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rapture.
Posted 01-17-2018, 01:33 PM | This post was last modified: 01-31-2018, 10:08 PM by Ryu
Rebel
Ryu
Rebel Wolf
Male, 4.50
Meso-fighter
35 in, 125 lbs
101 ep
© sea
editted to take away the table.


x



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Posted 01-31-2018, 11:22 PM |
Rebel
Ryu
Rebel Wolf
Male, 4.50
Meso-fighter
35 in, 125 lbs
101 ep
© sea
mature warning. enter at ye own risk.

the arena he chooses is standard. open rock stretches ahead, flat land crawled from gods know where. the grounds here are generally even, categorized faint cracks that carve the emptiness like a geometric omen. dust and stray pebbles blanket the sedimented grounds, but the layer is thin and hardly consequential as far as stability goes. the dust that dances in the wind will do no favors to dull the rough stone beneath. he moves slowly, conserving what precious energy will become useful in a possibly longer campaign. he's a general affronting the threat at its core, ready to face the blood that should have been spilt the first time he met the petulant cunt. his defenses do not alight yet, not as he chooses his position on the playing field. he dons the center of the field, heightened rebel senses at the ready to find her at whichever point she enters the arena. he holds himself at ease for the moment, breath controlled and steady. the day he's chosen is too long after the even for his taste -- 6 days for her to live is far too long. nonetheless, the cool springtime breeze presses ever so softly against his skin. it is midday, the sky entirely void of obstruction and stretching on ever further in blue serenity. the sun casts from almost directly above, setting his shadow thickly below his ivory form. his jaws send to the sky a curt order for her to show her gawky figure. he hopes her injuries are still rife with healing, the skin still scabbing at the edges of what he promises to infect with his desperate jaws.

the moment she enters his vicinity he sets up his armor in full. his legs spread to offer balanced weight, to prepare for a possible ambush she might set. toes spread to grasp at what little more grip they can attain over the scathing stone. head lowers to align with his spine, joints bend where they can to lower his fortress. he's sized her up already, knows how small she is and can adequately guess how little weight she packs. he's a quick study -- through the fury that colored his gaze in the previous battle, he'd watched every moment she'd executed. she is weak with the weight of previous war, and with no doubt hurts. he will intensify the pain she seems to convinced will befall all of them, as though her pain was some great tribute. she knows not real pain, this much he will teach her. tail tuck to the vital undersides, ready to flicked out for balance when he might need it. his muscles relax, hackles dancing atop the ridge of his spine. his ears sink back into his skull, jaws lumbering ajar to breath in the violence. his chin angles downward, whilst lips pull back like the curtains of the wizard's true enterprise. nose and face wrinkle, brows knitting together as eyes narrow while allowing for room to accurately keep depth judgement. the scar tissue across the right side of his face spans his upper cheek and around his right eye. its healing process has much diminished its reign, but the contracture still remains in the key points of his contact, particularly centered at the forefront of his zygomatic arch / upper cheek just below his eye. the skin there is tight and does not move with the rest of his features, does not wrinkle with the same capacity as the rest of his skin. but with his collection of scars comes a high pain tolerance, as was shown in the younger man that stood still as the fire sapped away his skin. he is endowed with growing energy, strength in which he's more than ready to exert over her body. the advantages of living on the ridge have come almost immediately, his endurance and physical fitness at peak condition.

let the little bitch face her death with her pointless cause.

the dragon vs the girl
for vengeance
. . death match . .
preparation round of four
five day limit
meso-runner, 35 inches, 125 pounds
elements inactive ( 39 ep )

good health ( spring, pack wolf )
dodge is unused
most recent spar was two ic months ago, minor injuries sustained.
three previous wins

Lyra


x



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Posted 02-02-2018, 10:45 AM |
Riv
Unregistered
,
in, lbs
ep
© 
STAFF NOTE: This thread has been put on hold for 4 days pending the resolution of this thread. It will open up again 02-06-2018, at 10:45 AM, in which the 5 day time limit will continue. Thank you for your patience.



