the moment, as he scanned the area for any others who might come.

Bleeeegh where did the fizzle of Cormalin muse come from!?

It was time. The Overseer grew nervous, her stomach round and visible to a medically trained eye, although not yet large enough to inhibit her movements and not obvious to those who did not know what to look for, as she traversed to the battle grounds. She was ready to fight; already she?d offered a warning to the russet-kissed alpha, and if more than five of her followers showed, Argent would challenge for one. She was not a woman to make threats lightly; she?d meant what she said, and she would follow through with what was necessary. Her strides were dutiful, bringing her upon Isardis?s right side, his right hand woman. She sought to press a kiss to his shoulder, a token of affection and loyalty, a bid for him to destroy his opponent, and then she would move out of the way.
A Valhallan fool would arrive, Argent?s crimson eyes boring into him as she spoke so proudly and vainly. ?You sound like a man in need of compensation for a lack of something,? she spoke coolly to Gideon, dismissing his importance quickly. After all, what was the point in trying to put down her King, if not because he was jealous and insecure? Perhaps there was a subtle innuendo there, an implication that he was a lesser man in more than one way. ?Perhaps somebody needs to teach you a lesson. You speak like a bratty child,? she said, and she would rise to her feet, readying herself should he attack.

Her limbs spread equally apart, weight fairly distributing itself, tail swaying behind her for balance. Her toes were spread, limbs bent, center of gravity lowered. Shoulder rolled forwards, head aligning with her spine, chin tucking and jaws parting. Ears pinned back and eyes narrowed, face contorting into a snarl, eyeing this Valhallan, watching in case he decided he wanted to attack her. Argent was not keen on a fight, for she had other plans, but she would not simply let a fool insult her King.

Surreal

Surreal padded alongside her Uncle, trying to imitate his gliding grace. Her own young graceful steps were feminine though, and she felt as though they lacked the majesty of her Uncle?s stride. She glanced up at him. Right now, he looked slightly concerned, but he was relaxed as well. She rolled her shoulders. She?d been here before. Twice. One time it had been terrifying. A monster of a female ripping into another, and not helping her. The second time, she had come here to face her fear. She was glad she had; She had run into a friend. Creed. That was the last time she?d seen him. Uncle Cormalin turned and trotted toward the center of the field. Surreal followed, loping easily, glad for all the stamina practice chasing rabbits had given her. As he slowed, she fell into pace with him, mismatched golden and blue eyes assessing the strangers. A female had arrived just as she and her Uncle did. She copied her Uncle and sank to her haunches, noting that Gideon?s rudeness had lit a fire in the female. She frowned. Really, Valhalla was supposed to be viewed as honorable. Gideon was ruining that image. She glanced around, looking up at her Uncle as he remarked on the unpleasantness of the place. She agreed.

She would respond to the call immediately, letting Cormalin and Gideon scout somewhat ahead. No point of wasting her energy before the fight even started. When she arrived at the battlefield, she paused near the back of the gathering, noting that three of her members were already there. If the ivory king was smart, he wouldn't push this into anything more than a challenge for Liberty's freedom - because Valhalla would work as a unit whether he wanted it to or not - they were a call away, especially with Gideon and Cormalin here to aide her in calling for the pack if need be.

For now though, she would focus on her fight, and her fight alone in hopes that it would be the only fight.

Hopes that might just be shattered by Gideon's mouthing off. The woman sighed at her husband's antics, although his blatant disrespect for the man that disrespected her at her own borders didn't register as something that she immediately had to correct. "I will handle this." She told him, standing beside him for a moment. Should anything happen, she trusted him to fight - although that didn't mean she wouldn't set him straight after all of this was over. If she wanted to taunt her opponents, she would rather do it herself.

Glancing at Argent, she was tempted to bite back at her comment, but there really was no point. Childish arguments were not what she had come here for. "Try not to start a war on your own." With that she would look to Cormalin - he would watch over Surreal and Azalea she hoped, and send them to Valhalla should things get too dangerous for them.

"Isardis, it's been too long." She said simply, standing before the King. Her eyes were narrowed, alight with the prospect of a proper fight. Her head was lowered over her throat and her legs spread for balance while her nails dug into the ground. The woman's tail was tucked out of the way for now, but would move along with her for balance once the fight started. She left space between them enough to look him in the eye and react to any sudden movements. The King was the one that wanted to fight - and so she would give man the first move. He left so much room for her to wonder just why he was so impossibly confident with himself - was there a reason? Should there be, she would find out.

