OOC: [ ]



His children needed a safer future. It was, perhaps, arguable that in doing this that his children would be damned. To not dethrone, but kill, the head of the Armada family was purely sinful. He would make a few enemies for anyone with his surname, but in the long run, it would protect them from the target of the Armadan King. Isardis was a world leader in Alacritis. He was certainly talented, sinfully extraordinary. However, Alacritis was not suited for them both. The land wouldn?t be able to hold both of their angst with each other. At least in death Syrinx would be freed of his worries. Virgil would be angry if he died when he pledged himself to her, but she would somehow understand that it was for the safety of their children. It was time.

Massive body was carried to the battlefield. He was more grotesque than any time before. Isardis and himself were truly an exemplification of beauty and the beast. Today they would also learn who was the lion and who were the lamb. He was prepared mentally, physically, and emotionally. It was time for the two to dance a dance that had been long anticipated, and knowing Isardis--he would not miss the calling. He had lifted a verbal challenge to the boy last they had met, and now it was being put to the test. Show yourself.

Massive paws were evenly spread apart so that his weight could be evenly distributed. His head was low and in line with his spine, but beyond this there were no battle tactics in place. He wouldn?t fight Isardis dirty. They were both far too good for such a means. Syrinx, at least, could admit that he was going to be a worthy opponent. A smirk danced across a disfigured palette and each fiber of fur rustled in the wind that danced around him on this night. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the red god knew he could have picked no better night. A night where music would play for them. A night where they would be encouraged. It was a beautiful thing, truly.

Lips fell parted and he summoned his albino opponent. The king of Indarra. Would Indarra soon fade into obscurity? It was a question they would all find out soon. Isardis was likely already beating the ground to bring himself here. He wouldn?t miss such a thing. Syrinx began to wonder who else would show. Family of Isardis most likely would be the majority of their crowd. His own--there were a select few, but he had become dead to them. He was not a family man any longer and had lost so much respect. It was alright, he was going to earn it back or die trying. Isardis was the one who had made Valhalla?s legs so unstable and let the world rock them until they crumbled down. Isardis was ultimately to blame for everything wrong. Or had he only shown everyone their true nature? Despite all of this--it was show time.


"Speech!".

And so the frenzied ghoul will march to his own deathbed as though it is his own true beginning; aging physique as pristine and unpolluted as the vigorous days of his youth. He is perhaps, twice the senior of the red fiend that wails for his demise, and yet still his bones and strong and his vigour more than adequate to defeat. Regardless, the crimson child may preach of waking history, but he does not hold experience in his favour; he is but the promising ruby tumbling unpolished about the drawers of its jeweller. Isardis is no stranger to shredding jugulars and suffocating windpipes, but tonight it is different; tonight he saunters with principle towards the one man who has proven he is not supernatural, the one fool who had managed to defeat him.

The Patriarch?s mind is light with the thought of Argent and his family as he comes to stand beneath a crystal moon; distant flashes of lightning casting eerie shadows about the forms of a gazing duo. If there was to be an enemy that truly earths his pride it would be Syrinx; and he gazes now upon the youth not in nauseating hatred but in sheer bliss. His lips flutter in weak satisfaction, joints swaying as he comes to terms with the fact Syrinx had accepted his terms of challenge all that time ago. This evening, one of them will die, and then it will remain in the palms of their families to decide future war and peace. Pale lashes slide fluently atop rosy gape, content in his silence as he only hopes that the world will gather to witness the clash of Alacritis? ultimate rivals. He does not charge, but he waits, stabilising his defences as his gaze becomes suddenly sharper; skull lower in a hushed encouragement for his opposition to initiate the beginning of the end.
Isardis vs Syrinx ? Round 0 of (3 or 4?)!

FOR DEATH

So this is what it had come to. She knew better than to expect anything else of Syrinx, her brother, who was perpetually incapable of letting go of a grudge that the rest of them had put aside. They would never forget -- but there were some things simply not worth bringing to the surface. Syrinx, however, had never been the greatest at knowing when to let things go. His call was eerie and unforgiving. A battle cry, signalling the end to a feud that had not only injured those she cared for, but had taken lives. It seemed the call stretched for miles, rallying those that dared to watch the spectacle, and warning those that dared not see the bloodshed. She would close the distance between herself and the impending battle quickly, unwilling to let Syrinx engage in such a fight without at least knowing she was present, even if she could not affect the outcome. The Adravendi woman was silent as her lithe paws carried her over the bloodstained terrain, her gaze brimming with intent and purpose. Her brother's form was unmistakable in the distance, and quickly she would pace to his side, gaze lingering on Isardis for but a moment. "You cannot fail," she muttered, voice falling from pursed lips. The woman's chest clenched painfully, eyes alight with fire -- and most of all, hope -- for she could not imagine truly losing him. Though she held hate in her heart for Isardis, the love she felt for Syrinx was far greater. However grotesque he might be, however flighty and undependable, he was her brother, and she loved him more than words could describe. Slowly she would embrace him, feeling his fur bristle at the impending attack, but the contact was short-lived as she backed away, not wanting to get tangled in the fight that would come quickly.

