This was life now. An escaped mutt, running with his collar still attached, but no hand to hold the leash. One paw after another was the most he could focus on. The barren expanse of the passage was unyielding even as winter slowly slipped away into the early days of spring. The bitterness was even worse at night, but the mongrel desired the least amount of attention as he came upon the muddling of scents in the area. There was no denying the vast population of felines that must live beyond this sandbar. What sort of place was he about to stumble into?
Nostrils flared as the dog stalked through the night. Dirty paws carried a steady pace; slightly slow, but each movement made with purpose. He remained on high alert to his surroundings. Folded ears pricked just enough to be useful without being seen beneath the crown of russet. It was instinctive by now, not to show them. Not to add fuel to the fire of outward opinions. Just get inside to these lands that seemed to call to the wayward soldier. Find a new home. Serve a new purpose. Or maybe he'd just fall into the same old routine. The future was written in sand, not stone.
No fights in progress
No fights in progress
No fights in progress
The sound of approaching footsteps caused the Savante beast to turn his attention from the heavens to the creature arriving nearby, seeming intent on a destination. Or perhaps he was lost? Ears perk up a bit, his massive form lumbering closer to close the distance between them as he arrived fully on the scene. "Good evening, I am Alexander. What have you come to these lands for?" A rather direct question, but the beast had never been one to beat around the bush. Gaze settles and focuses on @Dog now, taking in his form fully.
So much for not gaining any attention. Before the dog could do anything to avoid the elaborately colored lion, @Alexander was already questioning his intentions. The mongrel came to a slow halt, his dual-colored gaze taking in the large sight of the stranger. And he thought he was a big lion? This guy took first place, but size was not everything. Only after this studious once over would the mutt consider the red man's words. What did he come here for? What kind of a question was that? A brow rows, already feeling irritated by the question. "What does anyone come to these lands for?" There is a certain disgruntled edge to his question, spoken through a gruff and gravely voice. Was there a point to this question? Was this the normal customs of entering whatever fantasy land must lay ahead?
"Do you have a name perhaps, or are you keen on being a mysterious stranger?" There is a teasing tone to his voice, the throaty baritone wrapping around every syllable. Toes curl into the earth, talons slicing through the cracked crevices of the passage. He wondered if Ryker might appreciate this male, but more importantly - he wondered if perhaps he could. Ears flick forward, curious about what might leave those dark lips next.
Fidgeting mildly while standing in place, the dog rolled his shoulders idly as the stranger spoke. Though he held an opinion of his own whether this particular was actually beneficial to ask a stranger, @Alexander did not prose the words in another query. The neutral coating to the red lion's thoughts beckoned no further response from the rogue as the mutt simply stood silently. His expression did all the talking for him. Analytical gaze continued to size up the stranger, baffled and yet intrigued by the noble's outrageous coloring. None were so brightly painted where the hound came from, after all.
Ah, but another request would be made for information, this time for the beast's name. Had it not been for the teasing tone of his opponent, the plum rogue might have had a sharper tongue, but somehow the jest flustered the beast, even if just for a fraction of a second. This man was strange, more frivolous with his words and his mannerisms than the dog was accustomed to. Such a quick opinion to be made in such a short amount of time, but perhaps that was just how different his world had been up until now. Raising his crown from his previously skulking posture, the mongrel's jaw set firmly as if to carefully choose his next words. "Depends. Is a name required to pass?" The dog could not help the slight wrinkling of his snout as he spoke. It was not a threat, though. He could easily make up any number of names if only to appease the stranger, but first he'd like to know what was truly required of him. Surely this lion wasn't the sole protector of the lands?
He glanced over the scene as he approached. One dark, large male @Dog, holding himself firm and reserved. A much larger male @Alexander from the Oasis, with a conversant and jesting tone. Oasis was an ally. Vermier liked allies. Liked comraderie with them, liked supporting them, liked finding troublemakers with them and eating them to a pulp. He grinned and sidled up alongside with an amiable chuff to the Oasis male. He didn't know either of them but he didn't need to. "Give name!" he ordered when he looked back at the rogue, his tone snappish and impatient. Not yet loud or threatening, but it certainly could be.
He hoped so. Just give him a reason. The Bluffs had given him so few, but now he was king and could make up his own.
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Tonight, his curious wanderings have brought the young Starke to a place he has never properly set foot in, though he certainly knows of it. As a prince, how could he not? He knows too, the reasons why Vater and so many other pride lions visit the passage, though he doubts that there would be much of anything (anyone) to find at this hour. But the sound of masculine voices drifting on the breeze proves him wrong.
He approaches on light pawsteps, ears perked forward with interest as the words grew more distinct, verdant eyes blinking at the trio of males standing beneath the cold starlight. All considerably older and larger than him, though Hubert fights against letting that give him more than a moment's pause. Ecrosia should have a bid on all newcomers, should they not? And since he's the only Starke here, he might as well slide in.