"Well? Impress me.' Her hackles raised along her neck and spine and she pulled her shoulders forward to protect the sides of her neck. She was ready whenever he was.

attacks: none
defenses: eyes narrowed, head lowered, legs spread for balance, tail tucked out of the way, hackles raised, shoulders rolled,
move 0 of 3

This was it, today was the day the challenge would happen. Seraphine was oddly nervous, sneaking away from the safety of her packmates, her father, to observe the challenge. Carefully she would move through the lands, following the wolves who were to join Chrysanthe. She would not be helping in any way, just watch, see what would happen with her own eyes instead of hearing about it then the wolves came back. What if they lied about what happened? Well, even if they did she could seek out Taurig and see what went down. In no time she reached the area, nose wrinkling at the scent. Mismatched orbs would scan the area, quickly falling upon Isardis, the strange looking white male, then the woman with him, then Taurig. "Taurig..." She would whispered, settling down a few yards behind and to the side of the Valhallans, laying down in the grass. The other wolves did not matter now, all she would do now was give a small nod to him in greeting, before turning her gaze upon Isardis, waiting to see what his move would be. "normal. talk. think. you." Awesome image by Trynx <3

There were things that needed to be settled and seemed that today was the day that it would finally be so. Azalea held her head high, traveling in silence. There was a grim look on her face. The call to battle had come and Chrysanthe had flawlessly dropped everything and headed towards the Valhallan border. In many ways, Azalea idolized her aunt. Chrysanthe and Epiphron both, actually. Eos she knew too little of to know what to make of her but she did know that all her aunts and her uncle had all gotten a lot of her grandfather. They were all strong, independent wolves. Closing in at three years of age, they were all much more grown up than her, an almost two year old. When they arrived Gideon was the first to speak, and Azalea strained in a painfully confusing way. His words sparked energy in her and made her want to smile wickedly at the ugly ghost wolf before them but at the same time she knew she needed to hold it together. His taunting would do nothing, there was to be a fight and they needed to keep the causalities minimal for the sake of Chrysanthe. One singular challenge was enough without words egging on another. The female reined in her man quickly, taking a stance before the pallid king and bidding things to get a move on. "Well?" It was something Azalea would say, words spoken with an underlying meaning. "Bring it on," She said internally.

