RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES // rescue

[Vathmos]

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VATHMOS

INFORMATION ROLEPLAYER MISC.

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Vathmos was going to fight beside Wormwood until some other animal she didn't recognize- a tiger, came into the fray. There was too much chaos around her to start asking any questions, and felt her blood begin to boil.
-"bottomfeeder."
Vathmos turned around, beginning her Bloodrage as a free action, her body cackling and arcing with electricity off her fur, her own blood leaking from her mouth. Sparks ticked off her teeth as she empowered her attacks with electricity. She didn't know what her foe was, but she intended to win.
A high pitch scream came from her, turning into her customary laughing and whooping. Vathmos took the hit- but it seemed to not bother her, as it chinked off her thick skull. Vathmos lunged forward, aiming to bite down on the hellhound's leg with electrified teeth, which would deal extra damage if the bite connected.

[member=5081]Crackers[/member]

━ [b]MY SKIN IS A STORY┆LONELY. CLINGY. HATEFUL. ━

[beatae]

i'm the treasure

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code by spacexual

it was not the brightest idea to auggie, participating in whatever clusterfuck was going on above. part of him didn't want to believe it or possibly get his hopes up, but part of him could also not ignore the danger ahead. was it true, the rumors? the hushed whispers between slaves had kept their heads from falling for weeks, now. slaveowners had tried aggressively to shoot them down. nip it at the bud. but they were all hopeful, too hopeful, to let it die so quickly.

instead it became a secret understanding. one day, they would be saved. the enemies to the pitt had outnumbered them, and it would soon enough bite them where it hurt. the terrier had begun to fizzle out slowly as he began to see so many being captured or killed. hot blistering days pass with no word of anything else. when sam had been captured he had felt guilty for just standing there, but knew there was nothing he could do. help? and if they fail, face the consequences?

beck's had happened so fast that the terrier was still unsure of what had entirely happened. one moment there was dark, the next jervis was dragging a cat toward the caves.

the caves was where he had remained for the most part, away from jervis and the others. occasionally he would sneak food where he could, sometimes missing meals himself. when hearing the screeching calls and roars outside, august kept himself close to the caves. it wasn't until he noticed a voice calling out that he began to creep away from the walls, head turning to sam as she answered them.

"leroy.. is that your friend? do you want me to find him?" august glanced to beck before back to sam. "i'll go get him for you..."

you could die if you get caught.

the sudden thought made him hesitant, but he pushed forward instead.

"hello? someone named leroy up there? where are you?" depending on the location he could probably guide leroy to the entrance of the caves from the temple.

i'm the prize

[Jervis]

[glow=#2b0505,2,300]ENTITLED BASTARD[/glow]

The whir of the wind flew through his ears as Jervis ducked below Wormwood's large wings. Not long after, daggers sunk into the burnt side of his face and an unexpected pair of jaws sink into his back left leg. A howl left him. His golden eye whipped over to see Draekon, one of their newer members, attached to his leg. Furious, the ardent let out a seething screech. "TRAITOR!" Practically foaming from the mouth, he continued on with the battle.

Whether or not Fourthwall had saved him from Draekon's agonizing bite, the vulpine would break free of their grip with a great struggle. Blood poured down their leg. Greatly disadvantaged due to his, he was unable to run off or go for a sudden quick attack like he usually would. Instead he remained close. Using his front claws, he'd attempt to rake them down upon the tiger's neck. If that hit, he would also attempt to launch himself on the tiger's back the best he could (seeing that his back leg was damaged) and proceed to rip at whatever skin he could.

In the meantime, he was unaware of Leroy's rescue mission. Someone had to eventually notice though.

DISOWNED [glow=#2b0505,2,300]tags - penned by orion[/glow] DISGRACE

[beck.]

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    He never did mind the darkness that always seemed to engulf him each time he finally adjusted to the warmth of the sun. He might have admitted he preferred the obscuring shroud underneath different circumstances. The gloom of the jungle caverns would never be the same as the tenebrous nights in the forest he loved, with the moonless stars as the only light betraying his presence. Yet this darkness prevented him from examining the grievous wounds delivered by his torture; from cleaning them despite the agony that followed even the slightest movement. The best he could manage was to blindly tuck his entrails back inside their torn cavity and curl in on himself, shivering in pain. There Beck remained, bled out twice over on the grimy floor of the emprisoning caves with his wrists still shackled to a weight.

