Wolf RPG

ooc: set at an unspecified area near Donnelaith. Part of Lovegame 2.0 plot (if you intend to join, please, read about it here first).

It had all been about protecting borders lately and, having had her share of fun, running and playing around during the day, Osprey decided to be a dutiful member and did her share of marking the heavily scented border line. For some reason her smell appeared to be stronger than the rest. At some point it had become a bit boring and she decided to "spice" things up. Why should they stick to the current territory, when there was room to expand?

Excited by the sudden idea she left the treeline and entered the nearby lying plains, choosing a random spot and beginning to dig. The earth was still hard and partly frozen, but she managed to bring up some dirt (mostly on herself), as well as dig a reasonably big pit to lie into. Paws, muzzle and belly covered in mud, she lied down and stretched - forelegs forwards and hind-legs to the back, as much as the anatomy allowed. 

A bit tired, she let her gaze wander up to the sky and she smiled seeing the light shadow of the moon.

Warbone was prowling, as he mostly tended to do— head low and tail waving in slow, casual sweeps of his hocks. The previous day he had wandered past Moonspear, a place he knew by scent only, and inexplicably he searched its reaches for a flash of red fur. But he crossed no one, let alone the fox-furred Gamma of the western Wilds peak, and he continued on past the territory. The brute rested for much of the day, lulled by the sharpening scent of salt, but as late afternoon bled into twilight, he found himself completely abandoning the looming woods and padding across a cold, sandy plateau on the way towards the ocean.

A scent, much more powerful than the draw of seawater (or even prey), and his trajectory altered. The hunter's body assumed a posture he was not aware he carried with him, and with a tall head and ears pressed forward, he searched for the source of the nectarous smell. His tail lifted and swayed back and forth like the needle of a metronome. He couldn't see all of her, but as he came nearer, he could see the cloying gray female half-buried in a bed of her own making. Her receptive scent— attractively saccharine, boiling his blood the longer he stood there— made Warbone approach with little hesitation.

He came forward to inhale her, nose searching her body as he boldly expressed a silent desire to participate in her arousal... despite any protests she might have displayed in that instant. He would jump back if she snapped, but the virile hunter was not to be so easily deterred.

Osprey had drifted off, which could turn out to be a fatal mistake for a lone wolf out in the open. In her state, however, her undertsanding about danger had nearly disappeared. If she was to be mauled to death at this point, she would meet her fate more with a surprise than with a rational conclusion that this was, how things ended for people, if they did not take enough care of them. 

So, no wonder that she was startled, when she sensed that the border of the sacred private space had been breached and that there was a brute man towering over her, sniffing her with interest. For a moment she let him do it, lying still with gaze averted and ears drawn back to her head. Then, when she believed that this was enough, she lashed around snapped at the man's muzzle and danced several steps away, shaking her coat and then straightened herself. She looked the man briefly in the eye, as if challenging him to try and come nearer, if he dared.

Her snap was slower in coming than anticipated— allowing him to first tease the fringes of her fur— but he had anticipated it nonetheless. The wolf jerked back his head, taking a single step back as he watched the silver nymph dance backwards, carrying the scent of her heat with her, but not lessening its potency. It was because of it that the bronzed wolf was not deterred in the least by her grandstand.

He only watched at first, tail pointed high and tipping back and forth like a pendulum. Her eyes, evergreen like the pines of his homeland, challenged the wolf's manhood with a withering gaze. A lesser wolf might have felt daunted, but Warbone was not a lesser wolf. A stag by all rights, she would see what great prize had approached her in the night. A sharp, ponderous beast, whose instinct for courtship was not lost in the haze of his self-imposed exile to a penniless life. The wolf postured— peacocked, really— and boldly trotted forward several steps, his limbs stiff and his body language vibrating with the waves of his excitement. His tail picked up its pace, and an amorous growl in his throat turned into an eliciting woof as it left his mouth.

If she did not want his attention, his willing and fervent affection, then what was she doing so distant from the scent dominating among the other traces of her pack. Her scent coursed through his veins, beating with the very blood that drove him to live. His energy seeped forth, demonstrating a primal need to inhale her. Taste her. Feel her. His very molecules now beckoned him to her, called by her despite what her face denied.

"I will not leave you unsatisfied," the virile male hissed, licking his chops excitedly and leaving it for her to interpret whether he was speaking on his pleasure or hers. His anticipation was built for her violence or her play. Either, he would accept.

