defy, and rise (Tempest)

[Peregrine]

STANDING ON THE EDGE OF THE CIRCUS
FOR THE GAMES TO BEGIN

A new night meant a new fight. Blood had long since stopped flowing from her wounds, freshly embroidered into her flesh though they were. All of these faces that she might never know, but would always fight… It was life condensed. Perhaps she was a coward, resorting to these measures here. Jager had not taught her so that she could find refuge in a cesspool of vice. But it was not here that she intended to stay; his memory was an active one in her, and though the pang of grief that haunted her might never waver, there had been something else that was borne from it.

But it wasn’t something she could do alone. Tzafar was long accustomed to doing her Master’s bidding by herself; she had always had his implicit trust, to be returned with unwavering action. She could try to honor him with continued effort. And she could try to do it alone; this design of hers, however, long simmering in her mind, was not a job for one dog. The Badai was likely still around, from what she had heard from Atticus. She had no intentions of hunting them down, just yet; she’d likely not find them, as practiced as they were in their life of collective secrecy. As for her own aims, where better to search for dogs than where they actively congealed? The fighting ring was, naturally, full of fighters. That was not to say that her intentions were streamlined. The primal activity drew her as well; the fight was her own as much as it was any of theirs.

Tzafar stepped into the ring once more. The sand, crusted with the gore of many, was familiar to her paws. The female breathed in the stagnant air, tasting their collective breaths in her throat. She had embraced the dankness by letting herself venture down here, and when she found herself at the edge of the ring another night. It was here that she would wait all over again for another to take their chance with her. It was here that Tzafar would search for the diamond in the rough. Such was the common saying; but Tzafar was truly looking for diamonds among these bastards, those that could take the weathering of life in all of its ways.

GLADIATORS DRAW THEIR SWORDS
FORM THEIR RANKS FOR ARMAGEDDON

TZAFAR VS. POTENTIAL TEMPEST MEMBER
- Two fight posts each
- Intro unjudged
- One week time limit
- 500 word cap
- Unlimited attacks/dodges (within reason)
- Loser gets pinned
- Winner goes on to fight another, if they wish
**NON CRITIQUE JUDGING

After the fight, we will continue outside of the ring where they can talk about thangs.

[MISS PINK]

The protocol son had returned. His gaze simmered with an untamed fire, one that had been stamped out but left forgotten to rekindle in his own vice. There had been a time where he had mourned the loss of his strength. Beaten to near death by a shepherd mutt, so lost in his own despair was he that he did not let himself eat. Dramatic, but the punishment served it's purpose. His ribs had sunk low into his abdomen, leaving his ribs gaunt and exposed to the harsh summer heat into the breakneck fall winds. He became weak. He became so weak that at times his eyes swam with death and each breath felt sharp against his chest. But he kept walking until the fox's silence broke into a sounding wail. The wolf turned his head to acknowledge the fox's presence, only to find a dead bird and the small creature skulking away.

Raziel brought himself back from the brink just as he had gone there. He worked himself. He ate small at first; he ate whatever Alv brought to him before he became strong enough to hunt for himself again. His muscles were leaner, his smirk was meaner. The fur along his back coarsened as the winter progressed on, leaving him with a natural barrier against not only the elements, but against aggressors. Raziel provoked strangers into brawls, each time feeling strength rushing back into his paws. Win or lose, there was a benefit to his wild ways. Once a prince, suddenly a ruffian, Raziel was hardly the pup he previously had been. While in no better physical state than before the fall, he was driven. He set out to conquer, to prove himself. Raziel was a wolf. He would not be defeated like that again.

On a streak of consecutive wins, the timber wolf's arrogance was flaring. He had never tried the fighting ring, never being a fan of showing off. However he was drawn to this place on the rumor that someone was stirring up loads of trouble. Once a loud mouthed lunatic, he resigned himself to sit among the unruly crowd and watch as fight after fight drew on. Though not particularly impressed, he was entertained. There was something disgraceful about making sport of such a primitive, traditional behavior, however there was a sense of depravity about them all. Raziel could see now that they had all truly lost their minds and their sensibility. Blinded by his own pretentiousness, he had reality strike him in the face too many times to make his naivety forgivable. No, he knew.

Once a righteous man, now a depraved entertainer, Raziel found himself drawn to the big female shouldering her way into the ring. He could see by her posture that she was looking for a fair fight and the wolf was willing to bet he could give her one. She owned this place. She looked the part; the scars littering her body said it all. She was impressive. She was not beautiful, however she demanded respect. She held herself in a regal manner, so much so that Raziel found himself marveling at her despite it all. And then he would tear her down.

