Confrontation (FREE FOR ALL!!!)

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Alastor Eriel was once again on the trail of his hated enemy, Lysistra. He had been following her gang's paw-prints day and night for almost a week. He had sloshed through mud, crossed rivers, and tramped through endless brush to get to her. After so much travel, he had finally gotten close enough to glimpse the vermin through the trees. At this, his warrior blood began to rise within him. He outpaced the gang, staying just out of sight. He continued parallel to their course till he was in-front of them, then he crossed deftly in to their path, stopping right in-front of Lysistra, sword in hand. She stopped suddenly, her mouth open in surprise. "What a pleasant surprise," said Alastor coldly, "I didn't expect to meet you here at all." Lysistra got into a crouch, her gang behind her all pulled out their weapons. "But Alastor," said Lysistra in whine, "you can't still be mad about that can you?" "You mean my parents death?" exclaimed Alastor angrily, "What do you mean not mad?" Suddenly Lysistra drew her sword, swinging at Alastor in a desperate slash. Alastor was not prepared for this attack. He fell back, blocking just in time. He charged with a roar to retaliate, but Lysistra was already running. "Protect me!" she shouting to her gang as she went through them. The gang formed between her and Alastor, a solid wall of steel. Heedless of them, Alastor charged into battle, a grin on his face and sword in hand.

[Abbot Vivian]

A bored figure leaped from one tree, aiming for a broad leafless branch of the one next to it. When he landed, the weight of the marten shook some of the loose snow off the tree that had gathered onto its branches overnight. The thin white icy powder drifted downward toward a gathering of well-armed vermin.

The noise they all made was enough to cause the marten to stop and peer down at them, noticing that a good number of them were armed and ready to do battle against a single beast. One of them shouted an order. “Protect me!” She said.

Yes, it was definitely a female leading the band of vermin. That fact alone surprised the observer, but only a little. It was not unheard of for a female to lead a horde, just a tad uncommon. What surprised him more was the fact that she was also a pine marten.

Sweetfang had nothing to do at the moment; he was supposed to be hunting for a meal. However, the racket caused by the vermin below was bound to frighten off nearby prey if they hadn’t already. It irritated him a little, but he was not about to charge headfirst into a battle over a missed meal. That was the kind of stupidity that led most vermin to their deaths.

Instead of involving himself in a fight that did not concern him, he decided to taunt and tease the earthbound creatures. The thought amused him and helped distract him from his growing hunger. “Protect her? You lot couldn’t guard an apple from a worm!” He burst into a fit of laughter after issuing the insult.

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Any other beast fighting as hard as Alastor was would have ignored Sweetfangs taunt. But, Alastor was complealty mad at the moment. Hearing the insult he burst out laughing as well. Chopping of a large fox's head he turned to Sweetfang, his face covered in the blood of his enemies. "That's a good one!" he laughed, and turned to block a stoat's attack. The vermin didn't take the comment so well. "Shut up!" shouted a rat and let loose an arrow at Sweetfang's head. Lysistra stopped running and turned. She knew that Alastor was a good fighter, but there was no way he could fight through all her beasts! She started back to the combat, intending to kill Alastor herself.

[Abbot Vivian]

“Shut up!” It was as good of a warning as any for the pine marten to dodge to one side toward the trunk of the tree. He had glanced at the miffed rat quickly enough to notice him draw his bowstring with a loaded arrow. The arrow itself whizzed harmlessly through the air and uselessly struck the ground some distance away. Sweetfang did not take his eyes off the rat responsible for involving him in the battle and his face had lost all sense of humor.

He effortlessly descended down the side of the tree, stood for a moment, and entered the fray of battle. Most of the vermin had not expected his involvement and so, he was able to rush past shocked soldiers and toward the rat who had foolishly tried killing him. Sweetfang’s target prepared another arrow, but the pine marten dropped to all fours and continued giving chase. He charged deeper into the vermin forces at a greater speed while the archer had no clear shot of the marten.

Sweetfang rose to his feet when he reached the archer and drew his vicious curved blade. The terrified rat who was useless in short ranged combat lifted his bow to shield himself from danger. The marten swung his sword and sliced through the strung bow and its string. Sweetfang swung a second time at the rat who, at the last moment, shouted, “NO!”