And so the flag would rise, signalling from the distance upon the dismal shoulders of his opponents primary preference; wavering its frayed edges in every miserable wheeze of decayed breath, paraded so willingly by an army blissfully unaware of its futile manifestations. The angel felt so inclined to bow his head in pity, to give the gathering wolves his sympathetic acknowledgement of their poverty, their nakedness. For though they approached with such brittle confidence, one could hardly manage to take such a stippled party in seriousness, it would be almost laughable the illustration they portrayed; flocking like the wren servants of their magpie superior. Perhaps it was utterly untrue the stories he had heard; Magpie?s were said to collect shiny objects, no? The avian?s reputation had tragically let her down, for she certainly bore no more than the possession of monotonous secondaries, apparently welded of scrap brasses and dejected aluminium as opposed to brilliant silvers and golds. How terribly disappointing. The tongue of the dreary male was of little interest to the ghoul, managing no more than a brittle chuckle as his language was wholly disregarded. Wasn?t he a clever little pup? Using big, nasty words like that, somebody ought to award him a gold star. But ah, the youth couldn?t be blamed for his intimidation; he did, after all, resemble no more than the desiccated progeny of a sullied rabbit. Argent?s support would encourage self pride, further inflating the ego that brewed so potently beneath his skull, stretching the elegant confines of his walls. Though his little Blade seemed intent on giving this over-sized hare exactly what he pleased; jaws shuddering as she would inject the creatures bloodstream with her retaliation. The Magpie Queen herself would join in also, apparently mindlessly boosting the confidence of her opponents, ?Don?t encourage her further, little bird; for we all see her capabilities.? Cherry lips would tweak, a weak chuckle tumbling from shuddering jaws as the fiend would sway upon coral stilts, so seemingly blissful within the bemusing moment. Upon the fiends addressing The King?s nature would begin to sway, flicking an imaginary toggle that loitered in scantily known places; her expressions were barely noted as the reminder of what he so hunted would scurry through weakened doors. Liberty, she was not of the greatest use to him, was she? At least not in her infertile age. An amused smirk creased the caverns of his mind, a mental chuckle tumbling within the containment of his skull. Though he had remained silent, a content twitch of his lips revealing a brewing plot that immediately began to simmer in the backdrop of his ruby eyes; flitting weakly like the virgin flame of a freshly lit match. But it was no longer about numbers, or his packs needs, but about his obsessions; about satisfying the throbbing ache that would claw so mercilessly at chained doors, a deadly desire that prowled shifting shadows like the attitude of a wild-cat, and oh so ready to pounce. Once denied something The King would never forget; flattered she may be, though Liberty was not the only babe to meander hungrily within his memories. ?Champion? was of far superior significance, though he suspected the enchanting woman would boast of greater challenges. Regardless, he would obtain the little charcoal wench first. And so with the brittle conclusion an angel would emerge from the shelter of a holy encompass; pearled wings unfolding with the chiming of imaginary magnificence as the beauty would begin to sway, weight shifting continuously from left to right, seemingly trapped within a harmonious state of psychosis. Though his supernatural behaviour was not at a loss for cause, as the man would test his limbs, keeping his weight ever-light in preparation for both swift attack and swift avoidance. Pale lashes would flutter like the wings of fleeting moths, rosy gape simultaneously narrowed, pinpointing his site of attack as a rattled inhalation would secure cadaver and psyche. Extended tail would rise, falling level to the parallel notches of his spine, cherry ears flickering, zoning out of surrounding bickers as they would come to rest upon the chiselled structures of his scalp, somewhat simultaneously to the lowering of his maw; a half-hearted attempt to protect pulsing vitals. Jaws would begin to crank, slowly though jutted; readied as pink jowls would twitch in fluctuating snarls. Only then would the albino fiend commence, indisputably rapid as he would flash from his slightly lowered position, fleeting hastily to the right of the duo-toned woman in a single, haunch-driven bound. Elbows would crank at oiled joints, allowing him the fluid landing upon his elbows, speed his main priority as the calculating ghost would attempt to throw her; a false move to her right, aiming to land a half meter in front of the left shoulder before he would duck beneath her gullet. Let her entertain herself with his sharp moves, for now he would likely have her where she was needed, attempting to avoid his movement though simultaneously find herself launching into it as he would rapidly conform, spine and haunches twisting as his weight would swiftly bounce to the opposite side of the magpie. Here he would rise adjacent to his dip, elbows straightening to thrust him upwards, rubies promptly relocating to rest upon the delicate formations of her cerulean eyes, canines bared as the pale monster would attempt to sink so effortlessly into unprotected sockets. Lids were no shields to the blades of war. Though Isardis wouldn?t disappoint, a hopeful right fore-paw would be thrust athwart his chest, the memories of her limbs where-abouts fuelling his confidence. Coral joints would flex below his forearm, a brittle attempt to hook the woman?s right forelimb and simultaneously force her weight even further into the exposed trap of his searching jaws. She had threatened his pride, his reputation, and his success; such a thing couldn?t be taken lightly, and so The King would present with no climbing scale or accentuating measures. It was right down to business, take her eye-sight and victory could so easily be his. Many had thought him an angel, an image of undeniably purity, though lurking so surreptitiously beneath his innocent skin a devil would writhe, stretching below pallid leather, and hell- they hadn?t even caught a glimpse of it yet. Isardis vs. chrysanthe ? round 1 of 3 defences: shifting weight in preparation to dodge (in defence to the usual ?equal weight?, let?s remember that?s more suitable for wolves readying to be hit, not readying to dodge!), narrowed eyes, aligned spine, level tail, ears back, chin lowered, throat lightly covered, jaws open and bared, loose elbow joints attacks: chrysanthe is facing isar, so he aims a rapid false attack to the right with no warning, simply aiming to bounce by her left shoulder without contact in an attempt to send her weight in the opposite direction. Immediately after he ducks to the left (Chrys? right) and straightens his elbows quickly, re-aiming a calculated attack to the sockets of her eyes. Almost simultaneously his right forelimb will reach out to try and hook her right forelimb and send her weight more so into his jaws. injuries: first round <333333

Edited to fix summary typo.

