Stavanger Bay Bikini body

Tags for visibility/reference! @Skellige @Mordecai :D

Part of Larkspur would have loved to stay with Deirdre. But nobody, not even her best friend, came before her family. She and Mordecai needed to get back to the Keep to check on Harlyn (and Silas), then wait for Pippin to return. They also needed a rest after their journey. The famine had long since ended and food was more or less plentiful again, yet Larkspur had yet to fully recover from its effects, if she ever would.

It was early afternoon as they trekked back across the windswept sands, retracing their steps toward Horizon Ridge and, beyond that, back to Hushed Willows. Little did either one of them know that a pack had staked a formal claim in the past few days, headquartering at the bay. The scents hit Larkspur's nose unexpectedly, like a soundless slap, and she jerked to a halt.

Her voice came tremulously. "Daddy?" The beach looked clear, yet Spur's cream fur stood on end, senses tingling. She felt like a fish who had swum into treacherous waters, sharks circling just out of sight.

Though only just a few paces behind Larkspur, he too found himself coming to a halt. For the stretch of time that they had travelled mostly unseen, he was surprised that a pack had forged a claim along the sandy stretch they had intended to take. He didn't recall seeing anyone along that particular patch of ground, but the markers were undeniable for what they were.

He reached out momentarily to soothe his daughter before he strode past her a bit, and took study of their options. Not about to try and go for a swim in an otherwise choppy sea, it was a short decision that their next best plan was to go around the pack. "Let's go this way," he said to her, waiting a moment before moving on parallel to a rather uncertain claim.

The wraith was trained to catch unfamiliar scents within the pack; he had steadied himself for others who would come without knowing that they had staked their claim. He had occupied the beach for a considerable amount of time with his wolves and yet he was untrusting of those around the area. The wolves of Donnelaith had already come with their concerns and he had found himself irritated with not only their leader but with Deirdre for not having relayed the word as she had promised. His wolves were warriors and their intention had not been to overtake the nearby forest pack; the young healer had spoken of the land as a healing and pacifistic location. Skellige was the muscle for their peaceful home. His wolves thrived majorly on prey caught from the sea and very rarely would seek land prey, but he had told her that if they caught something too large, it would go to their borders. The brute did not understand their hesitancy to join him.
 
When the unfamiliar played across his nostrils, the inky titan turned his head sharply in the direction of the stranger and began his hunt. Head low and hackles bristling, he trudged across sands toward what appeared to be a youthful body; she was painted in gold and cream and her eyes shined like the sky. There was a large man with her but he did not know his relation to the youngster until the length of his dark ears drew forward at the cry for her father. He was surprised that their scent did not belong to Donnelaith – it came from somewhere unknown to the leviathan. 
 
Quick to close the space between them, he loomed like a shadow and his dark eyes bore into her intensely. “What are you doing?” came the guttural inquiry from within his throat.

Calmly, Mordecai redirected their route. Larkspur bobbed her head, then made to follow him, yet they were already too late. For a split second, Spur thought one of those beasts on the beach had come after them. Then she blinked her overly large blue eyes and saw that it was only a wolf. With that said, he was huge and well-muscled, eyes pinning the pair of them like a couple of insects in a box. Larkspur immediately swallowed and crouched there on the sand.

Nothing! Larkspur wanted to answer him, yet no sound came out of her mouth. Trembling visibly, she pressed closer to her father, hoping he could talk the stranger out of doing them any harm. They didn't intend any harm of their own, after all, and posed no threat to this wolf. They had made an honest mistake, so hopefully he would let them go on their way unmolested.

He didn't see the incoming stranger that appeared in his blindside, but he felt the tension in the air turn up a few notches all the same. It wasn't until he spoke that Mordecai found himself halting suddenly and by then, Larkspur had firmly pressed herself against him to tremble. He brought his gaze around to take in the sight of the other, but it was brief before he adjusted it to somewhere in that general vicinity out of respect.

"Going home," was his simple answer. "It wasn't our intention to draw so close to your border." Blame it on the sea salt, the weariness, whatever; all of them sounded like excuses that he wasn't ready to hand out until prompted. If anything, he hoped that their deference would earn them a safe passage to steer clear... but anything was bound to happen. It wouldn't have been the first time someone had ever taken offense.

