Alpine Lake dannedd wedi'u carthu

@Minori! Takes place right after this thread.

He lingers after his conversation with the dark male, not keen to leave the lake just yet. Compared to the bog, it is peaceful and cool, the gentle susurrus of the waves against the shore music to his ears. Llewellyn sits for a while in repose, looking out over the water. He ponders fishing, but it can wait--he feels no great hunger, now.

Perhaps he should get moving again soon, however. Flashbacks are starting to prickle at him, raising his hair much like summer lightning does, crackling through the sky. They have not yet receded into the domain of simple dreams; they plague his every resting moment, casting a constant shadow over his mind. Were they not real, he could simply fight them off with logic and reason: one could fight away demons using the brain and no other muscle. Alas. . .

He would always wonder if he could have saved his mother. His father, no--Gwynedd was a marked man from the first day of Ioan's rise, and it was only a matter of time before he fell. But Rhonwen. . .he should have insisted. She refused to go, to leave her husband's side. Even to protect the son that still had a fighting chance at survival.

"Gyda dannedd wedi'u carthu," she had whispered, in her husky whisper of a voice, "rhedeg a byw, fy mab." And who was he to obey a mother--a queen's--command?

It was the last time he ever saw her face. Alive, that was.

She had kept her distance from the travelling group that day, keeping to the shadows and watching whatever Issun did closely. During her time with him she had picked up more english though since he knew japanese that was what she preferred to speak in. It was when the group approached a golden male with the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her entire life that she listened in with interest. He was blunt and wary, his voice was rich and the way he acted reminded her of her fellow general back home.

She waited until Issun had wandered off with everyone else to come from the shadows, staring at the male curiously. He looked out over the sea with the thoughtfulness and stillness of someone who held memories that caused pain. The way his fur spiked up provided evidence to the fact. "Memories?" she asked, standing behind him her voice coming out loud enough to state she was not sneaking up on him. "Do not reply if it is too secret" she said in better english than usual, but still broken nonetheless. She didn't want this interaction to be ruined because she seemed nosy.

Just to clarify, Llew is gold, not white! I know my poor Photoshop job doesn't do him any favors. xD

Perhaps the woman meant to soothe, but she went entirely the wrong way about it, first by emerging with merely a single uttered word, startling him out of his thoughts--he cursed himself for the lack of attention given to his surroundings--then by digging into his withdrawn attitude, though, of course, offering a way out of the conversation: like one does when they tip-toe around an awkward moment, too late to take the words back. Still, the question has been asked, and he spins around, staring haughtily down his golden nose at her, eyes cold as sheet ice.

"Why would you inquire in the first place, if I needn't answer?" Llewellyn says in gravelly tones, unused to speaking after weeks of silence. His conversation with the dark male had exercised his throat, but just barely; what was once a voice of honey was gruff, ragged.

The golden prince surveys her impassively, eyes running over her form. Average size, lean and dark. A striking marking on her face, grey surrounding one eye. But what catches his attention is her voice; she speaks with an accent on each word, suggesting that she, too, calls another tongue her own, not this one, which others seemed to speak in these parts. For this, his gaze becomes intrigued, but only for the slightest instant before fading back into chilly neutrality once more.

"Who are you?" he demanded, voice sharp. "What do you want of me?" Casual interactions with (likely) commoners are not his forte--every exchange must have some meaning, else his time is being wasted. And he does not take kindly to that, especially not from strange women who seem all too interested in his personal life.

The way he looked at her immediately turned off any sort of desire to be friendly and the curiosity she had disappeared. It was the better than thou way royalty looked down at the peasants after they had thrown them a bone and watched them fight for it. "Would you have liked it more if there was no way to say no?" she attempted to respond in english and then frowned. "if I hadn't given a chance to not answer?" she tried again and decided that sounded much better. 

Then he snapped questions at her and the first one she answered without hesitation, deciding to use her full title just to rub in his haughty face that she wasn't someone lowly he could bark at "Minori Masuyo, princess and ex general of the Masuyo family" she spoke coldly, eyes flashing as she spoke the truth. Back in Japan she was known well but here her title probably meant nothing to anyone but herself. What meant most to her wasn't the princess part but the General, she was extremely proud of that. "Want? It does not look like you have anything" she said to the second, confused before she grasped the meaning. "Nothing. Can people not have conversation without getting something?"

Her tone does not warm him, her titles do not impress him, and her attitude does certainly not endear him. His lips curl in the slightest of snarls, shaking his head at each and every one of her questions, the rage that had built up in his chest in the days since the rebellion finally boiling over, a volcanic mountain blowing its top.

