Author Topic: On the battlefield, when everything is chaos [open]  (Read 820 times)

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Offline Jette

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On the battlefield, when everything is chaos [open]
« on: March 01, 2016, 07:32:56 PM »
The wolfdog ran, a predator on the ambush, after a striped little creature (a jackal, not that he'd know the moniker) with the largest ears and the tidiest little set of paws he'd ever lain eyes on. It was not an especially serious pursuit, not anymore, as the bite-sized craphead far outpaced him and showed no signs of slowing, but it was unnerving nonetheless, to see the slack, lolling-tongued grin Jette chased him with, the easygoing mien. As if, should he catch the marquis, he intended only to play with him.

Weren't they all playing, in the end? Was that really him alone? This barbaric, senseless, manipulated war -- it was a delight so far, and yet, could anything real ever live up to the fantasies he'd often had as a boy? Of clashes larger than life, of something he could get happily lost in like a deathly fever dream, the ultimate game of all existence, the means by which life asserts itself? His brain had no room for such questions now. The southern spectre was a set of jaws, formidable muscle tissue, a murderous instinct bred into him from the word go, all without form or reason. These struggles, these battles, they would be their own reason.

The jackal dove into the underbrush, disappearing from the enemy soldier's sight. Jette plodded to a halt, waning interest now lost, and for him this was enormously fortunate. Had he been a little more overzealous, a little less willing to abandon the hunt, the wolfdog would have been led directly into a throat-constricting snare... and said jackal, in wait, would have been right there to pluck out his eyes. Instead, he simply snorted. Wagged his stump of a tail with some indescribable emotion. Lumbered away. Better games to be had, you know. Can't win 'em all.

"Tooooo bad," he salivated within perfect earshot of the hidden jackal. "Y'woulda been a helluva snack. All them crunchy lil bones..."
« Last Edit: May 12, 2016, 11:50:19 AM by Jette »
Don't wanna follow the laws of man
Bloody apron, leg of lamb
It's so hard to win
When there's so much to lose

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Offline Moons

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Re: On the battlefield, when everything is chaos [open]
« Reply #1 on: May 12, 2016, 06:47:07 PM »
The maroon female was well into the cluster that was the war between Saboro and Inaria.

Despite her recovery at the more than capable hands of the healers of the pack she called home, Moons was once again covered in cuts and scrapes. In the back of her mind, she knew it would bring a scolding from wolves like Setebos and her dear friend Lotus. But that was a minor setback in something she felt the burning need to dive into. The fights were still waging, and she'd be damned if she sat by and merely watched while the rest of the Inarians fought for their lives. While she understood that it was important to heal, the maroon female also felt she had to throw herself back into the chaos with an apologetic smile to her friend Lotus.

Now though, she was panting deeply, gazing at her surroundings. That dark soldier that rested in her soul was still in the driver's seat, the fire in her eyes barely dimmed from the last fight she was in. Soon enough it would lead to exhaustion, but at this moment it was just a pump of adrenaline fueling her into everything she could get her claws and teeth into. Not wanting to stay in one place for long, she turned in place and ran, looking for another battle that she could at least assist in. Or take over, if the need were to arise.

Paws thudded rhythmically against the ground as the snarls and chaos around her swirled in her mind in a cacophony of sounds that soon she would realize she wanted nothing but to block it out. Moons wasn't a violent wolf, but being thrust so deep into it was eating away at her, even if right now she was only focused on her next target. Her amber eyes gazed ahead of her, her muscles moving in synchronized motion to dart and dodge attacks that were probably meant for her. She might have gone for any of them, but something had caught her eye. Something that kept her going and running at a sprint she hadn't pulled into in a while.

A glimpse was all she needed -- Kashmir darted into the brush, dodging a misshapen wolf that was chasing him across the field. Rarely expressed anger flashed across her vision as Moons knew now who she would be fighting now. You will not hurt the Marquis; my packmate, my co-worker, my rank counterpart, my friend. She didn't know or care how Kashmir felt towards her, she didn't know what he thought of her. But he was part of her pack, part of her family, and that was enough to gain her loyalty.