    But if he was what kept Sam from breaking beneath the strain of this hell on earth, then he was happy. With his windpipe crushed and vocals severed from Jervis' jaws, he couldn't provide her with the comfort of conversation. In fact, he could barely breathe, much less cough forth the water effectively trapped inside his lungs. The boy could only sputter and gasp and gurgle on his own diluted blood. With his underbelly slashed open like a frog on a school desk, it took every ounce of energy he had left in him to remain present. How could he protect Sam if he slipped back behind the veil? There was another figure, but nearsighted vision combined with a gouged socket didn't allow for an identifying glimpse. With each passing day, suffocating hopelessness chipped away at Beck's resolve. Maybe they wouldn't be rescued. Maybe they would only retrieve Sam to teach him a lesson. Or maybe they had forgotten about him already. That was okay with him, he supposed. It's your fault. You deserve this.

    Leroy's distant call silenced his doubts. The wounded cat struggled to prop himself up, exposed ribs heaving with the effort. A whisper of a sound escaped his parted lips, yet only the first syllable of the wolfhound's name could be wheezed. Beck slumped, old blood still trickling down his chin, yet his lambent eyes remained fixated on the shadowed direction he awaited the proxy's figure to emerge from. When Sam pressed against his tattered side, the poltergeist returned the gesture as best he could, the blood-slick chains attached to his cuffs faintly clinking between the exchange of hushed voices.

[RED]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Leroy’s moving, which means the plan is in motion. For a brief moment, Red stands his ground, a distraction to attract the nearest fighter and let the proxy cover more ground, unnoticed. If all went well, Leroy would slip into the camp in the midst of chaos, and return Beck and Sam to their medic’s care. At least, that was what they had all hoped. He’d tear apart the nearest slaver that so much as glanced in Leroy’s direction, if only to ensure that their hostages were saved.

He thinks of Beck again. The child had only wished to be recognized - he was hardly given the opportunity to speak his mind, nor was he allowed to roam free without the cautious watch of their leader. The last time he had gotten loose, he had severed Goldie’s head and claimed it was not his doing. As soon as he was tethered down to his home, Arrow had died before the child could say goodbye. In that resulting guilt, Beck was freed, and now he was here. Perhaps Beck was something of a balance that kept their fates in check, one life for another, suffering for suffering. Perhaps he was just immature. They would never truly know.

Red surveys the field and picks out the few Pittians that had come to defend their home - Jervis emerges first, with his roguish followers close behind. He moves forward, rearing up on his hind legs to take a few, lengthy strides in an instinctive display of dominance before dropping back down. He’d wring the ardent’s neck. And he almost does, stone hand clawing at the dirt so that he might charge fast enough to take Jervis by surprise, but a shadow cast over their pitifully small bodies draws his attention upward. And then he sees them.

From the open mouth of a den crawls a massive creature, its golden scales first catching Red’s attention before he is pulled to the face of the dragon. He’s never seen anything quite like it before, not to this magnitude, and the last of his rationale tells him that Good Sam won’t do him much good at all. There's movement in front of him, and Red jerks away in surprise to see another Pittian take his place. Not five feet away Draekon makes quick prey of his own leader, and Wormwood is shouting something but it doesn’t make sense when it hits his ears - and suddenly everything is moving too fast. Pain hits him first, then a surge of something like fury that pulses in his head. Long, curling horns burst forth from his skull and he sinks down with a shout, eyes wide as Draekon’s fire glances over his body and he, too, goes aflame.

There's something distant on his face. Absolution. There is nothing there, as much as there is everything - the whole world condenses itself into two pupils dilating in the sudden explosion of light. He sees fire. He sees blood, yet to be spilled. Skull-splitting pain rips through him and he roars, raw-throated like an animal, and grips the curling horns that don his head. Rising to both feet, a wild look crosses him; something primal buzzes in his chest as another finger on the monkey's paw he'd come to call his fate curled inward. Agony pulls his hand toward the skies, the stone harbinger of doom, as though begging for rain to douse the fire that makes it glow white-hot. He cannot stand the foreign object that stretches its fingers towards the sun and he wants to rip it off, to sever it away like Beck's bloodied organs under Jervis’ claws, but the only thought that thrums between his ears is to kill. He reaches to grip his blade, flexes his fingers around leather-wrapped metal. Narrowed eyes dart after that massive creature he locked eyes with only moments before. He would get his wish.