"I would have liked it better," he says through gritted teeth, "if you had left me alone, to begin with. Why engage me in idle conversation unless you wanted something? My God, woman, spit it out--beth ydych chi eisiau?" His anger manifests itself, finally, in his mother tongue, the words clipped and curt and not at all the lilting poetry that he'd once offered his courtiers. He is a changed man, molded by trauma, and this girl, this princess, is receiving the full brunt of his new, abrasive personality.

A little voice in the back of his head reminds him that she does not deserve it. Not his words, not his gaze of blue fire, not the way his pelt bristles along his spine, nor his raised hackles. But the beast cares not for pleasantries, only for solitude, and Minori has robbed him of that. There is no going back--he has committed to prickliness, and so prickliness he will provide.

She stared at him with incredulity as he gave her even worse attitude then before, going so far as to curl his lips at her. Her eyes go cold and her own lips twitch up in response, paws flexing against the ground as she tries to shove down the sudden anger that rose up and heated her tongue but to no avail. "It's decency. Wanting to be polite to a stranger" she spat back and snorted in disgust. "I have to want something to talk?" she asked and then bared her fangs at him scoffing at what she thought was him being ridiculous "Decency. Which you don't have" she spat at him, her expression and the tensing of her body now showing that she was just as pissed off as he was, eyes staring into his as if silently daring him to provoke her further and start something that one or both of them would end up regretting later on.

Sorry For the wait! If you want to start the fight I'll do a outcome roll? Or we can do move by move?

I'm okay with roll by roll! Do you want to start? I put up a Tabletop thread for us to roll in.

He snorts, his gaze of blue ice blazing into sudden fire. This went beyond decency; this woman pushing her nose into his private business was nothing less than intrusive, and borderline hostile, no matter how she had worded it. Decency, his foot. If she wanted to push and then cry foul, blaming him, then so be it. But she will not escape today unscathed, especially not if she bares her teeth.

"I will give you one opportunity to walk away from me, now," Llewellyn warns, his voice like the blade of a sword. This is the tone that has made underlings shiver, that has put a tremor in the step of even seasoned warriors. It is the tone of kings, passed down from generation to generation, and if this woman does not heed it, she will pay dearly. "Choose to stay and fight, and I will have your blood stain my teeth."

He squares himself, ready for the challenge. The thought of marring such a pretty face does not make him balk in the slightest. Though Mynydd was a patriarchal society, the women fought as well, and often just as ably as the men. If the princess desires to play with fire, she will get it in spades.

He obviously thought he was doing her a favor, his tone was sharp and menacing and to anyone else they may have trembled and turned away but not Minori. Yes, it made her consider the fact that she had just healed from her previous fights but she did not feel any fear. Instead she thought it annoying that he would try and intimidate her when she asked a question that while nosy, wasn't harmful at all. "No Thank you. I'll stay" she responded in a cold tone and just as he squared himself she lunged.

She wanted respect for once around here, she wanted to be taken seriously and seen as the samurai she truly was not the pretty princess people saw upon first glance. For once she wanted to make those who started trouble with her truly regret it. She would make this handsome man, with a tongue that burned like fire pay for the hostility she didn't deserve entirely. She would mark him permanently and taste his blood upon Her tongue. Her jaws parted and sought out the soft flesh of his muzzle, teeth grabbing hold and biting down mercilessly with a snarl that was more savage than princess.

rolled a success! Let me know on the roll thread what is and isn't okay!

rolled a hit

So she does want to try him. Very well. She has made her choice, and she will pay for it dearly. Before he could strike--perhaps thinking himself a little too much of a match for her--she does instead, latching onto his muzzle with fangs of flame. It stings as she bites down, and he tastes the blood that flows in tiny rivulets from the wound, even as he snarls and rips himself backward, out of her grasp.

Gilded muzzle now painted crimson, a savage growl bubbles in his throat, his tail thrashing to and fro behind him. How dare she. To lay jaws or paws on a king or prince was instant death; that Ioan had escaped this punishment would haunt him forever. But he will not let this injustice slide. No, the woman wanted blood, and blood she will get--not his, but her own.

Muscles coiled, Llewellyn powers up before launching himself at her, a golden blur through the air. He rams into her, taking the nape of her neck in his teeth and squeezing, hard. As he does so, he pushes his body against her, hooking one foreleg over her back to try and knock her over. It resembles, in a way, the mating dance, but utterly more savage, less beautiful. He savors the flow of her blood over his tongue, lips curving in a wicked smile even as he still has hold of her.