Alv knew what Raziel was doing before he knew himself. The little fox gave a sharp squeak of despair, but the wolf merely stood abruptly and promptly ignored his companion. The fox resolved to dash under a chair torn to pieces by years of abuse. Raziel did not look back. He knew if he did he would pity his friend and return to his seat. He knew he would regret his decision either way, but it was a once in a life time opportunity to fight one of the leaders of the gang that had torn apart his own. Raziel knew her. While not particularly attached to his pack, the shame and sense of loss still made his chest heave as he skulked into the arena. Head high but haunches and shoulders low, he was approaching like a predator going after prey too large to take on. Raziel, however, had not truly learned his lesson. He always bit off more than he could chew.




raz speech,
ooc

[Peregrine]

STANDING ON THE EDGE OF THE CIRCUS
FOR THE GAMES TO BEGIN

Tzafar was not left alone for too long. There were nights when a lone challenger was left to succumb to the crowd’s general unwillingness, but this night was not one of them. Nevertheless, she would be met with a flicker of surprise; in strode a wolf, as sable as the wilds. Though no significant expression crossed her countenance at that moment, somewhere deep she was pleased. It was not often that she faced a dog that surpassed her in stature. Different tactics than usual were perhaps called for.

She did not have a great deal of experience specific to her more feral counterparts. The Kangal mongrel was not worried. On an individual level, they were nothing but big dogs, and she knew well enough big dogs. But if one sought a deeper meaning behind blood, wolves were creatures caught in a primitive past, animals of primordial status that lingered in a world that had since surpassed them. Dogs were their children to exceed the parent, molded deliberately with the ideas of human purpose in mind, shaped to sunder their past incarnations. Though Tzafar’s ancestral past had been shaped by the hands of mankind, never in her life had they touched her. She paid no heed to blood and its implications save for what physical advantage or otherwise it afforded one in a fight. The two challengers were the same in her eyes, and would be until one proved supremacy over the other.

She knew of neither his inner turmoil nor his past associations. All she knew was his willingness to step into the ring, his brash and brandished pride. That was all she wanted; there in that underworld, names and faces and individuals meant less. In that hellhole, it was a game of bread and circuses. So, once a sufficient pause indicated her turn, she would give him what he desired, what she desired, and what the audience crowed for. Tzafar lurched forward into her characteristic charge, the thudding of her paws in the sand the same thudding of a warhorse. It was a short distance, closed swiftly by a deft gait, but her definition of fruition seemed to have changed by the end. Jaws were thrown headlong and snapping, aimed for the wolf’s face, but her momentum would be reversed abruptly by forepaws driven forward.

It was as close as one such as Tzafar got to a tease. Her hackles were thrust up as she sought a bite, only to draw herself backward. But it was not merely a feint, though it was a movement seemingly inspired by one; the Kangal sought to jerk her opponent along with her by a leash of tender flesh that she might have garnered with her bite, to dislodge him for a chance for quick advantage, or quick improvisation if that failed.

GLADIATORS DRAW THEIR SWORDS
FORM THEIR RANKS FOR ARMAGEDDON

[1/2]

[MISS PINK]

Though they shared around the same muscle mass, Raziel stood a bit taller than the she-dog. He had no doubt in his mind that she would give him a run for his money. All things considered, there was no backing down after crossing the threshold. It was primitive against modern. It was Raziel overcoming himself. It was Raziel proving a point to the hellish mutt that had put him in his place those seasons ago. His place was not laying on his back and whimpering against the whims of a mange-ridden mongrel, not anymore. He was biting off more than he could chew and deep down he knew it. After stepping into the ring, however, there was no place to put those thoughts except in the back of his mind, masked by mettle and bravado. He was here to give a good show, win or lose. Raziel was a performer now, not just a contestant. She was one to know.

He circled her cautiously, hackles beginning to rise away from his back as he ducked his head and flashed his teeth. His tail curled over itself but swept low to the ground as he imitated hunting tactics. He was light on his feet, but she had the weight and sheer brawn tipping the scales. She had a savage but sensual look to her, like could lure you in with her eyes and tear you apart, too memorized by her theatrics to protest. Raziel smiled through his frozen snarl, waving his tail behind him like a snake. They were untouched by humankind, though both had heavy human interference in their ancestry. Raziel was the descendant of a long line of wolves coming from sanctuaries. Though not information he cared to relay, he felt even more of a push to prove himself now against the bane of a wolf's existence- a dog.

Raziel paused, stopping short and suddenly raising his head with a devilish, cocky smirk and jerked his head. It was her turn for a display and she delivered with surpassed intensity, leaving him to scramble backward and away from her oncoming charge. Dust flew in all directions as he bared his teeth against her sheer mass barreling toward him. Raziel's teeth sliced through the air as he jerked his head back, exposing his neck for a split second before his back legs found their momentum and he threw himself to the side and out of the way of her parted jaws. His heart hammered against his ribcage, albeit if he had been shaken, it did not show. His limbs trembled but he raised his maw high into the air and pitched forward. Though not keen on brashly throwing himself into attack mode, Raziel was aware that he would be branded a coward if he avoided the inevitable.

