Welcome to Mark of the Wild: Savage Lineage -a PVP based Animal RPG. We accept all levels, from beginner to advanced, -we have NO WORD COUNT, a unique setting, world, and set up. Mark of the Wild: Savage Lineage was created by animal role-players, for animal role-players, With a friendly staff, an easy to learn software, and a wide scale of diversity, we are ALWAYS welcoming new members to join our community. Welcome to Mark of the Wild: Savage Lineage.
The black, grizzled wolf lifted his single eye to the mountains that circled and crossed his land. His ruffled coat became swept by the meager summer breeze. The “X” shaped scar on his right shoulder revealed itself as Nature peeled back the wolf’s infernal jacket. It looked old and faded into a weak pink, for the scar had been held for 8 years. Rebel’s blind, shut eye winced as memories came rushing in like haunting ghosts.
The wolf absorbed the forest around him. He caught every scent, heard every paw step, and felt all of Nature vibrating under his pads. Rebel had been a new member of the Borean Tundra Pack. During initiation he had kept to himself, never going out of his way to socialize, because for Rebel, the pack only served to feed him. And the black wolf was indeed served well. In all his life, he had never become this brawny, healthy, and strong. The meat from large kills had given Rebel his old years again. Every leg stretched with power, senses had escalated to become sharper, and his speed had increased tremendously. Rebel was a machine. He could feel it. So, it was only natural that the old wolf started patrolling the territory when authority started to sway. Alone, Rebel had covered every acre of Boreana. Confidently and cannily he sprayed over Anput’s border markers as he went. He wanted to be Alpha, and had decided that he would kill anyone who tried to stop him.
Why was a solitary wolf becoming so eager to be the Alpha of the Boreans? Well, Rebel knew he needed to change. He needed to make a difference in his life and on the lives of others. It was his mid-life crises. Instead of being the solitary, abuser he wanted to be the alpha everyone looked up to. Something extraordinary needed to happen in his life. Rebel refused to sit back and watch his body rot away for the next few seasons. Besides, he’d help the wolves get rid of the wolverines once and for all.
Rebel carried his frame over to a clearing where the Sitka trees stood uniformed in a circle. The day was growing old and the common sounds that came with dusk were stirring. Patches of snow shimmered as the sun crawled out of sight.
The wolf’s scarred muzzle swung ‘round to the shadowy crevices of the trees and bristled. Anput and the pack had already, no doubt, come across his fresh markers and they would be flocking in to see this new change in power or challenge him.
The single eye glared ahead and all around. Rebel awaited for the first challenger… any challenger who dared step in his way into becoming the Alpha of the Borean Tundra Pack.
Pyre had begun to feel...to feel very... adequate. His hormonal level had gone down, but most wolves would fight to the death to own a pack. And of course, that was what he planned to do. He, too, was like a machine. He had taken down a deer previously, and had eaten it up. His claws were whetted to a sharp, tiny prick point. His ears lay back, his hackles up, his tail up, his walk stiff.
Pyre was not, under any circumstances, going to loose. He would not take 'no' for an answer. This place, Boreana, was his. And his alone.
So Pyre had sniffed out the scent markers. -It hadn't been to hard, considering the reek of an older male being placed upon another's. Pyre's blood rolled, his eyes focused and his breath deep and thoughtful.
He would relish this challenge. This fight, this tooth-vs-claws, this male-vs-male, this fight to the death. When it involved a pack, he was not going to back down, even Pyre's dislike of death and killing was washed away, like an irritating gnat that has been squished. Without much to do, or say, the male was prepared. Infuriated, perhaps.
Every layer of angry and all of his wounds he would mete back the same blow, double force. With this thought, he sniffed the scents once more. And, in the ultimate show of force when not face-to-face, he peed. Right over top of the other male's. With this, Pyre stalked forward, white pelt blending with the snow. His ears moved forward, his walk remained stiff, his eyes cold, tongue and teeth prepared to bite, and claws itching to sink themselves into a surface that would give.