Osprey had given her attentive mate the slip a couple of times, most likely unintentionally, but this time he managed to follow.  Her scent was strong and made tracking convenient, so he followed the enticing trail out and into the surrounding lands.  As he did so, his chest tightened protectively.  Never before had he felt so god damned uptight about where she was.

When he finally caught up, she wasn't alone this time.  Another male stood nearby.  His pose was commanding and proud, sending a clear message - a claim.  Immediately Dante's ears pressed back and his own tail stiffened, hackles rising as he let out a challenging growl. She is not yours, his eyes clearly said, presumptuous in his possessive instincts.  What Osprey wanted right now didn't matter.  All he saw was his mate and one who wished to steal that right from him.

It was for the second time this season that fear broke through the haze Osprey was in. As the male approached her boldly, she took steps back in order to keep a safe distance between them. Ears drawn back, tail tucked tightly to her belly and herself in half-crouch - she was a spitting image of a wolf that lacked confidence and wished to be somewhere else (preferably far, far away) at this very moment. Having always been the one, who hunted, she had never felt like a prey herself. 

Stranger's words, though they did not hold an immediate threat, repulsed her and she replied with a low warning growl, while out of the corners of her eyes she tried to scan the area and find the best escape route. It was clear from the beginning that she would not be able to escape, should she decide to run, and she would lose, if she put up with a fight. Yet there had to be a way out of this - her nature refused to give up. 

The arrival of her mate swelled her heart with hope and an instant her position changed - her standing more upright and, while still growling, she was ready to join Dante in a fight, should that kind ensue.

Warbone snarled as another male approached, snapping his head away from the female and turning his ferocious intent on the "intruder". She had been within his vile grasp, resistant but not unobtainable, and here he was finding himself ludicrously cockblocked. The wolf rolled his shoulders back, prepared for a for a fight as the male's scent finally hit him through the fog of the female's pheromones. This was her mate, further evidence by the way she wormed to his side, and turned on him— the prime specimen— in favor of the wolf she had to have settled for.

A normally rational wolf, who honored the sanctity of a mateship, was driven into a testosterone boil by the receptive female. He lunged for the male without warning, without the general pause that usually occurs in the moments before a canine springs. He was aware of the additional set of teeth he had to prepare for, but he had no qualms with fighting for his right to claim her. He did not seek to maim or kill— only dominate thoroughly.

He heard Osprey join his menacing and felt a rush of primal pride; he was her choice, not this stranger who had no right to even be near.  But they did not deter the male from trying his luck regardless.  A part of Dante rejoiced that the male attacked - his own blood was pounding with the instinctual need to prove himself to both his mate and himself, and the powerful urge to attack now could be sated.

It came without any lead in and, though he had braced for it, the attacker immediately gained a bit of ground.  His teeth met their mark and Dante uttered a guttural noise, turning and pushing back to place himself further between this wolf and his mate.  Osprey wished to join, and he could not prevent her from doing so, but he wished to discourage it.  This was his challenge.  His mind balked at the thought of damage to her on an even deeper level; it would be damage to their chances of family should they manage it.

His teeth went for the male's scruff, hoping to pull him sideways and down to the ground.  He too only wished to dominate, though if necessary, he wouldn't balk to spill real blood.

Things escalated quickly and though her intent at first had been to join Dante and hopefully drive this brute away, Osprey now found herself being on the sidelines, watching, how two males resolved their rights to have her. She stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, at time her body would tense, as if she would be prepared to jump in, but there didn't seem to be a room there for her, nor did it really feel like it was her fight. So eventually she took several steps away from them and observed the two. 

ooc: Osprey will be more or less a cameo here, so you can skip her in the next rounds, should you feel like it. I will follow the thread and post her reaction and perhaps decisions regarding joining the fight. 

Warbone's body worked as it had been bred to. The graystorm wolf instinctively drove his body between his mate and their short feud, and the aggressor sought to take advantage of this distraction by subtly keeping the fight close to her. As the male attempted to force him to the ground by his scruff, Warbone drove his body inwards and applied a massive amount of pressure into his opponent's jaws, attempting to force him backwards towards his mate.

The wolf swung his head then, a flash of teeth near the base of the other's neck in another (or further) attempt to drive him back. The happy couple could always retreat together. He wasn't disillusioned enough to chase the unwilling (for fight or sex); but there was a distinct edge to the male that led him to assume that he would rather chase him off, as if this territory was claimed. And in that instance, Warbone would be internally driven to react.

