Tsar Bomba Incoming!

For Solomon! Northwest desert, close to the Plains

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Nyra wandered, exploring.
She would return to the Eye in time, but for now, she would patrol and map the lands for later use...Perhaps also mapping for advantages, should she need them. 
Sands, cacti, rock formations and canyons did she pass as she prowled with a sinister, predatory air.

As if nothing and no one is safe from her bloodthirsty jaws.

The behemoth in white kept onward, hellfire golden orbs scanning the terrain around her, looking for, maybe, some entertainment via the expense of another.
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Solomon wanted to go exploring. All he’s seen since he bloody woke up has been the plains. Though pretty, he’d like to see what’s beyond the flatlands of rolling grass. What he finds might just be even worse: the desert. Oh lucky him. After about an hour of walking in the sands he dutifully decides to turn back. His black pelt is soaking up an uncomfortable amount of sun and his tongue has been flopped out of his maw in a wild pant the entire way too.

Only he catches sight of a white wolf and he blinks a few times, not knowing if it’s real or not. He hasn’t even been out there that long and even though he’s hot as balls he can tell he’s not dying from dehydration or whatever.

“Fuckin’ a, ‘m losin’ it.” He hums. But shrugs and clears his throat, not sure what will happen if this wolf ends up being a mirage.

“Ay! You ova there!” He calls out. “You’re fuckin’ real, yeah?!” Then he says bit more quietly to himself. “Ya fuckin’ losin’ it, Bish.” Patiently anticipating their response, he waits.
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A call from somewhere not in front of her.
How quaint.

Turning her head in eerie fashion, Nyra locks her golden orbs on the form of the strange looking man some distance from her. 
Head snaps sideways once, 
Head snaps the other way just as fast, like a ticking machine, almost. 
Maybe just a little bit more ominous, if he was the type to feel uneasy by such things in right quick fashion. 
"I'm as real as you are." She purrs back to him in her sultry way, straightening her head with a smooth slowness and an easy swish of her tail.

Predatory gaze, ever watchful. 
The warmaiden in her rumbles in her veins; her body subconsciously begins to put itself in a slightly wider stance, just in case shit gets ugly. 
"You smell of a pack, as I do. Suppose we've both been exploring today, eh?" She chuckles lightly as she comes within talking distance, head level with her spine.
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Oh hell, the way this wolf looks at him makes him mighty suspicious. They would promptly move closer then, so close that they could even have a decent conversation.

When she finally settles she offers him an answer, one he responds to with his own silent look. Contemplative, intrigued, calm, and most of all, he’s shamelessly scrutinizing her. Deciding whether or not he deems her a threat, something he hasn’t made him mind up about yet.

Even when she points out their pack scents and the fact that they’re both exploring he remains quiet for a long while. Then all of a sudden he breaks the spell.

“Mm, yeah, it sure seems so, doesn’t et?” He says completely normal, eyes widening slightly as he looks about the desert. “An’ wot’s a woman of your stature doin’ in a desert at this ungodly hour of tha day? Explorin’?” He repeats in sarcastic question. Squinting his eyes at her and absentmindedly gesturing with a paw. A small smile tits dark lips skyward as he continues. He doesn’t give her time to answer.

“No, no, no, mate, I fhink you’re out for blood, right. I- fhink you’re one of those barney rubble types, mm?” He says it with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Only he abruptly changing subjects with another gesture of a meaty paw, this time at the desert. Allowing his eyes to look about the sandy hills until he eyes her up again. With now half lidded eyes, he seems contemplative, as if he’s trying to crack a puzzle or figure something out, but in a terribly casual manner.

“Ya know,” He leads, “for some, tha desert is like a second birth. Woul’n’t you say, mm?” It’s a simple question, said as he begins pacing about. Continuing with a knowing dip of his head, not meeting her eye. “It gives ‘em birff. Y’know like bein’ born again.” Then he looks at her, that smile back on his face once more and a knowing glint to his eye — suspicious. “But for others, tha desert is nothin’ but a large cemet’ry yeah. It fuckin’ buries ‘em, mate.” A pause. “An’ for some blokes, it represents purity.”

He goes quiet, scrutinizing her reactions. He’s always so talkative, always loves to throw in a good metaphor or two just to keep them distracted or maybe play with them a bit. Bring them ‘round and ‘round with his words until he confuses them. A real delight it is.

“I fhink you’re in relation to ‘at second one, eh. You’re a fuckin’ predata, sittin’ — waitin’ for ya next victim. You got the look aboutcha, love.” He stares dead into her eyes. “Tha look of a fuckin’ predata.”

He starts pacing again. “So, love, wot am I to you today, mm? Wot is my relation to this desert? Purity? Or a fuckin’ cemet’ry? You tell me, mate.”
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He's quiet for the longest time, shamelessly eyeing her, just like she's doing to him in equal fashion. 
His markings are nothing she's seen before, though Alduin had stripes, so she wasn't sure why it mattered to her now, of all times. 

