Basilisk and Ignita headed to the beach, where the ground was a little softer than stone for what they had in mind. He made his way to one of the training rings, marked by rope stacked into the beach. It would be about the right size for the three of them to tussle together. He and his Wife had picked a day when their three children who had been the more sickly and less involved in day to day activities all seemed to be feeling well. A day when, they could hope, they would be at their best.

He could only hope this would install some competition into them. A drive to strive for greater things. The Fatalis brood would need strength to survive this world. He looked over at Ignita, before raising his head and calling for Jamie, Iskandor, and Balrog to arrive.

Once all three puppies had assembled, Basilisk began. Pacing slowly in front of them like a grill sergeant. “The three of you will enter this ring you see behind me. You will put to use the sparring skills I have taught you to face each other in a melee match of one vs one vs one. The winner today will receive a prize an item, crafted by our blacksmith. What that item is, will be up to the winner.”

But he wasn’t done yet. He paused a moment to let that sink in, and then continued on. “Today is about sizing up your opponents, about finding where each of you need to improve, so that in a season you can meet again. The winner of the second bout will receive a boon. From me. The ability to ask one thing of me. No judgement, no questions. You will have until the end of that season to cash in this boon. Any questions?”


"Jamie"||"Iskandor"||"Selene"||"Citadel"||"Selene"||"Balrog"||"Ignita"||"Basilisk"

Before dawn kissed the cliffs with light, Iskandor was already on his paws. Restless after too many days confined by illness, he sought the solace of the open air, his lone figure silhouetted in the clearing as he breathed in the morning’s chill. His dark, charcoal fur bristled at the crispness, and a quiet smile crept across his face. Between his teeth, he held a slender, finely sharpened knife, gripping its hilt with a practiced ease, his jaw flexing as he adjusted to the blade's weight.

Then, a call broke through the silence—a summons he would never ignore.

Obediently, he made his way to his parents, his steps light and eager. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he settled before his father, ready to absorb every word spoken.

—

Iskandor’s ears perked, his tail giving an instinctive, anticipatory flick as he processed his father’s words. A prize crafted by the blacksmith was enticing enough, but the promise of a boon—a chance to ask anything of his Warlord, without judgment—stirred something within. His gaze darted briefly to his siblings, sizing them up before even stepping into the ring.

It was all he could do but to nod, his lips twitching in anticipation.


"Speech"

Balrog arrived with a steady, determined pace, his obsidian eyes glinting with a dark, eager energy. The call from his father, Basilisk, had broken through his quiet morning, stirring something fierce within him. The waves crashing against the shore echoed the thrumming in his chest as he approached the beach. He’d seen this training ring before, though he’d rarely stepped inside. Today, it seemed, that would change.

Standing alongside his siblings, Jamie and Iskandor, Balrog kept his gaze low, casting occasional glances at them. His brother's excitement was almost palpable, and Jamie’s presence added a comforting, familiar warmth to the moment. But today wasn’t for comfort. Today, Balrog could feel that primal need to prove himself, to earn his place.

As Basilisk spoke, Balrog listened intently, feeling each word sink deep into his bones. A prize from the blacksmith? That was tempting. His mind spun with the possibilities: a small blade, perhaps, or something else he could keep close. But the boon… the thought of having his father’s word on anything, without question or judgment, lit a fire in his heart. The promise of it made him feel almost powerful.

When Basilisk paused, Balrog squared his shoulders, lifting his chin. He wouldn’t speak, not yet. Talking wasn’t his strength, not like the quiet resolve he felt in moments like this. Instead, he gave a curt nod, acknowledging his father’s words, and finally looked directly at Iskandor, then at Jamie, sizing them up just as they would him.

There was no need for hesitation. When the match began, he’d give everything, each strike and dodge a testament to the training and resolve his parents had instilled. He was ready to see where he stood, and today he’d carve that answer into the sand.

"Balrog"

the past season had been a lesson in resilience. following a particularly nasty flare up, she’d spent seemingly
insurmountable periods stretched out across her bed, waiting sullenly for this latest influx of poor health to pass. it was mind numbing, the boredom made worse for all the freedoms she was now allowed. it was one thing to be confined to her den when she’d been a pup, and scarcely knew anything of the world; but now that she knew what it was to feel the wind in her fur, the dirt beneath her feet, deprivation was unthinkable.

the girl is still unsteady on her feet as she stalks across the beach, something pensive and guarded in the line of her brow. she pauses at the end of the line, glancing between each brother with growing trepidation. her body still feels weak in places, her head prone to bouts of dizziness. Jamie grinds sand between her toes as Bas’ voice washes over her, trying to quash her own uncertainties in the very same way. her hunger is a siren song, a flame dancing in the pit of her stomach and fanning higher with every passing minute. she looks upon her father, her proud, formidable father, and feels something solidify in the centre of her chest. she’ll have this. take it for herself between shaking hands and brandish it above her head as tangible proof: she is not weak.