The eerie cry for battle drug her from her depressed reverie. She pulled herself lazily from the ground, near the border where she sat and wasted no time in heading towards the battlefield. It was a call for her father, and the caller was familiar. It was the wolf who had called for Athena Armada's newly earned throne. Her brow furrowed over her dull violet eyes. What in the hell? Her ivory furred legs pulled her over the marred battlefield, as she heeded to the sound. She could see him there, the grotesque creature and untainted royalty of the Armada sire. There was another, but Roman paid her little mind. She halted to the side of the upcoming fight, her tone raspy and soft as she encouraged her father to destroy her opponent. "End him, Isardis." She wanted to see this creatures blood stain the ground the stood upon. Perhaps that would make her feel better? Greek had scarce left his mistress's side since the loss of her unborn, and this time would be no different. His gray eyes studied the scene before him, that Roman had led them too. It would be that wolves would fight to the death? Both were strange looking creatures. His eyes narrowed slightly at Roman's words, but no words would leave him. He would merely watch. Greek Speak -- Roman Speak

The last time the youth had tiptoed upon the battlefield was when Syrinx had made a call to the new queen of Glaciem for her crown, but at the end of that it did not happen. Though, it was a shame it made little difference to the russet babe. Though today, as she heard the same eerie call she would waste no time in picking herself from the ground and waltzing towards the call, large paws would hit the earth of the battlefield, the place had a death sentence written all over it. The stench, the feel and the desolate landscape said it all. Meinx would look upon the gathering- her gaze briefly falling upon her aunt, though she would pay little attention to the placid woman with the strange markings she didn't even know. One of Isardis's litter she presumed. Meinx would make no comment, she would say nothing as she stood boldly. She knew her presence alone was enough for her father to know of her support and faith for him and him only. she would shift, moving closely towards her aunt. She could only hope her father would not fall [ her hopes in him are always great.]Though if he did, meinx would make his memory lives on through the Adravendi sisters, and by the scent upon him, she would make sure to find all others who bore it. What had he been doing with his time?

EDIT/NOTE: i felt the need to edit this. Please set no fights upon this character as im on absence on Saturday and i wont be able to finish or start the fight. Thanks:3

The ear-splitting summon of the once known Red King tore through the silent atmosphere, triggering the massive black mass awake and a bit angry. His old beloved had seen to challenge that behemoth...but instead, got his former queen in the way of everything. The mention of the challenge always brought frustration to his chest. He could of been a king with Six. The opportunity, though, just fled from his paws like a distressed snake. But...now it was even darker matters. It was a death match that this nasty fiend had requested of his king. His king. The albino king...how foolish. This Aldoro would not miss. Not a chance. After all...Isardis was his king. He was the king to his beloved...he kept her safe. So, why not go watch? The dark brute arrived at the battlefield within no time. The aroma of death and decay filled his nose and made his lips extend into an excited grin, fur pricking immediately. The smell of this place had also made this beast feel welcomed. It always made him smile, or grin, like he was now. So...it was a fine pleasure to come watch the event. Isardis, Syrinx, Roman, and two others were already gathered. It took a moment for the beast to remember Roman, his former queen...but then the memory popped into his little head. He wondered how her pack was doing...but he wondered even more who'd die today. Long, muscular legs carried him over to his king, head aligned with his spine and tail bobbing softly between his hind legs. Once her arrived at his left, he lifted his chin and released a brief chuckle. Then spoke after Roman had. ?Make him suffer, my king.? With that, the ebony monster made his way to the sides of the battlefield, leaning back on his torso and staring toward the glorious red challenger. He snorted and turned back to Isardis. He knew the albino king could send him down to hell...he had faith in him.

Azalea would hark the battle cry. A call from blood, sending a kiss of death to Indarra for the pale king of the north. Isardis no longer had a booming kingdom but he still had his strength, Azalea knew as much from their last meeting. The father of her first born sons could not die today. It was a harsh thought to spin in her auburn furred head, especially given that it meant to say that her own flesh and blood deserved the death he dealt. Her uncle had attempted many things in his life, this would be the one that he could not back out of though. He would either serve to add chaos as he so loved to do, or he would crumble before Isardis. Her paws carried her swiftly, following closely behind Roman. Armada versus Adravendi had been written in blood before and now it would be again. Under the silver light of the moon her uncle stood with his exposed jaw. Before him was Isardis. They were wordless and motionless so instead Azalea turned her attention to the crowd. Her stomach turned restlessly as she wondered if Isardis would notice her presence, wondering also if he would care what side she stood for. She would not stand quite neutral, proclaiming her place among her family's enemies as she came to stand beside Roman. Azalea seated herself, fiery eyes looking across to her aunt. It had been ages since last she had seen her aunt Epiphron. It was clear that she rooted for her brother, telling him that he couldn't fail. To Azalea now it was a foolish to say as Syrinx had failed before. Perhaps the threat of his mortal life made him more of a competitor? "End him, Isardis." Would come the words of Roman just as her cousin appeared. Azalea remained silent, eyes drifting to Roman for a moment before going to watch the two males square off.