"Y'woulda been a helluva snack. All them crunchy lil bones..." NOT UNDER MY WATCH. Moons snarled deeply from her throat as she parted her jaws, teeth aiming to grab him by the flank, shoulder, scruff, anything her fangs could reach. At the same time, she turned her body to attempt to slam him from the side; while the size difference was apparent between the two, she knew a surprise attack could hold more weight than expected. If she was even remotely successful, she'd hope to throw him off by the two directions her attack would send his body. If he was merely bowled over without teeth latching on, Moons would move to continue the assault and grab a limb to tear at or a paw to grind into. If nothing happened, she'd react to what happened next, depending on how the larger beast reacted.
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Characters I Actively Role-play: Moons | Corvus |Rykryk | Flamestorm | Seven |Yoki | Phoenix | Electra | Coronach | Cruciatus | Zodiac | Tide | Skylar
Been on IDS since: January 26th 2008

Offline Cockatrice

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Re: On the battlefield, when everything is chaos [open]
« Reply #2 on: May 20, 2016, 12:57:34 PM »
What distinguished Cockatrice from his enemies was a sense of pleasure. Despite their equal footing, despite their casual willingness to indulge in violence and death, the wolf approached each skirmish with a dignity that his opponents – in his opinion – so often lacked; a kingdom that could be goaded this easily into war clearly craved it, desperate for blood to sate their endless hunger. He thought himself justified where the Saborans were not, and could not be; he thought himself noble even as he left a ruined throat in his wake, chin wet and teeth dripping. The tattoos beneath his eyes glittered green, but the blood he spilled was red all the same.

He missed the skittering from of the Marquis, but he certainly noticed the lumbering wolfdog that chased him, his tongue lolling and his beady eyes bright. Cockatrice’s sides heaved, but he scraped each side of his blunt muzzle on a patch of still-clean grass before engaging in the chase, graduating from a tireless trot to a ground-eating gallop in moments. Head dropped, eyes up, the dire wolf turned the hunter into prey as his momentum built; he looked away only to notice Moons, to fall into step beside her and move forward in tandem – deadly.

Trice maneuvers away only to close in on Jette from the opposite flank. The Spectre’s slow, crooning words fall upon deaf ears – Moons may use them to fuel her anger, but Cockatrice needs only an order to attend to the cause he was bred for. It is a cold determination that spurs him on, jaws open and lips pulled back; it is a fervent zeal that paints himself as good and Saboro as evil, that sees every impression of the world as only evidence of his black-and-white preconceptions. Jette is neither victim nor casualty; he is an offender, a guilty party deserving of just punishment.

And retribution came on the edges of bared teeth, Cockatrice’s hot breath reaching for an ankle or hock, aiming to trip the wolfdog up and send him sprawling into Moons’ waiting jaws. He barreled forward in either case, looking to slam the spectre off his feet, the weight of his body behind his assault and blocking the easiest route of escape. Should they close, he would snap deliberately and calculatedly for that smug porcine face, aiming for those little black eyes and that jowly, drooling smile. 

Did you get used to it,
     or are you still up with the demons all night?
Did you get used to it,
     or do you still feel like the world is unkind?

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Offline Jette

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Re: On the battlefield, when everything is chaos [open]
« Reply #3 on: May 21, 2016, 08:42:08 PM »
Like a page from an old fairytale, an immane warrior was beset by two righteous knights. Might have been three, had the jackal he'd chased not been almost immediately pulled into a fight against Thresher for Sage's life mere seconds after he reached the other side of the brush. That was neither here or there, however, as was the fuel that fed either Inarian's fire against him. A small female came first; she snarled with imperial outrage. A grizzled old veteran some time after her, gray of muzzle but strong of limb, justified in his cold brutality.

Wounded feelings. The smothering of evil men by good ones. Jette could not relate to these silly idealistic puppies. These personal emotions, these questions of right and wrong, they belonged in war as little as a bird belonged in the sea. That wasn't why he fought. They labeled him a villain; he just labeled them meat.