Well, well, well. This seems to be an interesting equation. An older male, very old. But he feels good, does he? Good enough to fight me? To fight period? This battle shall be bloody, if the old fool does not back down. With this, Pyre trotted forward, releasing his body from it's rigid, challenging stand point so he could move and not waste his energy. Pyre moved rapidly, somewhere between a walk and a trot. He stopped often, to let himself rest for a moment.
Pyre was not going to loose his energy for the fight now, no, he was going to preserve it, and wait. Until the final moment, when he spotted the brute...
After doing this for some time, Pyre came to the space of the black wolf. Oddly, it was peaceful. Like calm before the storm, beauty before the tempest. The two: black and white, were like yin and yang. Opposites, somehow completed one another. In a fight, perhaps.
And with this, the wolf sauntered out into the open, eyeing the black wolf up, gauging him, sizing him up.
DEFENSES:Younger then opponent, -Has not attacked yet.
Rebel’s single eye fell upon the stranger who had made himself appear. And for a second he held his breath. The white wolf looked just like his daughter, Chariot. The one who he had raised ever since she was a month old. The one who he promised to despise, but ended up loving her more than he could ever imagine. So, as he looked upon this white wolf, his old head began to play tricks on him. Every nerve ending that sprouted from his memory tree struck his lips, causing them to snarl in astonishment. But, old Rebel came back to his senses when he assessed the way this wolf looked at him. Chariot’s gaze was adoring and as gentle as any she-wolf’s should be. The stranger’s gaze, however, held a loaded challenge.
The black wolf would waste no time with this stranger. He did not care what his scent contained or from which mountain he came down from. All he desired to do was to strike him down and reign the dominant wolf. Darcia, his father had taught him this mentality. In Rebel’s younger years, his father had demonstrated the art of killing like a true wolf. And his father was damned good at it too. Rebel remembered watching him every night as he instructed the proper way to lunge, tear, and evade. Darcia had always been deeply passionate about it too. Young Rebel would stare in awe, sucking in his father’s charged power. So, as Rebel eyed the challenger over he resolutely decided to skip bristling formalities and go straight into battle.
“What makes you think you’re cut out to be alpha, pup?” rolled out of his maw in warning.
Rebel’s muscles tightened underneath his coal painted fur. Heavy clouds shielded the sun, casting a neutral glow below. A fierce breeze stirred, curling under his cage and climbing over his skull. Rebel’s single eye dimmed as he wallowed in the cool shadow. A grave smile edged over his muzzle.
The wolf veered to the left, circling half of the clearing in less than two seconds. When he was positioned parallel to the challenger’s left shoulder he bowed low and leapt off the ground. Rebel covered six feet in a single bound. As he came down on the male’s left shoulder he prayed the gods would allow him to hit his mark. Rebel also thought ahead, he knew what he’d do if he struck flesh.
"What makes you think you're cut out to be alpha, pup?" Pyre let the comment roll off, and watched with a neutral expression as the male veered towards his shoulder and lept. Without even waiting for the other male to get closer as he jumped, Pyre whipped around and jumped up to collide and meet their charge. Pyre's family had never truly taught him to fight; instead, Pyre had taught himself. He played dirty, kicking up debris in the opponent's face, distracting them, weaving around them, rarely actually hitting them.
Instead, when the opponent was confused, or irrtated so much they made blind attacks, that was when Pyre used his moves. Now, he was not exactly the most original; but that same strategy got him through several, several fights. Pyre knew one thing, however: never-under any circumstances-let the opponent get their teeth into you. Otherwise, you were doomed.
They would wound you if their fangs hit their mark, and the scars along Pyre's flank told the tale of how he had learned this lesson the hard way. Now, however, Pyre was not shocked the male skipped the usual I'm-trying-to-scare-you-into-submission routine. Though he would've liked to have that, to not bow nor break, it seemed the male- the opponent, Pyre corrected himself- was in the mood for blood.
If you want blood, boy, I'll give you blood! Pyre thought with an audible snarl as he hit the ground. Pyre wasn't sure if he'd merely leaped out of the way or actually hit the other male when he-Pyre-hit the ground... But he hoped to high heaven he had collided. Pyre stood, shaking his head, and turned to look at his challenger.
ATTACKS: -Leaps to meet opponent as he charges. DEFENSES: -Leaps to meet opponent as he charges. -Different strategy then opponent.
