Fight:Leoxander vs Rhocielle
Synopsis:Leoxander hunts Rho into Frostmaw, determined to execute punishment for the wrongs he determines have been done to females he considers pack and kin. When the two alpha males meet deep in the woods, a fight of epic and feral proportions takes place.
Characters: Leoxander, Rhocielle, Jolie, Arien
Location: Frostmaw; Into the Woods.
Note: This scene was the climax of a two week rp that took all involved on an emotional roller coaster ride. I may put the other 78 pages of it up some day ;) But for now, a special thank you to Leo, Jolie, Mahri and Keturah for helping Rho and Ari flesh out one of the more dramtic experiences of their story together. <3
Rhocielle appeared through the fog that clung to the northern lumber camp, having used the abandoned settlement to rest some hours before. Black armor immediately made the equally black furred wolf stand out for miles away had the weather been clear. Huffs of warm breath billowed from his canine muzzle as his eyes tracked the distant movements of imps ready to harass any traveler, or roaming wild packs of wolves. The latter knew better than to trouble a wolf on two legs. The leather sack hung over a shoulder was hoisted higher along his back and its strap coiled around his paw like hand. Though the distance back to the village felt as if it would be an easier trek, due to weather, it remained just as infinitesimally far away. An exasperated breath briefly clouded his vision as the hotter air rose and brushed against his face.
Leoxander was a scent in the murky distance until those mismatched eyes appeared like light on rustic coins in the dark. Higher than a wolf's gaze should be, even with his head low, due to that monstrous, lycan size. Fur tipped ears already stapled back to his skull, large paws literally pushed into the earth, clawed toes gripping the soil like a rogue would clench his fists from cold and frustration. There was no grand appeal to his arrival, simply a form of wolfen visage from the opposite end of that small glade, which would prove to become a feral arena, that moon. No armor upon his form at all, only the weight of fatigue from travel, lack of sleep, a hungry appetite to discover his target - and there, here... he was. That heterochromatic glare was fixed upon the spot of black on white, and there was no attempt at all to conceal his own form in the shadows and fog. A slow, direct approach, hackles upon neck raising higher the closer he got. He would only slow to a stop when they were close enough to scent the others' rage and commitment to destruction.
Rhocielle stopped when the other came into view. Whatever curiosity that flashed in his silver eyes was brushed aside just as quickly. He knew the other's intent by scent alone. Slowly his legs close what distance remained to enter the natural ring of dead trees that would enclose their arena. Entering the glade, weapon and pack were dropped unceremoniously. Silver eyes steadily stared at the mismatched colored eyes of the other. "Let me pass," he gave in singular husky warning, though he knew it would fall on deaf ears. He was emotionally drained and his body exhausted from gruesome wounds suffered in dreams, but the black wolf would not allow himself to be delayed in returning to Rynvale. Paw like hands began removing clothing and armor with silent purpose even before the other would respond. One by one, black armor sank into snow until only black fur covered the anthro. Dropping low to a crouch, his body contracted and shifted, eyes never leaving the other. Two legs and arms became four pawed limbs, belonging to that of a large timber wolf. Both knew already what Leoxander's answer would be.
Leoxander suddenly burst into wolf-fur fire, in the sense every coarse hair covering his lupine body stood on end, tufted out to make his already unnaturally large form... at least appear larger. It seemed that demand to pass was not to be complied to by the rogue, the pirate, whatever the hell one wanted to call him. Now, that moment, he was a g'damned beast, fangs bared and nose scrunched with nostrils open to scent any threat on the wind. Feet, or paws, rather... sqaured, purposefully blocking the path. No. Rhocielle wouldn't go another bloody step on this path without learning the discipline this unknown 'Alpha' felt it his right and purpose to deliver. Friends and pack be damned in their so-called opinions... there was simply no balance to what was happening; tearing pieces apart as it were, and of all people.... it was Leoxander to attempt to make it 'right'. So that traditional circling would begin there, Leo roaming to his left though his ambidextrous ability didn't favor one certain way. His eyes were locked on the other in clear challenge, and he would allow his opponent a moment to decide whether he was offense, or defense. Otherwise, the rabid would take the field.
Rhocielle spread out his legs ever so slightly, black fur bristling in open invitation to the challenge set by the other male. Maws opened, black lips curving back in an unspoken menace to reveal canine razors. He knew the rogue's purpose, scent howling in the wind. Slights demanded vengeance, balance to be paid in blood. However accepting he was of what was to come, the black would not do so submissively. Neither male would accept such a concession. Slowly the ancient wolfen dance of combat commenced. Neither lead, neither followed. The circle's distance was maintained with equal steps, sharp lupine eyes gauging the other's intentions. As his tail faced the west in their posturing, it would have been all too simple to escape to the village, easily outpacing a Lycan already exhausted by a journey not prepared for. His paws sank firmly into the snow, twisting gently and marking his stand. Silver eyes answered Leoxander's offering. Bring it.