Maybe he'd make a pretty bed, his pelt.
As Solomon is starting to ramble, she stares into him, letting the metaphors and ramble go in one ear and out the other as she licks her teeth a couple times over the span of the ramble. 

Perhaps his flesh will taste decent...think I'll go for it if he doesn't shut up. 

​​​​​​Nyra is definitely looking at Solomom like he's her next meal, then he starts talking about her having the look of a predator, and asks what he is to her, given the circumstances of her deciding at her Judgement tests and the pack meeting for ranks, that she liked the taste of her own kind almost, if not more than, she liked sexual encounters...
She held his gaze. 
"I haven't quite decided yet." She answers with a purl, which was both an honest answer and definitely not ((definitely fucking IS)) a hint to the ticking Tsar Bomba that was herself -- tread carefully, rambling man, or you might lose at least a good chunk of your flesh. If not more.

It all depends on you. 
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She has the look of death in her eyes — hungry. She wants his blood but perhaps she also wants something else. Judging by the way she’s looking at him at least. Though he’s unsure which one she wants, very hard, yet, easy to read. Surprisingly, she lets him ramble on with useless desert metaphors and this and that. When he finally gets to the end, he stops to watch her carefully.

I haven’t quite decided yet. She answers, offering an expectant look back at him. He’s picking up what she’s laying down. She’s oh so generously giving him a choice. How fucking kind of her.

His face tenses, but not necessarily in a bad way, just one of thought, as he nods his head. Releasing a short hum of acknowledgment, he sucks in a breath and settles his eyes on her.

“I see.” A pause. “You’re givin’ me a fuckin’ ultimatum, ain'tcha?” He supplies as if it were obvious. “As if an ‘andsome lad like me can’t defend ‘imself, right? Well, ya fuckin’ wrong yeah. Load o’ tosh ‘at is.”

He pauses, brows lifting slightly. Knowing full well that the words that are about to come from his mouth are dangerous. “But, I fhink you’re bluffin’, love. Unless you’re lookin’ at me like ya wanna fuck me for no reason otha than t’ have a go eh?” He smiles then. “Ya wanna ‘ave a go at me? It’ll be a right dive it would.”

After that he’d offer a loose wink and a charismatic “Whatcha fhink?”
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VERY short post on my end, I'm so sorry ;A;

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To his first response about an ultimatum, she huffs a soft chuckle. He probably already knew her answer to his question. 
Then he started forming the words I think you're bluffing
And at that point, Solomon might've gotten about a syllable of the word 'bluffing' out, though before then, she had started smoothly walking forward toward him. 

Then the syllable, blu-

​​​​​​Then she lunged straight for his face without any prior warning. Or noise for that matter. 

Just a switch being flipped at the speed of light, no big deal guys.
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Its okay! No need to match length <3
Rolled a 5/10
Nyra: 20/25
Solo: 17/25

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He’s interrupted, one thing he doesn’t quite like. Let alone interrupted by having teeth rip into his pretty face. It catches him by surprise, didn’t really expect her to do it right in the middle of his glorious monologue. How fucking disappointing.

Still, he has to adapt and overcome. So he does — or at least he tries. Her first bite moving diagonally over his face, starting at his brow, moving over an eye, and sliding up his muzzle. She cuts deep, no doubt he’d had a nasty, deep scar there. Not to mention the fact that he’s going to roll back up to Little Haven all kinds of cocked up. Surely Flynnie will still like him though.

As his face is ripped open, he’s flung back, stumbling bur just barely able to catch himself. His stance is wide and he doesn’t hesitate when he dips himself low to snatch up her left front paw ans give it a quick tug. He stays on the defensive, moving about the battle field and biding his time. Looking for holes in her attacks and meaning to exploit them. After shredding a paw, hopefully it would put her a bit off balance, bur only time could tell on that.
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rolled a 6!
Nyra: 20/25
Solomon: 11/25

---

She slashes him deep, which makes her grin wicked and psychotic.
Then he dips for her paw and boy she feels it, but like him, she adapts, overcomes, and exploits weaknesses and holes as much as possible.
So, as he tugs and jerks at her left forepaw, Nyra throws her weight into the momentum from this jerking and aims her teeth for his ear, his cheek, his neck -- whatever she can get and do wicked vile damage to, honestly.
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Rolled a 6
Nyra: 14/25
Solo: 11/25[/ooc]

Solomon can tell she’s a skilled warrior and it definitely ducking shoes. She has quick reflexes for a large wolf, but she wasn’t able to nab her paw away fast enough. He crunches it in his toothy grasp, in return, she’s gnashing teeth at his jaw and neck. Slashing into the short, course fur.