The child pressed herself against the male and all that Skellige could think to do was throw her into the ocean; the drop would have strengthened her. It would have given her the courage to turn and face his figure instead of cowering behind the agouti male. Somehow, he did not anticipate that the ocean would have swallowed the golden child up. The brute had found himself quite frustrated with the duo on his beachside. The sands beneath his feet were steadying for the titan, but he almost wished that Doe was there to offer appropriate responses to the two wolves. She had always done with in social interaction where he had faltered, and this was his greatest fault. The fierce swell of the sea rose within him and he drew his lips over yellowed canines at the male just before his gaze was averted respectfully. The leviathan would not allow for the man to look upon him unless he asked for it.
 
Hackles bristling still, the inky titan took a step forward and frowned. “Intentions mean very little to me when you stand so close,” he snapped to the male. The depths were his and he would not be so lenient with the two who came so close. Flickering his gaze to the golden youth, Skellige frowned and lifted his skull upward. “Where is home?” the ink-cloaked titan demanded with a lash of his tail. The silver fur along his rips rose upward and he was reminded to keep himself calm. This was not Warsaw; the wolves were not there to claim his land and steal his home.

Szymon moved like a ghost over the sand, competent paws untroubled by the dip and sink of the uneven terrain; he was upwind of his brother and their unlikely visitors and noticed first Skellige’s towering, wraithlike form. A low growl of greeting rumbled from his jaws around the muffled mouthful of a flat-bodied flounder for the caches. As he drew nearer, his sulphureous gaze flitted first toward the supposed patriarch, a capable looking wolf who surpassed Szymon in height — a fact that did not trouble the youngest Cairn as it once did. Russet and gold fur cloaked the stranger, whose eyes were averted respectfully, and upon one side of his body was written a grotesque chronicle of violent battle — a capable wolf, indeed, to have survived whatever he did. Szymon allowed his eerie yellow eyes to travel toward the wolf’s face, particularly the absence of a right eye. It was useful information should the situation escalate, but for now Szymon lingered in the background, his shoulder even with the curve of Skellige’s ribcage.

Mordecai reassured the looming stranger that they were just passing through and meant no harm. Larkspur quailed, hoping he would let them pass. When he snapped at her father instead, a small cry tumbled from the youth's lips. Even as the question about their home slipped from the brute's tongue, Larkspur's fight-or-flight response suddenly spiraled out of her control, causing her to dart.

Because the action was more or less involuntary, Larkspur did not choose any particular direction. She simply wanted to get away. She found her nimble paws pounding toward the surf, as if the water could offer her sanctuary. She had come to love the sea, after all. Of course, the reality of the situation was that Spur had just unwittingly trespassed into the male's territory and was now running pell mell toward its heart.

He felt himself tensing at the tone of the wolf, but it could not be helped. An instinctual response if nothing else, Mordecai knew his choice of words would need to be careful and precise. He wasn't about to give away where they came from for a number of reasons. They weren't alone with that particular wolf for long either, as the appearance of another told him much of what he needed to know about the pack. It was new and like with all in their fledgling state, the wolves there would seek to protect it.

But before he could properly articulate a response that may have sated their greeter, Larkspur stole away from his side. Her responses had not entirely gone to deaf ears but rather spurred the urgency that he felt to get them away from the borders. That wasn't happening now; his stoicism broke as his gaze tore away from the unknown fellows and to the all familiar sight of another child bolting off into the unknown.

He followed her without a moment's hesitation—he wasn't letting another one go.

The familiar scent of Skellige’s opposite had found his nostrils, and for a moment the great titan turned his head to glance at his youngest sibling with a slow nod. It would be nice to have the other Cairn there; if anything were to happen with this stranger and his child, Skellige would have preferred to have a capable fighter on his side. The two sea wolves against the single father would not pan out well, but the leviathan hoped that he would not need to use any brute force against the scarred figure. It seemed as though he had already endured a substantial amount of trouble in his time.
 
Without warning, the golden pup darted from beside her father and past Skellige. His eyes snapped toward her with shock and he found himself unleashing a furious growl. The father moved to follow and Skellige stepped in front of the man with a sickening snap of his yellowed teeth. “Szymon, hold this man,” he barked to his brother in a tone that suggested if he were to let the brown male go, there would be a severe punishment in store. Skellige was kindly to the pallid Cairn, but he was not opposed to adding to the notches in his pelt.
 