"Jamie"

Ignita kept her breath even and steady as she walked with her husband to the black sands of the cove. Soft, glittering, coarse. Rougher than the fine gold sands of her birthplace. She sat beside him, her affectionate expression tempered as she watched each determined child come forward and listen to the rules of the challenge. They all displayed a readiness that honestly surprised her! Pride welled within her as she looked from son to daughter, to son. My, they have grown so much already.

"No matter what happens today or in the future, I am proud of each of you. Do your best and you'll be all the more prepared for next time." She said warmly to them. Her gaze would settle on each one for a moment, savoring the image of her babies as they were just now.

"Jamie"||"Iskandor"||"Odette"||"Citadel"||"Selene"||"Balrog"||"Ignita"||"Basilisk"

“I play no favourites, my hope lies in each of you.” Basilisk added on to his Wife’s encouraging words, and he knew that he meant exactly what he said. He looked at each of the three children in front of him. They had, for different reasons, had a tough start in life. He would do everything he could to cultivate their ambitions, and drive them to be their best.

“Step into the ring, and begin.” He ordered, raising a paw and gesturing towards the ribbened outline behind him. Stacked in four corners into the sand, it provided a space for the three of them to fight. They would need to be weary of being pushed out of the ring.


"Jamie"||"Iskandor"||"Selene"||"Citadel"||"Selene"||"Balrog"||"Ignita"||"Basilisk"

His heart beat a little faster, a quiet smile curving the edges of his lips at his mother’s pride. He met her reassuring gaze with one of his own, reflecting her warmth back at her.

Iskandor’s eyes shifted to his father as Basilisk’s words struck like tempered steel. There were no favorites, and that the Warlords hope lay in all of them. He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he glanced at his siblings beside him. It wasn’t a burden, but a gift wrapped in the weight of expectation—a promise that his own ambitions would be matched with their unwavering support.

The ring behind their father now loomed with promise and challenge. For his mother’s warmth and his father’s expectations, he would give everything. He clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar grind of his teeth as he again considered the reward. He was as ready as he could have been as Basilisk raised his paw and gestured to the ring.

Without waiting for any further signal, Iskandor stepped forward, his gaze fixed and resolute. He spared a glance at his mother and father then let out a breath that came out as a soft, barely audible growl. Crossing into the ring, Iskandor spread his legs for balance and lowered his head, muscles tensed and ready. His eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled back into a silent snarl that showed he wasn’t afraid. He was determined.


Iskandor vs Balrog vs James for Melee
Round 0/?
Age: Under 1
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Balanced
Mutation 1: Cat Claws - Offensive
Mutation 2: Reinforced Bones - Defensive
Mutation 3: Thick Skin - Defensive
Skills: Beginner Fighter & Beginner Intellectual
"Speech"

Balrog watched as his father gave the signal, his gaze drifting from Basilisk’s commanding figure to the ring ahead, then to Iskandor, who had already stepped in with his usual confidence. Jamie stood just beside him, a glint of determination and fire in her eyes. He took a moment, breathing in deeply as his mother's words of pride warmed him. For her, and for the fierce hope in his father's voice, he would fight.

He shifted his weight, muscles coiling beneath his fur, prepared to wield his strength. His thick, protective fur provided him with a natural defense, and he would put it to good use today. Balrog knew his strength lay in his heavy build, his endurance, and the defensive barriers his thick fur granted him. He would need every advantage if he hoped to hold his ground against his siblings’ fierce ambition.

Without further hesitation, he stepped into the ring, keeping his head low and his stance broad, bracing himself. His obsidian eyes narrowed, focusing sharply on Iskandor’s silent snarl, his brother’s body coiled and ready for the first move. Balrog returned the look, his gaze hard and unwavering. He lifted a paw, claws extending with a practiced ease as he let out a low growl, a signal that he was ready.

Balrog pushed forward with a powerful step, aiming to press his weight into Iskandor, hoping to knock him slightly off balance before the real strikes began. He would use his size to crowd his brother, attempting to push him toward the edges of the ring. His next move was calculated, his claws aiming to rake along Iskandor’s shoulder, a testing strike to see how his brother would respond.

Balrog was prepared to defend against any incoming attack, ready to use his thick fur as a buffer and bracing his legs for stability. This wasn’t just a fight to prove himself; it was a statement of his resolve and growth.

Balrog vs Iskandor & Jamie for Melee
Round 1/3
Age: Under 1
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Heavy
Mutation 1: Thicker fur - Defensive
Mutation 2: Retractable claws - Offensive
Mutation 3: Crystal obsidian eyes - Perception
Skills: Novice Fighter & Advanced Navigator

"Balrog"