If you don't share a name, I suppose we'd have to make one up for you.Unless @Dog wanted to be subjected to an eternity of 'Hey, you's.' And if nicknaming was to be left in Hubert's paws...well, he rather thinks that 'Scruffy' would be fitting enough name for the dark, scarred man with the stony face. He looked a bit worn around the edges, after all.
Want to trade?He suggests with a crooked smile, the picture of a friendly youngster who certainly didn't want something from the stranger, oh no not at all. No more suspicious than the brightly colored @Alexander or the more aggressive @Vermier, at least.
My name's Hubert Starke, prince of Ecrosia Mire.Impressive title, no? He contemplates the rogue's scarred pelt for another beat, smile widening.
Ecrosia is very welcoming to lions like you, you know. You should come back with me.He adds, bluntly. He imagines Vater would be pleased to have another capable warrior (he assumes) in their ranks.
Unfortunately, the beast did not speak much of anything about himself or where he came from. Ears flicks as he speaks, the rough order spilling from his mouth holding a foreign hint to it.
A young boy, @Hubert arrives next, a single brow arching inquisitively as he spoke of giving the unnamed male a name. How interesting that would be, perhaps @Dog would prefer it. The yearling held that familiar stench that he was coming to know well and he knew, before he spoke it, that he was from the Mire.
Ears press back, listening to his sales pitch. What exactly did he mean by lions like him? Had the youngster been able to access the beast by merely looking at him? Who knew what laid beneath that rough exterior - that aloof personality.
Slowly does his head turn back to the rogue, his pale gaze offering him a look of curiosity. "What generous offers and...commands." He muses lowly, a smirk curving dark lips. Shoulders roll back as he sighs and settles down to sit, realizing this might take a moment and he was in no rush to tire out his legs.
The tip of his tail flicks lightly, idly wondering what or if he should say anymore for now. Surely the beast would appreciate a moment to digest the multitude of options he had - even though Alexander himself hadn't outright offered anything - yet.
ooc: major apologies for the delay! life happened...
The approach of another drew the dog's gaze away from the brightly colored Oasis lion for a mere moment. Dual-toned eyes were the only thing to move, tracing @Vermier's dark appearance in the shadows of the night before he came up alongside @Alexander. Not as large as the piebald fellow, and with a different scent about him. The hound was old enough to realize that these might be pride scents from the lands that lay beyond the sandbar. Banners to bolster themselves beneath. Perhaps, though, there was a much simpler explanation, that of simply smelling like one's home wherever that may be. The Fröhlich male held nothing in particular himself, having traveled for so long lately. He was just a muddled mess of dirt and dust.
Give name, the newcomer barked, lacking any and all frivolous tones that the previous man had offered. Had the mongrel not already been agitated by this blockade in the first place, he might have held his temper. Luckily for Vermier, though, the dog had already been baited. Without a second thought, the plum lion sprang forward with a snarl, seeking to close up whatever meager distance lay between them. Jaws parted as the dog's head tilted to his own left, attempting to bite at the right side of his opponent's neck. Meanwhile, the rogue's right front paw would lift with claws exposed, seeking to thrash it down upon anything along the Dieudonne's left side. Specific targets were not important in the hound's mind. He need only show that he was not someone to be barked at. For that matter, though, anyone else was given no further attention, not even caring if he might bump into Alexander in the process of all this mess. Nor did the beast pay any mind to the youngster, @Hubert.
for Dominance
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Dodges:
Luck:
Typically rogues were not dangerous unless claimed, and he only claimed females. The stronger and more cunning sex anyway. Vermier was alert and raring for a fight, but he was alert toward the wrong target - first the Oasis male, who did not take him up on his implied offer to tagteam bully the rogue, and then a yearling from the Mire. Amara's allies. That one had a carefree pattern of speech that Vermier took to be a product of youth rather than true, destined arrogance. True and fine and pure arrogance was well aged and well scarred and... would not be unsettled simply because it had been taken unaware.
Vermier's gaze whipped back, eyes narrowing upon the instinctual lunge of the Dog. This one had little artifice and much instinct. Perhaps a predictable trigger. The rogue's attacks were not tricksy, but they were intense. Vermier's frame lowered as jaws neared the right side of his neck and stinky rogue fangs buried within the upper portion of his mane, near the bony jaunt of his shoulder blades. Not a deep or firm grip, missing the furrowed surfaces of his scruff, but it was a hold and blood ran to stain the russet mane from punctures of pain. His own skull, lowered and suddenly slavering, attempted to hook fangs into the upper right portion of the chest. Claws from Dog's working right arm slipped down Vermier's ribs on his left side, following the inlets of bone and leaving little streams of red.
Dominance
1/3
Hits:
Dodges:
Luck:
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