As Warbone pushed him back towards Osprey, Dante's anger flared harder, and he bit down harder, hoping to cause some measure of injury.  On a normal day, Dante would have never begun this fight in the first place, and had it happened, he would have gladly avoided injury by retreating.  He had no beef with this wolf nor his pack, and would not have desired to start any.

Today, though, logic was not the only thing in play.  In front of Osprey, he could not submit yet, for to turn and run would be to forfeit (in his mind) any rights he had to father her pups.  If he could not assert himself here, then he was unworthy of her.  It was an instinct that would require one of two things to happen - his mate to leave the vicinity or the male in front of him to submit.  He had no way of knowing what affect losing this encounter would have in her eyes and the driving force that grew stronger as her time drew on would not allow him to take the risk.

The severe pinching against the back of Warbone's neck suddenly became less of show of dominance and more of an attempt to truly cause harm, and upon feeling the hot rivulets of his own blood trickle down his neck, the wolf grew exponentially vengeful. The brawler bucked his upper body, jarring his opponent's bite, and making it all the looser for his abrupt drop to the ground. The male came with him, razor teeth grasping to what bit of flesh and fur he could hold of his copper nape, but there was enough space between them now— and yet not an inch of room to escape— for Warbone's retaliation.

While relying on instinct and brute strength was typically enough to best his opponent, there were the rare occasions in which he needed to implement the techniques ingrained in him by the brutes of Tall Timbers in order to win. This was not the first time that the pride of his opponent had caused him to use them, and because he appeared particularly dim, he was easy to mistake for a wolf who knew only how to throw his weight around. The mistake always cost them.

His turnaround was at a snake's speed, and now that he was beneath Romeo, his upward strike landed in an unsavory spot for his adversary. His teeth clamped harshly on the base of his neck, then he adjusted fast, faster than the rattled wolf could swing and replace a firmer grip on him as he threw his rump sideways and put himself at a more perpendicular angle to the challenger. His adjustment allowed him to simultaneously replace his jaws from its previous position closer to his chest, to the spot where his neck met his skull, and his lower teeth pressed threateningly against the smoky wolf's jugular. Of course the endangered male tried to jerk away, but Warbone was bearing up on him, keeping him lifted and unbalanced on his forepaws, and the more pressure he applied down in an attempt to escape the grasp, the more pressure he was applying on his own windpipe.

Claws bore down on him aggressively as well, but they could not apply killing swipes to the wolf at his throat, and Warbone had him at a complete disadvantage. He could nearly control how he moved his head now, forcing it more sideways as he began to right his own body somewhat, leveling their bodies but not upping Romeo's chances of escaping without his neck torn. Warbone's intention was to eventually get him onto the ground, but it seemed unnecessary at this point. Warbone broke skin, thinly, but the new threat behind the set of his jaws seemed to be more than enough to eventually still his struggling opponent, heaving and alarmed but realizing that his stillness eased the pressure.

He might've needed to lie down, in order for Warbone to feel safe releasing him. But there was also his mate, who might not take kindly to what appeared her husband about to lose his life. He had no intention of taking a life today though. His libido was higher than his rage, and in the back of his head, he wanted to leave the area more than anything else— triumphantly, if he could. Hence the pause, the offer for the male to keep his life, if he stopped fighting his defeat.

Dante could have, at one point, been an accomplished fighter.  In his youth he had shown promise, a violence and skill that had named him pick as heir to the command.  But he had left, throwing all training to the wind and choosing to support and protect his sister instead.  He still practiced, of course!  But as he went there had been many reminders of the savage skill he had lost; Koda, Charon, even his spar with Aria.  None had come easily to him, many had been lost, and it only would grow worse, he was sure, with age.

His rage was enough that he didn't realize his predicament at first.  In his focus to keep Osprey out he'd compromised his throat, and when he pulled, he felt the skin knick threateningly.  Slowly the snarl died in his throat, and he held stock still, staring at Warbone with incensed frustration.  His claws had landed blows, but he was pinned and unable to effectively move without great harm.  

He was entirely at the mercy of his opponent, and yet the immediate danger did have one saving grace; he hadn't yet had the chance to think of how this picture might look to his (currently a little hormone-crazy) mate.  His own had caused this situation, and the pride that came with them.

ooc: PP with player's consent

It was hard to watch the fight, which was because of Osprey, and not be able to do anything. Though rooting for her mate's victory or a somewhat peaceful end of the fight at least, what she really wanted was to be far away from the culprit of the action. Self-preservation instinct was screaming in the back of her head, while the bits of rationality were battling between the need to flee and the fierce protectivness she felf for Dante. 