Red swings his fist to clear the way, uncaring of who or what he'd strike as he passed. Bai Shi is tending a child, and in the back of his head, he thinks himself cruel for putting the much smaller Pittian in danger. But the closer he gets, the farther those thoughts drift away. Aine is but another body in his way. With a guttural snarl, the demon reaches forward to try and grab Aine by the back of the neck, like an mother might take their child by the scruff. Again, like a hollow voice, something tells him that this child is innocent. She is in danger, here. She ought to be taken back to Tanglewood, shown that the world is not so cruel as the Pitt - no, too soon. He is no mother, no nurturer, but with these whispers in his head he aims to throw the pup aside nonetheless. Hopefully she'd make it back to her camp and find somewhere to hide. He wasn't sure he cared, not now.

With the distraction out of his way, Red looks up at the dragon and offers nothing but a bitter, seething grin. He's outmatched, he knows it, but the desire to sink his teeth into something and call it a victory in the name of his broken-bodied family pushes more and more adrenaline into his veins. Red rears back and throws himself at Bai Shi, reckless and vicious, and aims to cleave into the dragon's torso with his serrated blade as he moves to ram his horns into their body. He doesn't care if he fails. The warmth of spilt blood, his or another's, is as good an embrace as death itself.

[aine.]

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— aine | the pitt | fae druid —

When Bai Shi hears her call, she settles for the dragon.  He's dangerous looking, which meant safe, surely.  Yet there's so much happening, so quickly.  Her large eyes struggle keeping up, ears sharply flattened but overwhelmed.  Yelling.  Growling.  Claws on flesh.  Everything in between.  She doesn't like it.

The earth responds to her distress.  Anger? More like fear and confusion.  Desperation.  The dirt beneath her begins to crack.  Quietly.  An incoming storm.  Warning bells.

Someone interrupts.  Teeth in her scruff.  No sound escapes her maw but her body goes rigid.  Not family.  Not friend.  All they do is toss her aside, leaving her to figure herself out in the jungle to pursue an attack on the kindly dragon protecting her.  How dare - !?

Her little paws scramble, pulling herself up.  A little dazed.  She searches a moment for her preferred guardians but they must be caught in the fray or late to battle.  Her father, she knew, would demand she wait.  Wait for him.  Wait for safety.

Her home under attack and she had to wait?  Bai Shi was only protecting her and he gets targeted!  The petite fox but her lip then ran, straight back to camp, straight back to the fray.  Frustration and the desire to protect someone willing to protect her drive her paws deep in the ground, rooting herself.

The jungle is alive.  Flourishing.  Despite the fire that ravaged, plants grew back.  Strong.  With a fierce fire in her golden hues, Aine attacked.  The ground beneath Red would crack and split, as vines attempted to tie around his legs, intent on unbalancing him in his assault.

[ Mobile ]

— I'll come back when you call me —

[gael]

♛

While an overly protective father at times, the red and black vulpine happened to be lurking in the shadows close to the caves, observing silently as the Tanglers quickly worked through the guards.  He prepared to pounce when he sees a spot of red nearby, the ground cracking.  His heart leaps promptly into his throat, his only thought becoming Aine.

Nothing else in the Pitt mattered above her.  Two Tanglers that meant nothing to him already certainly did not.  Why bother attempting to hold them? Jervis had his fun.  He is tasting the consequences.

“Aine!” Naturally, when she finds herself thrown away from the fight, she dives back in.  Naive child. Without hesitation, Gael skids to her side, watching in surprise as she conducts her own attack.  Plants. Quietly, he releases a breath, then crouches low at her side, teeth bared defensively.

Should the beast confronting Bai Shi turn back on her, he’d make him suffer.  Should anyone threaten her, he’d tear the air from their lungs.  “Fan liom, Aine.”

"ISN'T IT LOVELY?" —-- gael ó broin / faerie / pittian / lamby

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[toboggan]

Leroy hadn't anticipated the calling of a voice not belonging to Sam. Of course, he understood that the presence of another in these caverns sat as a probability, and upon entering the cave system, acknowledged that the forecast called for a chance of danger - yet the terrier's yoo-hoo came as a total surprise for the wolfhound. Tending his shoulders and revving up a low growl, Leroy braces himself for combat. Except it never came. Instead, there came a smaller canine, whose kindness and warmth occurred as alien in comparison to Pittian standards. The stranger offers aid in locating his missing comrade, causing the proxy to raise a brow out of suspicion. He’d hesitate on the proposition for a moment or three, ultimately going with his gut and nodding in agreement. There wasn’t exactly much he could lose if this ended up being a ploy, anyways.

The venture through the rank cavern was short and bitter, and verbally guided by his newfound companion. The minuscule canine's energetic approach heartened the male to some extent, but he remained on edge for the most part. Premonition panged his heart, the sheer uncertainty of Sam's physical condition sending radio waves of fear and anxiety throughout his body. Was she okay? Was she dead? The thoughts bombarded him like artillery fire, and very little proved successful in repelling their deprecation. The trek was torture, nothing had prepared him for the heartache that awaited him on arrival to his destination.