The call that spread over Alacritia like a dark plague of locusts would stop the scarred firebird in her tracks, hackles raising and lips curling back in a grotesque snarl. Celestial eyes would turn towards the battlefield and the woman would slide her muzzle under Mercury's stomach, toting the tasmanian devil onto her back, and then threw her form into a headlong sprint. I'll be damned if I miss this. Determination warded off fatigue as she arrived, pace slowing as she slunk forward to spy the newfound enemy that enticed Isardis to his early grave.



A ghastly being as ugly as the challenge he made stood upon the dusty battlefield, Isardis stationed nearby, waiting for his opponent to initiate. A crowd had already gathered, most of them uttering words of encouragement for the albino beast. Her timbre joined the chorus, striking out with greater volume and firmness. "You will rise above. This cesspool of a land is worthless without it's moon." Even those who despised Isardis could not deny that in earlier times, he had shaped this land and its inhabitants to their prime--Jupiter would bite the head off of any who dared devalued the alabaster man.


"speech"

{Just to make things clear, Croa is not taking any sides. I just want them to both live.}

She wasn't sure why she had came to this, her paw held tightly to her chest. But at some female's words, a white creature with vibrant purple eyes, her ears pricked. Isardis? Wasn't that the man who had practically taken her pack away from her? Taken her home? The other man was one she didn't know, but she wagged her tail slightly at him. Moving closer, she dipped her head and allowed a small smile as she stared up at him. She opened her jaws to speak, her voice entirely too soft and quiet. "I know we have never met before, but I hope that you win. That other wolf took my home." She paused, sending a glare at the other wolf. "Make him suffer." She growled. Sitting down heavily, she stared at the others, and found a female with the same scent as the male she was rooting for. She gave a short nod and a friendly smile, focusing on the fight before her. "Speech"

Epiphron watched the scene unfold with bated breath. Her heart fluttered desperately in her chest. For a long while, she was oblivious as to who had arrived, focused solely on the battle that was soon to unfold. Once, such a battle would've induced a siege, a chaotic battle between families and between lands -- but the Adravendi empire had fallen, its members dispersed among Alacritis. They were mere wanderers now, herself included. Even she held no throne, no title, merely a name and a legacy that even she had begun to question. Since her husband's betrayal, she had grown cold and bitter; she longed for the way things had once been, and she felt jaded at how cruel fate had been to her and to the ones she loved. Recognition sparked in her gaze as the scent of her niece drifted through the battlefield. Azalea. It had been so long since she had seen her... slowly the woman tilted her head, invisible crown slipping as her posture relaxed at the girl's familiar face. She waited expectantly for her to come to her side, to greet her openly and warmly as she always had -- but instead, she felt anger seep into her very bones as Azalea turned to stand at Isardis' side, alongside a woman that resembled him well. Her gait had been slow but certain, and she showed little hesitation at choosing the side she did. Slowly Epiphron's fur would bristle, muscles growing tense as she watched her silently. Thinking, waiting -- her reaction to the obvious betrayal was slow and calculated. Her niece seemed to be siding with the man that had raped her. The man that had ruined her life. His family had tormented her own; his Queen had blinded her sister, Azalea's aunt, in battle. Though she held a grudge against Isardis and his minions, it was not the feud between families and between packs that fueled her sudden malice. It was Azalea's blatant disregard for family and for blood. These things were important above all else. Her anger was slow to rise to the surface, but it was obvious once it did appear who it was directed towards. Ebony lips curled into a snarl, her gaze focusing solely on her niece, her peripheral vision growing hazy as she found herself turning to face Azalea. The others around here faded away, her world growing dark and cold. "Such blatant disregard for your family," she spat, her hackles raising along her spine. Why was she honestly defending the man that had raped her against her will? Was she really so brainwashed to view him as an ally? "Have you forgotten who you are, Azalea Adravendi? Or are you simply Isardis's bitch now? Do you have no pride? No respect for where you came from?" Her words were harsh and unforgiving, but her tones quivered with emotion. She loved her niece, but it seemed she had fallen captive to this albino King somehow -- despite how deeply he had hurt her, and despite all he had done to their family. In spite of everything. "You were not raised to be so spineless. Your parents would be so disappointed..." It was difficult to verbalize why she was so angry, but anyone that knew the scenario would not be surprised at her reaction. Yet even she did not expect such a violent reaction. Slowly her head would lower, shoulders rolling forward to protect her sensitive throat. Epiphron knew there would be no talking to Azalea about this -- her insolence had pushed the woman too far, and she would not be stopped now. 'An eye for an eye,' she suddenly found herself thinking. If Azalea had decided to side with the vicious beasts that had maimed Chrysanthe, she could take the punishment just as well, though she doubted her niece would take it with nearly as much grace and pride. Shifting to evenly spread her weight to all four paws, she took the opportunity to leap forward, jaws splaying as they sought to connect with the side of Azalea's face, aiming to tear with force at her left eye. As she landed on the firm ground, her tail lashed out behind her, hoping to keep her balance as she struggled to grasp the side of her face. A snarl ripping from her throat as adrenaline began to course rapidly through her veins, built-up anger from the last year or so beginning to break through, shattering whatever composure she had tried to maintain. Epiphron vs. Azalea for maim Round 1 / ? (you decide rounds) Attacks: Aiming to bite at the left side of Azalea's face, particularly her eye. Defenses: Head lowered and shoulders rolled forward to protect her neck, weight spread evenly between all four paws, tail straight behind her as she lands. Injuries: n/a

