Yros

“Help!” A wretched song, a bleating cry that wailed above the driving tide of the storm.

The desperation sang beneath the swell of brontide and smattering of rain. A child—if but a single gyre old—fled from beneath the villain’s clenches. Once, she lay straddled beneath the cruel hound that sought to ravage the flesh and scribe violence across flesh.

But revealing yourself, the whelp was forgotten.

In a moment, those sinister Oseth eyes locked onto you. A horned beast, whose antlers shook beneath the flash of lightning and another resounding clatter of thunder, advanced towards you. His sinister grin splitting the length of an inky jawline, those rows of teeth hungrily revealed in an invitation for rough play.

{Care to dance?} Sang the lanky stranger, ropey limbs spread beneath—no longer paying heed to his original victim, giving not a glance as the youth scrambled off into the shadows. Leaving only you, you and the Exile.

So, stranger—do you dare?

Do you dare dance with the devil on this dark and stormy night?

{Well?}This is a SPAR episode to aide in your character’s development, and to test the functions of our site. In this thread, a maximum of 2 characters may take part. No posting order needs to be observed, and when appropriate a response will be posted to provide further guidance.

i like high chances that i might lose,a summer storm fell upon the steppe with as much rage, as much pent up despair and anger and hurt, pyr could almost sympathize. the rain is cold despite the season and he's almost tempted to dip into the thauma curling lazily throughout his veins. a bit of warmth for a ringing headache didn't seem like a fair trade so he would stay cold; cold and dripping. his teeth rattle when thunder threatens overhead, the rain falling faster, harder. Pyr had thought to turn this into an hour of peace, away from the court, but a storm this bad wasn't worth it. mud sucks at his toes as he turns toward the dell, back to stone walls and crowded halls. it was shit, but at least it was dry.

and then a cry.
help!

his head whips around, searching the driving rain for a sign of the child that had cried out. at first, there's nothing--nothing but wind and rain and thunder--and pyr starts to tell himself it was the creak of old branches in the storm, nothing more. or perhaps it was a ghost, reliving those last terrifying moments before the meteor struck. a flash of lightning reveals a child pinned by an older man. pyr's skin tingles as the soaked hairs begin to spike, an anger that feels like righteousness burns in his chest. "get off her," is all he manages before the girl takes the opportunity to run and her attacker's eyes are on him. a smarter man would be diplomatic, talk the man down from a fight, but pyr had never been smart and he spoke the language of bloody knuckle better than his mother tongue. the mud is slick enough to cause difficult footing, but he braces himself for what is to come. his head lowers, nearly in line with his spine, just enough to give coverage for his throat. "you first." it's little more than a grunt , his breath hot from the thauma boiling in his veins, itching for use.

what's up danger

{"let us make this a little unfair, shall we?"} says the nobleman, emerging from shade nearby. he had seen the young wolf off, satisfied with her exit as the perpetrator stares down the fury of the forsaken dawn court heir. interesting. not a bad ally to have. casting a brief glance to pyr, he offers a conspiring grin and lowers his head. it's been a while since last he fought; with any luck, the son of the wayward dawn may shoulder the brunt of the battle without realizing it.

{"pitiful man,"} he chides before chuckling. {"unable to dance with his peers and left to prey on those weaker than him. may the gods show you mercy... as my friend and i will surely not."} his yellow-gold dorsal stripe pulses, spilling down his back like blood from a wound. laurien's eyes narrow soon thereafter, and following the rapid ascension of his heartbeat, he focuses solely on their adversary. pyr has called on him to be the first to move. laurien will not object. however, as the lachox's thauma flows forward in an attempt to sink into the body of their opponent, it remains to be seen if this wolf's muscles will oblige. they are mostly water, and laurien intends to try to cause them to seize momentarily to hinder or stop any sudden movement.

get off her, a voice snarls and he pauses long enough that the girl skitters away into the darkness. his eyes narrow against the driving rain and his ears flick back against his skull as he slowly turns to regard the dawn court princeling. the mud squelches between his toes as he turns himself to face the other boy as he generously offers: you first.

cocky and sure of himself, the oseth slithers a tongue across his lips, jaw tilting. but just as he's about to deliver quite the BBEG speech to Pyr, another approaches: Laurien.

the first flicker of uncertainty dances through his eyes but he doesn't balk. instead he doubles down, his head slung low and his mohawk flared out against the downfall. he lunges forward, fully intent on charging the court bastards but his haunches stutter even as he tries to move. his muscles clench and twitch, pain coursing through him, before he forces himself to use the adrenaline thumping through his body to continue onwards. it's left his approach awkward and halting and hardly able to be called a lunge.

but even so, his jaws open and he slings his open fangs at the left side of Pyr's face, fully hoping to snag the skin and tear bits of it and fur away from his dark expression.

spar stats
3 gyres, male, oseth exile, 100HP

Exile vs. Pyr & Laurien
for dominance
HP threshold: 60 HP ( first to 60 or less HP loses )
100/100 HP
HIT: [roll=hit3]

to reply, add your character's hit and dodge rolls using

Code:
[roll=hitAGEGROUP] or [roll=dodgeAGEGROUP]

depending on if you are attacking or dodging!
Your characters' stats are reflect by age as on this page.
Laurien would use hit3 & dodge3 for their rolls
Pyr would use hit3 and dodge3 for their rolls!

i like high chances that i might lose, he's tense, watching the oseth for a stutter in breath, a shift in their weight, any hint that the onslaught might be near. beneath that burning rage, beneath the boil of magic fires embedded in his veins, an excitement starts to stir. it's been too long since his last fight. too long since his muscle sang with the burn of battle-won bruises. his lips curl back in a ready snarl, revealing the two pairs of canines wanting tear, to destroy. another body settles nearby as a charming voice winds through the rain. he's not alone. an ear swivels to focus on Laurien, listening intently to the man's offer of teaming up, and to keep note of where his allies are in this storm.

there's a retort on his tongue--it tastes like salt and metal--but it stays hidden behind bared teeth. instead he offers a spare grunt to let the courtier know he's welcome to join this fight, at the very least it would make it end faster.

the exile lunges, head slung low, and pyr waits. the lessons with his father are muscle memory now: wait for the target to get close, to be too slow to counter, and strike.

and remember, above all else, we do not yield.

as the oseth draws close, pyr launches into his opponent's attack, letting the exile's teeth find purhase and rip through the skin. It's painful and causes stars to dance before his eyes, but this he can bear if it meant a chance for leverage. pyr aims for the top of the exile's neck, just behind the skull, and attempts to bite down, turning his head slight away to guard his neck.

pyr & laurien vs exile
3 gyres, oseth, 100HP
for dominance

[roll=hit3]

what's up danger

Divine Will

Pyr

Laurien

Divine Will

Pyr