Raven's Watch [m] α

Heavenward is her limp body wrenched, as if the weight is featherlight. Her throat hangs now within the saw-toothed grasp. She chances no movement— scarcely even a breath. Hot tears wither down silver cheeks, clearing a line over the soiled jaws of her captor.
Ayovi swallows and feels the blood-prick of every fang.

faust’s green eyes burned with a fury that seemed to scorch the snow itself, a silent promise to end this. the disgusting brute had her now, his grip a death shackle against her delicate neck. ayovi’s form writhed, her muted cries caught between the beast’s iron hold and her own panicked breath. blood spattered the ground, and faust felt his restraint snap like a dried branch beneath his paws.

with a guttural snarl, he surged forward, his powerful form colliding with the brute. his teeth found their mark, clamping down hard on the top of the male's muzzle, crushing the flesh between his jaws. he braced himself there, digging in, his strength a vise to keep the bastard from closing his fangs on ayovi’s vulnerable neck.

go, iskava, he snarled through a mouthful of fur and flesh, his voice raw and pleading even as his body strained to maintain control.

blood seeped onto his tongue, hot and metallic, but he didn’t flinch. the weight of his enemy pressed against him, their combined force sending tremors through the earth. ayovi kicked again, her movements frantic, desperate. go, go, go. he prayed. fucking go! he would find her. he always would.

the gods rage with your cowardice behind a woman, he spat in norse, his voice dripping with venom, every word a condemnation. the scent of fear mingled with blood, he hoped the coward’s bravado crumbling beneath faust’s unrelenting might.

he prayed to the gods now, not for his own victory, but for her freedom. she had to live. ayovi had to escape. and this man—this putrid stain—would not leave this fight unbroken.

---

as regnvand went limp in his jaws, skorpa thanked whatever listening god might take pity on her. teeth bored into his muzzle a moment later. was it love which drove the man? the foolish, selfish, stupid man — and in irony he described himself.

in cutting speed that belied his agonies did he throw his arm up away from the woman; she fell away unseen into the snow as skorpa twisted to claw hindlegs into the underbelly of the larger beast. half-choked, maimed, hobbled, the thrallwife would not go far.

goatish reek filled the clearing of churned blood and snow; he felt the muscle and skin upon his face give, a tooth breaking in the moment — sacrifice for a war god as he broke apart and then returned to savagery with the harsh vengeance of a northman.

slashing hard teeth toward what part of the drengr he could reach, wondering in crazed idlement if she would finally flee or sit cowering in the destroyed drifts once more, skorpa bellowed as a mammoth in musth, streaming from a half-dozen wounds, eyes darkened with all the vigorous nature of a berserkr renewed.

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exit ayo, thank you both this was so fun <3

Spit out into the snow with tears and blood and sour gall, it is only with a final fragment of adrenaline that Ayovi throws her weight forward, turning fear and dread into opaque shadows that burn beneath the vigor of survival.
On sloshing feet she flies into any direction— into every direction.
Away, away; away from the damning world of men.

faust snarled as the brute’s claws tore into his shoulder, ripping through fur and flesh. pain seared like fire down his side, but his resolve only burned hotter. he saw the flash of ayovi’s form, stumbling but running, her blood and fear carried away into the snow. good. she was free.

now he could finish this.

the northman surged forward, his towering frame crashing against the smaller brute with the force of a battering ram. faust’s weight drove the bastard backward, the two wolves colliding in a chaotic frenzy of teeth and claws. blood streaked faust’s muzzle as his teeth found purchase along the male’s cheek and muzzle, tearing into skin and drawing thick rivulets of crimson. the taste of blood spurred him on, his snarls feral and unrelenting.

his eyes burned with an unholy light as he lunged again, aiming for the throat. the world around them dissolved into snow and blood, the air thick with the sound of their battle. his massive jaws snapped, seeking to end the fight, to claim the brute’s life and ensure ayovi’s escape was not in vain.

open ended; thank YOU ayovi!!

---

muzzle tucked over vital vein, skorpa drove his shoulder into the biting chin and brought his own teeth to bear in many scorings of blood upon the other's own nose-bridge, another series of lacerations to one cheek. shoving in melted snow with clawed hinds, he pushed back against the drengr and at last there was a lull, a brief moment of heaving sides and glaring eyes.

"hun er væk!" skorpa shouted, moving in aggrieved semicircle. his body was in torment but he could not stop the exasperation he felt for this man. "vil du lade hende dø i sneen?  efter alt det her?"

yes, for skorpa and the man had made it about themselves, and now this dark conflict was the result of broken masculine pride. there was no retreat for the exile, though a rasping laugh was ragged there in the cold air, teeth raised to defend once more. as long the warrior was here to maintain this brutality, he lost what he wanted. she had not desired him. now she ran and perhaps would escape. either way, skorpa found himself victorious, tail lashing, shoulders tensed for another biting clash.

ah! it was good to fight again!