The only sounds the rat made after that were gurgles as he futilely tried drawing breath through his bleeding throat. He collapsed and died soon after the lethal blow from the marten. With that single act of murder, Sweetfang knew that there was no turning back. As if to make matters worse, all he had for an ally was a crazed and vengeful stoat.

With the skillful use of his blade and his own swiftness, Sweetfang cut down quite a few enemies as he tried making it back to the stoat. Most of those he killed in the seconds that followed had their backs turned to him; they were too preoccupied with their efforts to slay the stoat. Meanwhile, the marten figured he had better chances of making it through the battle alive if he fought with his present ally. In his opinion, the stoat undoubtedly made a good distraction. It was probably in Sweetfang’s current interests to help him survive

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

It took Alastor a second to realise that the pine marten had leaped down and was helping him fight vermin. He cut his way towards Sweetfang, stopping when he reached him to say, "there's plenty of them for both of us mate," with a wink. Then he turned and began slicing at the enemy ranks again.

*****

Lysistra was just entering the fight when Sweetfang attacked from above. Heedless of who he was, the pine marten attacked him furiously, swinging her sword at his head and midsection.

[Glavon]

(I'm going to post here once I get my new character accepted.)

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

(Sounds good! The more the merrier! Also, if you are not posting with a character you have now because they are in a different thread, I need to tell you that a character may by in up to two threads at once.)

[Glavon]

Arawolf Rainclaw scowled.

Just perfect... she thought savagely. Vermin fighting vermin...wonder what they did to each other this time?

The female otter was not down in the fighting as of this moment; she was laying in the v-shaped fork of a tree, her blue-gray eyes taking in every detail of the scene before her. Her light chocolate-brown fur was at least helping her concealment against the rough bark, but not much, as the snow was still coming down thick and fast.

A stoat and two pine martens appeared to be the center of the conflict. One of the pine martens seemed to be commanding a small force of vermin warriors, a mixed blend of rats, weasels, stoats, ferrets, and foxes, as para usual. This did not overly worry the warrior otter, however; what worried her more was the fact that the other pine marten seemed to be a reasonable warrior, and even this was an only slight worry.

"So..." she intoned, rolling her eyes, "Why would vermin be fighting vermin? Am I missing something here?"

She glared savagely at the three ringleaders from her position in the tree. "Since you seem to have a little...dispute, I'll fix it for you."

She leapt from the tree, drawing her sword.

[Abbot Vivian]

The effects of surprise of having a pine marten attack them quite unexpectedly dissolved among the horde completely by the time he reached the stoat. The many who had survived his initial attack were as accustomed to his presence and prepared to kill him as they were ever going to become. Meanwhile, the stoat in question seemed to have mistaken Sweetfang for his comrade.

Given the current circumstances, it was easy to understand what had caused the misunderstanding. He figured he would have plenty of time to correct the stoat later after the battle; he confidently assumed that there would be a later. After all, what chance did a band of seemingly incompetent fighters and their cowardly leader stand against two talented swords-beasts?

When the female marten suddenly summoned her courage and attacked, he instinctively hopped away from her blade, avoiding her first swing. He had not expected her involvement and had there been fewer opponents, she may have been able to catch him off guard with her sudden appearance. Instead, he was already avoiding and blocking incoming weapons with all the speed, skill, and versatility he could muster.

The other marten swung at him again, aiming for his midsection. Instead of dodging it, he blocked and deliberately tried locking his blade with hers. In the middle of such a ferocious battle, there was little to no time for words. However, Sweetfang hoped he could convey a message to the Stoat with a mere two words. “Kill her!” He quickly shouted with a tone of desperation in his voice.

He wanted the stoat to take advantage of him rendering her weapon useless. Unfortunately, while he used his only weapon to occupy hers, he left himself vulnerable to attack. He was doing something he never would have done in most situations. He was placing his trust in a stranger and a vermin at that. Hopefully, the stoat valued his life enough not to let Sweetfang down.

Sweetfang assumed that they were fighting against the usual sort of vermin. The severely uncoordinated kind whose cowardice, stupidity, and greed caused them to fall under anyone with the desire and ambition to make an attempt at organizing them. He hoped that they would simply lose their reason to fight and disperse if the marten before him perished.