[ Reply ]






Posted 02-06-2018, 07:56 PM |
Rebel ( Admin )
Lyra
Rebel Wolf
Female, 4.00
Meso-runner
30 in, 105 lbs
264 ep
© Ly

the call is no surprise after the rebel's dramatics on the killing floor. he's dried his useless tears, and come to take what haruko would not freely give; her diamond eyes are cutting with open derision as she studies the boy in her approach. blessedly smaller than the wind queen, their differential not so great as the last. her time in the caves has not dulled all the lessons of the mountain. she's slender and quick, experienced in the art of bloodletting. (and it's a lovely day for violence.) she's tasted pain and loss and victory and found none as sweet as murder in cold blood. her purpose had been sated by the wind god's futility earlier in the week; he'd been as helpless to save his devotee as she had been to save niyole. all this is merely denouement.

muscles loose and body agile, soreness from her last battle all but faded in the days between fights. she'd been fortunate in the wind queen's choice of target. the back right side of the neck is fleshy, covered in thick hackles and loose skin; no serious muscle damage could result from an attack there. its location near the head had resulted in a bloody wound, but after two days, her blood has self-replenished: in six, the worst of the anemia has passed. aster had safeguarded the bite wound from infection. it's not yet scarred, still a scab liable to re-open in battle, but she has suffered far more grievous dueling injuries and recovered. he would have to do better than his beloved to kill her.

she enters to his right, precision hidden in the languor of her movements, each step calculated to the possibility of his movement. careful to keep her head dropped low over her throat and bent forelimbs, jaws slung open to reveal glistening fangs and a tongue flattened in invitation to war: black lips pulled high to wrinkle her maw. her pale blonde limbs are splayed for balance over the rock and her weight set evenly upon them. she spreads her toes to better stabilize against the unforgiving stone and pulls her tail between her legs to fan over her lower stomach. (a far cry from the sticking mud of their last shared scene--she remembers the treacherous footing of stone from her fight against tyrus, so long ago. all skidding and dust and no hope of ready purchase.) she'll stop ten feet from ryu or sooner, if he moves to meet her, dropping her hips over coiled hindquarters. every nerve ending attuned to his movements. anticipating the shift of atoms, the microscopic twitch of a finger on the trigger. her silver eyes are narrowed under flattened ears, hackles bristling like a hundred silver spines. no fury in her gaze, now--this is not her battle: she has taken the life she wanted. his means nothing to her.


Lyra vs. Ryu
death match
move 0 of 4
five day limit
meso-runner, 30 inches, 105 pounds
elements active
259 ep, pending update

fair health
scabbed bite wound on back of neck
dodge is unused
6W | 1L


staff permission to assume healer assistance pursuant to this thread.



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Posted 02-06-2018, 08:29 PM |
Theodosia
Spirit
Female, 3.00
Endomorph
36" in, 132 lbs
204 ep
© Violetta
she wisps in and out of existence -- particles in the galaxy. the raspy atmosphere that tried to control her ethereal movement. awaken from the anesthetic slumber she was cast into. in akako's warm grasp as she comprehended her new abilities. - cosmic. kinder child! - lyra is a hesitant finger on the trigger. steel, rusted gunmetal that new its danger. but equally its limits. while her beloved had no such inhibition. brutal destruction, warped perceptions, vengeful. the spirit's mortal god - would he have slain her at one point in existence. between their planes of existence, has the devilment claimed her soul already?

the scene reeked of adrenaline. the duel to commence agreed upon by space and time. air like the stinging touch of a blade on skin. blood heeded forth by it's cutting edge. metallic, coppery. as ichor was spilled already on the grimy terrain. (her own summoned by the same girl that tries to seem careless.) it's like the minutes were paused, ivory tinged pools of cerulean frozen. if only for a millisecond, while everything forced itself to connect in her twisted mind. marred by the pure malice that's smeared in her consciousness. (theodosia was not born with all the puzzle pieces fitted correctly. it felt like masses were too big. too small. a dragoness without the requirements to keep a handle on her flames.) a gasp -- lungs swell with air no longer needed. she ghosts in and out of corners. never in one spot. never conceding herself to be easily seen. the spirit is here. merely here. no perfume on her timberland, white outlined frame. she needed ryu to win. to win for him. to win for their children. to win for their... their wife? murmura. (she'd call murmura amare her consort - through the many stages of deterioration to come.) but also... to win for her.

until then, however, she was a drifting spirit at the edge of the arena.



notes. spectating.




[ Reply ]






Posted 02-06-2018, 09:16 PM |
Wind
Murmura
Wind Alpha
Female, 3.75
Endomorph
34 [a]. in, 121 [a]. lbs
129 ep
© Mkohy
TAKE ME WITH.

She wanted to grab him by the ear and pull him from the arena. A lecture she'd give him, dragging his ass far away, but she couldn't. Murmura could not and would not. She wanted the little girl's head, and she'd have it. As much as she wanted all her loves, young and old tucked away and safe, locked up for only her to see and crave, she could not. Not yet, atleast. Someday, perhaps, she may, but that was not this day or the day before or the day next.