Rebel’s teeth clicked with an audible snap as his target leapt out of his grasp. And at that instant he felt the blow of the challenger’s shoulder against his chest. The wind dropped from his lungs as he was thrown aside, skidding across the snow patches on his side.
Instinctively and hurriedly, he gathered himself up. Rebel looked over at the white wolf and sized him over again while pacing back and forth like a lion behind bars. The eye burned with malice.
“Scared to use your teeth, boy!?” Rebel snapped and lunged forth. With his banner raised and mane bristling like the hood of a crow he charged head on. When the black wolf was within three feet of the white stranger he secured his forepaws to the ground and drove his body ahead. Then, hind legs met the ground and a leap followed through as he kicked earth and hurled upon his challenger. Ears flattened to make sure he had nothing delicate to grab into. Rebel’s single eye burst with confidence as his open jaws flew to strike the white wolf’s face.
Teachings from his father wanted him to lunge, snap, and leap away, but his own personal techniques wanted to dig in tight and battle at close range. Rebel liked that, burying his head in the mist of fang and fur. He had always relished the feel of mutilating opponents as they attempted to rupture his own frame. He could distinctly remember the thrill that reigned control over his actions when the smell and taste of untouched blood invaded his senses. It wasn’t the natural way to fight, that’s for sure, for one could easily get killed if the adversary’s weapons skillfully got hooked onto your neck. But the humans… who had also taught him pleasures unknown to most wild animals convinced him otherwise.
The back of his mind began to ponder. Am I fighting for an empty territory? How would the other wolves react to my sudden embrace for power? And where was that alpha female, Anput? No… I need to secure territory. For my murdered mother, Sheila. For my dead brothers and sisters and for my mate, Evina… wherever she might be. I shall create a new chapter of wolves in the Tundra of this wretched new world I came upon. I shall be remembered… as the black wolf who led the greatest brotherhood of wolves in all of Alteria.
Attacks- Charges squarely and leaps straight at the opponent's face.
Pyre spotted the male stand and shake himself hurriedly, as if afraid staying down to long would kill him.
Damn right. Pyre thought. He felt himself reveal his teeth in a horrible smiling grimace.
\br>“Scared to use your teeth, boy!?” The male snarled, then lunged again. Now Pyre was not afraid of using his teeth, but he knew this trick all too well. After all, did he not do the same? Fluster the opponent. Confuse them, get them off their game... and you have leverage. Instead, Pyre snarled, spitting at the male with sputum.
The male leaned forward, aiming to once again leap at Pyre's face. Pyre knew he had no chance of jumping backward and still landing on his paws. Instead, Pyre laughed, coughing out a snarl as he swung his hind-legs around. Pyre leaned all his weight rapidly on his front legs, swung around his hind-legs, and kicked up a spray of snow in a curtain at the other's face. In short, Pyre weaved himself around to prevent the other from hitting his face, instead offering up his side. But that was not enough, as Pyre felt the other's body weight hit him full on in the side. This time, Pyre was bowled over, not the other male.
Pyre's breath whooshed out, and he heard it. As Pyre- this time, not the other male- hurriedly gathered himself, whipping around to look at the male. With a snarl himself, Pyre turned himself, giving his back to the flint male, and kicked snow in his direction. Then, as the snow fell, Pyre raced forward, silently blending into the snow, and leaned back for a split second and lunging forward, aiming to bowl the black male over.
I will take this land over, and I shall claim it and destroy the cannibal female, I shall meet the wolverines and make peace with them. I shall re-make this place, I shall make it the best pack in all of Alteria. I shall make this pack mine, and make my bloodline run through it, and I shall create the strongest league of wolves Alteria has ever known.
ATTACKS: -Has kicked up snow aiming to blind Rebel. -Lunged at Rebel in attempt to bowl him over DEFENSES: -Kicks up snow to distract/blind Rebel
Suddenly, the white wolf whirled around and kicked up blinding, white snow with his hind legs. In the middle of an irritated growl, Rebel felt the claws of the creature scrape his muzzle. However, he kept falling and found himself on top of the white wolf who had collapsed to his side. This was his chance!