Leoxander knew how fights began. He knew how fights ended. Rhocielle was a worthy opponent so the wolf would not immediately go for the throat. The circle shattered as the more aggressive struck through it's center, and Leo's front paws pushed the ground in an attack for the other. His own bristled, blond tipped tail raised as he shifted his weight toward his back end upon approach and lifted up his furred chest, not yet bearing his throat but attempting to get his paws over the others legs as the intention, for the moment, was to get the other male on the ground and in a vulnerable, helpless spot of submission. That's what this was all about, after all. Leo was, in essence, forcing Rhocielle under his lead of pack. The intention to kill was not yet clear. Jaws would likely beat against the others like swords, fending their opponent while weight carried them in a scrap about the snow.
Rhocielle was a wolf, but not a beast. Demons had been purged to remind himself of such a reality. Death or dominance were already anticipated as possible motivations for the encounter. When the other charged and reared himself in order to overpower the black wolf, the timber wolf did not play along. A natural wolf would have reared himself as well, fighting jaws to jaws to raise legs over the other. Instead, he charged swiftly and low to slip directly underneath the attacker's body, a dangerous gamble. With Leo's forepaws already raised, it was only a matter of unbalancing the other wolf with a fierce head butt to the back legs or even a bucking motion to the Lycan's sternum above the black's skull. His own attempt was the same, to subdue the other on the ground, but the manner in which he planned to drop Leoxander was entirely different.
Leoxander wasn't quite a natural wolf, either. His mind was feral enough but he was still a rogue in the sense to anticipate any change of momentum. His back legs were thrown off balance by the nudge but he was still agile and quick to rebound and curve for the other wolf's side, taking some advantage of the fact that rear legs were closer in reach to attempt a vicious bite at the back joint of Rhocielle's rear leg. The attempt hadn't yet managed the other lycan to the ground but his balance was somewhat ajar from Rhocielle's quick wit, and so he whipped his tail and paws around on the snow to try to keep out of bite range while attempting to land his own. Snowy terrain would make it difficult on paw purchase, and whether or not Leo managed that chomp, his twist also took his own legs out from under him for a moment, causing him to fall onto his side and scramble back up headlong in the other's direction.
Rhocielle knew all to well of the danger he had placed himself in when he had attempted to buck Leoxander violently off of him. Black bushy tail wagged at the other's fearsome jaws briskly in a rather humorous attempt at fending off a swordsman with a feather duster. The black wolf was not so exhausted to believe in such a ridiculous attack, but there was a method to his madness. The tail was meant to blind momentarily and distract while hind claws kicked ferociously at encroaching jaws with full intent of tearing thin lips, leathery nostrils or furred muzzle. Though a pained yelp resounded as sharp canines caught his leg in a vice, it would make the resultant counterattack that much more ghastly. The other male's slip might be his downfall or may have saved him from a far more horrendous attack to the face. All the same, the black wolf would quickly turn after his seemingly crazed bucking in order to resume a circle dance with the other, albeit with a slight limp to a rear leg. Cold snow soothed his wound slightly and red droplets trailed his movements.
Leoxander felt a cut that would show through his shave, come morning, for as he clamped upon bone, claws still rendered a cut into the wolf's jaw that bled a few splotches of his blood with the hint of speckles dusted from black fur. More circling, and in that short round of pause the other was so haughty as to shake the snow and blood off his fur, and the pain with it, huffing a heated breath that billowed in the frosty air. No thirty seconds, as was proper for a boxing match, no, the tawny wolf was back in it like a reckless Tasmanian, no longer charging for leg joints but daring to bite right at the others pretty face and square off with every jerk or turn he tried to make, for just a moment, almost taunting. But it was just again show that Rhocielle had an Alpha, after all, a very unexpected one. There was only a deep growl in his chest, no intimidating snarl to try to ward off or frighten his opponent away. He clearly wasn't finished yet.
Meanwhile..back at the tavern…
The red wolf, like the dark sentinel who had guarded the tavern exit all night, had not slept. The female had not bothered to shift, had had little interest in lying alone in elfin skin on cold sheets another night. Not when every passing minute brought her mate closer to a judgment at once deserved but feared. Rho had been bred to be alpha of his tribe, a responsibility he had fled from in coming here, but that he wore in his blood as arrogantly as any royal. He was the prince of his people and would bow to none. Leoxander, she knew would accept nothing less. The occasional whimper that had escaped the elf-wolf as the hours of the night had passed with her dulled gaze fixed on the door, expressed better than any words might have, the dread that this awareness stirred in her. The pale streaks of dawn lit the windows of the inn, and the restless wolf pushed herself up on to four paws. Instinct told her the rogue’s beta would be gone, having done her duty. The call of devotion would not permit Jolie to wait patiently while the drama of battle unfolded- at least, Arien knew that it would not permit -her- to stay away without duress. It was what she was counting on. Leo’s scent trail would have long been dulled by the bluster of the night’s aggressive weather. If she was lucky, Jolie’s was not. Padding out into the too bright paleness of sunrise, a mahogany muzzle was lifted, scents taken in by flared nostrils in the area near the door. She could almost smell the heat of the blood that had pumped in the beta’s veins. There. A mahogany furred ear flicked and gold rimmed irises shifted to take in the panorama to the west. The black wolf would not be too difficult to track in the enclosed area and more sheltered pathways of town. It would be in the wilderness that the female might be lost, and she’d had a head start. Nose lowered to the ice packed earth and the she wolf started her quest. By fair means our foul, she intended to find her mate today.