Both of their jaws are bloody with their life wine, but Solomon is determined to win. Swinging his head to the left, his teeth find the soft flesh of her side, right behind her ribs, in an attempt to disembowel, teeth plucking at her flesh savagely.
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rolled a damn 2 LMAO
Nyra: 14/25
Solomon: 9/25

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In turn for her second round of gashing, he goes for her ribs. She snarl-roars savagely in pain and twists inward, snapping her teeth for his face again, or his shoulder -- anything she can fucking reach. She too is determined to win, or at the very least prove a point that she never bluffs. At best, she'd do both.
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rolled a 1 :’>
Nyra: 13
Solo: 9

---

He feels the pain through her roar as she winds back up to snarl her teeth at him. He backs up enough to only take a nip to the shoulder, but nothing that hurts too bad. Only, the created distance probably makes him predicable, for he hardly hits her as well.
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rolled an 8!
Nyra: 13
Solomon: 1

---

He backpedals against her slight, and she takes the opening head-on even as he goes for her in return.
She barely feels it as she plows full force towards him with teeth arced and aimed for his face again, or even his throat if it was in reach. Whichever fate decided.

May fate think kindly of him now, regardless.
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Rolled a 5
Nyra: 8/25
Solo: 1/25[/ooc]

It’s very soon that he realizes he’s probably going to lose. The point coming across quite obviously now as she latches her teeth into his throat. He growls and snarls, twisting in her grip and sinking his teeth into her ear and jaw. The ear, already ruined, might as well be mostly gone now. He’d swallow that shit up too, not giving a rats ass if she wants it back. He’s horribly foul now, mood all cocked up he can’t even put it into words AND he lost. How ungodly fucking mortifying.
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 Oh, it seemed like one of hers was on a hunt - and quite far from home, hm?

 Andraste was lazily moving through the sands, having recently awoken and deciding to get a bit of sun before the crisp night fell. Now that she was starting to show her pregnancy, she wanted to go trot around the Plains for a little bit - one last bit of teasing for Flynn. If her daughter actually was around this time and saw, well, she'd see how truthful the boy had been to his new beau and whether her girl would be pissed or happy to see her for the first time since she was a pup.

 After all, Faustina had died in those swamps.

 So, she figured she might as well come and watch the battle, see how her new Disciple was doing. After all, she was of the Flesh and this was her job. Perhaps the man could be good to bring in and twist into a shape she could use, after all he was quite strong looking and tall, too.

 Then his scent hit her and she sighed.

 “Nyra, dear, he's one of my daughter's,” she said, still half-sighing. “We probably shouldn't kill him, for her sake at the very least.”

[/narrow]
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She catches his throat, and she continues to apply pressure even as he goes for her ear and jaw. That makes her even more pissy, somehow, and as she forces him roughly to the ground and is getting ready to literally eat his entire vital throat areas, Mother shows up. 
Says not to kill him.

Blood is dripping down Nyra's body in various places and her ear is pretty mangled now, too. It'd eventually heal back up just fine, but right now she wasn't colored very controlled.

Glancing to Andraste, the Warmaiden makes sure to dig her teeth slightly deeper and tug sharply for a brief second, just to make her point clear and maybe, just maybe leave permanent scars for later, should fate be so inclined.

Then, Nyra releases, backing off and sidling towards Mother with a small limp due to her currently hurting paw, while rumbling as she stop's at Mother's side, "She just saved your life." 

From here, Nyra would force her fur to flatten as much as possible and try to behave herself.
"I'll admit I started it. You fought well, though." She commented casual and conversational, as if she didn't just barely force the message that she was about to have him for dinner.
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She wrestled him to the ground and he knows he’s going to have to find his way out of this before it gets even uglier. Until a shining beacon of light shines down of him from god himself — or supposedly herself.

A woman shows up while Nyra has her teeth buried in his neck. He hears her words and silently thanks her for them. Apparently he’s gotten lucky enough to survive with his head still attached to his shoulders. Though it doesn’t really mean much considering his fragile ego and the fact that he was clearly getting bested.

When the white wench finally rises off of him, with another clear message before going, he stands himself. Shaking out his short, course coat, his upper lip raises as he tries to reel in the outburst of hurtful words he feels coming. Glaring over to the bloodied woman he listens to her speak with distain.

You fought well though.

That makes him lose it. He doesn’t want a fucking compliment. Period. He faces her, offering a quick glance of an apology to the other woman that saved him before beginning.

“I fought well, did I?” He asks over sarcastically, his tone mockingly soft. “Well, FUCK YOU, MATE! Fuckin’ sour wench. Fuckin’ bot’le ‘n glass.” He spits. “‘Ow ‘bout you avert ya fuckin’ piss colored eyes yeah? Too bad ya don’t got a bleedin’ cock on ya, else ya may ‘ave got’n jammy.”