The black wolf drove his muzzle foreword, in hopes of puncturing the challenger’s side. But, he was too slow. The young wolf had kicked under him and was already scrambling to his feet. Rebel’s reflexes had slowed down more than he thought. Before he could gather his thoughts to follow through his next move, another wave of snow erupted from the white wolf’s feet. Rebel grew edgy under this persistent tactic. Never before had the elements of nature been used against him. The technique was unknown to him. And for a second or two doubt crawled into his mind.
Rebel was too late to catch the white wolf zipping through the cloud of snow. He was too late to leap aside when the stranger’s face materialized from the blanket of white.
The old wolf’s paws lost their footing and his right side smashed against the earth, leaving his left shoulder, cage, and hind legs exposed.
No! Not the ground. Hitting the ground meant death. It always meant death! Rebel had seen every animal die when it lost footing. And the lucky ones who did rise to their feet ended up limping off with half their skin attached.
Rebel’s vision was overwhelmed by the darkening skies. The sun was sinking, like the feeling in Rebel’s heart. In milliseconds his face swerved ‘round to face the white wolf who would puncture his yielding flesh. However, the fearful anticipation did nothing to kick his legs awake and dodge the attack.
Hit me! He bellowed within. It was laced with fury and despair, his mind's eye raced with historic visions of past fights. Their faces always looked the same....
Attacks- Rebel attempts to bite into Pyre's exposed side, but was too slow.
((Oh, jeez, just realized I forgot to use in the other... >.> Sorry.))
To Pyre's delight, the male seemed slower then he'd thought. Now, on the ground, the wolf was exposed to Pyre's teeth and claws. Though Pyre was inclined to go for the throat, or the shoulders to wound... he knew better. If he went for the throat, he would expose his own face to the coal-coated opponent. With a snarl, Pyre leaned down towards the male's side. He placed his front paw a few inches from the male's spine.
"I'm not afriad of anything, old dog." Pyre hissed, the words quiet. But that was more frightening then if Pyre had yelled it, for it was meant to deceive. Not the threat, no; but the tone. The way it was said. Speak softly, let them think you are in control, or not... It was a strange thing to do, yes, but pretending to be submissive, weak, or low-spoken often tricked the opponent into believing your intentions were not for harm.
Pyre was about the age when a male wolf has the urge to spread his genes. To start a pack. And start one he did. It was the classic 'romeo-juliet' bit, but it was never meant to be. Only to scar Pyre beyond help. To give him a fettish for power, and power he still lusted for, long after. Killing his father like he had... it had awoken pack law, for his Clan. If the leader meets his death by the jaws of a wolf, the challenger leads the pack. That had been the law for as long as Pyre could remember. And he'd killed his father, which gave him blood right and pack law-right to the throne of the pack. But he had turned it down.... Okay, maybe not 'turned it down'... just, fled. Was chased off by his mother and siblings.... Hated by all, scorned by all, a traitor to his blood-borne pack.
A sadness overwhelmed Pyre for a moment, and the ghost of his past haunted his eyes for a moment. Until they hardened again, and his jaws opened to reveal his fangs. He spoke once.
"If you have pups, I am sorry. But this is how it must be." And with this strange statement, Pyre leaned his head back for a second and then plunged his fangs down, down down...
Aiming straight for the challenger's heart. With every intent to rip it out....
ATTACK: -Aiming to rip out Rebel's heart. DEFENESE: -None
Cold razors bore down upon Rebel’s shoulder blade and expertly locked themselves at the heart of his chest.
Yielding flesh gave way under the stranger’s fangs. Nerve ending screamed as blood flowed freely over his black fur. It snaked its way to mother earth where it assaulted the surrounding drifts of snow.
Time seemed to slow down its course. Rebel could see the stranger’s exact position and the feel the violence he trembled with. Heavens, he could nearly see his every breath.
Rebel’s legs began to strike blows at his sides, haunches, belly, anything he could graze. His long, ancient claws could serve purpose here. However, Rebel had another tactic in mind as he struggled in the snow. The challenger’s face was well below his, fixed in and around his chest. From Rebel’s angle, he could see the his forehead, hard blue eyes and… the exposed dorsal portion of his neck.