Azalea felt the change in the atmosphere as anger clouded the field and clogged her airways. Her amber gaze would shift around to find an angry Pip staring her down. Pale blue eyes cold as ice as her aunt bristled before her. "Such blatant disregard for your family," Epiphron would say, causing Azalea to draw back her ears. There was no shame in the way Azalea held herself, though. Her ears retreated at the distaste in her beloved family member's tones. "Have you forgotten who you are, Azalea Adravendi? Or are you simply Isardis's bitch now? Do you have no pride? No respect for where you came from?" It took about to the word "bitch" before Azalea was on her feet, stepping toward her aunt with lips drawn back in an ugly snarl. She could feel her own hackles rising as the situation quickly snowballed. "You were not raised to be so spineless. Your parents would be so disappointed..." It was an insult. All of it. Epiphron, who had not seen her in what felt like forever was standing here judging her when it was not her place. "Think what you want, I've always been the black sheep." Her words were spat back at her aunt, not dignifying to stoop to insults. Sad that those she knew well now seemed to know her better than her aunt. "Valhalla failed. It was weak and I wish more of life than to just another wolf from a family with a has been name." So what if her aunt didn't like what she had to say, it was clear where this was going. Her shoulders tensed, moving forward to protect her neck just as she tucked her nose a bit, to misguide any direct attack to her throat. With her hackles on full guard now they provided additional support in keeping teeth from her skin. Amber eyes of fire narrowed to deflect debris with her lashes. Her legs bent to give her a lower center of gravity, providing balance for the charge that was to come. Her aunt mirrored her closely in her preparations. Azalea's ears hadn't left her skull and now they hugged it tight to avoid being shredded. Her claws dug into the ground as her aunt leaped through the air. It was a head on attack and with their proximity it was hard to avoid. Her left eye jumped close as the black void of her aunt's throat became all she could see out of it. Azalea tucked her head as quickly as possible, putting more of her forehead in the way of Epiphron's encroaching fangs. She felt the burn of canines scraping her skull and the bloom of pain spider-webbing across her face. She kept her left eye clenched tightly shut, afraid to find out if it remained intact or not given the amount of pain that now consumed half of her beautiful red face. There was no time to process the damage, only to react. Her paws were still dug into the ground and now she pushed herself forward, keeping her head ducked and tucked, keeping her neck out of reach. Her left shoulder went forward, tailing moving to counter balance, curving lightly in the opposite direction behind her. Her aim was to drive her aunt back and better yet knock her off balance. Azalea's left shoulder aimed to Pip's left shoulder, putting as much force was she could into it without losing the balance needed to draw back from the charge. They must have been quite a sight to the wolves around them, not that Azalea even registered their presence anymore. Aunt versus niece and to boot they had been close for a very long time. Epiphron v Azalea for Maim/Dominance (Azalea would rather just show her aunt that she shouldn't be messed with if possible) Round 1 of 2 attack: left shoulder to left shoulder, looking to knock Epihphron off balance and also push her back