So, she sat. She sat and she waited to wonder if she was doomed to lose all she loved. Though Ryu was not Theodosia, not the fire branded stubborn woman he was a love. A crypt of a man with many dead ends and deceiving halls, he was her dragon, her champion of a man. A love who could not replace the lost or the broken of another but a love of it's own accord, shaped and twisted through time. Yes, she did love him. Perhaps not in the same as Theo, not in a way where she could marry and lay her whole life alone with just him, but a love of his mind and soul. He was there with her, and the children. He took so much pain for her and Theodosia, yet never abandoning like so many others who could not take it. He was her love. A love just as Theodosia who now ghosted around the arena, flitting between Murmura's eyes and away ( heart fluttering ), yes, Ryu was a love indeed. A love she could not bear to lose, not with one already lost.
This goddess could not lose another and so with a small whisper on her lips she begged.

"Kurai..."

"---"
@[- - -]
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
Code by Sea.



[ Reply ]






Posted 02-10-2018, 05:20 AM |
Verona
Rebel Healer
Female, 3.50
Mesomorph
33 in, 115 lbs
82 ep
© tam

bet you wanna rip my heart out, the arena. again. it looms all around them with old stones for broken teeth, an endlessly open maw gaping hungry into the sky. she knows that there are old bones stuck between those teeth, forgotten sacrifices to glory, to ambition. and what did ambition and glory buy for them but an early grave? when she walks, the dust billows from her steps into the wind, exposes the bedrock below in a sheen of gray. it's a startling color here, where there is no color but the starkness of sun-bleached bones and sinister murkiness of old bloodstains. verona stops to stare at the exposed rock beneath her dirty toes, somehow relating to it in her desperation to put off whatever lay past the next bend. it's dull, like her. numb, like her. when she'd crossed the threshold where sand met soil and the freshness of the outside world was overcome by the stale odor of the dead and the dying, her insides had gone numb. whatever lay beyond this door meant that one more wolf had to die, one more soul went off to blot out the shine of their given star, and there was one more victory that would never fill the holes of loss inside the victor. already, the world was beginning to forget the loser. it was a process, you see, oblivescence, and this was where it started. trembling, verona forces herself to push on, to finish the journey. dark ears pushed to the side, as if wilted with the weight of her overburdened heart, verona arrives. no blood yet, just posturing and bristling and the rage of their growls. a small crowd clings to the sides of the battle, watching with eyes as hollow and broken-hearted as her own. but she can't let it shatter yet. there's hope, even if it is spare and means that the former champion must fall. bleakly eyes, dull in their green and gold dressings, steal a glance at the enigma wolf who'd felled her cousin. she's pale and thin, almost a twin to the blue-eyed man verona so desperately wished wouldn't fight for revenge. childishly, verona wished she knew a god to pray to, but her people knew no gods and no gods knew them. the rebels prayed to the wealth of their bodies and the strength of the red dust running in their veins; gods of their own making. she is bleak and worn out just watching them size one another up, teeth bare and hate in their eyes. a life for a life was no life lived. dust dulled her grizzled hairs as verona melted to the ground, pressing her belling into the dust and rock, with her head cradled between her paws. "no good can come of this," she murmured to herself, waiting for the inevitable end.

hard feelings






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Posted 02-10-2018, 08:48 PM | This post was last modified: 02-11-2018, 05:11 PM by Ryu
Rebel
Ryu
Rebel Wolf
Male, 4.50
Meso-fighter
35 in, 125 lbs
101 ep
© sea
his acute senses catch her immediately. he’s studying her. she’s nothing but prey before him, a coordinated insulation of meat and programming that he proposes to break open from its shell within. smaller, but his rebel training balances her natural speed and agility out with ease. no, her size is a disadvantage in this field, where critical mass lay dispersed over such thin bones. she’s striking in the broad sunlight, shadow clearly painted directly below her body. this is important to him. he’s seen the way enigma manipulates the shadows around their bodies, how they blot out the sun. but he’s been in their caverns, tasted of their darkness and liked it. he’s ready to rely on his other senses when need be, to envision her form and grasp at it without aid of reality. he waits there for likely too long, grasping her proportions, size, instilling her image in his mind in preparation for the tricks he might come under.