Jolie had traced her mate - her Alpha, clearly, though what position she held in his pack, exactly, was not entirely clear to her and nor had she had a moment to allow such a thought to become a question - across white expanses and close-knit clumps of pine and spruce where the sharp, disinfectant scent of branch and root had her wander in circles a time before she accidentally stumbled on his thread again, the odor a smack in the nose once she cleared that bit of forest and once more gained open ground. It was a red banner on a blank page, to her, and while the urge came to gallop madly after it, her worry a wrinkle on her snout, she was simply unable to keep up the wolf-state wholly and so with dismay she found herself toppled over on a snow-bank, back arced and cracking, fingers clawing - no screams, she suffered her change in silence, and it was thankfully swift. The result was not whole, however, the woman's flesh too weary to summon the fire within that enabled totality either way, and so it was a two-legged but furred thing, black and oddly spined, sleek and hunched of shoulder, long of arm and fingernail-claw, that rose from that struggle and limped its way toward the acrid smell of her lover's enduring rage.
Arien padded wearily on four paws yet, the hours stretching out the day as she tracked the rogue’s mate. It was a young skill, yet being learned and each shift in blustering winds had forced a pause and diligent effort to find her trail again. The red wolf had paused at the western gates, mahogany muzzle arced over her shoulder in backward look toward what passed for civilization in this tundra. She had forgotten when last she had eaten, surely it had been at least a full day since she had left the tavern with her pack over her shoulder. It had been left beyond these walls, at the edge of the forest where she had first shifted to press deeper into the woods. It should be here yet, but she could feel the cold seeping to her bones. She was running on empty and her elfin form would fare far worse than this lupine body if she meant to go on. She turned back toward the tree line, eyes narrowing over the length of her muzzle. Movement in the trees. The she wolf shifted, instinctively moving downwind in the stealth of her approach. Had she made up that much ground? But then the sandy wolf’s trail was much colder..literally. And that was no wolf. Arien blinked, the form was new to her, never having seen even Leo in this particular were state. Almost unconsciously it happened, so fluidly one would be forgiven for blinking and missing it. The four legged silhouette in forward motion became that of a two legged upright wolf, a female beast walking on digigrade legs with lupine muzzle lowered to earth. But should she reveal herself and speak, or follow still? Jolie might intend yet to stop her getting to Rho, and that she could not bear.
Jolie 's change might have appeared.. fluid.. to someone in the distance, but the grinding and snapping of gristle and bone, the crunch of jaws and snout concertina'ing in and the rip of realigning musculature in her spine left the humanoid wolf damned sore, her body having no time to pause and let the pain of it fade before she moved again. Her strides were thus uneven for a spell, and - while yes, her nose did dip briefly to the frost for a huff, now and then, to keep check on direction - her upright body kept its head up, having charted already Leoxander's beeline dash across this treeless field of white, and into a patch of forest some half a mile ahead. Sore limbs carried her haltingly, clawed half-animal toes slipping, gripping with clawed nails into the softness of snow below to catch herself before she fell again. It was only as her joints freed up, rapid healing repairing the tears and trauma in her flesh, that Jolie sniffed a change in the wind and knew she was being followed. Big surprise. She turned, stared into the forest behind, and thought, with a mind that had more room to think now, rationally, about what in all hell she was going to say 'Queenie' if the red-head's lurking was going to end anytime soon. A sharp cough that was more like a bark sounded across the gusting air, through a whiplash of lengthened black mane that became shorter as it shagged down her spine, and with her recovered vocal cords cleared thus, she called, hoarsely, "You can't stop it. I won't let you."
Arien had felt such a pain once, in her initial birth to the taint that was her second half. The change had broken her elfin body, as it had her husband’s wolfen when he first learned to be elf. It had been a living fire, and she thanked the gods whenever she saw the suffering of the turned, that she hosted the gift of the born lycan to endure near painless transformation. Wolfen head was angled toward that stumbling, staggering form, and worry touched the she wolf’s mind. With her thinner fur, Jolie was susceptible to the frigid temperatures, and she too had been up for days if the elf-wolf assumed correctly. The anthro stepped out of the cover offered by the trees behind the werewolf, and tones rich with husky wolfen undertones worked past lupine lips and tongue. In this form she was a sentient and capable of reason as was her mate when he walked as wolf on two legs. “ I know..” she said quietly, standing still in the snow that settled like powder in the quieted winds. To both statements. “I.. do not wish to stop it..” Although she had, it was too late for that. “But I wish him to know that he is not alone..” she finished. Arien had left him..had caused him to leave her. In this, his trial he would know of a hope that awaited should he endure. “I..fear for them. Both.” Jolie could not know the risk her own mate faced. There were not many in these lands who knew of what the black was capable.