The black sheep of the family rose to her paws, peering at the two fighting females. She heard the argument clearly, and decided to watch. This would prove to be interesting. It was the blue eyed female who spoke first, her insults harsh and strange for the pup, who was not their family. "Such blatant disregard for your family," The blue eyed female said, and continued. "Have you forgotten who you are, Azalea Adravendi? Or are you simply Isardis's bitch now? Do you have no pride? No respect for where you came from?" The black and white female allowed a small snicker. "You were not raised to be so spineless. Your parents would be so disappointed..." Hestia laughed a little louder, hoping they wouldn't hear her. Then the female with the brown head spoke, spitting at the blue eyed wolf. "Think what you want, I've always been the black sheep." That was all she heard before her thoughts flowed in, everything in her vision fading to red. Even this wolf's calling me a black sheep. Why. She doesn't know my family. She doesn't know.......She called me the black sheep. Like everyone did. Her breath came in ragged puffs, her thoughts finally calming down. But fury filled her, first at this wolf, then at losing to Fia. But, after a few minutes, she calmed down. "Speech"

He was caught in a fever dream, in a spinning, whirling mess of fear and uncertainty. When he awoke to crimson light it took him a few moments to realize what had awakened him, a howl? a challenge. Drashiel's fur stood on end. He could not have heard that call right. A challenge to the death with his father! And the call, there was now doubt, Syrnix Adravendi?. Drashiel growled as he leapt to his feet but his bosom was surprisingly empty of hate. How could he hold anything but respect for a warrior skilled enough to defeat his father?


However there was fear? what if his father were to die in this fight? Had Drashiel had been granted a new start only to lose it? Was fate punishing him for his hubris? The young male moved slowly to the battlefield as he tried to ease the numbness that coursed it's way through his limbs. His future hung on the precipice and all he could feel was? nothing.


As he came upon the two males he found himself unable to speak. Rather he drew himself together, as regal and cold as the north wind itself. He would show himself to be the king his father had hoped he would be, regardless if this fight meant the dissolution of their kingdom or a sturdy base from which others would gaze in fearful respect.


"Speech"

It was exhilarating. He could feel the heat beneath his skin begin to crawl forward. He could feel time begin to s l o w. Syrinx was mesmerized. They would come. They would all come. He could hear them coming as though their feet were moving to the beat of drums. As he wished, Isardis would be the first to arrive, ?My ever worthy opponent. You never fail to please, do you?? There was a perversion of this war in his fight. Syrinx sought to make it known, hoever, that he values Isardis as a worthy opponent. He knew that the Armada was no pathetic boy. With everyone arriving he made sure to let it be known. He was not killing Isardis because he was not good enough to live. Quite the opposite. He was too good to live. She, however, would come. Her touch was electrifying and somewhat hardening. She would whisper only a single phrase to him and he would not against her, his muscles quivering in anticipation of what was to come. She was going to be the reason he was fighting today. He had been issued a command by his sister, and he would not fail her. Not today. He nodded to her, ?Find my newest brood should I fall. Teach Arcturus how to restore our family. Restore it, His children needed to be raised properly. The Adravendi needed to find their roots. As she disappeared a smile cracked over his lips and he whispered, ?I love you,? His eyes returned to Isardis and he waited. Wanting to see if he would say anything. However, no words would fall, idly sitting by as they stared in silence would do nothing. Syrinx would take the first move. However, he would not be the only one--as he began so did another pair (Epiphron vs. Azalea). The younger one needed to be shown respect again. Syrinx hoped that she would find the error in her ways. Begin Syrinx vs. Isardis Syrinx allowed his head to fall in line with his spine. His ears were also pinned against his skull and his eyes were narrowed in directly on Isardis?s face. Limbs were bent so that he would not lock himself up and his weight was evenly distributed between evenly spaced limbs. His back legs were sprawled to create a base for himself and his tail was up to act as a counterweight to allow him the ability to maneuver. Jaws would fall agape and yellowing teeth would be ever the more present. Shoulders would roll forward to further encumber his neck in fur flesh and fat, while he would also tuck his chin in ever so slightly. Hackles raised and bristled with the growl that ricocheted through his body Syrinx would flex his toes and feel his muscles tighten through his body, and then, as the god he claimed to be he advanced. He was approaching Isardis head on at a sprinting pace. His eyes remained charged to Isardis?s face and as he attempted to close the distance between them his teeth would aim for the pale king?s face. Syrinx would angle his head diagonally so that his top set would aim for Isardis?s left eye and his bottom set would aim for the upper part of Isardis?s cheek on Isardis?s right side. Regardless of making contact he would gnash his teeth together, so that in case he did he would destroy the red king?s appearance. He would, hopefully, blind him from this maneuver and draw a pretty gash across his features. Simultaneously Syrinx?s body (not his head, but everything including his shoulders and down) would turn a bit to his own right by about 25 degrees and he would aim to drive his left shoulder into the center of Isardis?s chest, hoping to knock the breath out of him. Regardless of making contact he would relax the muscles in his upper shoulder but tighten his own chest so that the shock of collision would be lessened should it occur. At almost the exact same time, Syrinx?s weight would fall dominantly on his back legs so he could find stability and the rest would fall on the front left limb. Reason being--his right limb would lift off of the ground and move forward in an attempt to wrap around Isardis?s left ankle and pull his limb out from beneath him. He wanted to watch him Fall. Luckily, Syrinx had a slight height advantage, so any move requiring him to lift a limb off of the ground...he did not need to lift so far off of it. Syrinx vs. Isardis for death One two three