he maintains the gladiator’s pose, distilling his weight ever so carefully and making note of where she distributes hers. his legs steadily shift position, eyes never wavering off her. there are no words needed, no snarl nor anger needed to sabotage her body. his tail untucks, flaring like a brilliant flag. [ his gaze catches the familiar paint of murmura in his peripheries, as well as a tuck of starlight he cannot mistake. he wonders briefly if it might be kaley -- but his gut tells him it is theo. tonight, they meet regardless of what form they take.]

his is a moderate takeoff, heralded by what his mesofighter's frame is capable of and shielded in raw strength. his form pumps forward with a jolt, a spark of fire beset in the passage of sheer milliseconds. he wastes no time in amassing power in a full ahead sprint, body extending and contracting in full stride to gain as much initial momentum as possible. he devours the ten feet between them in a breath, waiting until the last second ( but not allowing himself close enough to be within snapping distance of jaws he knows are readied ) before their collision to change direction. his time on the ridge's periless stony surfaces aids to keep his form somewhat and reduces the skid, the skid amounted to a mere slide in his back right forepaw as he breaks to her right side. he veers away from her for a few strides before suddenly changing course. his legs ready for this change in their strides, his weight leaning to his left as his left forearm suddenly stops cold. his body pivots in turn, back legs continuing to move and then sliding to stability as he realigns to face lyra. but his motion never stops, his body low to the ground after his rapid movement and power welled up his back legs. he launches forward again without stopping, his aim specific and clear. he follows his target, ready to shift his body as she shifts hers in reaction.

his head drops low, joints bent and weight contained carefully as he surges for her back left leg. his head tilts to the right and jaws splay wide to attempt to capture the joint between her tarsals and tibia, having noticed some of her weight gathered there. his surge will continue past whatever preliminary attack he makes, however. he will attempt to shove her forward and shove upward with whatever grip he attains or shove he can manage at the same time that teeth try to make contact.

the skidding on his paws has caused light scrapes across his pads, hardly noticeable for any amount of time past an initial slight sting. he anticipates bruising across any amount of skin that might come into contact with her body at his launching speeds, and can feel an extension in his hind legs that happened during his tight maneuver that may bring him soreness later. the effects of his rebel training, as short as it has been, he is quick to note. he’s conserved energy this entire time because of his knowledge of overexertion and fatigue. he is ready to take on the injuries that will ensue as he stretches his natural strength and trained muscle to the brink, ready to test the edges of his endurance as the fatigue will begin to set in. he is ready to combat the pain involved with exhaustion, ready to ignore every instinct he has to push his body to the limit. already he feels the impact of his extra speed, his lungs begging for more oxygen but his breath forcibly controlled. his heartrate dances to the beat of the battle, ready to tear into fresh bitch.

his defenses are acutely maintained along every step of the way, his tail returned to its position below his body as soon as its bountiful balance is used up. he keeps track of his weight carefully, keeping it low and centered and minding his balance with the placement of his legs. his forearms act as drivers for motion, while his hind legs act as counters to them. if his front paws become staggered from each other, his back paws move to quickly compliment and maintain seamless balance. his muscles are kept loose where possible, controlling the contractions only where they are needed. the basics are kept up, his eyes narrowed but watchful. his head is tilted to the right, his vulnerable scar kept away from her prying jaws. his nose and features wrinkle to their manageable extent, lips peeled back to make way for carved white daggers. his tongue is pressed out of the way, his ears pulled tightly to the rim of his skull. thick fur splatters across his neck, the light and long ago embellishments of small scars embroidering his body here and there. toes are spread through the length of his movements, doomed to forever grasp for what grip they can handle. his back legs move to position him at an obtuse angle away from her front, though he is readied for the click heels of her movements to gather a counter attack. his senses are heightened with his eyes away from her, uncertain of where she may strike but body readied to react in eternal motion.

the dragon vs the girl
for vengeance
. . death match . .
first round of four
five day limit
meso-runner, 35 inches, 125 pounds
elements active ( 101 ep )

good health ( spring, pack wolf )
dodge is unused
light scraping sustained over paw pads, bruising anticipated.
three previous wins
bone reference, rough position reference (animation warning)

Lyra - edited in accordance with staff.


x



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Posted 02-11-2018, 05:45 PM |
Rebel ( Admin )
Lyra
Rebel Wolf
Female, 4.00
Meso-runner
30 in, 105 lbs
264 ep
© Ly

she has eyes for no one but him. awareness of nothing but the ripple of muscles beneath flesh, the faintest twitch of a claw against the pavement. alone together in a dead world. when he bursts forward at last, bleeding out the tension that has gathered in the passing moments, she faces him as iron. still low, faint plans of snatching a limb to trip him forming in the reptile mind that seized her in battle, all cold instinct and remote calculation. but before any of it can come to pass he turns away.