In silence he reared his neck and pummeled his jaws straight at the back of Pyre's neck. He gave no warning, simply because he was in suffering agony. No warning, because that was his method of fighting. No warning, because he was a wolf, who fought and killed in silence. Not like the other beasts in the forests who trumpeted in victory or defeat, wasting precious energy.
Ah, but despite the searing misery, Rebel felt his gut jolting away like a new born caribou. The compactness of the battle was what he loved. What he thrived on. He couldn’t wait to bathe his face in blood and cause as much torture as he was receiving. However, he wise enough to calculate… if it had to be done… when to submit and retreat back into the black forests of Boreana.
Attacks- Attempting to stretch out his neck and bite down on the back of Pyre's neck.
No warning was given when, as the blood spurted and flowed around Pyre's face, Pyre felt claws slamming into his side, he moved with the blows, feeling the claws hook once or twice. But no warning was given as he felt teeth lock around the scruff of his neck. He dug deeper, trying to reach the other's heart. But he knew if his teeth did not puncture the chambers soon... that teeth would lock around his skull and he would be dead.
Spitting out the red liquid, Pyre planted his feet firmly on the ground. But he had down what Rebel had wanted him to. Pyre had released Rebel's heart, or at least the area that the heart was in. Furiously, he spat more of the blood out.
Damn it! Pyre's scruff was rapidly becoming his neck as the teeth somehow moved down, towards his throat. His life blood. The area the warmth and beating of blood was centered around. Making sure he was planted firmly, Pyre wrenched his neck out Rebel's hold. But not without feeling blood begin to trickle down his neck. Damn, damn, damn!! Pyre stumbled back, shaking his neck to rid it of the blood that began to created gruesome rings of blood around his throat.
Pyre was infuriated, outraged, incensed. But he feared exactly what Rebel's attack-strategy was. Though he was only beginning to form an idea what Rebel did. He knew Rebel was not one to jump in and out like he, Pyre, did. But seemed to want to remain in fierce one-on-one combat...
It was the rare, Pyre thought, to find one like you. Pyre took two steps back, then ran forward a few paces before launching himself straight at Rebel. This time, he looked down at Rebel's paws...
ATTACKS: -Lunging at Rebel and (looking) at his paws
Rebel’s hits were angled true. At some points, his battered claws would barely touch Pyre’s fur. Though, in a few circumstances he had managed to hook onto his flesh and tear away yielding skin. Hind legs pumped like a steel factory as he thrust forward. However, it wasn’t enough to push the young wolf away. It always hadn’t been enough these days. Behind the immense pain in his chest, the feeling of distress rolled like a boulder over his panicked mind, flattening years of acquired combat skills into a mere autumn leaf. Cracked and weak.
At least his teeth had found Pyre’s neck, and that was enough to boost the old wolf’s confidence once more. Rebel crunched down with everything he had and drove deliberately into Pyre’s fur to reach his nape. However, as he dug through fur, the young wolf was digging closer to his heart. He could already feel Pyre’s entire muzzle nestling in his chest like a blood sucking vampire. Rebel felt his grip cripple as breathing became a challenge, for Pyre’s bulldozing attack was compressing his chest into a constricted chamber.
Well, he lived a… decent life. Lived among the gods, or as the animals called them: Humans. He had learned to love… acquired a mate, though, bared no cubs of his own. Throughout his 8 years of living he had seen and learned so much about his world and how it worked. Sadly, he had never embraced it to its fullest extent. Aloof, wary, and ill-tempered, Rebel hadn’t realized how precious a family really was. Wolves would find him always alone, or if he were with another, he would be observed brooding over something running in circles across his head. And so, as Rebel lay at death’s grasp his vision blurred and ears flattened with sorrow. What could have been… What should have been…
Suddenly, Pyre’s jaws let go! Rebel heaved the energy he had left and seized his neck resentfully. Dare you take my life?! I’ll show you! He bayed inwardly.
Rebel felt Pyre tear away. Blood masked the wolf’s graying muzzle. He licked it clean as he lay there, watching young Pyre shaking it off. Eyes were gleaming with a grim shine. His open, bleeding chest was sucking the life out of him. A grave smile twitched it’s way over his face. His blind eye squinted and he began to pant.