A fight broke out and an itched burned furiously in her paws, ear flicking and weight shifting with anticipation. Mercury, having unseated himself from her back, watched her with careful eyes, attuned to the shifts in her moon in the way a god would be in touch with its subjects. Words stuck in her ears, though--words from a wounded black mutt. Rage burst forth from her gut and she turned upon the woman, hackles raised and ears pinned, stance terse and aggressive. "Your queens abandoned your pack--gave it to a coward who forfeited it in the face of a challenge. Your queens handed Covari to him on a silver platter." Her voice struck out from her maw like lightning, taking another step forward, the distance between them lessened to around eight feet as Jupiter approached the laughing bitch perpendicularly. "I, with many others, were going to be the ones to siege on your home and split skulls on the rocks like shells of a meal. And then they fled." Legs spread, weight distributing evenly, toes splaying and claws gripping the earth. Hackles raised to full and eyes slitted, head lowered and lips curled, jaws slightly parted, tail even with her spine. "So come, bitch--make me suffer. I'll take your insolent tongue." JUPITER VS. HESTIA for MAIM/REMOVAL OF TONGUE round zero of ??? (prefer 2/3 rounds)

An eery voice would reach out to her, waking her from her light slumber. Russet audits twitched in disbelief, but a wicked desire had her rising to all fours. Powerful limbs would carry her to the border at a frenzied pace, and she would not stop as the border approached and then past. Her stride would lengthen with desperate hope for what could only be impossible. But nothing was impossible. The caller was a stranger, probably a fool, but there was no doubt in her mind of who he was summoning. Hackles would bristle with unspoken pleasure, though her scarred face remained void any real emotion. Lunges would suck in much needed oxygen as she slowly closed the distance between her home and the battlefield. Only when the scent of blood and the cries war washed over her would she slow to a walk, halting out of sight to catch her breath. When she approached, a crowd had already gathered, and the sides where obvious. Followers of the ice king stood behind him, spitting tasteless encouragements to their master. However, the russet mans followers spoke few words, only one woman seeming to have much to say. She had arrived in time to see the russet man rush towards her sire, his intent clear. Everything seemed to slow down, the fight seeming to happen in slow motion as the beast rushed forward, jaws parting to grab a hold of his opponent. A sickening sense of thrilled gripped her belly as she joined the crowd, standing at a neutral distance, she was merely a spectator, supporting no one. A second fight would commence, between two women, both seeming to hold strong feelings towards each other. However, as they collided, the russet Queen would pay them no mind, her attention was focused solely on the two kings. Total opposites, and yet, all too similar. Beings of power and outrageous desire with egos to match. There was no doubt in her mind that one would fall tonight, after all, the call had promised death. Tension filled her shoulders and she couldn't tear away her gaze from the bloodshed, she kept her silent hopes to herself, not yet willing to voice them to anyone, especially not herself.

The voice that echoed through the air was one that she easily recognized. She wasn't sure she would ever truly get the voice of the first challenger for her throne out of her head. It wasn't a call for a throne this time, however, this voice called for her father and her father alone. This was something much more sinister than a pack challenge. Athena's two-tone gaze swiveled in the direction of the challenger's howl and she felt a moment of hesitation. She knew as Isardis's daughter she should be there. She knew that there should be no question of her support for her father. But she hadn't quite let herself forgive him for taking her mother and one of her overseers from under her paws, for taking away two of the most skilled and trustworthy members of her pack. She sighed heavily, hesitating a few moments longer before finally trotting off at a comfortable speed toward the battlefield. Irritated at him or not, she wouldn't simply stand by while someone was reaching for her father's throat. Dispute or not, she was still an Armada and that was something she was proud of. She didn't rush to the scene, instead letting herself get there when she would. She was really more interested in the results than the fight itself. By the time she arrived the fight had already begun, Syrinx making his move to initiate the battle for life or death. Athena was riveted, staring at the pair and silently pulling for her father to win. She sat herself beside Roman, one of the only faces besides Drashiel that she recognized. She spotted Azalea as well, but it seemed that the russet faced woman had gotten into an altercation of her own, one that Athena wasn't interested in being in the middle of. Now all she could do was wait and see if Isardis's might was enough to bring down his opponent. Speech Thought Others

