Blacktail Deer Plateau & she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy’s eyes

Please let @Dennan reply first! Want to spree out a few posts before cameos are made

Gods were nonexistent to one that grew up never knowing them, and godless as Aure was, she had known that the world she drew her children into were the selfsame realms which her desecrator had been ever-so rampant in. Sometimes she thinks that Diaspora may've been more impervious, that way ...what had she been thinking when she had arrived to greet the basilisk, fool that she was, with that tempestuousness of a storm too long staved?

And then she reconsiders, and thinks no, for what would have become of them when those at their helms had all but vanished themselves?

No — no, she'd pressed murmuring, moonsbreath kisses to her sun-and-stars' crowns; had commanded the sable Sanguinus to keep a weather eye upon them. And then she'd flown from them three before she thinks they can smell her Fear. It heaves in her, now, a breathing, other creature of her bones and blood; she can feel it stir.

There was no room left within her for regrets for what she’d done. With Diaspora, and now. For as much as she would rather aid in this ...an eye needed to be spared for seeing to her children; stranger to them, champion of hers —

These are not heroics, but essential entire in the meeting of her remaker.
How her soul thrashes with fright!; and yet it will become something wrathful and runious; and soon she will cast herself upon the Dread with dirked fangs unsheathed; and should figments such as blessings be, they would hew into that thunderous vein ...that which Vercingetorix had so exquisitely illustrated unto her own.  ( Oh, how he might expound upon her at length, should the quartet be together again; but even admonishing from them all was worth survivng for ) —

Might as well be deserving of this, no?
...But she had not defied one tyrant only to submit them all to another.

No — no, amongst silver sprigs and needly earth, she presently stood fair and cold before her Doom as a breath of last spring does; chords strumming a low and stone-gewn and frostfelled "Ettul."

Mentions / includes @Sanguinus (light PP consent given) @Dragomir @Isilmë

And now she had come to him.

His breathing heaved as he gazed upon his dove, ever fleeting and never changing... No, no more. A promise he would fulfill on this day, and if not this than another. 'Soon', it whispered, 'soon is closing in.' Soon will be this day. Soon may not be this day. 

The Priest lifted his muzzle to the breeze and let his breath drift out into the glade, red eyes never leaving sight of his target. "What of your kin?" He took a deadly step toward her, his muscles trembling with each hit of his paws to the dirt. "Is dear Vonn well?" His voice purred in a low voice, ensuring only the she-wolf and the fields below them could hear. "I dare say, it has been since that night that I have seen your brother," Dennan continued, the fur upon his back beginning to rise with each step he took. 

The Huntsman paused, catching a gleam in her good eye. He pulled back his gums in a wicked snarl, the weight of his brow falling upon his hooded eyes. "What does your spirit have to say?"

The Dread’s coaxes of: What of kin? Of Vonnaruil? fell on ears deafened by the wardrumming of her heart within a thin, pale breast. Rubied crown knocked down down down, rouge lips parting in, “Órenya quetë nin munta, an ia entuluva sa aqinldë,” were the heiress’ resonant, euphonic words, and she untethered herself from her post in favor of pantomiming his approach — a steady, lurking arc reminiscent of the moon’s own voyages, and with tail crescenting as such above fragile, roughhewn hips.

“Perhaps we will see,” Aurëwen only mused, stilling her stept, “once I cut it from yours.”

In the next pulse-beat, she was streaking for her deciever with a ferocity she’d only spared the basilisk of. Blood howling, maw shrieking, fearsome, as she rose and then fell before the Dread — he of many and more before her who’d perished beneath.

If successful, she’d embed her fangs deep within the tendons of his wrist, and wrench away and down and towards her  ( so that his breast may meet the crude peak of her shoulder. )

Quick cameo, this'll be my only post!

Sanguinus has been Aurëwen's guard, supposedly, but Dragomir had seen almost nothing of the man until now, when she chose to leave her cubs with him. For most of their journey across the mountains Dragomir had been quieter than normal, grieving the loss of his home and his packmates; not sullen, necessarily, but mournful. The anger of that first day had faded, leaving low embers in its wake. But his voice rose in a loud protest alongside Isi's when Aurë meant to leave them. She had never left them with a stranger before and that seemed significant.

And then she did, and fear gripped him. Fear because if she had found someone to watch them, then surely she didn't mean to return. Fear that came from watching his own father walk out of his life not once, but twice; the anxiety that Vercingetorix's perceived duplicity left him with flared up then and threatened to consume him. He railed against Sanguinus and Isilmë was quick to follow suit, but she had always been the fiercer of the two. Soon her shrieking protests and her snapping jaws had consumed their so-called guardian's attention completely.

