Black Morass abyssus abyssum invocat

@Kovictus @Ione @Theissor

atilius was far from home.

he'd come up from the south through a long stretch of dense forest and humid wetland that felt never-ending. his paws were almost constantly black from the mud and the gnats were relentless. he was relieved when he finally crossed into a more rugged, mountainous area. it felt more like faesulae.

but he couldn't go back, and he knew it. so he searched for it in other ways.

his crossing over into claimed land was serendipitous. he hadn't meant to, but as soon as he noticed he stopped and froze in his tracks. he felt the ruff of his neck start to flare into a bristle. these folk wouldn't take kindly to him, surely.

...or would they?

a thought crossed his mind. perhaps there was opportunity here.

he fixed his gaze upon the blood-orange sky and waited.

kóvictus scents him and moves.

when the stranger comes into view, silhouetted by the blood-orange sky, kóvictus stops.

tail high. a flash of fang.

he strides closer with golden eyes affixed.

you’ve crossed into imperium, a spit warning, but aggression does not yet seek to claim the dominus' pelt. his blade stayed in a shocking turn. you stand before it's dominus. gladiator king and war-bringer.

when atilius was found, he was greeted by a whipping tornado of a wolf; all teeth and claw, immediately prepared to defend his land. atilius bowed his head and stepped further away to create space between them, his own way of showing respect.

the tongue he spoke sounded so damn familiar.

salvē, atilius hummed. i mean you and your people no harm, domine.

he gave kovictus a hopeful glance, but said no more. not yet.

the dark gladiator stalks in, teeth bared at the new man. the domine would do most of the talking.

he would take kovictus' side as the gladiator king's sword and shield. should he command it, theissor will strike this man down.

but imperium needed more men. and this one fit the bill. they shared the same height and physique. he would certainly make a fine gladiator, even if he appeared a door mat from his manners alone. as long as he proved himself a useful guard, a good door mat he can remain. theissor can wipe his paws off of him.

can be a cameo

golden eyes burn as he watches the man bow and retreat a step—good. the gesture spares him immediate violence. but kóvictus’s lip still curls, a deep growl vibrating low in his throat. theissor is close, a shadow at his flank; this earns him a knowing nod from the dominus.

the tongue spoken catches him off guard. latin. familiar, rough on the ears, but understood. this earns him... impression.

he studies the man’s frame—tall, built like a gladiator. there is strength there, though his submissiveness irritates him.

he is smart to think it is what may be appealing. but it is strength, often arrogance, and hot blood which impresses the man. he is not insecure. it is how theissor earned a quick place at his side.

now he will speak their shared tongue. you claim no harm, he observes, stepping closer. yet you cross my borders like a thief in the fog. speak, then. why should i let you live? why should imperium not bury your bones beneath its mud?

fuck. manners are lost upon this one. atilius should have known — he's seen his type before, all over faesulae and outside its borders. the tall, macho imperator. havoc in a physical form. piss him off and you'll be buried alive with nothing but wine-berries to drown your sorrows as you suffocate.

a friend appeared not long after, too; just as tall and imposing. his teeth glinted in the sunlight.

atilius got the memo.

they want to be impressed.

i come seeking work, not to trespass, atilius corrected with a sharp edge to his voice. broad shoulders block out a tall, looming shadow onto the ground. beside each other, the men look like monsters. it would be disadvantageous for you to kill me. do you want me to prove it?

kovictus watches the man as he speaks. eyes coming to narrow, while flitting across his face. he snorts, looks to theissor, then jerks his head towards the man. as if to say: get a load of this guy.

he speaks so flowery, almost like a woman. it digs deep grooves into his face, ones of amusement, and soon he bellows great laughter.

though eyes remain all the while scrutinizing.

fine. the dominus growls out. what is your name, boy?

then, he exchanges another look with theissor, where an idea etches its way upon great mind. kovictus has not the time to waste on this boy—perhaps his praetor would find joy in seeing what this wolf had to offer.

you will shadow my praetor. he will decide if you serve or die.

because once you step foot into the morass, you do not leave. one of their women had escaped—he would make sure she was hunted. perhaps... a good task for this one.

kovictus bellowed out and suddenly atilius was a ruddy-cheeked boy all over again, being prodded by a cousin for having a wrist as thick as a nearby twig. he'd been weak, then. too young and stupid to understand how to fight back.

he liked to think he wasn't anymore.

atilius maintained his composure, though one lower eyelid clearly twitched. atilius julius brutus. son of imperator narcissus. he didn't expect kovictus to recognize his name. faesulae had been isolated in its influence, a kingdom guarded by a long stretch of ten-thousand-foot tall mountains. he was a scrub here.

he'd have to work his way in from the bottom.

he smirked, almost playfully. are you afraid to spar with me yourself?

kóvictus’s ears flick at the challenge, his golden eyes narrowing as he steps forward.

let it be known the dominus denies no challenge. this one's name means little to him—titles and bloodlines do not matter here. not in imperium. not unless they are his bloodline.

afraid? he snorts, a rough laugh escaping his throat. his teeth flash briefly in a sneer. i fear no man.

he circles atilius. theissor shifts at his side, ready to act, but kóvictus raises a paw slightly, signaling restraint. he wants to handle this one himself.

you wish to fight me? the dominus supposed it was one way to prove oneself.