Jolie nodded, her pale, starry-pupiled gaze as chill and severe as the conditions the two females would endure, out here in the open where no tree offered surcease from biting winds, and Jolie's more-thinly-furred body indeed felt something more of the cold, though the naturally high blood heat of her breed still did much to keep her shivering miserably. As Arien spoke on, that frigid stare would soften in increments, the necromancer gaining the understanding they were not at cross purposes. As for the fear… "What will be, will be." Perhaps the elf-wolf did not know Jolie's own mate as well as she might like to think, either. But even so, there was a modicum of that same worry gnawing in her guts, because Rhocielle -was- an unknown quantity to the Captain's counterpart and she had no idea whether he'd prove murderous or… not. "Let us watch." Without another burr-voiced word, the black turned and stalked rapidly - if still somewhat stiffly - toward that next patch of woods, from where the scent of males now blew redolent on the neverending winds, and from there also a hint of fresh, spilt blood.. Arien could catch up, or follow, as she liked.
Watch. Arien’s leathern nostril’s flared to that scent of spilt blood, and she bit back on the soft whine that threatened to escape. That was Rho’s scent heavy in the vitae. She would do him no good to be seen as weak, or fearful; they had fought and bled together far too many times, courageously, to dishonor him so. Leo knew what the black meant to her, and her husband endured, many times over, the frustrating consequences of her friendship with the rogue. On two legs neither male would strike a killing blow, on four she was reasonably certain likewise. It was not death that she feared as much as the near- death battering that was certainly capable of occurring when two strong wills met and neither refused to cede ground. Stubborn to a fault, a quality both males shared, and therein lay the danger. The anthro fell into her own weary trudge beside the furred female. “Rho will not kill him…or even try to.” It was her husky attempt to assuage what concern may lay on that front. “But he will not stop..and their bodies can take only so much..” There was her fear. “It is best that they are not alone when it is over…” Her mind had harbored visions of the males unconscious in the snow..slowly freezing. She glanced Jolie’s way then, and her gold rimmed irises almost hosted a smile if such an expression had been possible on her lupine face. “It’s a nice look for you..” Dry. Wicked. But then the sounds penetrating the brush in the direction they approached had her solemn and quiet attention again.
Jolie saw no such dishonour in observing the struggles of her own beloved, for whom she would be another pair of eyes, albeit they may as well be blind until the hindsight of aftermath and healing brought the wolf-pair to some quiet space where she could offer him her vision, and share his, as they shared all things these days. And if he was to suffer, she must suffer with him. And if he was to die, she would survive not a single moment longer than he... So Jolie hesitated not nor quailed in seeking that battle-ground, her pace quickening as the scent of the males thickened. In a better mood, she might've rolled her eyes at Arien's sage and unnecessary advice, having had no intention to leave the men alone at all. Humour entirely lacking in her, for once, she responded to the soft jest with a billowed huff of steam from her wrinkled semi-human nose and strode on, a grimness settling upon her like a pall of dark and ice-laden cloud.
Jolie said, "If it’s not..." Fulfilling Leo’s command to keep Arien from throwing herself in the way of the fight might've cost her the chance to join her mate in whatever state he... She shook her head. The blood was fresh, not old. So it wasn't, she realised, even as she spoke it, and those same sounds reached lynx-tipped ears, "... too late."
Twas no dishonor to watch the testing of body and spirit, but it would be one indeed to do so in a manner not befitting the strength and courage of those combatants. Gold rimmed irises watched the advance of the black furred female, and the anthro almost fed off of the determination that rippled off the lycan. Arien felt as if she had walked through hell’s open maw in the blur of days in which specific memories were beginning to be lost, except for those which would cut and stay and never fade. But now, in this moment, she could not wear her wounds, she would be her alpha’s mate, and one worthy of him. The wolf took a step forward, her intention to follow Jolie into the clearing and paused. Leo knew Jolie was here..would be expecting her eventual arrival. Rho, as best she knew believed her safely ensconced in Rynvale with their family. What would it do to him, to his concentration, to see her for the first time after the terms on which they had last met, in the middle of a fight? A soft huff of air escaped her flared nostrils. Their scent was thicker, the richness of blood warmer in her lungs. No it was better that she come to his awareness gradually, if at all..and it seemed only fitting.. In her own variant of her mate’s seamless shift before combat, Arien permitted herself a silent, fall forward onto the trail, the arms that extended shifting and morphing into fore paws before they hit the ground. The mahogany wolf shook off the flakes of snow that settled into her fur and followed after the black furred woman on two legs. She would enter the glade with the stealth of a hunting predator, hugging the shadows of the tree line until she could find some place from which to watch the battle unfold.
The fight continues..