If it weren't for the lack of fecundity in her life, she probably would have made a different excuse not to be here. But alas even with the emotional pressure plastered onto the youth, she was determined to be here. Arian wouldn't fight, and when she saw her mother in a spat with one of their family members(one she did not know, so could not entirely judge her mother on engaging) but still her body ached with the slight thought that her little world from when she was younger was now gone. It put rage into her heart, but she stayed looking fine. Her eyes drifting over to both sides of the story, two families, two families fighting for respect and survival. This was the reality that she wanted to slip her mind, the reality she wanted to throw away. Like the time she saw her siblings starve at a young age. She could sense this fight would be to the death, and she felt like she was gasping for a breath of air in the sea. Her paws would step into the terrain and pull herself back as her eyes subconsciously followed Syrinx. Every blow, every teeth and scratch mark that would hit him would make her flinch on the inside. But she still looked like she was the picture of calm despite what was happening inside of her. The girl finally decided to settle herself away from everyone else. Wolves were too wrapped up in their own anger, and Arian felt nothing, nothing at all. The only anger that sparked inside of her was for Isardis' hurting her beloved uncle. The only family that she had been able to aim to stand beside in all his power. She wasn't the strongest of the adravendi's, she wasn't even related by blood. But Syrinx had given her a reason to be ambitious, if he died she wasn't sure how her life in olympus would go. A healer and not of the olympus blood was not held at high regards. It worried her, but she also felt like it meant she was depending on Syrinx too much. Regardless she would watch him carefully, blocking out all else all other voices. She took in a deep breath and reminded herself who she was. She would stay positive as she always did. TALK LIKE THIS

War and anger loomed over them like a plague it seemed. As a son of the albino king, he was required to be here. But his emotions were still in a stand still since of the last events of Isardis looking at him as if he was nothing. It still bothered him, except Vereux as a king could not let it get to his head. His body would stand strong, beside Athena as he stood not sitting. His single emerald eye would look towards Roman for a moment before returning his half blind gaze to his father. ?Will you die in the fire father, or emerge from the ashes as a new man.? he would say. He didn't know what the outcome of this fight would be, Syrinx was a good fighter as he had heard stories of him just as his father had. On the inside of course he was rooting for his father. This was a matter of life or death it was no simple matter. Settling himself down, his eye would watch his father's movement. He would take every single one into his memory, this was like another fighting lesson in his life. And hopefully his father would emerge from the ashes as a new man instead of being engulfed in the fire of yesterday. His fur bristled, what kind of king would he be after this himself? Vereux did everything he could for his people, but if Isardis were to die, what would happen to the rest of them. Would they assume them weak and try to obliterate them from the face of the planet, he wondered. ?I speak?

He hears the encouraging plea of his people; mind feeding from the buoyancy they portray in his abilities, sparing a moment?s thought to Roman as she haunts the tenders of his heart; his lips flutter in sly thoughts of the upcoming, sure that even if he died today, Roman would hunt for revenge upon the rise of the next moon. However it is Jupiter that causes his being to quaver, though his ruby gaze refuses to sway even fleetingly from Syrinx?s fetid form, her words bring forth a harmonising souvenir of his consign to the world; the moon and the sun? though their alliance had been short, it would likely stand for the entirety of Jupiter?s existence, and knowing the sweltering vulpess was breathing and in attendance was enough to persuade his senses into a flurry of quaking thrill.

Pandemonium unfolds around him, becoming aware of Azalea?s fierce endeavours to rise above her dishonoured relations once and for all; however he sways from the acknowledgement as his defences stabilise in the wake of Syrinx? initiation. Shoulders roll forwards as his chin tucks defensively in towards his throat, silver hackles bristling in anticipation as his spine aligns with the rudder-motions of his curled tail, abdomen becoming tight and ruby gaze narrowing eagerly atop his form, simultaneously coral limbs become square beneath him, weight stabilising upon all fours, bending his knees as his ears fold back against his pale skull. As the red beast launches, Isardis? fangs become bare with sanguine thrill and his jaws limply unhinge.

Syrinx approaches at a sprint from front on, and though Isardis appears almost willing to take the blow, muscle coils unseen within taut haunches as hocks further bend in preparation to absorb shock; thus, when the man is less than a meter from Isardis, the Northern King will attempt to meet his opposition mid-stride, striving to push forwards into the potential clash of his oncoming enemy. With weight even-handed on four grounded paws, Isardis rapidly comes to recognise Syrinx?s gaping jaws hunting towards his countenance, attempting to take a small leftwards step with his hind left limb so as to try and position the brute ever-so-slightly to his own right as opposed to directly head-on (right side skull to right side skull); cranium desires to shy to Isar?s own left in an effort to avoid The Foul?s grasp. Alas, he is not wholly victorious and Syrinx?s upper fangs come to land just above his left eye, with lower canines pinching his right upper cheek.