Moons blitzed him; he heard her mad dash a moment too early for the attack to retain its full surprise effect. She slammed into his broad side, staggering him, snapping at his limbs, and he felt blood dribbling from a nice new set of cuts even as he hunkered down and braced himself to avoid being knocked down. Pain shot through his right front leg like a bolt; Jette begin to wag his tail. Rising up on his hind feet, he whirled around to face her, pulling her previous target from reach, bearing down upon her with his own weight and aiming with exposed teeth -- sheathed inside a horrible wide-open mouth, enormous, reeking, strands of opaque saliva connecting the roof to his tongue, oh didn't he just look so happy to see her! -- to latch onto the tops of her head and neck, ripping clumps of red hair out in his efforts to penetrate the flesh below, leaving stark bloody gashes into his wake.

If she parried him still -- or if he'd managed to grab the beta female and cut her up as haphazardly planned -- it would be interrupted by the old man arriving. Jette tried to maneuver himself behind Moons, intending to use her as an inconvenient shield that might accidentally absorb a few of Trice's blows for him, but he was not quick enough. The fringe too attacked his limbs, and unlike Moons, had the bulk to pull it off as planned. The wolfdog was toppled, his world quite literally turning upside-down for a moment, his face suddenly -- oh, oh eff that hurt, ooohh he could taste the blood running into his mouth, he could feel the lacerated tissue burning wildly at the intrusion, the open air stinging like nettles --

Jette rolled to his paws, his face streaming, his eye on that side closing gingerly. He smiled hideously. Licked his muzzle and spit blood in their direction.

"Is that it, y'pretty lil purple doggies? You effin' pansies?"

He laughed, vicious and unhinged.

"GIVE ME MORE."
« Last Edit: May 28, 2016, 07:41:14 PM by Jette »
Don't wanna follow the laws of man
Bloody apron, leg of lamb
It's so hard to win
When there's so much to lose

Played by Kotake


Offline Moons

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Re: On the battlefield, when everything is chaos [open]
« Reply #4 on: May 28, 2016, 07:39:14 PM »
Moons barely noticed the veteran soldier falling into step with her and moving in a deadly twin assault. It was noticed only by senses honed over the years of being in the ranks she had held over the years. Sharpened by experiences of things she ensured other wolves would never get to experience. But that chaos was erupting all around her now, and it was all she could do to focus on one thing at a time. Only moments like these would hone her focus and keep her on her target like a bull running after the color red.

The first thing she felt was his body against her's; a sort of success on her attack, feeling the Saboro wolf's body jolt beside hers. Teeth also grabbed and cut and pulled at the male's limbs, blood seeping into her mouth like so many times already in this dreaded war. Moons already expected the metallic taste, ignored its effect as it bathed her tongue and colored her fangs. His body remained standing though, her weight not being enough to bowl him over. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the maroon female was aware of just how close she was now to the male's jaws.

Before she could react, however, those awaiting fangs came crashing down on her head and neck with overwhelming force. Her legs buckled beneath her, causing Moons to fumble down before catching herself, and she instinctively withdrew her head. Hunching her shoulders, Moons hoped to protect her vulnerable neck just as pain erupted right on the back of her head. Amber eyes shut as white light exploded; although it only lasted for a second. Two seconds later, and suddenly the large wolf was off of her, being thrown off by Cockatrice.

Moons pulled away, falling briefly to the ground before scrambling rather ungracefully to her paws and stumbling back. The soldier shook her head to clear it, feeling the wet sensation of blood beginning to seep out onto the fur on the back of her head. Her focus came back to the fight, and just as she was going to jump in to assist Cockatrice, the other male rolled to his feet and grinned at them all. Adrenaline pumped anymore of the intense pain she may have felt at the moment as she faced him off.

"Is that it, y'pretty lil purple doggies? You effin' pansies?" He laughed, a voice that rang in her ears, as penetrating as that white beast she fought previously. Her bloody fangs were bared, saliva dripping from her fierce expression. "GIVE ME MORE." Cockatrice may have a calm acknowledgment that this is what had to be done, but Moons had a different outlook. Her passion lay in protecting those she loved, and these Saboro beasts had trampled all over it. And that was something she would absolutely not tolerate. Rather than reply, a snarl of rage loosened from her throat as she launched herself forward again, mimicking Cockatrice's previous move of going in opposite direction.