He is bigger than her, and stronger, too. She must fall soon; she surely cannot hold up under his weight for much longer.

Rolled a hit! Also more serious damage so I just had her tear the side of his neck open away from any serious spots.

Perhaps she should have given this more thought, that bit if hindsight came to her when he lunged for her. As he collided into her body her breath wheezed out and then inhaled again sharply as his fangs pierced her scruff and then the weight of his leg go over her body. She tensed up and rage seethed from her pores. How dare he imitate mounting her? Instantly she pulled against his grip so her scruff stretched and then she slammed backwards into his muzzle, using the moment of shock to tear free and twist beneath him. Just as she did tear free his weight made her quaking limbs give way and she fell to the ground.


Not stupid enough to remain fallen she used her smaller size to advantage and rolled half way twisting  so her upper body was turned and facing his neck. She snarled and bit into the side of his neck, avoiding the bulging of his jugular and the windpipe with her fangs. Instead of holding on she instead tore his flesh and then pushed herself out squirming from beneath him with a few hard shoves from her hind limbs.

Rolled a miss, so obviously damage is irrelevant. :P

A surge of adrenaline flooded his body, coursing through his veins, as she stumbled and fell to the ground, even as he was tossed backwards. Before he had the chance to take advantage of the situation, however, she was on the offensive again, squirming beneath him to bite at his neck.

He felt the flesh give and tear away, though the pain was masked by the fervor of the fight; it would hurt him later greatly, he knew. But Llewellyn merely shook out his ruff, blood droplets flying, aiming furious snaps at her as she wiggled away. Winding himself up, he took a step backward and then charged toward her, like a golden battering ram--and went straight by, body colliding with nothing, motion simply carrying him aimlessly forward until he managed to skitter to a halt a short distance away.

Llewellyn turned to face her, but by now, it was likely too late to counter her next attack. He had botched the assault, and he was taken off-guard by that naked, ugly truth. How had he missed? She was right there, in front of him, an animal bound and presented for slaughter. Perhaps the princess was a better warrior than he would have ever given her credit for.

Rolled a hit and more serious damage again! So...I think she wins?

She had succeeded in freeing herself from beneath him and stood up, watching as he shook out his golden fur. The sight of his massive self shaking his thick fur and spraying crimson everywhere was majestic in a way and she stared for a moment before he stepped backward and charged, ruining her moment of girly awe. Just as he neared her she jumped aside, giving a single silent laugh as he barreled right past her like an angry bull. Before he turned around she ran at him and pushed herself off the ground, leaping and landing on top of his back, forelegs wrapped around his throat as she shredded and tore at the top of his head and around his scruff. 

Golden fur turned crimson as she lay on top of hin, riding him as if he were her steed as her fangs shredded through flesh like paper. Hoping to get him to collapse she wriggled her weight, using her forelegs to keep her secured on his back as she flopped and wiggled. Each movement caused her weight to bash against his spine, surely he would end up collapsing eventually.

I think you're right! Thanks for the thread!

He feels more shame than pain, embarrassment more painful than the wounds she deals, the blood trickling down his ribs. To be beaten is one thing, but to be beaten by a girl, a self-proclaimed princess, is entirely another. He feels the narrow, hot stares of his father's line upon him as his knees buckle and he falls to the ground with a tremendous crash, letting out an agonized groan.

Llewellyn uses whatever adrenaline he has left to flip sideways, rolling out from under her and taking several stumbling steps backward, painted in blood--mostly his own. "Sguthan!" he snarls at her, eyes spitting blue fire. Without another word, he continues to back away, then, when she is out of sight, turns and runs, tail slightly between his legs.

If she chooses to pursue her, he will have no choice to fight back. It is true that he could have stayed and fought, anyway, but the events of the past moons and the blood he has lost today have weakened him, putting him at a clear disadvantage. He must save his strength for the real foes, not some stray wench with a big mouth.

He leaves a trail of crimson droplets behind, like proverbial bread crumbs, to follow. When he is able, he will wash the physical reminder of his chagrin from his pelt. The mental effects will be harder to erase.

She knew she had won as soon as he hit the ground and groaned. As he wiggled free she stepped back, baring her fangs stained in his blood in a silent display as her tail rose above her back. She watched with satisfaction and pride as the larger male backed away, spat an unknown word at her and then disappeared. She would not chase him down, she succeeded in winning the dispute and there was no need for further punishment. She sat down and began to clean out her wounds, shaking her head and muttering things about crazy men  and rude strangers.