meet me in the dark

Rolling combat 1d20: 3
Poor - You barely hurt your opponent

From the start she’d only intended to deliver some drinks, provide alcohol to boost the revelry those present no doubt felt in the face of blood shed. Perhaps even place a few coins of her own upon the strapping fighters which caught her eye and yet she found herself captivated. Entranced with the very dance so many held with fate in an undeniable thrill for this was far from the sidelines. No, she walked a path tasted before as paws strode against stained floors. A stage where so many others had already completed their acts.

Where she herself had put on a show in the company of a shadowy titan, though it were not she who graced her vision this evening but rather one painted in fiery hues. A woman who’s eyes burned as brightly as her hide. A reflection of what lay harbored in her soul, a gaze one may have been sucked into if not for the purpose held. For now Tsillah could only hope that underlying passion could shine through and fuel what she herself tried so hard to bury at times. It was a blaze that needed to ignite.

Nothing more than a brief dip of her crown offered to the wolfess standing before her for the moment a signal was given that frame surged forth. Hoping to be met with the same eagerness as fangs sought to burrow themselves into the flesh of an unknown’s neck. Aiming for the point where it met her shoulder.

HP: 70

Rolling combat 1d20: 12
Fair - You hurt your opponent moderately

She stood in the fighting pit; her head held high, shoulders back and her tail raised well above her spine. This was her battlefield now, where she relished in the screams from the crowd, where she bathed in the light of the spotlight. It was here where she had experienced victory. And now that she had a taste for it, an addiction had been born, and she craved her next fix as blood red eyes stared down her nose at her new opponent.

Her lip twitched in antipathy as she was given a single nod. As if there was any place for pride or morals here.

Omen came at her then, and Searla danced to the side; hardly feeling the scrape of claw or teeth upon her fiery pelt. With a wide, sinister grin, Feannadh twirled gracefully and lunged back at her foe, jaws agape to find purchase upon the tender flesh underneath her jaw.


HP: 70-3= 67

Rolling combat 1d20: 15
Competent - You deal a painful blow

Barely had her teeth even grazed flesh before that hide spun away. Leaving her to grasp hardly more than tufts of fur betwixt her jaws, earning a short huff from the keeper as all was spat free. Though, all the while, eyes refused to stray from the dance of a flickering flame nor the grin etching its way over darkened lips as a figure pivoted toward her in a flash of snapping fangs. Just as quickly Omen rose up in hopes of evading the brunt of a coming blow.

Finding temporary balance upon her hind limbs before teeth could fully snare against delicate flesh. She would not lose out on her best chance of defenses so soon if such a thing could be helped. Yet neither could she remain in such a position, attempting to grappling with burning fire that fought to tug and rip at skin. With a sneer metallic gold glared down at this Feannadh before weight would fall sending the curve of ivories to snap down toward her countenance.

HP: 58 (70-12)

Rolling combat 1d20: 16
Competent - You deal a painful blow

Fire exploded in her face as teeth found purchase within her skin. Lacerations bloomed across her snout like roses, and Searla snarled in both surprise and pain. Blood welled and ran down the curves of her muzzle, lining her dark lips and painting her tongue with her own life fluid.

Her red eyes blazed with vengeance.

Tensing the muscles all along her frame, she jerked her head forward, hoping to slam her forehead into her opponent in an attempt to force her to back off.

HP: 67-15= 52

Rolling combat 1d20: 4
Poor - You barely hurt your opponent

Ichor traced her tongue as it blossomed from the sundered flesh below though it was not a grace - a taste - which lasted long. For another surged, offering little hope for readjustment before each were met with an abrupt collision of bone. A reckless act on Feannadh’s part for so easily could it have backfired and brought her own skull to rattle in tune to Omen’s own. Though she could hardly focus on how another may daze and flounder now.

Paces stumbling back as a crown shook in hopes to find focus. Vision spinning from the blow which she knew would hardly help upon the field. However, she could not find pause for too long. Only a fool would risk leaving themselves entirely open to their opponent. She at least had to try. With a curl of her lips those faltering steps attempted to surge aiming to use the weight of her frame to knock the other woman off her feet.

HP: 42 (58-16)

Rolling combat 1d20: 11
Fair - You hurt your opponent moderately

She was successful even at the cost of her own focus. As the two women stumbled with the consequences of her recklessness, Searla at least found retribution in her success in making Omen step away. While her for appeared to be a little jostled still, Feannadh took the opportunity to close the distance between them again and take a chomp at her nose.



HP: 52-4= 48

Rolling combat 1d20: 18
Competent - You deal a painful blow

Focus was hard found as vision bleared, refusing to find the focus she so desperately craved in these moments only to find misstep. Her own paces faltering back as the fuzzy silhouette of her opponent crept ever nearer. Approaching far sooner than anticipated and sending another spark of pain to sear against dark skin.

Those razor fangs slicing easily into the tender flesh of her snout before the reverberating click sounded just in front of her. Even if sights could not fixate she would chase after that resounding beacon, follow not only it but the flare which stung at her. Lurching forth a crown whipped to the side in a blind attempt of snaring hold of the side of her neck.

HP: 31 (42-11)

Rolling combat 1d20: 4
Poor - You barely hurt your opponent

She yelped, loudly, as jaws wrapped around the side of her neck and teeth sank viciously into her skin. Wet coated her fur, matting it almost immediately as the thick, sticky liquid pulsed from the wounds.

Searla hated pain despite her profession. Rage made her vision shiver with red, and she twisted angrily in Omens grasp, even at her own detriment, to savagely bite at her face again with intent to rip into the soft flesh of her cheek or nose.

HP: 48-18= 30

Rolling combat 1d20: 9
Poor - You barely hurt your opponent

A sudden cry flooded the senses as fangs embedded themselves into that fire laced hide. Crimson filling her jaws as it flowed freely from each puncture though it was flesh felt to twist as a weight shifted. Unneeded glance cast to confirm suspicions of the other fighting to wrench herself free. Not truly wishing to tear out a hunk of this woman’s neck Omen released her hold as a shadowed frame jerked back from those snapping jaws.

Teeth carving an ever fleeting path over her features, fraying fur endings more than anything and yet she was certain one would be met with vengeance. An act she hoped to stave off if only for a moment longer as that figure ducked low. Only to surge up in hopes of knocking her shoulders into Feannadh’s lower jaw to send teeth clicking harshly against one another even if it risked the flesh harbored within her maw.

HP: 27 (31-4)

Rolling combat 1d20: 14
Fair - You hurt your opponent moderately

A snarl escaped her jaws in frustration as still her opponent stood to contest her. Searla hardly had a second to regain herself as Omen released her hold upon her neck, but at least her thrashing to escape worked somewhat. And then she was haphazardly headbutted, her jaws being forced shut yet Searla growled and pushed herself forward, attempting to collide with the others body and push her over to the ground.

Blood fell in droplets from her lacerated muzzle.

HP: 30-9=21