as soon as he veers to her left she uses the gathered strength in her hindlegs to pivot to her left to track his movements, little more than a wide step or two to the left for her, though the quickness of his pace puts their movements at equal time. when he surges, she has just positioned to face him head-on. no time for avoidance or counterattack. her legs and toes are splayed evenly for balance but the stone floor provides no grip. instead, when he collides with her, she will skid backwards and slightly to her right with his forward motion, absorbing his momentum and sliding back on crouched limbs. useless toenails chip on the rock as she is pressed back. bruises will form at the point of the rough impact, her breath knocked away. her tail fans out briefly to aid in balance as she slides before tucking back under.

due to her more diminutive height and still-crouched stance, her frame is lower to the ground than his taller stature; his teeth close on the mid-radius of her front left leg, outstretched due to the angle of her sharply-bent forelimbs and the backwards slide of her hips during ryu's forward motion. her jaws are still hanging open between those bent forelimbs to protect her throat as they were at the start, at a height equal to ryu's now low-slung jaws, unless he has moved; though his are positioned against her left limb (again, unless he has moved) and therefore to the left of her teeth.

with his head tilted to his right, keeping his old burn tilted to the outside of their pairing and therefore away from her teeth, the underjaw and underside of his neck will be exposed to his left, if his position has held. she snaps to her left side accordingly, aiming to sink the full force of her jaws into the side of his throat just past the molaris muscle. attempting to secure a grip to lock them together and prevent further backward slide. if successful, she will pull herself in closer using her grip as leverage, pulling forward to press their chests together and limit his range of movement and his reach to her limb. her jaws will grind and thrash at any purchase they find. it's a tight space, but the narrow angle she's forced to take, with her jaws pressed almost against her shoulder in order to bite to the side, will protect the left side of her own throat where it would otherwise be in close proximity to his grip on her left leg.

she keeps her eyes narrowed, providing some relief from the bright daylight overhead, and tongue pressed flat, with her ears pinned back among bristling hackles. throughout her attack she stays low to the ground, solid on four limbs and pulling low as possible to resist his attempt to pull her upward, unwilling to risk a movement that would allow his heavier frame to topple her. her lips are pulled back to wrinkle her snarling maw. adrenaline pours through her bloodstream, a survivalist's unreliable high. she focuses only on the meat before her. pushing pain and animal fear to the deepest chambers of her mind, as she has learned to do, time and time again; whether in physical battle or when wielding elemental magic. breath coming steady and even as manageable to instill her chaotic present with some sense of calm.

† confirmed with sea that he ran to his right, not lyra's right, when he first moved (also seen in sea's diagram).

Lyra vs. Ryu
death match
move 1 of 4
five day limit
meso-runner, 30 inches, 105 pounds
elements active
259 / 259 ep

fair health
scabbed bite wound on back of neck
dodge is unused
6W | 1L



[ Reply ]






Posted 02-11-2018, 11:07 PM |
Rebel
Charlotte
Rebel Alpha
Female, 6.50
Ectomorph
40 in, 100 lbs
519 ep
© Lou
He'd only just joined her ranks, an unknown wolf she'd met briefly at the edges of the ridge who claimed no God would ever be his. Charlotte, having that particular quality in common with the young man, had accepting him into Rebel under that very association. But the call, oh how it irked her. She had been at the last one, watched the queen of Wind fall to this woman who wore Enigma strong by her breast, unknown to the ridge bitch but still the interest pulled her towards the ruins' without a moment of hesitation. There are only few there this time around, the first Charlotte notices being the spirit floating patiently by the sidelines of the arena, the one who had fallen. Emerald eyes look straight through the wraith, to where Verona lays against the dirt miserably, her head plonked on her paws sadly. No good would come from this, but this was the raw side of their natural instincts, for wolves to fight tooth and claw for destruction. for death. for blood.

Casually does she join Verona, folding her hind haunches inwards to take a seat beside the younger rebel. Her ears fold loosely as her tail tucks and she spares a moments glance down at the woman, "you sure you want to be here?" She whispers, though she already knows the answer. For support, Charlotte would be there for her and as those emerald orbs lift to the fight, it begins.

Verona

Charlotte is riddled with scars from head to toe, the right side of her face is bare of fur, and both her ears are in tatters at the tips.



