Hoshor Plains suburban muse

roll for escape: got 9 on d20, so a failed or lackluster escape. severity of injury is up to you

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he spat the silvery chunks of fur caught from his starting blow, the stray hairs fluttering gently until they're lost to the field. and though some clung to the texture of his tongue, bard had realized far too late that those would be the least of his concerns when teeth clenched hard onto his bony hindleg. 

his wiry body whips to face envy, canines reaching and snapping for whatever he could reach. each yank he gave only shot pain further from his legs as her fangs rake against his legs.

you- fuckin' bitch! he snarls through spit and white hot rage, his words almost unintelligible through it. i'll kill ya — i'll fuckin' kill ya!