Veni, Vidi, Vici...

[Dirge]

A mournful howl filled the night and nocturnal beasts froze, twitching noses in the air. They were prey, and prey feared the predator. A full moon lit the night sky, unfamiliar stars winking down from above. Dirge's head dropped back down, azure eyes glinting in the dark. It was a wonderful night to hunt, he thought as searched the air and set off towards the scent of rabbit. The black wolf hunted far and wide, attempting to cleanse his mind of home with the simple task.

The sun broke the horizon and the male's eye lifted towards dawn's light from where he lay at the base of a tree, mangled rabbit's corpse lying at his feet. Dirge contemplated returning home. He had not meant to be out so late, but when he thought about it, he really had no where to go. Dirge had no home.

The arctic wolf surveyed the woods around him. Dirge was pleased with what he saw. The trees reminded him of home, before the island. He could stay here. Yes, that seemed a good idea.

Muscles rippled underneath his black coat as Dirge rose. He paced a bit, sniffing around. From what the arctic wolf could tell, the land was unclaimed. And so he found a tree he liked, raised one leg, and marked it.

Dirge took a few paces back to view his work. Not bad, he thought, and the black wolf raised his head and howled. This howl was less full of lament, and more victorious. "I came. I saw. I conquered." the wolf added thoughtfully, taking in the forest, letting his eyes be drawn up the small mountain peak nearby. Not too far away, his keen ears heard the trickling of a stream. Good game, fresh water, and the soft layer of leaves covering the ground... This was all his now, and Dirge would fight for it.

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[»ELYSIUM«]

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A lust for power amongst the canines who initially sought refuge from a power-starved brute – yes, that desire had fueled him since the moment he had happened upon the lonesome little island, and however dark a deed he might have to perform in order to obtain such a command, the supercilious bastard was more than willing to finally work at achieving what he believed he deserved. There was no more sticking to the shadows and picking fun at those he encountered, no more time to work at his miniscule plots; this time, he was going big and would not step aside at the slightest of obstacles. This was his, and he would make it his.


If he could not overthrow his former alpha that he had vigorously trained to defeat over the course of his first years, he would be forced with no other choice than to spawn his own pack from nothing but his own ideals and desires. Thus, he had spent countless nights when insomnia plagued him crafting ideas for his militia as well as determining what, exactly, would unite the canines of the island happily under his rule, and when he had thought he had had it, he continued to form ideas to perfect it. This was no area for uncertainty – this was a matter of achieving his destiny or submitting to a life of failure; that was one thing he would not allow.


But one frigid night when ominous clouds were barren from the sky and a full moon illuminated the island dwelling beneath it, Oberon had fled the premises of his temporary home in search of the perfect patch to house his future band of hellions – the plan was now in motion. Nexus was born and ready to live through him, though what lacked was its base. He had not a clue what his ideal home appeared like, but hoped that his first travel across the island would find him the perfect piece of land to conquer. Blindly, he pressed on through the night, his nose sweeping the multitudes of terrain though nothing quite sparking his interest.


A baritone howl breached his ears and alerted him to a presence not too far off, a smirk claiming his countenance as devious thoughts manipulated his mind, directing his course now from where the sound had emanated from. The howl was not mournful nor one that begged for another – it was one that spoke of authority – a sound that was hardly music to his ears and quickened his pace noticeably. The mere thought of competitors fighting for the same thing he desired raised a red flag within his mind; they needed to be eliminated before things got out of hand, and Oberon was more than prepared to destroy this opponent’s dream of ruling before it would even begin.

His pace grew sluggish as he approached where the fiend had been residing, its masculine aroma flooding his nostrils and causing an expression of pure disgust to fall upon his scarred visage. Males, though the epitome of strength in Oberon’s mind, were far more complex than females and would not be persuaded with his own silver tongue – no – this aspiring omnipotent would need to be stopped using brute force and nothing else. With that thought, his skull elevated so as to protect his vitals and his tail swept parallel to his spinal column to display his signature warrior’s stance, making the challenge evident with only his body language despite the fact that he could neither see or be seen by his opponent.


“Well, well,” he started softly as the smaller male entered his line of vision, his tone sickeningly polite in contrast to the arrogant smirk drawn upon his countenance. “You came, you saw, but no, you have not conquered.” He halted in his saunter then, a cacophony of laughter spilling from jaws splayed wide open as he examined the male with careful eyes, making sure not to miss a detail on his physique. Once the brief observation concluded, his chortling subsided: “But I, I have come with the intent of taking your claim from beneath you and without mercy, good sport.”

692 words



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this fight will end when either dirge or oberon submits, or, if too proud to submit, is killed. if oberon wins, his terms will be dirge's life-long servitude to nexus. if dirge wins, his terms will be to allow oberon to slink off with a beating or will rape him. if ocenanus approves these terms, then the fight may begin.

[Ocena]

Ocenanus approves of these terms! they seem reasonable enough. Good luck to both of you! c:

[Dirge]

Catching a whiff of scent, ears perking up at the sound of movement over yonder, the black wolf, Dirge, pivoted and eyed the other male both warily and wearily. It would appear that he was going to have to fight for his land. This was not unexpected. No matter, fighting was what he was good at, it was his passion. Not to mention it should be good for him, to let loose a little bit of the frustration he still felt at having been forced from him homeland by that cowardly bastard, Brutus.