The wolf curled his lips as his feet flew out from under him. He aimed to turn at the last second and throw his body hard against her's, parting his jaws and aiming to drag his canines against the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulder. There was no need to go for a death bite, not when they still had the game to play. The game was half the fun and the competitor was sure his opponent was the only partner he was willing to dance with. No words exchanged, but a form of feral intimacy was formed by the mutual respect they gave one another in their game.





raz speech,
(1/2) Ehh. Not too great sorry ;c

[Peregrine]

STANDING ON THE EDGE OF THE CIRCUS
FOR THE GAMES TO BEGIN

To snarl was to smile, there in the ring; it was how she felt her pleasure, and it was how he showed his pride.

There was no initial impact, as many of her fights began, as was her intention. There was merely the scuffing of sand and the huffing of breath between the two beasts that grappled with air. Tzafar thrust backward with no prize in her teeth, for the wolf had deftly dodged from her reach. She had recoiled only a portion of a length; when she stopped she stopped hard, digging into the blood-crusted earth with her hackles rippling like a flag in the wind. Her opponent had recoiled in turn, but would not stay back. Like a spring under pressure, he would return and surpass; the wolf then threw himself for the Kangal.

They had reached the same conclusion that Tzafar had desired, coming together as they did. The difference was the degree, and ownership, of expressed control. Had Tzafar’s initial attack been successful, he might have been hers for the taking; as it was, the younger male had come on his own volition to even the playing field. But it was something Tzafar could work with. He came at her with teeth borne and singing, their shine in that dim light long preceding the pang of their landing. Her neck came under fire, the prey to his slashing jaws; flesh gave for blood, a sacrifice that the Kangal dog was well accustomed to, and more than willing to make.

It was followed by the rest of his bulk, greater than hers but she would not be sundered. The female surrendered a stride or two beneath his weight, as she was driven backward a slight to compensate for their bodies thrust together. But it would not be a passive surrender; the Kangal swung her head toward his as a club, to strike once bluntly and a second time to bite. Simultaneously, she shifted herself forward and kicked out a forepaw for the joint of his front leg. With that, she sought to shatter his balance and augment his fall with their combination of weights, in order that she might wrestle him into the sand for a victory.

GLADIATORS DRAW THEIR SWORDS
FORM THEIR RANKS FOR ARMAGEDDON

[2/2]

[MISS PINK]

She knew what she was doing. She carried herself so easily in the ring. She looked as if she had been born there. It was Raziel that was struggling to live up to the expectations placed on him as her distant ancestor. She was owning the ring more than he was and the only way to make up for that was to send her to her knees. In everything he did it was all or nothing. Raziel was difficult to make commit to anything, but once he did he devoted his time and attention completely. He breathed it, he lived it, he died for it. Thus was the trait of a prince, after all. His loyalty pushed him to extremes. He would have killed for his family, but in turn they were completely willing to kill him for their loyalty to strong government and heritage. He had lived in a dog eat dog world; this was only play.

Raziel's teeth sank into her flesh with ease. Blood trickled into his mouth as he desperately clung on, paws scrambling against the ground as she stumbled backward and pulled him along with her. With every movement he could feel her flesh tearing, but it was only a matter of time before she shook his grip and sent him to the ground. He fought tooth and claw (quite literally) to maintain his grip, growling under his breath as she felt her head swing away from him. He only had a moment's notice to comprehend what was about to happen before he shut his jaws tight on her neck, closed his eyes, and howled in pain as her skull came crashing into his shoulder. His grip was immediately broken. Raziel was not stingy with how much of her he took with him and she was certainly not stingy with how much of him she planned to take away with a deft bite to his already bruised shoulder.

The wolf snarled, jerking his shoulder away from her snapping jaws as one of her paws came rocketing on his knee. He wiggled to avoid the attack, only to find her body blocking any immediately escape route. Raziel pulled back his lips into a frustrated snarl just as the claws came rushing down onto his joint. Luckily for him, however, he had three others to keep him afloat. Though now hobbling somewhat, Raziel was still just as lethal. With her maw so close to his shoulder, he only had to pivot on his good leg and his back end would follow suit. With what remaining strength he had left, Raziel would rush forward and aim to grab her ear, dragging his teeth down from her ear to her maw, where teeth would clash onto teeth. His claws came up to practically climb her, aiming to grab her by the chest and hold her still as he delivered his blow.





raz speech,
(2/2) :cccc muse is away for vacation.

[The Judge]

Well done, you two! This was a very difficult fight to judge, as both the writing styles and the way the fight played out was magnificent. Without further ado, here are the results!

The Winner

Based on grammar, clarity, creativity, and realism, the winner is

Peregrine

Congratulations! You will be awarded 15 bones.