With a swift turn, the inky wolf darted after the golden pup. His eyes were trained on her small form as she sought to run toward the sea. In the back of his mind were flashes of his own drop and he found himself realizing what must happen; the pup must be thrown to the sea.

Without a second thought — and, quite possibly, without a first thought — Szymon choked on the flounder and died? killed Mordecai with the stench of his fishy breath? dropped the flounder and flew toward Mordecai in an attempt to intercept the other wolf. The little gold-and-cream blur was wholly dismissed in the face of this foe, and the monster that Szymon normally kept under wraps lurched and staggered to the forefront of his being; his tattered ears slicked back against his skull as his narrow muzzle dipped to protect his throat. He hoped that the battle-tested patriarch would remain riveted upon his daughter — such single-minded indulgence in the face of battle was folly, and Szymon had been raised on this uneven, unforgiving terrain. He approached the male from his blind side, taking the risk of surging up quite close to him in hopes of striking where he could not be seen, and lunged with jaws open in an attempt to grab the wolf by the nape or shoulder, or bowl him over entirely.

She heard a deep voice bark something behind her, yet the words were partially lost to the wind in her ears and the pounding of the encroaching surf. Unwilling and unable to look behind her, Larkspur just continued fleeing toward the waterline. Only when she came within a hundred yards of the breakers did her mind kick back online. If she dove into the ocean, could she swim to safety? Or should she keep running along the water's edge?

Before Larkspur could make a decision, she heard an ominous pounding behind her, like drums of war. With her higher brain functions restored somewhat, she thought to glance over her shoulder. All the blood drained out of her face—and the urine emptied from her bladder—when she saw the brutish wolf swiftly closing in on her. It didn't matter whether she tried to reach the water or veered to one side or the other. He was going to grab her before either one could happen.

The snap of teeth did not deter him as he try to muscle his way past the pair—rather, it prompted him to return a snarl and flash of teeth—but the incoming form to his blindside was there to slow him. Mordecai felt the rake of teeth against his nape and turned in a flash to return the favor, seeking to seize his would-be captor in retaliation. It was a thoughtless action, no doubt one that would only serve to further disintegrate whatever hopes he had of them slipping past cleanly. His grasping was blind but fierce, determined to strike flesh wherever he could.

PP permission graaaanted

 

Skellige was certain that Szymon would do his duty to keep the father figure out of their pack lands. If anything, his pale brother would slow the beast down. The shore was their terrain; they had been born and bred on sands and had been thrown to the wickedness of the ocean at a young age. It was only fitting that they would have a momentary upper hand in the battle. The leviathan was taking advantage of the time that he had ahead of the enraged father. As his body neared the smaller form of the golden girl, he watched her lose control of her body in fear, but her movement at halted and this offered him ample time to dive forward and grip her scruff in his jagged yellow teeth. The gold-clad child was not a tiny pup, but she was substantially smaller than he. With Larkspur clasped in his teeth, he bolted toward the water.
 
In the depths, he knew he had drawn close to the black rock. He could feel the energy that radiated from it underneath the water. As his paws struck against the lapping waves, he continued to run until he had sunk almost chest-deep into the water and was beginning to lose momentum. That was the moment; no more than four yards away was the drop that fell into the deeper portion of the bay. With a swing of his head, Skellige tossed the child into the air as far as his momentum would carry her and waited for her to strike the sea. The ocean would bless her or it would sweep her away…

The bristle of Mordecai’s hackles against Szymon’s lips and the metallic tang of blood whipped the young Cairn into a frenzy — the monster roiled within him and his sulphureous eyes flew wide as a snarl ripped from the depths of his gut. The burn of Mordecai’s fangs as they lashed against Szymon’s thigh just above the slope that led to his hock only infuriated the boy further, but it also afforded him greater purchase — he hoped. Throwing his weight against the older male, Szymon snapped again, using the tight knot of their bodies in an attempt to gain a more secure grip on the juncture of the trespasser’s nape and right shoulder. He wanted to reopen that scar tissue and make it weep with new blood — the push of his powerful hindquarters was no less fervent for the bloody wound engendered by Mordecai’s equally feverish jaws.