Pyre was strong. He had to admit it. Jealousy and fear raged through his fibers, causing him to shiver slightly. At one time, Rebel had been quick and powerful like him! But, now… he was nothing but an ancient wolf… in his last years of life.
Who am I kidding? In, marched Doubt, stomping away all previous determination. So what if I win over him? There will always be young, lightning quick wolves that will step up to challenge me. He gazed down at his open wound, how much more of this can I take? Rebel’s life could decrease from two years to a mere six months if he kept up this fresh, blood warrior mentality. Instead of fighting… he should be connecting with loved ones again. Taking it easy… embracing the life he had neglected. But, he couldn’t give up just yet… he wanted to see how far he could go. Rebel gathered to his feet.
One… two steps back. Pyre attacked!
Rebel bristled and reared as the white wolf neared. Pyre aimed low at his paws, but Rebel’s upper cage was already hovering above like a haunting, black crow. His intentions were to land upon the wolf and grapple him. However, Pyre’s mark hadn’t gone totally astray. The white wolf had found his hind legs! As Rebel threw his upper body down over Pyre’s back he felt fine blades slice through flesh and crunch his ankle bones.
Attacks- Rears up as Pyre's dives in to fall upon him.
Defenses- Rearing, you could say.
Injuries-- bleeding from the open wound to his chest. Bitten in the hind ankles. Bleeding.
Pyre's shaky hit actually latched on. He had been aiming for the legs, but knew he probably wouldn't get even close. But he felt claws slice on both haunches. Blood flowed from both their wounds, mingling sharply on Pyre's white pelt. But Pyre teeth and claws had aimed true (or almost) and now he clung to the beast's hind legs, digging in sharply.
Pyre felt the reward of more blood, but this time he was intent on snapping both hind legs. But it was either one or the other, for he was running out of time. Choosing one randomly, he latched on once again. Holding on, Pyre tried to scramble out of Rebel's hold. Pyre scrabbled forward, out from under Rebel's hips. But still, Pyre held onto the leg, and giving a yank, he tried to break or dislocate it. Unsure, Pyre knew he had little time. Dropping the leg, broken or not, Pyre distanced himself rapidly from Rebel. Again, he tried the tactic of snow, but his neck and legs stung highly and for a moment, Pyre merely stood there, panting. Eyes full of pain, but coat practically standing up and bristling. Glands of his own scent poured forth his musk, pheromones and hormones raced through his body.
Rebel wouldn't stand long. especially with the wound in his chest. It was a disappointment for Pyre that his teeth hadn't entered the chambers of the heart, but there was not much he could do about that now. But Pyre did know one thing, and that was it took a very short time (without exertion) for a wolf - no matter how healthy - to bleed out on the snow with a wound like that.
Adrenaline coursed through Pyre's veins and artery's, thinning his blood and making his heart pump faster. His lungs expanded rapidly, painfully, but he knew it was nothing close to the agony Rebel would be - should be - feeling as of then. But he realized he was thinking to himself, not fighting.
Get your head in the game! It had the desired effect: Pyre reared and slammed his paws forth, shoving the snow in the air. Once again, Pyre blended into the snow... almost. Bloody rings of gruesome red, blue eyes bright with fear and the need to fight. Those were the only things standing out from the other falling particles of snow. Digging his paws into the ground, Pyre bolted forward. This time, he aimed for the front paws. In hope that he could break this paw (if he hadn't broken the other, and if he had broken the other, to break this leg too). Silence.
The two wolves, ebony and reddened ivory, both lost in a world of snow. The flakes danced, catching the light and then falling. It was a wonderland... if one hadn't known that on the inside of this globe of snow, two wolves were fighting to the death for a spot of power.
Attacks : -Attempted to break Rebel's back right paw (while Pyre was under Rebel)</br> -Kicked up snow -Attempts to go for Rebel's front paw (break it)
Once he was upon the white wolf’s back, Rebel unleashed hell. He ripped and tugged through fur and skin like a rabid animal. The pain on his heels intensified, causing his blows to intensify. As he made blood spring to the heavens his own blood flooded to earth. Rebel’s face was smeared with crimson liquid from his own and the challenger’s. He couldn’t even tell the difference anymore as he felt its metallic taste invade his jaws. He sensed the end of the battle arriving soon.