Rhocielle withheld a low whine as one of his rear legs throbbed with fresh pain and fresher blood trickling down to his paw. Any more quick witted maneuvers would be suicidal without all four legs working in graceful tandem. He would have to play defensively, not unlike his Underdark match with Mahri when his leg had been injured by a silver spike. He snorted heavily, dismissively at the other wolf, his own hot breath swirling visibly with a breeze that failed to cool down the pair. Wild ebon hair stood up at attention and another threatening growl was made. The black had no such delusion of making the other submit or intentionally frighten, he merely wanted to go home. He met Leoxander on the other Lycan's terms. His good leg braced his weight into the snow as his upper body rose and chest expanded to meet each swipe of snapping jaws with his own to keep the tawny wolf at bay and prevent the other actually biting down on his muzzle. That was not to say either may have gotten away unscathed from their stalemates. Nicks and scratches began to litter the black's face, either from Leoxander's fangs, or his own as sharp canines crashed into his thin black lips during unsuccessful bite attempts. But that was not the end of it. He was no cat, but wolves did have claws after all. Forepaws lifted off the snow and he unleashed a brief flurry of claws. Though lacking the razor edge of feline talons, they might still land a disorienting slap or scratch upon an already bleeding muzzle. Whereas Leo might still believe in subduing him as swiftly as possible with a bite to the throat or submissive pinning, the black wolf opted for more inventive means of stopping the fight. If enough injuries were inflicted on the tawny wolf's face, vision might start to become obscured by flowing blood over heterochromatic eyes.
Leoxander craved more than a defensive tension to the other wolf's body. It was fairly clear now that the rogue was not here to end a life or deliver wounds that would physically, or perhaps mentally scar. He was no guardian, no overseer of the pack, really, but of all wolves to be the one to fetch the 'far strayed', it seemed Rhocielle was stuck with the (second most*) cruel and unpredictable lycan of them all. One that wouldn't damn well shed his stubbornness to stop the fight until the ranger got the point. Leo dodged back from most of the warding snaps but continued to try to bully Rhocielle into actually backing up, no compassion for the fact that hind leg was bleeding. Red dripped from his whiskers, ignored, those uneven eyes pinpointed upon a more stable and balanced stare, lynx tipped ears still flat to his skull. That sudden, grizzly swipe of strong paws on his jaw caused a sharp sound between a yelp and a snarl to erupt, followed by a thunder of growls; lightning gashes torn amidst coarse fur, staining dark in places along shoulders and chest. Despite taking the brunt of these wolfish punches, an immediate threat to overpower would be attempted, when the tan marked beast boldly used his jaws instead of paws to counter. His bite was aimed at Rho's thick throat fur in a place dangerously close to where a fatal mark could land, but purposefully targeted off that artery as a sole warning to back down and give up. If fended off in time by the black's muzzle, they would likely mark up each of the other’s ears, shoulders or face in the fray of fangs. Likely elevated to close range, brawn matched, feral technique, wrestling and biting and clawing, now.
Rhocielle was as stubborn as they came. He would not be bullied, even if he were physically capable of it at the moment. The injured leg would not allow him to retreat, for fear of suddenly stumbling into a dangerous position. Every inch Leoxander attempted to gain upon him would be paid for in blood. The black wolf, somewhat crippled still from the bite to his leg, would have reason to thank the injured limb later. Much as Leoxander had previously lost footing in snow, the weakening leg gave out abruptly beneath him amidst his two-legged paw boxing. Weight barely supported upon one good hind leg, his body lurched forward helplessly into the other's jaws when the other charged his way through the punches, sparing the black's throat in favor of a furred shoulder literally shoved into the other's mouth like a meal on a silver platter. With a pained yelp resounding in the arctic woods, the black opened his ravenous maws of razors as wide as they could. A tawny furred skull its target, he aimed for vulnerable eyes and ears while forelegs scrambled frantically to beat off the other. One leg extended to claw at his opponent's shoulder while the one likely being chomped on rose to lash out at furred chest and throat. What strength remained in his hind legs was used to push his body fiercely against the other to prevent being overpowered, while also try to keep his sacrificial shoulder in the other's mouth as long as possible. Locked together for the moment, technique and skill were quickly slipping away in favor of raw savagery in a storm of fangs, claws, and snarls.
Leoxander had a slight leverage in this fierce war, given the fact when he rose with Rhocielle, it was upon two strong and stable legs, rough paws digging hard into the terrain. This might look to be a battle that would never end - the black male would not be bullied and had been likely tested to his wits end with his tribulations as of late, and Leo, for some unknown reason, would not allow the only other male wolf of that spread and distant 'pack line' to hurt one kin, cub-weigh the other, only to simply, seemingly leave both to their own frustrations and uncertainties. Punishment issued a very primitive way; perhaps the fury in which the tawny lycan fought him would give Rho some ability to let go, know pain, take out rage, whatever was necessary to overcome mistakes and return to his now doubled responsibilities. Instinct aided the progress of the brawl, and although Rhocielle was forfeiting his shoulder forward to a wounding bite, sparing his softer throat, that pit-bull hold locked on, possibly helping Leo tangle and claw his foreleg over the limb of the others' easier. He was still intending, thrashing, struggling to topple his somewhat crippled opponent onto that dug up soil and snow, also managing to catch a sharp snick of canine fang dangerously near a closed eye in the process. Red stained quite thick into the muddy, meshed up color beneath the two as Leo's brow bled heavily over his open, snarling muzzle, heavily enough to more or less blind him - but at that point, he was already seeing red. Almost entirely lost in the dire need to defeat, held back only by that quiet plea he'd been given before the last moments of his hunt, still rolling around in the back of his mind even with his thoughts wild.