With imposing desires Isardis thrives upon the welcoming of a snide opportunity; with the hostile seemingly purchased over his forehead (?), the pale ghoul attempts to extend his nape frontwards; simultaneously striving to wrench his skull from Syrinx? grasp as the Crimson?s upper fangs graze atop the length of his brow; the pastel oddity attempting to slant his skull slightly right in order to try and prevent the man?s canines finding triumph within the sockets of his right eye upon forced exodus; now left uncouthly with the painful throb of seeping lacerations upon his crown?predicted less than half a centimetre in depth and 1? inches in length. It is then The Armada Patriarch strives to initiate a malicious hunt for the tender upper throat regions of Syrinx, aware and encouraged by the man?s position somewhat above him and Isardis? lesser height, the arctic noble might as well have been delivered his exposed jugular on a silver platter.

Blinded by an eerily blissful bloodlust, with violent intent Isardis seeks to secure barbed ivories over the beating, leftwards underside neck and jugular of his nemesis in the malevolent aspiration to gauge tender flesh and savage the swine?s vital artery; feeding from the ecstasy of his own bloodied desires, the albino King craves to become the crimson product of his oppositions bodily contents. With the demented violence of a rabid dog Isardis hastily attempts to retract from any hold he may have succeeded to attain with the trying and violent backwards tug of his head and nape; hoping to remove his physical connection from the man?s own in preparation for his next assault. Clockwork begins to coil his quarters in foundation to charge; provided the man didn?t now lay helplessly wallowing in the pity of his own blood.

However it seems as though the duet have comparable intentions, ruby gaze narrowing intensely upon Syrinx as he rotates his skeleton to his right, and the instantaneously suspicious Isardis seeks to mirror such actions by striving to trundle both hind limbs in one swift, modest step to his own left, in an effort to deliver the duo?s chests at more of a desirable angle (see: ref). Recognizing the looming bracket of Syrinx? fervent left shoulder, Isardis braces the muscles of his chest and bids to elevate the ragged edges of his own left shoulder blade frontwards. [Partial Counter, Damage Pending] Releasing the boiling surge of power within his hindquarters the pale usurper endeavours to collide his equipped left shoulder blade into the motioned, frontal left shoulder socket of Syrinx, simultaneous to the man?s own slam attempts; vigorously intent on causing bruising to the flesh that loitered there, and ambitious that the combination of motions and angles could have amiably resulted in the possibility of dislocation. However most prominently the albino phantom sought to drastically reduce the damage dealt to himself, and at least to try and cause the attack to land in a different, less imperative location.

And though his mind is a flurry of calculation and bristling determination to kill, Isardis does not foresee the ambitious swing of Syrinx?s right foreleg(?). The pallid King had sought to restabilise his squared weight after his forward surge, however it gave him little aide when the bastard with a death wish succeeded in attaining a loose grasp around his upper left fore-ankle (with his right forelimb). For a horrifying moment the sovereign?s weight begins to tilt, with his paw seemingly coiled within the grasp of Syrinx, he identifies an opportunity that is rapidly demonstrated. Before his weight has shifted more so, the rosy monarch strives to bend his grasped, left front ankle downwards, attempting to initiate a link of his own upon the clutching right front structures of Syrinx?s own forearm; ambitious to prevent the man returning his paw to the earth. And in a single attempt at an exaggerated and forwards shoulder-hop (hind limbs staying in place and squared), the monster endeavours to lodge his own right forepaw at bone-crushing velocity upon the susceptible left fore-toes of Syrinx. Hopeful that with the man?s right limb possibly ceased, he could potentially be forced to take the damage. Moments later and Isardis swiftly releases any grasp he may have attained upon Syrinx?s right forelimb and his left forepaw rapidly finds safe purchase upon the rocky loam. Barely a split second later and successful inflictions or not, the man efforts to square all four grounded paws efficiently beneath himself as swiftly as his physical ability will allow; the hinds need not move, it is only his forelimbs that were previously in disarray. All defences reset and retune, grand and unspoiled; saliva seeps from the depths of his gaping jaws as his stomach endlessly groans at the enticing spill of blood.

Isardis vs Syrinx ? Round 1 of 3!

FOR DEATH.
Attacks: Attempting to bite and sever Syrinx?s jugular on the leftwards side of his underside neck- hoping for access due to Syrinx?s unprotected position atop Isar?s own skull. Attempted Partial Counter, seeking to force his left shoulder blade into Syrinx?s left shoulder socket/joint and cause bruising and/or dislocation. Seeking to make his own arm link/hold on Syrinx?s right forelimb when he succeeds to grasp Isardis? own; hoping to use it as slight leverage and prevent the man returning his paw to the earth while Isardis strives to hop forwards with his right forelimb and crush his opponents left fore toes.

Injuries: Bleeding laceration to the brow: less than half a centimetre in depth and 1? inches in length. Pending damage to chest/shoulder region.

edit overseen by Nyx, just missed a at the second para. <3