Chimera Fields see, i try & look up to the sky,

looking for a spar! roughen up this old man pls

the muscles of a mercenary's son do not go unworked.

roaring billows of winters harsh snows surround the man draped in shadows as a river of red fights to burn its image into similarly scarlet eyes, into a mind that once was shrouded in darkness akin to his appearance ; dark, broad-shouldered and a remnant of what once was. of a distant, echoing memory. fleeting from him, now. running.

and so on the eve of his fifth year, under the light of his midnight lady and within the harsh snows of wintertime, the lorekeeper seeks a fight. his jaw is tight, throat burning with what feels to be thorns, barbs that sharpen with every swallow. any attempted word would be pointless, all he knew is that there was something within him - something harsher than any snowstorm the winters could bring - that must be exorcised.

a sanguine thirst that had not been satisfied for far too long.

Mountain's daughter sauntered up, unable to contain her excitement at a packmate alone. She barely knew anyone of yet, just sort of getting her bearings and roughened paws a feel for the new territory she now inhabited.

Oi, Ya loo' like yer ta t'pe a welf me be lookin' fer. Gotta proov me bite is as good as me baerk. Wanna figh'? Looser gets ta winner supper.

She hoped the added excitement would lure the old man into fighting her. And she hoped her youthful vigor would give her a free meal.

girl unknown came towards him. to him, she was no daughter of mountains, merely another face that he could not quite place, not someone from his current life, nor of his past, and so what was she? a blur? a newcomer to forneskja, said the side of his brain rooted in logic. and so he thought, perhaps, that he should be treating her with some higher level of decorum, but instead he could feel the acid within his stomach, burning at his throat and coursing through his veins. he felt like a walking headache.

stop talking, came a low, rumbling voice, spilling from his chest like a man expelling his own blood. he drew himself forward, head lowered, the stature of a predator growing closer, closer, until his hot breath was a pant upon her nose. a whisper of a voice, then, said: just fight me, and he would stand, awaiting her teeth. her claws. her violence.

it was what he needed to feel ... alive.

Bicolored eyes did their best to assess the situation she'd put herself in, just like Ma and Papa taught her. Older but no less strong, his breath to her smelled of experience and his voice told her she was in for a fight worth having. A tougher first opponent but not one she was worried about. Black maw turned upward into a smile as she readied herself for the battle that was about to commence. 

.

A'ght t'en, Raen huffed, and bunched her haunches together for added force before launching herself forward, teeth bared for the taste of fur. If anything else, she felt vigor from it, having not had the opportunity to properly test her parents' teachings.

she rolled a five on my dice site :>

i'm going to be doing attack rolls & defence rolls using a 1d12 !!

d: 3 - a: 6

distracted, sloppy, recovering from the early winter days of isolation, sleepless nights and an icy, cold grasp that he had hardly managed to escape from. teeth met his fur, and so he pushed himself away, a snarl erupting from his dark lips. tail lashed behind him as he broke free of the womans hold, barreling himself forwards. teeth snapping.

fangs aimed for her upper arm, nothing too vital, as he was not truly bloodthirsty, he merely wished for something to tire him, to draw away this leech that seemed to be absorbing his lifeblood as the snow raged around them. his body, though well-muscled, slim with wintertime, struggled ; but a mercenary did what a mercenary knew to do.

first son of a warrior. second son to the moon.

soon, a husband, a father.

I like that idea! And I will be using this for the rest of the spar!
d: 3 - a: 10

Her resolve was true, her training... not as up to par as she'd like for this instance. Teeth met the fur along her arm and it took her off guard for a half second. Her mind went blank as she tried to recall her pa's teachings, but she must've not been paying attention as closely as would help right now. Improvising was a Hawkcrest's best skill, anyway. A snarl returned, but this was fun.

Nevertheless, this man - albeit far more skilled in the way of fighting than she was - wouldn't best her if she had a say in it! What would Ma think?! She wriggled free at the last second and launched herself at the scruff of his neck, hoping the move or the strength she put behind it would catch him off guard and give her an edge.

okay awesome! <3

d: 6 - a: 12

teeth found his scruff, and a dangerous snarl rippled from his lips. he was quick to shake his body, paws strong upon the earth as he wriggled off his attacker. when he was free of her grasp, he would turn to her and aim a bite to her upper jaw.

there was a drive, a malice behind the attack that he had not been sure that he even held anymore. but his paws drove him forwards, fur standing on end, tail lashing wildly behind him. he did not mean to hurt her, not too badly, anyhow, but he was unsure of how his grasp would find itself, with such a power behind it. again, another snarl.

d: 11 - a: 9 

bonus for injury: 2

Sturdy. She held her body still as stone and snapped at his lower, open maw as it came toward her and sunk her teeth in to get a grip.  The bridge of her snout grazed by fang deep enough to drip on her tongue and to taste iron. 

With any luck, she'd have a scar matching the rakes across her ma's nose. A snarl echoing his own, she pushed against his form from the tip of her nose forward in a burst of strength with the intent of knocking him to the ground. 

shell have a small scar for a couple of weeks but she's fine otherwise