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Alastor did not really trust or like Sweetfang. He was a pine marten, Alastor's least favorite kind of beast. Still, he was the enemy of his enemy, better that no-one. Sweetfangs sharp words "Kill her!" brought him out of his thoughts. With what can only be described as a roar, he charged Lysistra. She saw him coming, but her blade was locked with Sweetfang's. Lysistra suddenly fell over backwards, under Sweetfang's sword. She kicked up, hitting Alastor in the chest. Alastor gave a grunt as the air was nocked out of him. Alastor saw a ferret rush at Sweetfang's backside, sword raised. No doubt Sweetfang could take care of himself, thought Alastor, but he ran the ferret through anyway. Lysistra took advantage of this pause to get up and draw back. Next, Arawolf left down from some-were above. "Its none of your business," snapped Lysistra at her question. "To me!" Lysistra said to her gang, of which about 2/3 remained. The vermin surrounded her, pulling slightly back from Alastor and Sweetfang.

[Glavon]

The female pine marten, who appeared to be the leader of the vermin gang, didn't even flinch at the fact that Arawolf had just appeared, quite suddenly, from the tree. This, if anything, had made her even more annoyed.

Its none of your business. the pine marten snapped in response to Arawolf's question. Arawolf was about to make some sarcastic comment when the marten yelled out at her gang.

To me!

"That is the oldest saying in the book." Arawolf growled. "Try something like...I don't know...retreat? Because I know that's what you're going to do. Usual vermin; fighting until they know they're going to lose, then running away like cowards."

That was Arawolf all right; always willing to insult someone, be it friend or foe.

(Short post. >.<)

[Abbot Vivian]

The marten who Sweetfang practically sentenced to death had not completely lost her ability to defend herself. He noted her resourcefulness when she kicked away her would be executioner and hastily backed away. He spent few seconds in observation, but it was time that a ferret used to attempt to slay him. When the marten heard the undeniable sound of a beast’s final breaths, he chanced a backward glance. He saw that his stoat ally had saved him, but Sweetfang was far from grateful. Rather than feeling relief, he felt only irritation at himself for his own carelessness.

Sweetfang took a few steps backwards and smiled at the opposing vermin forces who were also beginning to back away. He had not yet acknowledged the presence of the otter who had spoken even though he was well aware of her. The carnivorous marten believed he had more important matters to deal with before he prepared a dinner that had so willingly approached him. Instead, he addressed the female marten.

“Do you ever tire of feeding the stomachs of so useless a crew?” He asked in mock sympathy. “And you lot,” He spoke, turning his attention to the diminished horde. “Don’t you get tired of your leader’s empty promises? Doesn’t it feel awful watching your own numbers dwindle away against skilled fighters? Do you ever toss and turn at night fearing that the next time it might be you who ends up dead?”

He smiled broadly and raised his kilij. Its glistening surface, reddened by and dripping of the blood of his most recent victims, cast an eerie red glow upon his observers as it reflected a beam of sunlight. “I swear to you now!” He began shouting.

“Any who dare lift so much as a stone against me shall not perish at once! Instead, I will nail your bleeding carcasses against that tree,” He said while pointing with his weapon, “And I will let the owls peck away at you, devouring you alive! And your tongues will voice only one name as your agonized screams resound throughout this forest! My name! Sweetfang the Devourer!” He glared intently at the vermin, challengingly; his eyes practically dared them to think he was bluffing.

[Elicia]

Oriana had been hiding in a bush when she heard Sweetfang's bluff. She pushed herself off of the ground lithely-her almost black fur had hidden her well. Now, however, she came into the light and posed quite a figure. Her bow was strung and in one of her paws, and she knocked an arrow with the other. "Eh, little creature? Expectin' me?" The hare winked happily. "I'll help ye wit them, if'n ye don' mind the company!" She smiled, and shrugged her shoulder strap back into place because she had knocked it out of kilter when she emerged from the bush. "Two of us 'gainst that lot, eh wot? I'd like t'see em try!" The hare picked up her bow from where it had been trailing on the ground and aimed. She drew the arrow back a good thirty inches or so, because her draw was longer than most. The bow itself was about 70 inches from the top to the bottom when strung. "H'I hope ye don't mind my h'interruptin'!"