[ Reply ]






Posted 02-15-2018, 11:57 AM |
Rebel
Ryu
Rebel Wolf
Male, 4.50
Meso-fighter
35 in, 125 lbs
101 ep
© sea
he’s versed in the shifts of her body, the poise of her attention. he’s no spur of the moment fighter, though he’s reactionary when he needs to be. the game is played several moves ahead, to an ultimate end that will test the lengths of their shared prowess. she is sinew and strings, an instrument with a predictable tune and technique found throughout the ages. his hearing is acutely honed to her movements where his eyes do not wander, but he has planned out his attack in readiness for her reactions. the impact of their bodies is a quarry of dangerous sparks -- oh, how they dance in air and split his life in slow motion. his teeth make land -- not where he anticipated, and of this he takes careful note.

he can feel the bones and stretched muscle as his jaws engulf the limb and his tongue is offered free reign. in the microseconds that pass, will he taste her skin and blood? perhaps not enough to comprehend it, but he will have full access to it soon enough -- after all, the blood of the fallen is a sweet trophy. bruising crackles along the breadth of where his body makes its limited impact on her. it is momentary drifts of wandering sting, not enough to dash his attentive focus. no, his attack does not make berth where he’d planned, but it’s not the limb that matters; what matters is the grip, and its possessive quality over her weight.

he’s moving as soon as he has such a grip, his fluid motions are both violent in their jerking nature and sudden in their delivery. jaws angle downward with his head surging forward to position his skull directly above his jaws and forward if possible, clutching him closer to her -- her very plan. while this is happening, teeth slide ( drag, really, for their firmness aims to slice while they move and ensure that he does not lose his grip ) down her forearm, a quick motion that aims to stop at her carpals and her pliable wrist. as soon as he has moved as forward as he can, his skull rolls in a jolt to flip to his left, comprising a complex movement in one swooping and concurrent rhythm.

his teeth grind back and forth along her weak tendons where he can throughout the movements he executes and eventually wherever his grip settles, finding the maximum amount of damage he can take from her. the strength he needs to move her joint or limb in any fashion cannot be found only with his large neck muscles, whose angle and grip do not constitute enough power. his whole body used in the formation of his proposed attack. his hind legs give him the power to surge forward in his initial position change, rising slightly from their bent posture. his left arm steps forward to help lower his body and his shoulders angle ( his left shoulder lowering ) to assist in shifting her angle of attack from a vulnerable throat to a much more manageable area. his right arm also moves forward to help in lowering his body, but not as much as his left arm to maintain his preferred angle.

his momentum had coursed forward relentlessly only moments ago, and he aims to not stop such an assault. the grounds prove difficult for finding adequate grip to shove forward, but throughout the latter half of his attack he will regardless step forward, his forearms shuffling forward and if his lowered position is achieved their angled position will act as a helpful grip, increasing the surface area around his pads, if only by a small amount. his back paws will no doubt slide on the merciless stone, and he is careful to keep his weight and their separations managed. in continuing to push forward, to never stop their movement, he aims to keep her on the defensive and to loosen the limb he has possession of for ripe manipulation.

her attack is one baited from a coy beast, a flash of a throat she will never tame. he’d anticipated to be further away from her jaws and have more time to react to her obvious next move, but his motions are not changed. with the sharp and jerking motion of his skull first forward and then to the left, her attack will scrape along his left sternomastoideus in precarious rivets that manage to penetrate his thick fur, before his shift in position places the final stage for her grinding and thrashing at the top of his neck ( if, of course, she has not moved immediately and the grinding and thrashing does not commense fully until her teeth and his body settle on a grip ), midway along the thickness of his brachiocephalicus, slightly to his left side. the hackles that thickly abide his flesh do their divine duty, but the brunt of her attack rips flesh and fur. normally, he might loosen his muscle and leave no easy target to peel back, but his muscles along his neck provide much needed action to his own attack. he is victim to his own efforts, the constantly shifting contraction and loosening providing enough of a canvas to make a decent attack. blood begins to well up at the top of his neck and as well at the long marks at the left side of his neck, but much less so at the scraped flesh.

the pain is ambrosia, noxious fumes that waft through the highly trained adrenaline high he coasts upon. he’s conscious of every rip, every tear along the fabric that comprises his skin and he feels it with every deep ache and sting. agony tears at the corners of his gaze and along his features as soon as it hits, the beautiful symphony of horrors that seek to submit him to a tiny little bitch. his high tolerance for the taste of pain translates not to a lesser feeling of it, but a stronger will that sets his mind in motion. he finds less distraction in it, less cause to panic for it and more cause to ignore and soldier onward. he will not snarl or yelp, and will rather hold his tongue in a fury of silent rage. for the weaker mind, pain is cause to stop and to rest, to reel away from the source. ryu holds no such mind.