"Every new ruler must contend with the dregs of state, who rise like carrion eaters to test their meager courage against him. You are conquered, you just haven't realized it yet." Was all Dirge said in response as he shook himself out, stretching some, all the while keeping an eye on this newcomer.

The arctic wolf appraised the male before him. Dirge was at a slight size disadvantage, but that could actually work in his favor. His coat was thick and coarse, for surviving in sub zero temperatures in the coldest climate on the planet, it's weakest area was his belly, and that was inaccessible to a larger wolf such as this one. Challenger's own coat seemed thin and barely present. No doubt Dirge would have little trouble tearing through it.

Dirge grinned wolfishly. He liked his odds here. The arctic wolf had eaten and rested, he was at his top, but he could not say the same for Challenger. Staring the other male in the eye, Dirge spoke confidently and condescendingly "You may still back down, pup. I would spare your life, if not your pride." His lazy nature dictated he exhaust all options to avoid a fight before actually risking himself.

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[»ELYSIUM«]

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His promenade oozed utter confidence as he maneuvered closer to his opponent, closing the gap between the two of them with a few lengthened strides as the sable-coated male’s judgmental gaze swept over his own musculature, noticeably searching for the flaws in his physique. If he had found any, he did not voice his opinions aloud and the air around them remained silent for a moment more as the tension rose. This male was without a submissive stance, and, upon hearing Oberon’s challenge, it did not change much; a battle was in their midst and Oberon would be damned to turn down the opportunity to display what he had learned in combat to one that refused to recognize his aura of utmost power. This male – whoever he was – was about to receive every ounce of strategic battle maneuvers that Oberon had picked up in his early years of Spartan-esque training.


The vocals of the stranger shattered the silence that had grown about them, the words strange and almost detached. What the male was conjuring out of words, Oberon knew not. A single brow quirked upon his forehead to portray his curiosity with the words, the corner of his lips following suit as he yet again adopted that Cheshire grin that he was rarely found without. “Interesting theory,” he spoke, his words dripping evident sarcasm as the heightened brow fell back to its natural elevation and his ears slicked back against his crown in preparation for the battle that he proposed was soon to occur. But the male disappointed him and merely stretched out, neither launching towards him nor making any initiative to begin the brawl – his eyes still freely traveled Oberon’s frame. Impatiently, a glare glazed over the pair of seemingly glowing turquoise eyes upon his countenance as his pupils remained fixated upon the smaller male’s traveling pupils, waiting and watching. At last, when the examination reached its conclusion, the male brought his gaze to meet Oberon’s own, further words spewing from jaws sent agape.


A snort flared leathered nostrils as he digested the male’s taunt, lowering his skull in the beginnings of a crouch as his digits flexed beneath his gargantuan set of paws. “Oh, no – oh, no!” he shrieked in feigned surprise, shock claiming his visage as he continued. “What have I got myself in to? Silly me, please spare my life, O mighty one!”


With that, his forepaws left the sanctuary of the dirt-compacted ground beneath him as he lunged in the direction of the male, skull still lowered to protect the front of his neck and forelimbs outstretched before his broadened chest. With the gap between the duo fairly close and hardly leaving any room for a quick getaway, Oberon’s strategy was to keep this male at a close distance throughout the duration of their battle since close-combat was his strong point and agility was not, unlike what he proposed the lighter-set male’s strengths were. His jaws were splayed wide open with rows of dagger-esque teeth at the ready and aimed to clasp at the lower jaw of his opponent whilst his body weight would hopefully work its magic and send his opponent sailing backwards into the dirt upon impact. Yes, if his attack prevailed, the teeth lining the lower jaw of his opponent would puncture the roof of his own mouth, but Oberon was prepared for the pain that would accompany it. He lusted for his opponent’s pain as well as his own, for, without pain, there would be nothing to fuel either of them in the battle.

593 words

[Dirge]

The arctic wolf could have yawned through Challenger's sarcasm, but he didn't feel it worth the effort. Instead, Dirge patiently waited for the other male to make his move, confident he could deliver sufficient riposte as to make him regret this course of action.

Finally, Challenger seemed to grow bored of standing around chatting and lunged at Dirge. The arctic wolf was tempted to stand his ground and merely crush the opposition with brute strength, but in a fight where his enemy possibly outweighed him by twenty pounds, that would not be the wise decision.

Dirge had been waiting patiently, muscles coiled, heart pumping adrenaline through his toughly muscled form, prepared. There was not much more to do than lunge, but by doing so the slower male had put himself at a disadvantage of sorts.

Since his earliest days, the arctic wolf had been involved in deep struggle. With the elements, with other wolves for food, and with toughened prey that was likewise used to a hard life. If Dirge could run down a snow rabbit in the middle of a blizzard, he was fairly confident that he could handle some clumsy southerner.

Quickly, Dirge stepped to the side and forward, slashing with his fangs out to his side. After placing his attack, the black wolf retreated a few paces, taking the conservative approach to this duel, azure orbs watching Challenger closely.

If things went as planned, Challenger's momentum would be too great to reverse in time and the male would end up stumbling through the spot Dirge once was, with a brand new gash in his side. Or he could awkwardly attempt to nip at Dirge as he went, possibly succeeding in a pivot of sorts.

And if things did not proceed according to plan... Well, then Dirge was prepared for further retreat. He had no intention of creating an opening for Challenger. The arctic wolf had the unbridled fury of the north under sharp lock and key. Challenger faced the cold, calculating mind of one who would run day rule this territory with an iron... Paw.