It would have been a suicide mission to go directly in the fight, but the opportunity presented itself, when the pace of the action slowed down a little - the brute had got firm hold on Dante's neck, leaving the latter in a dead-end situation. Should he move, his opponent would most likely take a big chunk of of flesh with him. Most likely the life too. Should the bulldog attempt to change his current position, it would mean bad news for him. 

Therefore without much thinking the she-wolf lunged at the brute, aiming for his hindquarters and getting a firm hold of one of them. She began to tug and shake the foot in order to divert it's owner's attention and give a window of escape for Dante.

Warbone could feel victory in his body— taste its metallic tang on his tongue and hear the laborious breathing of his opponent in his ears— and he sought to complete the action of getting Romeo on the ground. But Juliet was no damsel, no token silver cheerleader of the sidelines. She streaked forward, too fast for him to track, and lightning struck his hind leg, immediately drawing both blood and his wrath. The male was released to choking relief, and the beast rounded on his mate, too slow to actually catch her.

With a vicious snarl, he threw himself sideways, mindful that his back was now towards the (potentially quickly recovered) male and now he had two opponents. The copper wolf distanced himself, tossing his head and snorting as he realized through the haze of adrenaline that he was not being bore upon with additional attacks. His hackles remained rippling and teeth ready to bare, but his eyes were trained on them, unwilling to turn his back on them, but making no move towards the pair either. He was completely on the defensive.

He would have really liked to have won this for her, and the moment he stood there helpless, he could feel his rage in his defeat.  Though their relationship had been anything but steriotypical from the get go, in this he wanted the trite to occur; he would defend her honor, vanquish the contestor, and cement both of their knowledge that he was capable of defending any family they may eventually have.  Instincts on overdrive screamed at him now, berating his foolishness as he felt the warmth around the teeth grasping his neck.  It was a firm hold - there was no other way.

He prepared to pull himself loose, knowing the injury that would likely result but recklessly ignoring it.  All that mattered was getting free.  Luckily for him, his mate had other plans and was no meek charge to be defended.  When she succeeded in distracting the other male, Dante was released and quickly backpedaled, his fur on end even while he sucked in air heavily through his now-sore throat.  He kept his eye on the challenger but made no further move to attack right now, for he saw that the other made none towards them.  Instead he turned his gaze to Osprey.  He would not run if it meant that he was leaving her behind.

Osprey had not expected her move to succeed, therefore the moment the brutish wolf let go of Dante's neck, she let go of the foot and danced away swiftly just in time to avoid any serious injury a wolf in self-defense could cause her. In a matter of seconds the situation had changed from hopeless to almost victorious. It was clear that the opponent would make no move in order to continue the fight and, despite the fact that Osprey's hormone ridden mind urged her to go on, take her chances and possibly bring down this beast once and for all, she retreated and moved sideways to be nearer her mate. 

She did not care if he hadn't won the fight alone and, when she cast a glance at him, she hoped that he would see it in her eyes that he was no less valuable to her. Despite the obvious evolutionary advantage the brute's genes would have to offer to the next generations. Perhaps at a different time with a different lady. "Let's get lost," she whispered to him with the sweetest smile, backing away from Dante and inviting him to follow her. 


ooc: last post from me. Thank you guys for the WONDERFUL thread!

Warbone did not want to linger. As the female withdrew behind her mate, urging him to come away from the scene, the brute stepped back as well, making it abundantly clear that he wanted to sustain no more injury over this particular situation. His leg was injured enough to cause a limp, but for no longer than the rest of the day. She had torn skin, but not tendon or severe artery. The back of his neck was beginning to sting in the ebb of adrenaline, but whatever wounds lie there would simply stiffen and crust in the folds of his thick ruff— and those toothmarks too would be forgotten in some days time.

As they retreated, so did he, largely dissatisfied despite having made the proclamation earlier that this would not be so.

A part of him was still rarin to go even though he'd just been effectvely shut down.  It would be stupid, though, and Osprey's eager insistance cooled his jets enough to follow.  She didn't seem disappointed, and soon this encounter would fade from memory.  For now his own frustration simmered momentarily, soon to be replaced by relief that he'd at least managed to prevent the other male from achieving what he wished.  That was really all that mattered, after all.