I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE a war waiting to be won It was not unusual for the hellion to be late to any formal occasion, and so characteristically she would slink toward the battlefield at a carefree pace. Her brother had issued is claim upon the Valhallan girl, and Sendoa was confident she would be his by the end of the battle. Another thing she was confident of was the amount of irritation and friction there would be between Glaciem and Valhalla after all was said and done. No matter the verdict, someone would get their family jewels in a vice over the whole situation (despite the obvious femininity of the Alpha of Valhalla). As she came onto the scene she saw the battle already being forged. Adrenaline surged in her veins, itching and clawing - looking for a means of escape. She fought it back for the time being, placing a cork on the bottle until the opportune time to explode. That time would come when and if Valhalla acted sorely for their loss and she needed to step in to ensure her pallid brother's safety. A King couldn't be sucker punched with body guards around. She sidled alongside her rather stoic nephew, butting at his shoulder lightly with the crown of her head. A low growl emanated somewhere from her core as she waited for the battle to climax. {Awesome table coded by Lu}

The word of a challenge had spread quickly through the lands, the little healer noted as she arrived on the battlefield, working her way to her pack-mates. Her king as already engaged in battle with the alpha of Valhalla, and her audits swilved interestedly towards the pair. Taking a moment, she took in the other wolves from Valhalla, her golden eyes lingering on each wolf. Of course she was a little late, she noted as she came to a halt a little ways back from Taurig and Argent. She would stay out of the fray, as much as possible, her eyes lingering on her pack-mates, and then flicking their full attention back to Isardis. Isardis She mentally purred as she watched, just looking at him... flicked her libido into over-drive. Dammit, stop acting like a twiterpated pup! She scolded herself, letting out a light cross huff. Settling herself, she would sink to her haunches to watch, already contemplating the wounds she may have to treat. Speech...

The first thing that he began to do, was sway. Chrysanthe would watch him carefully, not knowing exacrly what this tactic was or why he chose to use it - but he was definitely there, moving back and forth as if he was dancing. She had to admit, this was not something that she had seen before, but she wouldn't let it throw her off, instead she would be even more careful, until she could properly find out just how good or bad a warrior this crazy king was. She had left enough too properly watch him, a distance at which he had the choice to speak - but it would seem both parties had enough of the other's words.

Clearly they were not enough to solve this dispute.

He darted toward her left, and she held back a snarl, her hackles raised along her spine in both anger and because of the sudden burst of adrenaline with the now imminent fight. Her jaw dropped, now agape and ready to attack. As he rushed toward her left she planned to charge forward and do the same, and crash her left shoulder into his own - but after his single bound toward her that covered much of the distance, he swayed on a dime and shifted to her right. With his surprise movement it left the alpha moving swiftly toward nothingness - and she leaped forward and to her left as he was coming at her, only to pull away from Isardis as he tried to wrap his jaws around the right side of her face. Although she cleared the paw that had been aimed to wrap around her own leg in her movement - she didn't manage to dodge all of his attacks. His jaws scraped along the top half of her head, leaving minor bleeding scrapes from the middle of her head down its side. He missed his mark because the alpha pulled away due to him switching positions so quickly - but it was far too close for the woman to take any comfort from the dodge. It was a fluke and the King was quick on his paws, she would give him that and do her best to react accordingly.

Chrysanthe would not waste time in retaliating either, the alpha's jaws snapped at Isardis's middle on his right side, attempting to bite just above his flank. Her head was lowered over her throat, her muzzle crinkled in a silent snarl and her shoulders rolled to protect the sides of her neck. Narrowed eyes would glance at his movements as she tried to get a proper feel for them, knowing that the brute was tricky, but she focused on her target and threw herself properly into her attack. She would attempt to ram her right shoulder into his side as she attacked with her jaws, attempting to put him as off balance as possible - perhaps she would get lucky and get him to wobble, and she could find a way to get this king on the ground. Her back legs were squared in case he tried to throw her off as well, and her nails dug into the earth as best they could, creating whatever friction she could manage. Her tail was lowered to protect her backside and placed out of the way.

defenses: head lowered over throat, ears pinned, eyes narrowed, jaws agape, hackles raised, tail lowered and out of the way, back legs squared, nails digging for traction, shoulders rolled
attacks: trying to ram into Isardis's right side, trying to bite above his right flank
injuries: scrapes from Isardis's teeth above her right eye where she pulled away