He felt the burning tear of flesh as the grip of his captor clamped down; he did not relent in the grasp that he had. Instead that feverish split of skin only enticed him to tear away himself and go to strike again. If he couldn't get the pale beast to relent himself then he would tear at him until he did. He pushed against the wolf rather than pulling away, letting the bulk of his weary muscles handle the burden of pushing further into territory. His jaws scrambled for purchase with intent to shake wildly when they landed, but something else caught his attention altogether.

The other wolf had caught up with Larkspur in their scuffle, and in Mordecai's hesitation to grab ahold of his pallid captor he saw the darker of the pair hurl Larkspur into deeper waters.

Last post (for now, anyway...).

She was right. He caught up to her, his teeth pinching roughly at the flesh of her scruff. He manhandled her and Larkspur went as limp as a rag doll, paralyzed by fear and unable to fight her fate as he dragged her who-knows-where. She did bawl a single, "Daddy!" before the brute pitched her into the open ocean. For a moment, she flew like a true larkspur, though gravity quickly pulled her down into the choppy blue abyss with a final-sounding splash and an explosion of bubbles and sea spray.

Spur did not resurface.

A bit late to the action, Atoll arrived just in time to see a blonde-furred body fly through the air and plunk right into the churning depths. Under other circumstances, she might've wondered why Skellige had thrown the half-grown wolf into ocean - might even have disapproved -

But her eyes were on Szymon and his attacker, and all she cared about was ending the tawny wolf's life.

"No!" she screamed, tearing toward the battling pair, kicking up fountains of sand as she dug for more purchase, more speed. How dare he - how dare he harm what she'd claimed as her own?

Her teeth flashed white as she sprang, mouth open wide to recieve any bit of the enemy she could fit into her bristling jaws. Though most of what she could see was the hot red of her fury, she thought that she'd been aiming for his throat.

Feel free to have her miss the throat - there's a lot going on, after all!

The child struck the waves with a splash and disappeared into the depths of the water but did not return to the surface. Skellige trained his vision on the spray of bubbles and salt that had erupted from the dark sea, silently wondering if the child would find a way up… but there was no movement. A frown creased his features and he shook his head in disappointment. It would seem as though the great ones had claimed another life. It had not been the first pup that he had thrown into the depths. The islands of his home had seen countless children tossed to the vicious waves. Many of them had found their way to the shore, but there had always been a few that had been taken by the swell and never returned. They were considered worthy sacrifices to the mystics; the spirit of the sea would smile upon the wolves of Blackrock Depths because of this pup.
 
In all that had occurred, the wraith had almost forgotten about the child’s father who seemed to be occupied with fighting off Szymon. Skellige turned his crown to face the two battling wolves and drew his tongue along his muzzle and nose in a quick flash. Just as he intended to make a move to end the fight, Doe appeared – seemingly – from nowhere. She cried out in anger at the father and threw herself toward the two beasts. The leviathan watched curiously at his wolves and realized that she had not been lying when she spoke of her feelings for his youngest sibling.
 
Quickly, the inky titan pushed from the earth and loped back toward the two fighting wolves. His hackles were raised high along his neck and spine and his head was held aloft. It would do him very little good to assist in the battle; the sea wolves had already begun to swarm on the man. If he continued to fight, Skellige was certain that the three of them would make him regret ever setting foot on the shores of Blackrock Depths.

The mouthful of hide and muscle in which Szymon’s fangs found purchase sent a thrill that was almost carnal whipping through the young wolf’s bloodstream. He and Mordecai were checkmated, deadlocked — neither wolf was willing to let go — and the renewed clench of the tawny trespasser’s jaws upon his haunch made Szymon vividly aware, not of Mordecai’s power, but of his own. Summoning the greatest reserves of his strength, the golden-eyed boy gripped the older, larger wolf by the juncture of nape and shoulder and shook him — trying to dislodge him, if he could. He did not adjust his grip even when the larger wolf pushed against him — he strained forward as well, again trying to shake the wolf as he simultaneously tried to rip his leg out of the wolf’s fangs, a litany of malice pouring from between his bloodied teeth. Szymon was the monster now, and Mordecai’s hesitation was his folly.

“No!”