Rhocielle took advantage of the pit-bull vice the other hand on him. By proxy, he was using Leoxander's own legs to keep himself as balanced possible through the excruciating pain flowing up his shoulder to his conscious mind. It was deserved, he reminded himself and accepted it, thereby allowing him to function still in their primal battle. The forelimb of the injured shoulder was already losing ground to the other's, lacking free range of motion due to the gripping jaws, as well as injury itself to the limb weakening it further. He defiantly shoved against the tawny wolf still, careful amount of weight pressing down on Leoxander as both struggled against one another on hind legs. The tawny wolf would be met with the mere stubborn hobbling of one good leg with a wounded one merely used as a brace to prevent toppling easily. He could taste the other's blood through his attempts at landing a skull cracking bite or further increasing the bleeding of the blood vessel-rich cranium. The blind fighting the cripple is what their test of strength had come down to. The black wolf began to alternate lacerating biting attempts at both skull and shoulder of the tawny wolf, aiming to add a equalizing crippling wound to the a foreleg to add to Leoxander's increasing lack of visibility.
Leoxander felt his ear pierced a second and third time by canine teeth. He felt claws tearing through fur and skin and into muscle, but he was numb for reasons other than the cold. If the rogue -had- been born a canine, he'd likely have still ended up in the rings to brawl illegally, still - it seemed to be what the lycanthrope was born and fated to do, and do well, whatever his physical appearance. He knew what needed to be done to end this dispute, and the risk that would come along with the move, but snapping his jaws blindly for face and being bit repeatedly in the head was doing nothing for his outcome. Rhocielle's shove of weight was useless at first, two tired canine forms attempting to overpower the other and simply unable to do so. So he let go, he 'gave in', and let the black wolf's weight finally win out to lurch forward, practically over him, while he, on still decently strong and only fairly injured legs, would drop back, twist for grip and frankly... aim himself for a tackle at Rhocielle's ribs. An almost rogue-like maneuver twisted into feral form, where the contact of his solid, bleeding body could weaken the wind capacity of the black's lungs behind those bones, beside the additional tear of claws that would scratch into a blood soaked coat. In doing so, the back of Leo's neck and those porcupine quills of blond hackles were in range of the other's jaws, particularly with gravity bringing the cripple down while the blind pounced, but then, he'd have a vulnerable spot under the wolf's torso to snap at in return. It was exhausted, desperate fighting, by now. Natural wolves would never continually go at their aggression for solid minutes like this.
Rhocielle felt first his injured leg, then the whole one, lose complete contact with the snow, claws barely grazing tawny fur as the black flew overhead. Without the full use of four limbs to even attempt a somewhat safe landing, one side of his ribs crashed firmly into the ground hard enough to force some air out of his already strained lungs. The remaining was lost to the gruesome tackle that accompanied his fall. Jaws instinctively clamped down on the exposed neck as if Leoxander were a whelp needing to be carried, but muscles and tissues were much tougher than those found on the throat. Pain would be felt, but not as much as a vice on the throat would be. The black wolf huffed fiercely through his nostrils in vain attempts to draw in the necessary air to keep going, even through the hellish pain felt from a pinned injured leg and shoulder.. The smaller capacity of a pinned ribcage, however, would not all much other than simply preventing a full black-out. He released at the first snap at his torso, the risk of continued exchanged blows far too dangerous to continue, particularly for him. The black wolf panted with sheer exhaustion, the leathern paw of his remaining good forearm shoving at the other in a conceding gesture along with a reluctant whine of defeat. An visible sign of dropped ears would be lost on a blood blinded wolf, so he did not bother with such.
Leoxander only felt the clash of bodies, and somehow, he was barely left standing when the black's body hit the snow under his nearly collspsed weight. A rough thrash of his head came with a pained snarl as he was bit on that thick tuft of bristled fur but his own teeth held the tender 'armpit' area of the other wolf in a final, sharp bite that seemed to win over the threat. He felt Rhocielle's body relax into the snow to breathe, and panting just as hard, unable to see through the blood in his closed eyes, unable to smell through the clot of it in his nose, in his mouth, he would not know exactly where he was moving. But more importantly, he didn't pin down the other male and lecture him through any more snarls or snaps, or break him into humiliating submission. Not only because he was too badly injured to do so, but because Rhocielle got it. The point was made, without a word spoken. One step after the other, the blonde, brown, red wolf with visible, open gashes amidst his matted coat kept walking with his snow-damp, blood wet hackles still stiffened up into spikes, ears back but no longer pinned. Space was put between the two and the fight was over, and Rhocielle would live without another dose of shame to swallow down. So long as he kept breathing.