One of his hind legs, his right one, began to cry in anguish. He was done, it was broken. The black wolf curled his lips into a nasty snarl and shoved himself off as the white wolf scrambled out from underneath.
Be wise, Rebel repeated over and over as he steadied himself. The world was beginning to spin. Evina, he thought gravely, seeing her swim across his vision. What was he doing here? He needed to find his mate and live peacefully under the sycamore trees until the end of his days. He was fighting a young wolf’s battle. His time was over. Rebel had been foolish.
In slow motion (his world was becoming just that) drifts of snow erupted from Pyre’s feet. Rebel stumbled back as fast as he could and dropped to the floor.
Rolled over onto his back.
And exposed his stomach.
Breathing came slow. He wanted to leave the battle that was not his. Memories of past challenges brimmed the edges of his head. Victory after victory, he had been a legend. But, now… he was just an old wolf. The middle age crises had taken a new turn, into a new direction…
Defenses- Evading the snow and rolling onto his back in submission.
Injuries-- Bleeding from the deep injury to his chest and a broken ankle bone on his right hing leg.
Pyre's attack was mistaken, for the black wolf staggered out of the snow. Pyre followed, cautiously. This could be just another faking, another time when the opponent pretended to be wounded. Pyre could see by his limp that, indeed, his leg was broken. The obsidian wolf's grizzled frame sent a cringe through Pyre. It was obvious the scars were all from previous fights. And this wolf was obviously one not to give up. But, then, as if he - the black wolf - realized something. That he shouldn't be fighting this? Maybe.
And then, then came the shocker. The black wolf dropped to the snow, and rolled over in submission. For a moment, Pyre stood stock still, the snow falling down behind him. Then, as if ice water was dumped on his family jewels, Pyre ran forward. Bending down, Pyre nudged the side of the black wolf.
"Get up, man. C'mon, I'll get you to..." Where? Where in the world would he get help? The entire pack was in Winterguard. So, it was going to have to be treated here. "Ah... jeez..." Pyre- forgetting about his own wounds- gingerly tried to roll the wolf over or get him to stand up. "Um.... here, lemme put the snow on there.... staunch the bleeding." Pyre picked up a chunk of the icy white crystals, then dropped it. "I need a woman..." He muttered.
HOWL YOU DUMB IDIOT! The thought finally occurred to him. Lifting up his muzzle just enough to keep an eye on Rebel, Pyre let out his signature howl. Cracked at first, before becoming a high and clear single note. He could only hope that someone would hear it.
Rebel trembled as a growl flooded from his vocals. He allowed Pyre to nudge him back to his stomach. Ears lay flat and his single eye bore down resentfully at the white wolf. He stared at the snow where his chest wound was bleeding through. All he wanted to do was to limp into the forests and never see the likes of this white wolf again. His pride had been lacerated.
Um.... here, lemme put the snow on there.... staunch the bleeding.
Rebel grunted as snow fell upon his wounds. It did indeed numb the pain at least. The old wolf leaned on his side and panted. Licking his nose and relaxing his eyelids he appeared to look like a content dog, but he was far from that. Any sudden moves at him would spring the defensive, dangerous side of the wolf. Swallowing, he tried to hide his pain. It was after Pyre had mumbled something he didn’t quite catch when he heard it, a cracked howl that leveled out into a single note.
Ears cupped foreword and nostrils flared. He lifted his lips in anger. The last thing he wanted was the pack to gather and pity his state… or worse laugh at him. Rebel refused to be helped. To be prodded and looked upon. He was 8 years old and perfectly capable of handling his own wounds… or so he thought.
Flashes of pain erupted across his wounds. It caused him to whine, but it turned out into a full out growl when he identified another arriving upon the scene. The smell was only faintly familiar.
The black wolf struggled to his feet, “I can take care of myself, you!” Rebel exposed his teeth at Pyre, but then sunk back into the drifts of snow. He became dizzy and black holes overwhelmed his vision.