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

The group of vermin looked at each-other nervously, they were robbers , not fighters. Sweetfang's challenge set them all trembling. The only beast who did not appear worried was Lysistra herself. She turned to a rat next to her and said, "Get the others," in whisper just audible to the other beasts standing around. The rat shot of like a bow from an arrow through the woods and was gone. Lysistra looked back towards her enemies with a smug smile, making a point of staring Alastor right in the eyes. He glared right back at her, then charged. His sword down, he yelled a wordless cry, completely ignoring the otter, the hare, and Sweetfang. Lysistra lost her nerve for a second, turning quite pale. Then she shouted, "Charge!" and led her beasts, with spears, swords, pikes, and even sharpened sticks all lowered. They rushed towards Alastor, and fell upon him like crows on a scrap of food. Amazingly, he survived the initial charge though wounded in a dozen places. He laughed as he waded through them, a Demigod of battle. Still they were overcoming him slowly. The clung to him, halting his movement. There was a cheer as he fell over. Lysistra approached him were he lay, held down by at least eight beasts. Lysistra raised her sword, ready to slay him. "See you at hell gates!" she said with a triumphant grin.

[Glavon]

(Bad post, I'm ticked off at the moment because everyone is ignoring me. >> So, my character shall have a really short temper.)

Do you ever tire of feeding the stomachs of so useless a crew? And you lot, don’t you get tired of your leader’s empty promises? Doesn’t it feel awful watching your own numbers dwindle away against skilled fighters? Do you ever toss and turn at night fearing that the next time it might be you who ends up dead?

This was the marten speaking, the carmel colored one. After it had finished speaking, it raised its blade, which was reflecting the sunlight as blood dripped from it like water.

I swear to you now! Any who dare lift so much as a stone against me shall not perish at once! Instead, I will nail your bleeding carcasses against that tree, and I will let the owls peck away at you, devouring you alive! And your tongues will voice only one name as your agonized screams resound throughout this forest! My name! Sweetfang the Devourer!

"Someone's feeling violent today," Arawolf sneered. "Do you actually have any nails to carry out that threat? And have you seen any owls around here? And really, can't you figure out a more inventive name then that? Sweetfang the Devourer? Please. No one's going to be scared of a pine marten named Sweetfang."

Arawolf was so busy saying this that she ignored what the new black hare was saying; not that she cared. She picked up a small pebble from the earth and flicked it at the pine marten's head. Hoping it hit, she chuckled.

"What are you going to do now, great Sweetfang?" she asked insultingly.

Her train of thought was abruptly lost, as the female pine marten had finally floored the stoat.

See you at hell gates! she said with a grin. Arawolf laughed viciously.

"Oh yes, you'll be seeing your little stoat friend at Hellgates shortly. Just finish him off and I'll be here to kill you. That is, unless you need me to kill your little gang. That can be arranged, too."

Arawolf drew her sword and swung down at the female pine marten's head.

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Lysistra jumped to the side as Arawolf's blade sliced downwards. Lysistra her it hiss as it passed her ear by a centimeter. She had never been so angry! She was just about to kill her worst enemy, and then! "Get the otter!" she roared, pointing her blade at Arawolf, a score of vermin leapt to the attack at her command, but forgot Alastor. He sprang up, flinging the few beast still holding him to the side. He rushed at the vermin attacking Arawolf with an insane laugh. They got out of the way of his sword strokes as fast as they could. A few were to slow. Soon Alastor flew at Arawold herself, swinging his sword at her neck. "You will all die Lysistra," he yelled, "if I have to kill every-beast in the world to get you!"

[Abbot Vivian]

His ears twitched when he heard the distinct speech of an accented hare, but he did not otherwise react to her presence. No matter how skilled he was, he could only deal with a certain number of problems at once. At the moment it seemed that he had taken on more than he could handle, but he maintained his nerve assuming beasts as insane as he was even had one. What truly set him off was the otter’s remark about his name.

Unlike many vermin before and after him, he never accepted and never answered to a nickname regardless of who gave it to him or what it meant. His name was the only thing he had left from his life prior to what he had become from unbearably long seasons of pain. His name was given to him by his mother, one of the only two creatures he recalled who ever truly loved him. He treasured it dearly because it connected him to her. For him, preserving his name was no different than an orphaned beast clinging onto a physical memento from their past.