It was into that scene that the red wolf emerged. From the tree line she padded, into a red speckled and muddied arena of battle. A low, urgent whine came with her, and for a beat the female watched the sandy wolf’s solitary walk with expression unreadable only in part because she was wolf. The second beat saw her body turn toward the broken mass that was her mate, and another low whine was offered. Attention fixed on the male, the mahogany furred wolf crossed the distance to the black she had not seen since he had exited the shack and disappeared over the moonlit dunes. What would she give for words? Her muzzle lowered to his own..torn and bleeding, and a rough warm tongue escaped to drag across the vitae that was his flesh and blood. Broken. He was so broken. But he lived. Her dark head lifted to track the sandy wolf again. A request honored. And then, she was nuzzling into the fur and limbs of the black again, seeking the account of his injuries and nudging him into awareness of her presence if he had failed to note it.
Jolie broke from the trees at a run, no mind paid to Arien now and elf-wolf's own dash, once that whine sounded across the battleground and rang in pointed ears: --defeat. Green gaze locking hard on the brawling pair, she could not tell at first who it was that'd cried uncle, a fact more difficult to discern by the way she ran, going four-legged on an oddly-articulated, semi-human spine in a moment of blind forgetfulness that she had lost her canine form to something more akin to humanoid. Ice spiked her black mane with white where long hair descended into the shaggy fur on her back, and clawed hands and toes scrabbled in the slip of snow and ice, while she bolted for her mate. Rhocielle may as well have been a bloody, fur-bearing log for the way her gaze shifted over him, nothing personal, just she had room for one concern and it was all for Leoxander. She halted a few feet away, hovering, testing his mood, waiting for consent to crowd in and lick first at this wound, then that, and another - so many she hardly knew how to begin staunching the gouts of blood matting his fur but would attempt, if permitted, to at least clear his vision. She had no cloth to tear into strips, no gut-and-needle to sew his hide back together over visible meat but would do what she could to give the victor a wolf's kind of first aid.
Rhocielle remained still as the other stepped away, then painfully attempted rising as best he could. Trembling limbs momentarily failed him, the weight of battle now taking its toll on his weary frame. Black ears lifted to a whining sound he had not expected to hear, did not believe he was hearing. If this was but another of the illusionary trials, it would have ended up in his defeat, but it had not. He was still drawing in ragged breaths and before he knew it felt the comforting touch of a warm tongue brush over his muzzle. His ears drew down hard against his scalp. So many questions now filled him, but what could he actually say in return to her? He was in the middle of nowhere, bleeding in snow covered woods. A heavy and tired breath escaped his maws as he merely remained laid before Arien in silence, his muzzle at her paws.
Leoxander 's face was mangled. It seemed it was his shoulders, skull, nose, ears, and chest that had taken the major abuse of the fight, though he didn't have the limp Rhocielle would, in return. He stood there, tired paws squared off, head low and eyes covered in blood and swollen through scratches, seemingly unaware that his mate stood just a few paces away staring at him eagerly. Looking weather worn, battle torn, a survivor of something chaotic, the wolf shivered in place and refused to let his legs buckle, refused to collapse. Nostrils flared as they bled to breathe in a panted, labored rhythm and he couldn't find the strength to shake it off his wet coat. The rogue wolf kept his distance from the bloodied ground he'd left behind but could not manage another step, yet, looking none too keen about letting anyone, even Jolie come near. There was no emotion or sound or communication offered to let her know otherwise. More rabid looking than ever, in that state.
Arien continued her silent inspection, red furred ears falling back against her skull with each open wound discovered, with each leaking patch of torn flesh that still seeped his life out into the snow. She found the gash in fore shoulder, and tongue bathed the male again, before flared nostrils snuffled along the ridge of his spine to find the curve of hip adjoined to damaged leg. The female offered another low whine. Rho would not be able to walk..not without healing, and the dread freeze of the Frostmaw night was laying hold. He had bled, was exhausted and empty of reserves, and she somehow, had to help him survive the night. The elf wolf padded a half circle around him again, butting a cold nose against him now with some semblance of urgency. He could not stop for pause to rest, not here..and not in this form though she doubted he had the strength or will left to shift. Get up, wolf. It was there to read in her body language..as clear as the day that had long fled the tundra.
Jolie knew to be cautious, but those wounds... better she acquire a few of her own from the exhausted Alpha than let him suffer unhealing scars to that extent. So she sidled toward him, making sounds, low and guttural words spoken through a half-wolf throat and barely-there muzzle, interspersed with a soft whine, a plea for him to let her help. If he didn't charge her off with snapping fangs, she started on his face, warm tongue still long and red, lapping at the gore that tasted of two wolves, clearing the blood from his eyes.
Leoxander slightly snapped, maw too achy to actually open and clamp but a click of teeth toward her face when she first touched a wolfish, concerned kiss on his muzzle. Ears flattened hard and then flickered with a flare of leather nose, her scent caught amidst the red veil of bitter blood and fur and pain clouding his senses. That nip with a soft bark of warning near her ear would be enough to say he wasn't in a very good mood, still uncertain if the battle had accomplished anything more than a reason for Arien and Rhocielle to be husband and wife, but it was over, now. One eye simply refuse to open, the successful bite too close to the lid to manage for now, but eventually the other peeked out through a lick, just before he turned, to take a helpless, hopeless step in no particular direction. If they thought either wolf would manage a walk back to town, they clearly hadn't witnessed how long that duel had lasted, or realize the amount of blood in the snow. But one step at a time, one male was starting to ease away from the evidence, likely to find a bank or branch to collapse beneath.