As good as this spectre may be, he couldn't follow two directions at once.

The maroon female used her speed (ignoring her own injuries) to get around the Saboro male. If he followed her and ignored Cockatrice, she'd attempt to leap in to bite and tear at whatever she could grab hold and injure before lunging away. A hit and run tactic that once dominated a branch of the soldier rank in Inaria as Guerrillas. If he ignored Moons and followed Cockatrice instead, she would leap at his flank to attempt to grab his thigh and pull. Tear a hamstring or something to limit his movements. Anything she could do to bring this beast down for good. Never mind the headache and faint throbbing attempting to make itself known in the back of her skull.
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Characters I Actively Role-play: Moons | Corvus |Rykryk | Flamestorm | Seven |Yoki | Phoenix | Electra | Coronach | Cruciatus | Zodiac | Tide | Skylar
Been on IDS since: January 26th 2008

Offline Cockatrice

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Re: On the battlefield, when everything is chaos [open]
« Reply #5 on: June 28, 2016, 05:52:35 PM »
Like any self-proclaimed champion in a archetypal fight against evil, Cockatrice can only ever see a world in which his version – Inaria’s version – of honor and justice is right. He is too well-versed in the world to be surprised at Jette’s actions, at the cursing and vehemence that falls from his wet lips like so much spit and drool, but it still tugs at some string of disgust that sets the big guard’s lip curling. He smells blood, but has enough time to glance at Moons to be certain she is safe and whole, for now; he tastes it on his teeth, but the gunmetal tang of it does not pair with the Spectre’s words to bait him further forward. If there is purpose to the wolfdog’s mania, Cockatrice is too old and too wise to play; it spurs Moons into violent action, but the Queensguard keeps a steady head and a steady hand.

He follows the Marchioness’ lead. She whirls into action first, and Cockatrice mirrors her to Jette’s opposite flank. Should Jette pursue the red female, Trice will lunge with emotionless precision at the Saboran’s exposed neck and shoulder, the entirety of his weight following to close – his heavy forepaws swing up, toes flexed, ready to grapple and hold. A twist of his body, and perhaps the unfortunate soul will tumble, soon to be trapped beneath him as fodder for his teeth; perhaps he will dive away, scrambling, and find himself victim to Moons’ guarded assault. Cockatrice does not have any of his companion’s guerilla tactics or pointed grace, not now – not with this wretch’s fetid breath still hot in his nostrils.

Should Jette follow him – should the half-crazed ghost think it wise to collide head-on with the green-eyed soldier – Trice does not shy away. His teeth are prepared, his body thrown forward from off his hocks to lock fangs, lock forelimbs, lock weight with the slavering wolfdog, and he does not falter. A direct attempt to subdue – to hold the enemy warrior tight, to clutch him close and parry every snap and bite with a deadly feint of his own – is his singular goal, one spurred on by Moons’ quick decision to leap in and strike, and to leap out again. The soldier is a fine distraction, ready and willing to let Jette succumb to the easy pickings of carving up his face, his neck, in sacrifice for the success of Moons’ assault.

Dragging the wolfdog down between them would be worth the scars – and amongst the missing ear and ruined cheek, who would notice?

Vanity is not high among Cockatrice’s flaws – but stubbornness certainly is. His world hones down into single-minded violence, and none of his usual moral high ground will save Jette now. Should the brute run – perhaps his safest option, considering the two-pronged assault – the guard will follow, reckless and heedless of possible danger. His teeth will find any vulnerable point, the precious positioning of muscle or the junction between bone, and tear, locking on to any meagre scrap of flesh until the Spectre at last stumbles before him—

And until then he will run, drawing up only when the wolfdog has outpaced him, or the pulse in his veins finally slows.
« Last Edit: June 28, 2016, 05:52:51 PM by Cockatrice »

Did you get used to it,
     or are you still up with the demons all night?
Did you get used to it,
     or do you still feel like the world is unkind?

     [ #639068 ] | played by Sunblink.
         » tracker