move one of three

He had expected more Glaciems to approach first, but to his surprise and utter distaste, a burgundy shaded man graced the battlefield, his stench that of Valhalla. Taurig gave no reaction at first, that is, until the man started talking. You're the pretty boy everyone's whispering about? Someone should teach you a lesson, I'll let Chrysanthe dictate if she does it or I do. Sorry, sorry, just what kind of bitch-ass man looks like sir-prances-a-lot the pink pony? Insolent bastard! Just because he was the king of Valhalla didn't mean he could come disrespect his father like that! A threatening snarl ripped its way free of inky jowls, dark lips peeled back against ivory daggers, nape bristling in anger. Icy eyes flashed angrily, ears flattening against his skull. Who the hell did he think he was? His father had shown disrespect to no one and here this high and mighty so called King was throwing out petty insults? Taurig took a step forward, muscles tensing as adrenaline flooded his system. If this bastard tried anything after the battle, the Knight would personally take care of him. Lucky for him, Argent arrived on the scene, taking care of the situation with words instead of fangs like the grey-blue brute wanted to. Gaze narrowed at the insolent King, mentally keeping tabs on him, ready to attack him with the first sign of cause. More Valhallans would trickle in and finally the russet faced queen would make her appearance, calming her excitable brute of a mate before facing off with Isardis. Just as the battle was about to begin, a flash of burned flesh caught his attention. Icy eyes danced away from the child-like Valhallan man, finding Seraphine's figure hidden behind the Valhallan crowd. She had spotted him too, giving him a brief inclination of the head in greeting. What was she doing here? Taurig dipped his muzzle ever so slightly, trying to give the impression that he was merely adjusting his vantage point when in reality he was acknowledging her presence. He would have a word with her after all of this. His attention didn't linger long on the yearling as his father and then red faced woman began their battle. He tensed, watching as his father went after the Valhallan queen, hoping that the pale ghost knew what he was doing. A silent figure approached him to his right, butting his shoulder affectionately. Turning away from the battle, his gaze came to rest on the figure of his distant aunt Sendoa, sister to his father. He reached down towards her, taking one of her ears and tugging on it gently with his teeth, a similar growl rumbling in his massive chest in response to hers. Does he know what he's doing? He rumbled quietly, pressing his shoulder against his aunt's, allowing his icy gaze to settle back on the fight, one ear flicked towards his aunt. Talk like this

((Vixe & Argent thread was before this, assuming he already told Argent about Azalea <3))

All the high ranking members of Glaciem had filed out one by one, from the overseer's to the assailant's and to be quite honest Vixe had felt worried. They were leaving pack lands pretty much unprotected so as they marched out behind their king Vixe cast an uncertain glance over his shoulder. And as they had carried on he had slowed, continuing to fall further and further behind until he had halted and was staring over his shoulder. A sharp feeling of dread had settled over him that he couldn't seem to shake, the feelings that something would happen to one of the female while all of their guardians were away. Or worse... What happened if one of them left? But his king had requested his presence and after a long moment he finally let out a heavy sigh, trying to expel the nerves beginning to coil within his stomach. It did little but he managed to turn himself around and start after the long gone figures that were probably already at the battlefield.

From the howl that echoed throughout the surrounding area he knew he was late but still the huge male move with a slow confidence. He didn't feel confident, didn't feel settled but he had learned to mask all those feelings behind a stoic wall from a young age. So as the male slid towards the gathering he let no emotion seep onto his features. Argent, Senoda, Isardis and Taurig were already here, the fight already underway. Sharp green eyes followed the quick movements of the two wolves at war as he moved towards Argent. She was pregnant... Her scent had changed since last they had met and immediately he moved towards her, feeling protective almost. She could take care of herself he had no doubt there but to risk the future of this pack was unthinkable. No... He would stick close to her and watch...

The nerves that had been gathering within him were not only because of his pack though. He knew who Azalea was, knew her rank and figured she would be one of the ones to attend the fight. He had been right... His eyes found her easily and his throat tightened. He had been able to keep his pack a secret thus far but she would know now and then he would probably never see her again. She wouldn't want to see him again. "That her... Azalea..." Words were soft, meant for Argent's ears alone as he waited for her voice to catch her attention before motioning towards the brown faced female standing on the opposing side. They might have to deal with that later but for now there was a fight to observe. And Vixe had no plan other then to stand, look intimidating and protect Argent and his king if needed. So he stood obediently beside Argent, expression watchful as his green gaze slid over each and every wolf present, ready if one moved.


Speech!

Azalea could not control her eyes from looking over the heavily scarred wolf who sat among the Valhallans. It was Seraphine, the ugly gal larger but much younger than Azalea. She hadn't been among those listed to come here and for this reason she pulled back her ears at her pack mate. How could she so blatantly disregard Crysanthe's wishes? There was a bubble of selfishness that threatened to overcome her but she held herself in check. If she desired, Chrysanthe would deal with the she-wolf later.