---

the steam of his rage mingling with the churned snow and blood beneath their paws. his silence was deafening, golden-green eyes locked on the grotesque man who dared to defile his strength, his pride. ayovi was gone—good. her absence unshackled him from the restraint he might have shown otherwise.

there was nothing to say.

words were hollow now, drowned beneath the roaring tide of bloodlust that surged through his veins. this was no longer about her; it had transcended into something primal, something dark that simmered within his soul and demanded release. she was not his—he knew that. but this man, this disgusting thing before him, had insulted her, had made her into a pawn in a game she never asked to play. for that, faust could not forgive.

his powerful frame moved with feral precision, towering over the brute as he lunged without warning. teeth snapped toward the exposed flesh of his throat, his weight crashing into the exile like a storm against a brittle tree. faust's jaws sought purchase, his grip unrelenting, his snarls a guttural symphony of violence.

blood spilled between them, the air thick with the metallic tang of it. faust felt the scrape of claws, the sting of teeth against his flesh, but they were distant sensations, mere echoes beneath the singular focus of his fury. he needed no victory cry, no verbal proclamation of his intent.

this was enough.

maybe end within the next round of posts :D?

sounds good to me!

---

predictability of murder shone in the haunted eyes. skorpa could not hide the little snort of direly won amusement, to know he had pushed the warrior to this frenzied point. guarded again for this onslaught his throat, and their teeth collided with breaking force.

a dozen scars he might carry the remainder of his life, but skorpa did not intend to die in this ugly place; he took the tearing to his shoulder, thrusting it hard into the very mouth of the snarling beast with enough force to split the drengr's lip.

the beating adrenaline was the only reprieve for his thrumming wounds, but still he fought for an impasse. the other meant to kill, yet skorpa felt such rage could not be maintained the farther his prize retreated.

each blow earned him a place in the warrior's hall, and he let thoughts, mind, sound fall to mists where a woman's voice called to him, her face familiar and yet hidden from his understanding.

lunging now to grab the creature's cheekbone in his jaws, seeking to crush the side of that face.

---

basically thought they butted into each other staggering them both back, maybe a good time to dissipate, leaving it even? lmk!!

faust saw it coming. the man's predictable lunge, his movements fueled by desperation and pride rather than strategy. he braced himself, muscles coiling like a tightened spring, waiting for the moment to strike.

as the ugly male launched forward, faust snapped his head upward, slamming the underside of his jaw into the brute's own. the impact was brutal, jarring them both, teeth clashing with a sickening crack. blood sprayed across the snow, painting the ground in vivid streaks of crimson as they both reeled back.

faust staggered, his chest heaving, his green eyes blazing with fury and pain. the air around them was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the chill of death lingering close. he spat, blood trailing from his lip as he took in the sight of the battered male before him.

valhalla wishes not to see either of us, he rasped in norse, his voice low and edged with venom.

im cool w that!

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"jeg sagde jo, at ingen kommer ind, hvis de falder i kamp over en kvinde." skorpa rumbled back, spitting bits of his own teeth and the man's skin into the stained snow.

"vi er skånet for endnu en dag, hilser de vidende." he glanced beyond the warrior with a pointed look. by now the mountainous snow would have covered any trail, but such was the heart of a warring man.

he held up a paw, the action of a fighter dropping his axe into the snow; now was their battle ended, skorpa offering a first peace before their deities.

it had been a good conflict, after all. now they would both carry pretty scars to woo more interested women, at least that was skorpa's intention if Odin should allow him from this mountain without a bloodloss death.

---

faust's chest heaved as his green eyes bore into the other male, his body still trembling with the remnants of battle. anger simmered beneath his skin, but it no longer roared with the same ferocity. instead, a begrudging respect settled, born of blood and bone and a fight that neither had truly won.

he raised a paw, mirroring the motion offered by the scarred brute. a gesture of truce, fleeting but understood. faust's gaze lingered on the male for a beat longer, a silent acknowledgment of his strength.

without a word, faust spat blood into the snow, the crimson staining the pristine white in stark contrast. his lip curled briefly in distaste before he turned away, his steps uneven, his body aching with the toll of the clash.

he limped off, his mind shifting from the fight to the thought of @Asha. she was the only tether that remained, the only reason to keep moving forward. faust didn’t look back; he didn’t need to. the battle was over, and now, his focus was on finding her.

<333!

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he had left the goat.

skorpa was still for five minutes. ten. twenty. twenty-five.

and then he unleashed a loud moan of pain and fell over the cold flesh, ripping with the last of his strength at hairy hide until the organ meat could be consumed.

blood filled his mouth; warmth his belly; a final meal as exile exited sunspire with no thought more of violent drengr or fleeing regvand. he had found himself as dire as before: a runaway man with sands ticking for him.

his cries were for the silence of his watching gods.

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