the exhaustion is paired with the pain, the devil’s deal for the rebellious ridge dwellers that promises they will find their bodies spent sooner. already the muscles in his left back leg whisper that they have been strained to a minor degree, something that will likely happen often over the course of his duel as he tests his limits. his stamina will allow him charge through this moment, but he can already tell that the waves of tire will grind against his skull throughout the latter end of the battle. he’s no tactic for combatting such a mortal weakness, one that no doubt lyra will experience as well and will seep away at their combined hyper focus. concentration is his only shield, the only way he will fend her off the entire way through, and his concentration is at peak potential, using every sense he has honed in a rainbowed array. moving closer to her ( in continuation with her own plan ) awards him full access to the shifting and contracting of the meat he tears up, as well as limits her reach to the delicate site of his throat, and her reach to his face. his protected his claws are less of a hazard along the stony grounds, having been manicured and scraped along the ridge for the past months.

his concentration is offered toward defenses where necessary, such as his plan to protect his throat, but for the most part, defenses are second nature and strategically maintained. his tail flags in its free usage, the risk of attack to his underside vitals decreased for the moment. his vision is away from her for some moments before he will attempt to move it back to a perceiving area, while maintaining their narrowed slits. his features are wrinkled deeply in the riles of newly found pain, his lips curling back perhaps moreso now in the semblance of a small wince. his ears blend into the crux of his thick, spiked fur, their canopy having provided shelter thus far to lessen her attack on his neck. his toes do not falter from their spread axis over relentless but uncaring surface. his body is lowered in accordance to his projected movements, his front end perhaps lowered further if he is successful, with his back end raised enough to keep maneuverability, but still lowered to provide a careful center of weight. his legs are spread and compliment each other in balance as they move. his weight is kept centered where possible, though in the throes of his attempted jerk to his left by his head, neck, and shoulder, his weight will briefly dance to the left before dutifully returning before it can be taken advantage of. his tongue stays out of the where it can, to avoid any grinding of his teeth he can manage.

the dragon vs the girl
for vengeance
. . death match . .
second round of four
five day limit
meso-runner, 35 inches, 125 pounds
elements active ( 101 ep, 0 used w/immunity and senses as passive states. )

good health ( spring, pack wolf )
dodge is unused
current injuries: scraping to pads, bruises against areas of impact, minor strain in back leg, scraping along left side of neck and bite wound along the top of neck.
three previous wins
muscle reference

Lyra


x



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Posted 02-15-2018, 11:58 AM |
Rebel
Ryu
Rebel Wolf
Male, 4.50
Meso-fighter
35 in, 125 lbs
101 ep
© sea
a note that the muscle reference link is faulty in that post, here is one that works:

muscle reference


x



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Posted 02-16-2018, 05:26 AM |
Kaley
Spirit
Female, 3.50
Meso-fighter
34 in, 119 lbs
0 ep
© KittyKookiez
By the time she comes back into existence, it is already too late. The match has started and teeth has sunk into flesh. The anger she once had for Enigma had fizzled away. Kaley could not bring herself to hate; and especially not for long. She was a forgiving creature. But the demon whose name she still does not know--the one who had taken her life--can still haunt her.

I'm rooting for you, brother. she'd say, if not for the fact that it also meant she would be rooting for this woman's demise. And so, the spirit remains quiet, sitting alone. Ryu may know Theodosia and Murmura, but Kaley didn't. She was especially shy to confront the new-spirit as well, however much the spirit world made her seem lonely at times.

spectatinggg.



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Posted 02-16-2018, 11:04 PM |
Rebel
Vahagn
Rebel Heir
Male, 1.75
Endomorph
38 in, 140 lbs
39 ep
© vik
When he heard the second call to battle, Vahagn had run to a ledge above the ruins and, with sharp green eyes, searched the blood-encrusted grounds for movement below. But when he discovered their tracks, he had been compelled to make the journey down to the ruins himself. This time, without Badr. He was not presently her shadow, but theirs.

He found Verona in the dirt on the sidelines, laying, it would seem, almost defeated on the ground beside his mother. Vahagn approached her with care and a look of calm neutrality on his face. But his eyes drifted to the combatants in the field, and he hesitated half-way to his destination.