In that moment, Dragomir got away. He turned and rushed into a gallop, intent on following Aurë and ensuring that she didn't leave them behind the way Vercingetorix had. He couldn't bear to feel unwanted that way; it was never her intent, of course. She cared for her babes with an intense fervor and would never leave them. She meant to protect them... but he did not see it that way. He ran and ran, forgetting in his panic that he had the means to find her if only he slowed down and used his head, and ran some more until he found a path down from the plateau and followed it.

The Huntsman had not expected his young fawn to attack, her meek and frightened attitude she had shown the day he had seen her cast to the winds of the plateau. If he were to admit he was startled by her ferocity as her teeth raked into his leg and her shoulder collided into his side, he'd say he believed he was beginning to grow soft... or lying.

'Soon,' he reminded himself. He found his mark with an angry groar, swiping his claws toward her eyes and face to seek her off of him. His strength allowed him to stay upright despite her initial attack, but from here he struggled to spy an opening lest he twist his body further than it could go. With the risk of being toppled over, brought himself backward on his hind legs to a stand, pulling his paws around to slam into her with a lashing maw.

He must get somewhere, he fought within his head. Weaken her. Blind her. Maim her—all until he can clamp his daggers around her jugular and puncture her. Let her blood seep into the earth and know he had done his job, and that he had done it well.

But, for now, was the fun part.

Her maneuver had almost been a succession in itself — the simultaneous tug of him to her and solid ‘thpp’ of shoulder spearing into breastbone to drive him back almost gave her the upper paw. But then the Doom was rearing up up up, flaying his limbs and maw; and Aure had meant to  ( no! had already been ) following up with fangs lancing for his thunderous vein, but —

It was not to be. 

Instead, he careened into her, crown-first  ( not unlike a dueling stag during rut ) and she caught that blow upon the same shoulder she’d rammed into him; from it, the silver was reeling, breathless, but she wasted naught a heartflicker to surge back into the fray once more:

As the warpriest came to meet her, the she-wolf feinted, coursing with long long legs in a crescent-like curve — the pull of her path orbit-like as they fox-trotted this dance of death. So no sooner had she waltzed through the peak of her banking, she winged her way towards him, ruthless —

And, with all the might of her fury, leapt for his side, claws and fangs glinting and seeking to perch and snag there and exact her own circatrice between his shoulders... or to give him a swifter death concerning her teeth and the base of his skill.

He felt as though he was gaining the upperhand—the fawn swift just as many wolves he had met. But, he would not allow her lithe gait to better against him.

Aurëwen's persistent movements slowly began to grow annoying, as a fly you could not get rid of no matter how many swings you threw at it. The Shadow flashed his yellowing teeth in a final snap, swiping his claws at her—and the she-wolf evaded his stroke with ease as she twirled around, leaping right for his back.

A flash of realization hit him, blood eyes buldging as his heart sped. Dennan reared back into her body, pushing her and collapsing to his side to kick up at her belly with a loud roar. Stumbling up, his eyes glanced between Aure and the plateau.


He could use this to his advantage.

The scent of blood filled the air. It was none of his business... he thought over and over. There was no need for him to get involved in another's affairs. He had no ties with another that would demand for him to place himself between others in the midst of a squabble - and yet he found himself walking swiftly into the direction with which the scent had come from. Fresh, the battle was still raging on and near by.

Once the dancing duo came into view, his pace quickened. Rosencrantz wasn't aware that the white female was the same that he had met previously, quickly, but he remembered her nonetheless. As he approached, the quiet solider aimed an open maw at the male, the agressor as he was focused on his prey. Rosencrantz would soon make this his business as he aimed a bite on the side of the male in question, where the shoulder met the arm, coming up from behind.

For a moment, he forgot all about the missing eye...

a aaAAAAA !!

A hesitant victory was felt in the same lapse when her claws snagged fur and when her fangs snared flesh— but then her world went topsy-turvy as her as her assailant bucked, tumbled, and her thin figure arched at the feel of his hinds, shoved up into her ribs to kick her away.

And away she went, sputtering, seething, scrambling to get her footing just as her nemesis did ...only for another ghost to join the current haunt; specter rising behind specter with fangs meant to peirce the lock of muscle and joint between Dennan’s neck and shoulder.

Aurëwen wasted no time — save for the few frozen seconds or so — and darted once more into the chaos. Her maw parted in deadly invitation once more; and he had better rear away and lift his damned jaw, so she could finally do all that she’d been instructed to—

The ghost from the brush clamped into his body, as he had begun to move again. Dennan roared in his rage, his movements halted by the turn of events as teeth pierced into his shoulder with a disgusting tear. He could hear the flesh in his ears, the throb in his head telling him to escape as Aurëwen lunged for him.

Final aim— Dennan threw his head toward her body not unlike a bull, his side pulled by his unwanted second opponent, and clashed his skull upon her breast. The silver serpent whipped his head around to reign his own daggers down upon the ghost's flank, his paws aways careful as to not have slipped and lost balance.