Arien 's mind was back in the woods, at the edge of the tree line where her pack still lay. A pack with clothing that would allow her to assume the form in which she might best give aid here. But first, she needed to know her mate was secure in some form of shelter..and that abandoned lumber camp to the north would do just the trick. Leoxander's movement would draw her eye, and for the first time she saw the extent of his own hurt. Ears swiveled low, guilt, if it was possible for the wolf to feel such a thing, tearing at her insides. They were both so hurt.. She tried to see how it was not in some measure her fault, and she could not. The whine that tore its way out of her chest was for them both now. An apology of sorts.
Rhocielle closed his eyes briefly, a slow lowering of lids over silver as he struggled to stand. He had but two good limbs, and one that could still support weight. On three, he limped his way back to his belongings. Ironic that he was the only one actually prepared for a venture into this frigid hell. Muzzle slipped beneath his leather cape, now sporting a dusting of snow, either from that fallen from the sky or that scattered violently by wolves. Beneath the covered, a pained howl became an anguished yell. Fluid shift was no longer applicable when injuries were that great, gashes belonging to a wolf were stretched and exacerbated when they too grew to accommodate anthropomorphic limbs. A shivering paw like hand, coated in a mix of dry and fresh blood, rummaged through armor to find a pendant belonging to that of the Healer's Guild. A soft blue light arced around the phoenix symbol inscribed on the object, fiery tendrils of magic lacing through wild course fur. Releasing the arcane trinket, the gentle blue flames remained upon his paw and slowly it was laid to hover over his most grievous wounds. There was not enough energy stored in the phoenix symbol to undo the heavy damage suffered in the fight, but at least superficial flesh could be repaired, a thin layer of flesh beneath fur to prevent further bleeding. Clawed digits took hold of a fallen Lochaber ax, a look given to the red wolf. It was mixed expression that sought forgiveness and gave assurance he could still will himself back through the wilderness, at least back to the northern camp he had taken refuge in earlier. Leather cloak was adjusted upon furred shoulders and almost full weight braced against the staff of the weapon to aid in his limping as if a crutch.
Jolie endured with a rogue-wife's patience the pinch of teeth he offered, and flanked her mate's shoulder, now and then stooping from a half-crouching stance to continue her canine ministrations to his wounds when he did not turn his head from her, pacing his slow, stubborn steps toward a clump of young trees grown up around a mighty and grizzled elder, hopefully deep of root and gnarled, where a wooden hollow among them might offer the pair shelter from the brutality of Frostmaw's eternal winter. But they were not there yet; every step must be an outward agony for the tawny brute, as it was an inner one for the black demi-creature who walked beside him, now and then nudging Leo, persuading him toward that ancient tree.
Leoxander had his head low for a pant, and his nose end dripped a trail of red with the open gashes in his fur as he continued, forcing himself step after step without thought for how much further he had to go. Eventually the ground melted into soil beneath his paws and sinking into a belly-crawl crouch, the bloody wolf would be seen trying to crawl out of sight, out of mind, into that hollow of tree to mend the old fashion way. Lycan regeneration would assure his blood loss stopped before his consciousness was, but otherwise, he'd need rest in a reclusive den away from threat to survive that night.
Arien’s gold rimmed eyes had returned to the black wolf at the first indication that he would actually attempt to rise, and another soft whine would be the only audible indication that would be given of the relief felt to see that he was capable of movement. His gear had gone unnoticed in the concerns of the moment, but the instant she saw the direction in which he was headed, she realized that her own healing gift would not be needed..not by her husband anyway, a healer in his own right one he had access to the tools of his trade. His own shift would be mirrored by his mate, as fluid and painless as his was a torture, and it would be a two legged she wolf who approached him with hesitant, digigrade steps, and a mind more full of questions than answers. What now? It was not the time or place. “You need to rest Rho..” It was the husky, wolfen tones that escaped around lupine muzzle and from wolfen tongue. “There is a camp..to the north..” A graceful mahogany skull arced to follow the wolfen pair as they went to ground. “Will he be all right?” Arien still didn’t quite understand the power of regeneration. Leo had looked like a dead wolf walking.
Rhocielle said simply, "Yes…" The first word he had actually spoken to her, it was an answer to both of her comments and question. He had no thought, or even the care to actually wonder how long natural recovering of those injuries would take for Leoxander, but he knew well enough that they were non-fatal. So long as the pair made their way out of the cold elements of Frostmaw, the rogue would be well enough in time. He drew a trail of alternating dragging foot and normal steps as he made his way north and through the trees. He stopped after a few, looking back to Arien with low and concerned silver eyes asking if she would follow or return, now that she had found him, if she had been searching for him in the first place. Part of him worried that she had only come as an audience for when the tawny wolf found him.
Arien would answer his unspoken question by falling into step beside him. Words would come later, but for now, Leoxander might take come comfort in seeing the silhouettes of the wolfen pair disappear into the tree line and press deeper into the woods. Together.