The scarred man was ferocious and smelled of Rebel. With a crackle of stiff mohawked hair, the boy bristled when he saw him. It was only the second time he’d ever seen the man, but Vahagn raised his muzzle proudly, even so, pressing his curved hornlike ears rigidly upright on the peak of his skull. He let his weight rest as he watched the warriors for a measured beat. The woman herself was a Valkyrie; it would be no easy thing to defeat her. He assessed the position of her bite and assumed she had the superior angle. Perhaps it would be over quickly, like before. But then the man’s jaws appeared to slide and he seemed about to shove forward like a plow, and Vahagn was no longer certain.

While the action continued, he reigned his attention back and focused it on his Mother and pack-sister. He resumed the approach, lowering his head when he neared so his muzzle was closer to the ground. He didn’t know what to say; Verona’s perspective was utterly lost to him. But he moved his massive bearlike muzzle in a gentler motion of greeting, sensitive to her feelings and supportive of her position. Then he stepped away. He aimed to take a seat on Verona’s side, opposite his mother and far enough away that he was not intruding on their space.

While he turned back to watch the battle, the woman’s foreboding words returned to him. He wondered if this was proof of the pain and the destruction she’d prophecied.
-watching



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Posted 02-18-2018, 07:28 PM |
Rebel ( Admin )
Lyra
Rebel Wolf
Female, 4.00
Meso-runner
30 in, 105 lbs
264 ep
© Ly

they move into each other, his forward motion paired with hers, and she goes willingly enough; leaning in as he presses forward, slacking the muscles of her left limb as he pulls himself in on it. once positioned, she tenses again, the muscles of the leg straining with the effort to hold it back and prevent him from manipulating it from beneath her. she can't loosen the muscles to lessen the damage sustained by his teeth; she can only strive to ensure the assault is short-lived. her toes are splayed and other legs still spread and bent low to maximize balance with her foreleg compromised.

the pain of his teeth on her leg causes her to grimace over her working jaws, shock and agony threatening to pull her attention away from the battle at hand. there's a flash of memory--of theodosia held in a similar position, and the blood and horror that had resulted; seen at the time through dead eyes. unprocessed, the eyelid cinema of a dissociated mind. she leans into its hideousness now. the trauma and fear she had not felt at the time, now an oilslick on the surface of her mind: concentration skittering on its dark topography as ryu slides his head downward beneath her jaws. and still she lets the sickness build. lips pulled back to expose bloodied teeth, maw wrinkled and jaws wide as she thrashes at what flesh is made available to her, slitted eyes frigid and distant.

the pressure on her wrist pulls her back. demands immediate action before she incurs serious injury. the downward drag of his teeth has left deep lacerations on the limb, but she has dealt with such pain before, in her fight with asclepius. it's a familiar burn but no less painful for the memory.

this close, she can feel each movement. the trajectory of his downward motion, the tensing of muscles in his neck as he begins to roll his skull. the action brings her teeth to the brachiocephalicus muscle at the top of his neck. now, with the memory of her last battle poised at the forefront of her mind, she does not hesitate. the rotation of his skull will be just finishing when she acts.

she unleashes a dark pulse from her flattened tongue and into the top of the neck, slightly to the side of it (his left), where she is biting, head still pulled against her left shoulder from her earlier efforts to protect her throat, so that the beam is directed out and to his right side. diagonally forward and away from her limb and into the stone below. she aims to forcibly break his grip, sacrificing whatever flesh and muscle lingers in his teeth if successful, and break his jaw in a sidelong collision against the rock with the full force of kurai's power. though she has trained with the dark magic before, under mercury's careful tutelage, she has never used this particular ability in the past. and its price is immediate and overwhelming. a thunderclap upon her skull, bringing bile to her tongue with the pain of it. familiar elemental exhaustion floods her veins in its wake. but, beneath the rending migraine, there is a sense of catharsis--a strange peace that threads the pain. release.

it gives her the will to continue fighting, weight held low and centered as possible but ginger over her bloodied limb, prepared to respond to whatever effect her expulsion has wrought on their positioning. cold focus in the red-stained cast of her maw, hackles bristling. the old wound buried within had already begun to dribble fresh blood from the sideways motion of her neck in the last round and she feels its dull ache. her tail is pulled out from beneath her to maximize her balance, ears remaining flattened against her skull.

will expand on damage here in next round pending how the move turns out

Lyra vs. Ryu
death match
move 2 of 4
five day limit
meso-runner, 30 inches, 105 pounds
elements active
009 / 259 ep

fair health
scabbed (bleeding) bite wound on back of neck; deep lacerations on left forelimb; bruising on left forelimb, left chesty area where they collided
dodge is unused
6W | 1L



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