He could feel his body tipping, claws stumbling underneath him to reach his bearings back into the earth and ground beneath. Too much was happeningg—too much that wasn't supposed to happen—all at once. 

His eyes—his hopes—bulged for the cliff, the white forest of fur upon his back lifting in the ever-increasing alarm. When was the last time he had been so close to slipping? They would not be pleased—no, they would not be—

The initial attack had landed, but all was not won, as the attacker continued even after his prey had joined in on the fray. The man was intent on his bloodlust, where logic was not a factor. Fighting off two defending individuals as opposed to chosing to save his skin - this man was a monster and nothing less. The white knight would not stop his own attacks or end the battle between himself and the strange man until he was certain the damsel would be safe once more.

Exploding from his lips a roaring snarl turned his charming face into a twisted beast of its own, one golden hue glaring at the opponent who bit his flank in retaliation for joining in on the fight. Moving with the attacker's motion, he was careful to not pull or move away from the pain in order to minimize how much tearing around happen until they let go - in the meantime, Rosencrantz aimed his own attack on the hind end of the beast. Pearly daggers aiming to clamp onto the man's thigh and take control of his movements from behind. 

If the woman was focused on his face and front, Rose would take the brunt of the attacks and aim for the backside...

She rose to meet him— and his skull fell upon her thin breast not unlike a warhammer bent on splintering a yew bow; and it was more than enough to send the silver reeling from the Doom. But when her pale combatant had managed to embed his fangs into their assailant’s thigh, Aure was on her paws once more, flagging, but returning all the same.

Not a moment before she’d snapped and spit and snipped her way upon Dennan’s neck  (daggers sinking into the serpent’s quiversome neck, side-wise)  had the berserk-gone botanist began to haul his blasphemous ass towards the cliffside.

Though she cursed and swore her way through muscle and blood and fur, the she-wolf used Rosencrantz’s heft to her advantage in tugging her desecrator towards his doom. Her tail whip-cracked in her fury, and a raw snarl harried up an ivory throat in her bloodletting intent — he would die on this day.

Everything was falling apart.

The Huntsman's limbs staggered back, the two wolves against him began to press him to the plateau, in his aid. As soon as his dove had steadied herself, she came barreling toward his throat. Alarms flashed in his head, and he decided he wasn't so eager to be near the edge. Her thin needles stabbed into his neck while the ghost relinquished his grip to someplace far more soft—the Shadow's thigh.

Dennan nearly buckled, pain like electricity sparking up his hip and down to his back paw. Another monstrous roar escaped his ragged throat, red eyes tearing down to her—Aure. The pure hatred and determination on her face half shocked him, terrified him, and half enlightened him. No more was he hunting a child. He was hunting a—

The collective of the ghost's hungry jaws and Aurëwen's savage tug—the ground beneath him disappeared to the wind. Tea eyes wide in horror, he gasped. The she-wolf snapped him down and tossed any of his upper body that may have been clinging to rock to meet the colored sky alongside its clouds. His claws raked for her shoulder, horror and hesitant desperation written upon his face in the form of a half-hearted snarl.



When you fall, some say it's similar to flying. Not to the Wraith, The Huntsman, The Priest, The Botanist, and White Shadow; the one who had lived over the lives of many... As his back collided into the far rocks below, he rejected them; the ones who have told him falling feels like flying. As the blood gurgled out his throat, all that came to his darkening vision was the sky—


E v e r y t h i n g.  W a s.  F a l l i n g.  A p a r t. 

With his grip on that of the criminal, Rose was determined to keep his grip. Teeth tearing into the flesh of the opponent, tugging and pulling to try and control his movements. With his one good eye poised to see the action at the front, he was well aware of the attack being aimed at the snowy woman - in response, with all his might, muscles rippling along his legs and neck as he pulled to try and keep the beast from landing any more hits on the maiden. 

But with her joining in on the battle, there was only so much he could do to try and protect her from further harm. Despite it all, he kept trying, exhausting his muscles as he pushed them to keep pulling against his anatomy's laws - and then finally, the beast gave. 

Rosencrantz could feel his weight give first and foremost and continued to press on pushing and tugging. A vicious snarl ripping through his clenched fangs as a hardened gaze told tales of absolute determination. Then, as the beast was at the mercy of mother nature and gravity, Rose let go. Without pity or second thoughts, he watched with a heartless gaze as the opponent went tumbling over the cliff. The sickening thump of him hitting the ground, the sight as the blood pooled was cathartic for the paladin. 

It was over. Looking over his shoulder as he stood over the cliff, he looked for the female to see what her reaction may be. At his flank, blood pooled and dripped in a slow rhythm as it painted the ground in tiny droplets.