There was no more time to worry of the uninvited presence, her gaze drawn as Isardis bolted forward. Her eyes stretched wide with worry for her aunt as he charged toward her prepared for battle. They connected, the fur flying, and first blood was drawn. Azalea snarled, tipped forward to where her rump lifted off the ground. Blood was a given in a fight but it frustrated her more than she expected to see her alpha and kin bleed when there was nothing she could do for her. Amber eyes sparked wildly and she covered her snarl by licking her lips to try and release the tension.

Her attention was ripped away, falling to the wolves who stood opposite of their ranks. Glaciem wolves. Few looked like true fighters. Argent, the one who had attended the king on his trip to Valhalla, looked very much serious, as did a younger darker wolf. Her eyes nearly missed the familiar slate and white wolf who was gliding in. Electric green eyes sweeping over the events lazily. His body was filled with a confidence that was dark the seething. It moved around him, like a living part of his being.

Their eyes connected and she became acutely aware of her slack jaw. Quickly she blinked, straightening up and clenching her jaws shut. Her teeth ground together as her eyes grew narrow. Vixe sat down distinctly on the wrong side of the spectrum and silently her mind scolded her for not seeing it before. They had met in the north, how far from the Glaciem borders? He had that dark confidence about him. He was very distinctly Glaciem.

She hoped he was watching as she rolled her eyes in frustration before focusing back on the fight that stood between them. Chrysanthe had better kick Isardis' ass. "Hell, I might just kick Vixe's ass."