6 atk!

ha! then let us fight, my lord, it was the first time atilius had smiled in what felt like eons. do not go too easy on me.

kicking up mud around him, atilius reared and prepared to charge for kovictus, crashing into his ribcage with a shoulder while his teeth aimed for the wiry ruff of his nape. a rumbling, loose growl vibrated between them.

atilius's start was admittedly far from the strongest — but he would not go down easily.

d: 7 / a: 3

kóvictus shifts his weight at the last second, planting his massive paws deep into the mud. atilius crashes into him; but the dominus does not budge. the pressure against his ribs is solid, yet not enough to shake him. it earns a jestful laugh from the man, as his blood runs hot. a good fight was just what the day called for!

as teeth aim for his nape, kóvictus twists sharply, snapping his own jaws near atilius’s ear with a taunting snarl, spit strung from teeth.

weak start, boy! he taunts.

now kóvictus surges forward, using his weight to slam into atilius's side. claws rake across mud-slicked fur as he attempts to hook a foreleg around the younger male's shoulders, aiming to pin him down and take the fight to the ground.

d: 11 a: 13

kovictus was good. better than atilius anticipated.

where kovictus was larger, atilius was more nimble. as soon as he felt weight upon his shoulders he whirled around, shoving with a mustering of might toward a nearby sequoia. flecks of dirt scattered in a whirlwind.

where kovictus had tried to tackle him, atilius turned and aimed for the throat. he aimed to rake his teeth against the other man's neck; taste his blood.

d: 18 / a: 16

kóvictus reacts instantly, twisting his massive head to meet atilius's strike. teeth clash as kóvictus attempts to catch the younger male's snout in his jaws, to try and bruise and rip flesh.

a snarl, guttural, angry, echoing off the canopies of the morass.

he has every intention to punish, to dominate, not maim. if his strike is true, he will viciously shake atilius by the face. muscles rippling beneath his scarred pelt.

dirt and mud spray around them; the dominus can practically hear the beat of drums of war within his ears.

d: 13 a: 9

atilius could only partially defend himself. kovictus had managed a grip — and gods, it hurt like hell! — but could not thrash him around for long. atilius loosened himself until he fell to the ground with a thud.

he was losing. but it still wasn't over.

crimson spreading down from his cheeks, he dove for the first hail mary that came to his mind: instead of the face, he went for the heel. saliva foamed in his mouth as his feral jaws snapped for the tendons in the large man's ankle, aiming to stop him in his tracks.

d: 9 sweats / a: 14

kóvictus feels the sharp flash of teeth grazing dangerously close to his ankle and snarls, muscles tensing as he barely pulls his leg away in time. the sudden attack almost catches him.

atilius lunges low, kóvictus drops fast; lumbering frame bearing down like a collapsing wall. jaws snap towards the younger male’s scruff, breath ghosting, teeth searching to grab any amount he could.

like a mother would a disobedient pup.

dirt and mud spray in arcs around them as the dominus exerts his full strength, seeking a swift end to this fight. atilius had proven himself formidable, but few were a match for the dominus in his prime.

d: 19, no attack roll b/c he stopped!

atilius ducked, dashing away with a grunt and a final spray of loam into the air. his lungs were aflame and he saw through a haze of crimson in one eye, but he had never felt more energized. his blood surged and thrummed with a desire for more, but the ache of his muscles and the throbbing of his cheek forced him into a halt.

he wasn't the best. not yet. but he was something.

panting, atilius gave kovictus a knowing look and a tilted half-grin. he almost felt as though the two had bonded, in a way, over a shared hobby — a shared calling in life.

violence.

kóvictus watches. he observes. the younger wolf is bruised, bloodied, but unswerved.

good.

he huffs and gives his pelt a brisk shake, muscles thrumming with the familiar high of combat still. he sees the look atilius gives him and meets it with a narrow of eyes. atilius will know the dominus is pleased because he yet lives.

violence is a language, and atilius speaks it well enough.

you did well. any man who can hold his own against me is welcome in the morass. but still— his voice smolders, you are feralis. no weight to your name. you must squalor in the mud before you may rise. and it is with that the dominus turns, beginning to lead his weight away. not without first exchanging whispered words with his praetor.

atilius is now theissor's to do with what he will.

thread should be marked m for the passionate gay lovemaking i just witnessed here

he could've ripped the man's balls out for dominus, but kovictus was a man who seemed to enjoy crushing the fragile egos of young men. so theissor stood only as support in the case the man dared to play foul.
and despite his size, he was no match for the dominus. none of them were. 

not yet. if any of them would finally pin the dominus down, it would be him. theissor would see to it.
theissor let out a satisfied chuckle after kovictus passed along word to his ear. the dark gladiator stood, and approached the newly named feralis.
i'll show you our land. welcome, feralis. his dulcet voice silky and mocking at the same time, pushing his weight around to shove the man just slightly before taking the lead.