The voice was Doe’s, and Szymon was as immune to her suffering as she was to his — i.e. not at all. She was untutored in fighting, he knew, being that she had mentioned Lagertha giving her lessons; fear for her welfare very nearly flicked off the safety that had held his trigger finger in check. “Hold” was the command Szymon had been given — and he had made every effort to detain the tawny wolf with as little injury as possible, keeping the monster at bay. Szymon had not attempted to break Mordecai’s legs or tear open his abdomen or go for his throat — only keep him immobile should Skellige require the wolf for information. Fortunately for Szymon, he was bred and raised for this line of work and required no reminder to keep one eye trained on his enemy — but he could not help the feeling of desperation that turned his blood to ice. In an attempt to keep Mordecai’s head away from Doe, Szymon flung the full weight of his body slightly to the side to try to either body check his Chosen One out of the way or at least avert the dangerous snap of Mordecai’s jaws.

A towering shadow alerted Szymon to his brother’s presence, and his golden-eyes flashed desperately, beseechingly toward the mahogany-eyed titan. Take her out of here, he thought to himself, though he could make no demands of the Leviathan. What he said instead, though a mouth of fur and blood, a spray of sanguine fanning from his lips as he snarled it out, was directed at the trespasser with a furious shake: “Yield!”

i hope this works for you guys, if not poke me and i'll try and process what's going on better. @__@ *groggy noises*

She cried out as she went over the edge, falling out and past whatever line of sight Mordecai hoped to maintain. There was too much going on in a flash following that for him to process. He felt overwhelmed and numb at the same time, an experience that could have only been summed up through a shiver that coursed through his body. Time may as well have slid to slow motion for him, while the world around him turned into a speeding blur.

He let go of his captor in time with his furious shake and a grimace crossed his features at the bloom of white hot pain that came with it. But the very thing that was a finisher in many sense was the other wolf that came to join the fray just as timely. Her gaping jaws met their mark as they closed in around what part of his neck was exposed. Mordecai made a noise then, some indecipherable sound that was cut off just as soon as it started.

He was forced into yielding, not just by his weary body being overpowered.

There seemed little point in resisting when the odds were so severely tipped away from his favor.

Her small, tapering jaw found purchase in flesh and fur, and in her infinite fury, she chomped down once, twice, three times. On the third time, a faint hint of blood seeped onto her tongue, but nothing like the amount that Szymon had drawn with his powerful maw.

Atoll's problem was not entirely in skill or strength, though she lacked, a bit, in both areas. The problem was the coyote-shape of her mouth, and the thickness of the old wolf's neck. She could not fit her jaws around his throat comfortably enough to clamp down and seal off his life; nor could her teeth fully penetrate his tawny coat.

She was at a loss, unwilling to give up her hold but not satisfied with the futility of it, either. Shifting carefully, she worked backward bit by bit until she had just the skin of his neck in her jaws, and that she could bite into; draw blood from.

But, turning her attention to the rest of the world, she realized that the male had already given up - probably as soon as he'd heard her terrible cry!

Bet you won't try that again! she thought nastily, kicking sand in his direction. The fur along her spine stood up ramrod straight, and the rest of her coat bristled similarly in the fashion of a particularly disdainful bird. Eyes glinting dangerously, she glared at the stranger for one long moment before glancing toward the Leviathan's hulking form.

"We should kill it," she seethed, pacing toward Szymon and then away again as her anger struck her once more. She'd meant to look at his wound, clean him, up, speak sweet words - but there was no way she could do that now, not with Skellige and the stranger so near. She wondered if her love would even allow it.

Not daring to look away from the attacker, she canted her head in the Leviathan's direction, eyes still fixed firmly on the other wolf. "What happened here?" she asked, confusion and fear and white-hot anger forcing her tone nearer to a demand than a polite inquiry.

Last post for Skellige so you guys can keep this moving a lil faster. <33

 

His wolves were quick to latch onto the father with their fangs and dig deep. Skellige’s ears were flattened to his skull and his mouth was turned downward in disgust at the man who had allowed his child to simply run through the sands however she might please and then had found the audacity to follow her without a moment of hesitation. There was a ticking rage in his gut that was beginning to boil. Taking a threatening step forward, the wraith peered at the older wolf with a cold gaze and a curling of his lip over his nasty fangs.
 