Sam. A bloody, partially-eyed heap, sprawled across the floor in a cell. Bound by rope.

Beck, too. Chained up like a jailbird doing yard work, sliced up like a monkey after a knife fight. And oh yeah, he only had a single eye now as well.

It was as if he’d been socked square in the guts. A minor whine slithered up the cur's esophagus - but crying like a bitch would have to wait. He was on a tight schedule, after all. If someone else was down here with him, then there was a fat likelihood that others would come, too.

Leroy begins with Beck, as the poltergeist's situation was a tad more dire. Dropping the blade, he rushes over to the limp ghost feline. Scars and scratches littered his torso, which was extended by four weakened limbs. The front two limbs were cuffed by the metal shackles that he customarily bore, both of which were lead on by separate chains fastened to a weight. Instinctively, the mutt yanked with ferocity on the metal bonds. This brought no success whatsoever. Along with the debut of distant, angered hollering rebounding off of the cavern’s rocky boundaries, his failure at removing the chains’ grip hit him with the cruel realization that his available options were growing dim. Just as hope began to dwindle, a familiar glisten met the corner of his amber eye. A few paces away lay his blade, its curve specifically designed for amputations.

"Sorry Beck."

Oozing with the black, tar-like bodily fluid that ran through Beck’s veins, the metal edge easily slashed through the rope that restrained Sam. In a quick motion, he scooped her up onto his back. Stiffening his spine so the doecat has at least some leverage, he bounds over to the ex-general’s holding room and does the same. It felt wrong leaving the youth’s severed paws behind, but they were just another addition to the long list of sacrifices made to ensure the captured Tanglers’ survival.

With Beck and Sam slung over his spleen, he shoots the terrier a quick nod, before making his escape. It wouldn’t be long before Selby could patch them both up nice and well. Soon.

//out

//powerplay allowed by all parties involved ;p

//mobile

[Jervis]

[glow=#2b0505,2,300]ENTITLED BASTARD[/glow]

//bump

DISOWNED [glow=#2b0505,2,300]tags - penned by orion[/glow] DISGRACE

[RED]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]The first thing he feels is a sickly crack. It rivets up his leg and he looks down to see it, his foot - his cleaved hoof, muddied from the jungle trek - twisting at an angle that would make anyone with half their rationale ill. The pain doesn’t quite register, like waking up from a car crash: he sees the damage, but if he feels pain it’s instantly replaced by a steady pulse of adrenaline that makes him feel less than mortal. He can take it. He always has, and he always will. The guilt, the weariness, it will hit him later, at a time that feels unreal in the present moment. All that matters is now, and right now, he feels nothing but a tingling numbness in his ankle that spreads up his nerves as a steady buzz until it reaches his skull.

And then the pain hits.

The sound that escapes him is less of a roar, and more a twisting monster of a vocalization that wrenches itself from his throat like a wild animal. He feels the fire that blazes like a crown above his head, hot on his face, and it only seems to exacerbate the pain rather than soothe. This power that he held was meant to be his savior, his strength, but rather than ground him he only spiraled upwards in a never-ending power trip. In these fleeting moments, he thinks not of his friends and family, nor what they see of him, but of death, of Hell itself.

When he comes to in the morning, he will regret all of this. He’ll numb himself until he cannot see the blood on his hands or the violence wrought by his weapons; then he will force himself to suppress, but never forget. He was doomed to lose his temper again and again, every mistake a step closer to a death sentence. But until then, it just makes him angrier, makes him picture the blood that will spill from the dragon’s chest when he kills them, and the child becomes hardly more than an inconvenience in his blinding rage.

Red staggers, once, and heaves his heavy fist downwards to slash away the vines that bind him. His breath comes out as ragged gasps, wisps of steam rushing from his flared nostrils and hissing out between his bared teeth. Uncaring for the agony it sends up his spine, Red turns around to face Aine - a fatal mistake, perhaps - and slams his injured hoof against the ground to raise himself up once more. The expression on his face twists into something unreadable, a mixture of pain suppressed by a wrathful grin that borders on smug; he drags his hoof through the dirt like a charging bull, kicking up dust and debris that turns to ashen sparks as they meet his flames.

”Run,” The word is barked out into the chaos of the battlefield, to Aine, to her father that attempts to protect her. He won’t hurt them - he can’t. But he won't let them stand in his way, either. ”Leave this place!”

/bai shi can capture him and then ill be out!!