To have his name insulted by an otter, by a lower beast he considered food, infuriated him beyond measure. The tossed pebble that harmlessly bounced off his head was hardly necessary. She had already sealed her fate as far as Sweetfang was concerned long before she even thought to raise a stone against him. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, Otter! You just have to make lovely music for me while I teach you what it means to be truly frightened.” He spoke more to himself than anyone else with a smile because the otter had already dived into battle against the other marten.

“THE OTTER IS MINE!” He roared.

He steadily walked forward while expertly swinging his blade into nearby enemies. He ruthlessly cut down even those who tried escaping the crazed marten’s path of destruction. He mercilessly ended those who no longer wanted anything to do with him; he did so simply because they were alive and within striking range of his kilij. As he approached his true target, he sometimes went out of his way to sever a beast’s leg or sword arm to render them alive enough, crippled, and helpless to know true terror and agony.

He blinked only when his gory procession sent blood splashing toward his face. By the time he reached his target, he was literally soaked in the blood of his victims. His clothing glistened with the scarlet substance and his once beautiful fur coat appeared thoroughly tainted by the ruby liquid.

He then attempted to lop off the otter’s tail, knowing how important a creature’s tail was for their balance, stability, and coordination. He figured he would rather humiliate her than kill her by making her into a clumsy oaf. How would she fair as a swimmer without it? He grinned at the terrible thoughts and images presenting themselves to his mind‘s eye and ear. What good was killing a hated enemy if the living could never again enjoy the suffering of the dead?

[Glavon]

Get the otter!

"Finally, someone's paying me some attention." Arawolf growled, raising her blade from where it had fallen when she'd swung at the female marten's neck. Of course, this was soon forgotten as a score of vermin warriors charged at her.

She grinned ruthlessly and cut down the warriors with her blade. Flashing like a living thing, the flamberge slashed into rats, stoats, weasels, ferrets, and foxes with ease, letting blood spill across the ground. The smell, metallic and salty, rose in Arawolf's nose, and she howled with pain as a rat got in a lucky hit at her leg, leaving a small, not too deep, bleeding puncture mark. She slashed viciously at the rat.

"Go to Hellgates!" she screamed like a madbeast as she slew more vermin with her blade. Suddenly, she came to the realization something was charging her from behind.

She swung her blade and killed two more vermin before she turned to look at a stoat, charging at her with sword held high.

You will all die Lysistra, if I have to kill every-beast in the world to get you!

"Typical vermin, mad at me for doing him a favor...or at least trying." Arawolf muttered, and tried a quick uppercut with her flamberge at the stoat warrior's chest before she leapt out of the way. The confused vermin gang had lost her in the melee. She let out a breath and got ready to go back into the fray.

Arawolf Rainclaw hadn't heard the male pine marten's first comment because she had been caught up in the fighting, but the next thing she was aware of was a great shout.

THE OTTER IS MINE!

The marten walked forward, swinging his blade and killing the vermin warriors under the female marten's command. Arawolf grinned wolfishly. "A few less vermin for me to kill." she growled softly, but loud enough for the male marten to hear her. She saw the blood flowing like red waterfalls, and the marten's kilij slashing bodies, legs, and arms, until the sight of her enemies was replaced by a tangle of bloodied limbs.

The marten blinked a few times and, when he made it in front of Arawolf, his coat was glistening with ruby red.

The kilij flashed toward Arawolf's tail. She grinned again, and leapt out of the way; even so, the blade nicked the tip of her tail. She raised her flamberge. "Finally, someone showing a bit of fight. Looks like you're going to get some lessons from me, marten. Have fun at Hellgates."

She swung her sword in a complex pattern of movements at the marten, attempting to score a hit.

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Alastor moved his sword horizontally to block Arawolf's blade. This took most of the force of the blow, but it still cut into his chest. Still, he didn't care, he was wounded so much already. He saw Sweetfang, who he considered the closest thing to an alley he had, attack the otter. He turned back to Lysistra where she stood with her vermin. With a start he realized that despite all the beasts they had killed, there were more than when they started! The "others" had come. Lysistra smiled at him nastily. "The tides have turned," she said with a grin, "attack!" Then the vermin rushed forward in a tide of beasts.

[Abbot Vivian]

(Out-of-Character: You two skipped Eli. Merce, you skipped me once already. Please have patience and wait for others to take their turns and post in an orderly fashion.)