Doe had suggested that they kill him and this notion was pleasing to the leviathan, but he knew that it was not his battle – it had been the work of Szymon and Doe that had brought his figure to a halt. The titan had taken accountability for the child that he had tossed to the waters and if she were to find her way to the shore, he would claim her as his own. The twisted maze of his mind had simply thought her to be food for the creatures of the sea. There was only the issue of the old wolf at hand; Skellige would not allow him to flee to his pack and cry stories of the monstrosity on the bay. He was a creature of war, but they were a fresh group and he did not believe that they had the ability to stave off and entire pack.
 
“What becomes of him is your decision,” he granted the two before him with a stern expression. “But you make sure – whatever you do – that this cur does not remember being near our land.” The dark creature took another step forward so that he could peer into the eyes of the wolf father. His tongue flicked across his nose and muzzle and was swiftly tucked back inside of his mouth. The burning russet of his gaze was locked with that of Mordecai’s and he found himself disgusted by the very sight of him.
 
With a flick of his bristled tail, the wraith turned from them and allowed his wolves to decide the fate of the fool who dared to cross into his lands. The question of what had happed would go unanswered. Skellige was certain that Doe would be granted information by Szymon once they had finished their work. 

Short post. I apologize for the wait and sad quality. If this wasn’t what you were going for, @Doe and @Mordecai, let me know and I’ll change it. There’s also some powerplay, which I change if you’re not cool with it, Ku. If it’s along the lines of what you both wanted, Mix can powerplay Sizzle dragging Mordecai into the sea with Doe. ♥

The pressure that gripped the thick cords of muscle just above Szymon’s right hock released — but he knew it would bruise and take its time about healing simply due to its location. With his attention still divided between Mordecai and Doe, the golden-eyed boy felt his heart swell with mingled pride and protectiveness at Doe’s vehemence — absurdly, he wanted to chuckle when she kicked sand in the trespasser’s general direction, but the renewed thought that she could have been injured by this stranger locked his throat into stony silence. Szymon was loathe to let go of the older wolf despite the reluctant slackening of his muscles beneath the Cairn’s grip; he wanted to kill the creature, yielding to his more brutal nature and Doe’s resentful suggestion, but what better way to appease the Sea than to make an offering of the father? The daughter would surely please the Cairns’ chosen entity — what better than an adult wolf, and battle-scarred to boot, to further please Her? The blessing would be all the more potent for this offering, and perhaps the wolf’s blood would draw sharks to the water. “No k-killing,” he snarled through a mouthful of fur and flesh. “The Sea w-will decide.”

Decisively, Szymon unhinged the iron clamp of his jaws and accomplished what Doe’s more finely-crafted, tapered jaw could not — in a controlled grip, he sought to use the strength of his jaws to cut off Mordecai’s windpipe, using that deprivation to dull the older wolf’s senses. Mordecai would not die at Szymon’s jaws, but the idea of dragging the tawny creature kicking and screaming out into the waves was not terribly appealing.

Suddenly he was aware of how his heart pounded. It was not a quick beat to some unheard tempo, but rather one that was steady and so keenly aware of morality. His solitary gaze did not deviate away from the turn of the hulking wolf; his defiance more than likely spoke volumes in the distance that was not so quickly cut between them. If this was surely to be the sands where he spilt the last of his blood and drew his last breath, Mordecai had every intention of putting up even more a fight than he had. It had been foolish to think there was a notion of reasoning with these likes, that perhaps they could have corralled one another and come to an understanding. All of that had come cleanly off the table as an option when Larkspur had been sent off the cliffside to the waters.

He half-heard the words that the dark-haired alpha spoke, too confident to tear his one-eyed gaze away from the pair that met his own in a slightly out of focus world. His lips curled into a snarl as Skellige turned away, an ear turning to the muffled sounds of his captor. There was only a moment more that he dared to bide his time when he felt those jaws clamp around his throat properly; sound involuntarily escaped him as he started to struggle once more. He did not believe in the pale wolf's words at all, that there would be no killing—the tight grip seemed to betray whatever he had uttered moments before. Not fool enough to thrash around and inevitably cut his own throat, Mordecai tried to wriggle free once again even with the onset of burning lungs desperate for breath. There wasn't much time left now.

mix & kj, feel free to powerplay mordecai how you see fit! ;)