They would tower their golden stockades about their King, each massive form as great as the next as his warriors would file; fangs sharpened beneath deceiving folds, twitching with the faithful eagerness of triumph, veins so readily pulsing with the vital infection their King had birthed. Pride would ever thrive beneath his skull, within his lungs, the awareness of his kingdoms greatest warriors only encouraging him more ravenously onwards; unwilling to shame them, unprepared to watch them cower their heads in realisation of a pitiable loss. He would illustrate to them, and the lackluster Valhallans that flawed their presence, that to serve him was a one-way ticket to greatness, superiority, victory. He would not fail them, as he so reasonably expected them to never fail him. He was a sultan, a monarch, an overlord, a King. His title had been earned, and yet he would never hesitate to exercise its worth. He owed it to no other than himself. Failure was not an option, as if it had ever been. Oh how the drums of war would pound so insolently in the distance, rumbling like the enraged jaws of thunder, denied so desperately by the Valhallans, only to be treasured, encouraged, craved by the Northern Empire. Numbers would be no match for cannon balls. Alas the angel would be unpleasantly surprised; for whatever idiotic reasons the russet-faced wench thought it wise to plunge head-first into the depths of prospect despair, thoughtlessly toss her body towards his assail as if she fancied having pretty eyes chiselled from her skull. Perhaps the little avian wasn?t as foolishly innocent as she appeared, or perhaps she was solely stupid. Only time would tell, though for frustrating reasons the damsel had managed to save her vision, to slither free of his optimistic jaws as ivories would barely scrape her brow; sending his orifice clashing together with enough force to send an eerie crack! reverberating the rotting air that sprawled them. Immediately a haunting snarl would scratch at his throat, aggressive gurgles of irritation struggling free of ever-hungry jaws. But he wouldn?t be deterred. No, the wench had simply been fortunate; but he knew now, he knew she didn?t shy away from contact, and so he would ruthlessly take advantage of her techniques; contorting his body as she would her own, remaining ever-light on cherry toes as the demon would ready to flash from her grasp, unprepared to let such a feeble tarnish pallid flesh. Hind end would coil beneath him, exercised muscle bunching with a masculine maturity the babe before him so lacked, forelimbs remaining feathered as he would recover from previous endeavours. How would his little magpie retaliate, hm? Rocking rage would press beneath his leather, simmering within his veins, though still polluted by the instability of sickening pleasure; no efforts taken to feel threatened by the woman until she were upon him. Was Liberty worth this? No. But his pride was. The woman would curl, spine pushing her towards The pallid King as her jaws would snap at his side; the initial movements of her shift enough to send the man whirling away from her touch, spinning his light forequarters away from the avian fiend in an attempt to save his skin. Though she had been well calculated, hitting closely enough to her mark to send an agitated yelp slicing the air that encompassed them. Rage would rattle within his core, stretching at his ribs as his chest would heave, struggling to fight the demons that would begin to climb, to soar his gullet. Caught in the moment the fiend would retaliate, a vicious snarl scathing his pipes in fluctuating waves of fury, forelimbs bouncing back towards his previous position in no less than blinking velocity. Hell, let her preoccupy herself with her shielded prize, rump guarded by profound muscle and superior width the woman would be unable to wrap her jaws around anything vital; no, she had been foolish to think otherwise. Her solid thump hadn?t even been enough to waver superior weight, likely due to his sudden change of angle earlier. Far too stained by contact the gladiator was unable to take any mental notes of the damage inflicted, wasting no time to relocate her vitals and carefully calculate a semi-rage-blinded attack; using the fatale?s angle to weave his spinal cord, to twist pulsating sinew that thrummed so potently with the deadly arrival of adrenaline, right hindlimb in sight as the brujo would feverishly seek the thrum of the womans femoral artery. Pink jaws would crank, head twisting at a barely fathomable angle, positioning his lower jaws towards the inside of her frontal thigh. Extended tail would flash towards the womans face, a brittle attempt at throwing her attentions, striving desires to distract her from countering his vital assault. His weight would steady, paws heavy beneath him as he adjusted to the duos new proximities, toes somewhat splayed as his spine would attempt to realign, towers flat against the delicate slopes of his skull, eyes narrowed to the point of fine targeting as bristles would raise along his nape. Lower canines exposed, flashing with ivory splendour as his weapons would strive to hook her femoral artery, to cleave effortlessly through flesh and muscle until he was aware he had torn the vein from her limb, until she would collapse before him as the life drained from her body. This wasn?t a pastime, it wasn?t about yelps and screams, but about eliminating the subject that so insisted on preventing The King his desires, his needs. He would give himself time, hover within his proximities as his jaws would attempt to saw, to seek ideal contact and sever both flesh and vitals. Tail restraightening behind him as his clockwork would continue to tick, to buzz incessantly as he pondered his next attack. As if destroying her blood supply weren?t enough, The King would retract from a hopefully successful assail, dropping his elbows as narrowed rubies would hungrily seek the target that so tempted him. That tantalized him with it?s prospects, and so with the roll of his shoulders and the twisting of his gullet the albino would send an ambitious thrusting of glimmering weapons towards the tenders of her exposed abdomen; one of the very few places unguarded by strengthened muscles. He would aim just behind the ribs, where intestines would boil beneath thin skin, and it would be there that he would attempt to envelope as much flesh as his orifice could manage, to wreath the tissue right out from beneath her. Isardis vs. chrysanthe ? round 2 of 3 defences: originally isardis is light on his fores to be ready to spin his front away from chrys upon attack, but he then returns to hsi previous angle when he fails to dodge, and steadies/evens his weight. Teeth bared, toes splayed for balance, weight equal, tail flicking towards chrysanthe as a distraction before re-steadying, spine aligning, eyes narrowed, ears pinned, hackles raised, shoulders rolled (last attack) and elbows dropped (last attack). attacks: Isardis takes advantage of Chrys' angle by his right side, carefully calculating an attack with his lower canines to the femoral artery on the inner frontal thigh (right), aiming to cause excessive blood loss. He then retracts after sawing his jaw, re-aiming to grasp the tender abdomen flesh behind her ribs and wretch his weight downwards whilst holding. injuries: punctures/scratches above the right flank, over the muscle --- You do not even know how insanely bad this timing was, I never have trouble with being on time for fights, but oh my lord- from black outs, to assignments, to falling off my horse... so sorry Seren, but I really appreciate how understanding you have been. It means a lot to me to have the second chance!

reference for where the femoral artery is located - Click!
Edited to add above.

Watching his every movement to the best of her abilities, the alpha would not be distracted with her momentary prize. She would not be deterred by the pain above her eye, she would not let anything stop her from winning this fight. This fight was to defend Liberty, and that she would, no matter the cost. He was around the same size as she, but would not loose his balance from her pushing against him, as dainty as he managed to be, he seemed to be built with strength. Regardless, the snap to the male's backside caused him to yelp, he was not infallible, and she tasted blood on her muzzle - but would not stop to see how much or how deeply that she had managed to wound him.

Isardis was quick, but she would give him a run for his money. They were roughly the same size, and Chrysanthe was neither bulky or slim - technically speaking, she saw no reason that this dance be completely one sided. When the male waved his tail in her face opposed to tucking it out of the way, or more importantly, protecting his balls, she went for the one area that this stuck up brute would do anything to protect.

Gideon would just have to forgive her for this one.

Pulling herself forward once more, she weaved just slightly, ducking her head beneath his tail which was just a bit longer than it should be, and her open maw aimed to snap around his scrotum. Let this male's legacy end here, like bloody hell she needed to deal with more of him in the future. As she quickly pushed forward, her legs would move in a graceful sweep, her hips moving to align themselves more with her body so that they were angled more behind Chrysanthe than parallel to Isardis. With her back side's movement to her left, she felt him snap at her back leg and just barely kept from howling as he bit down enough for her to have to yank away. If she hadn't moved his jaws would have completely wrapped around her leg, puncturing her inner thigh, but she avoided the possibly fatal attack by shifting her alignment and the wound lay painfully on her outer thigh, blood trickling from the wound.

With the attack to her leg spurring her onward, she winced, her narrowed eyes and pinned ears twitching as the hackles along her back and spine raised. This time pain caused her to tense somewhat opposed to agitation, and yet she did not leave her target behind. Should he follow through with his attack to her stomach, she would change her target to the middle of her opponent's tail and tug, grinding her teeth as he moved more toward her. Whether he was proud of his appearance or not, if he didn't protect his tail she would do her best to possibly bend it at an odd, painful angle - or possibly rip it away completely, shortening it forever.

Her back legs would return to being squared, but her weight was placed more on her left in mental preservation of her now injured right leg, and also if he pushed her, she wanted to be able to oppose him as much as possible. Her claws would create as much friction as possible as they dug into the ground due to her flexing toes, and her tail was tucked behind her so that she didn't end up in the same predicament that he could be in.

attacks: bite to Isardis's balls, possible bite to Isardis's tail
defenses: eyes narrowed, ears pinned, hackles raised, jaws agape, head lowered, pulling her hips more behind her to position herself away from Isardis, weight even on front paws and back legs weight more on her left leg, nails digging into the ground, tail tucked
injuries: scrape / bite wound above her eye, medium bite wound to her outer thigh

ooc: i wasn't sure what to do with Isar biting at her leg and trying to rip open an artery, only to leave that possible grip behind to bite at her stomach. With the way that she was moving, he wouldn't have been able to reach it... but I didn't want to disregard it
it would be nice to know his height and weight ^^ but at the same time, Chrys's appearance needs to be updated to her adult appearance after all of this time so don't worry too much about it x3
haha, if this works, i would just like to apologize to the lady characters of alacritis.

His teeth would sift through the fur on her ear, parting it and allowing her to feel how well-endowed his jawline was. Had he been anything but her nephew this demonstration might light a fire somewhere in her nether regions - although the familial line had never stopped her before. Still, the majority of her thoughts were on her brother and how he would fare in this battle. The woman did not seem incompetent, and if anything she almost appeared seasoned in warfare. Of course, there were few as seasoned as Sendoa herself - but that was another matter. Taurig would pose a question, to which she would give a definitive ?Of course.? To show anything other than belief in her brother would be unfitting in front of the Valhallans, and so Sendoa would bury any doubts that may or may not have been festering in her chest. Her brother was a decent fighter, and competent enough to take down this woman if he put his heart, soul, and mind into it. If he didn't do that, he would certainly lose. She would watch as the two heathens exploded, writhing and gnawing, swiping at anything they could reach. The woman posed an imminent threat by aiming an attack at Isardis' family jewels, bringing forth a disapproving snarl from the ever-protective sister. "The little whelp of a woman plays dirty,? she would note in Taurig's ear. Only time would tell if she would succeed or not. ?speak,?

Cael Amestades

Pale paws raced through the woods that lined the very edge of the battlefield, the thin brute light on his paws. The call of the challenge had been made some time ago, much too long ago for Cael's linking, but he was determined to be at the fight since Gideon had requested him to be. He had a bundle of herbs clamped in his jaws. He felt late to the party, and when he arrived he would see that he indeed was. The store of herbs that he and Imena had in their den had not had enough of the ones he had wanted to bring with him so he had spent precious time finding the right ones. He made a mental note to double check their supplies as soon as this mess was over. He might have been here sooner if he hadn't had the herbs keeping him from breathing properly, but he had insisted that Elva stay back in the den. Cael spotted the group of wolves a short ways off and he altered his path toward them. He loped to a halt near his father's side, setting down the herbs he had been carrying and panting to catch the breath he hadn't been able to get. His gold and sapphire eyes took in the scene in front of him, seeing that Chrysanthe had a few wounds already, as did her opponent. He had arrived just as the clay-faced alpha made her latest attack, making him blink with surprise and wince all at once. He wished he had been here from the beginning, but he was glad he was here now. At least he could be of help when it was all over. Thought Speech Others Companion