Stopping his rant to take a much needed breath, he lowers his head slightly, smooths out his brow, and looks almost sweet. His gaze is directed towards his supposed savior, but no smile shows on his face and if it does it’s terse.

“Thank you, love, for puttin’ ya bloody lairy on leash, eh? Feelin’ a tad miffed, but don’t mind me right. You’re a fuckin’ angel. You’re timin’? Absolutely fuckin’ biblical.” He says it with a pinch of sarcasm, but he conveys the true thanks through his eyes and Christ is he truly thankful for her.

And then his face stares towards Nyra pointedly deadpan. “An’ you can fuck right off, eh.”

With that he would most likely listen to whatever they have to say before taking his exit, unless stopped. Definitely doesn’t wanna stay around longer than necessary.
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 Andraste watches and does not move as Nyra is slow to respond - understandable, seeing the state that he had left her in. Nevertheless, she obeyed and released, coming over to Andraste, who casually lapped at some of the blood going down the side of her face. Always the doting Mother, you see. “As did you,” she said softly to the woman after she nobly commented towards the man. Ah, nobility. Humility. Such interesting concepts.

 The witch strode forwards, to stand in front of the man and between himself and the woman he had nearly been killed by. She inspected his injuries casually and from a comfortable distance, listening to the venom he spat with a single huff of a laugh. She had no fear of that venom turning into action. He was nearly spent, she could see, and she was fresh. Carrying, but fresh.

 Ah, he was a spitfire indeed, and what a queer accent the man had! It was nothing she had ever heard before but it was delightful nonetheless. At his sarcastic thanks, she smirked. “I think I'll accompany you - it'd do no good to send one of Meissa's back to her in such a state, hm? How is she doing, I hear you all are neighbors of ours now?” Despite being pretty sure the young man who'd claimed to have fucked her was the one in charge there, she still preferred to pretend as if it were her daughter who owned them all.

 After all, she was bred from the Devil herself.

[/narrow]
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Nyra would have smiled at Andraste's doting and praise, but the apparently icky swine-man ruined it.
She listens with obvious amusement as Solomon rants and throws insults at her.
Just as quickly, he's thanking Mother for reigning Nyra in. 
After Andraste speaks, however, the Warmaiden lets fucking loose like a chainsaw to a fresh-dead cow, all with a bitchy grin on her face. 

"How about you avert your eyes, ya bitter pisspot. Got your cockless balls in a twist 'cause I won and I bested your sorry ass. You want me to fuck myself? Sorry mate, I obviously get more tail than a seedless cuckold like yourself. I'll have a go at you again if you wanna run your mouth, how about that? At least I have the grit to back my shit up, ya damned pig. If it weren't for Mother I'd already be face deep into your carcass. Get shit on and die again like the useless fawn you are and used to be, eh?" 

And she said it all as condescendingly and outright Alpha Bitch-worthy as possible while keeping a cool air, as if truly talking down to a lesser being. Die again most definitely was referring to the scar on his forehead, and by Death itself, she sure hoped she struck several nerves. 

She was pretty sure Andraste wasn't gonna be too happy about her stooping so low, and it was only after all was said that Nyra silently realized she might've made herself look incredibly bad to Mother, the wolf alongside Alduin that she respects the most. A silent apologetic glance to Mother, then, regardless of what the swine-man would say next.
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He’s in the action of turning around when the straight nosed woman steps forth with her eyes on him. Fuck. He just wanted to leave. Seems that’s too hard for anyone to understand. So Solomon would freeze and sigh, expression wide eyed and expectant as he looks at her.

I’ll think I’ll accompany you. She says and instantly he blinks, reeling in his pissy attitude from showing on his face as she continues to ask a few other questions. When he speaks, his tone will be almost mocking soft, mouth held in a tight line, and that same off looking slightly wide eyed stare.

“‘Ow’s Meissa, eh? I’ve only been ther-“ He begins, but Nyra only gives him enough time for her leader to speak before cutting him off and going on her own insult filled rant.

He clenched his jaw silently and he sets a much more psychotic gaze her way. Once she’s finished he huffs out a humorless laugh through his nostrils.

“YOU, MATE, ARE RADIO FUCKIN’ RENTAL!” He yells all of a sudden at the top of his lungs. “Ya fuckin’ sick in the fuckin’ ‘ead! Got FUCK ALL ‘appenin’ up there, ya fuckin’ dusty ass cunt!”

A few pause ensues. Then he’s tilting his head, expression pulled taught in a terrifyingly calm, but very obviously pissed off expression. His voice is lighter, raspy, as he whispers his next threatening words.

“‘Ow ‘bout this love; you shut ya fuckin’ cock holsta for now, right? When lit’le ol’ Bishop sees you again, we can ‘ave a dive on a second round. ‘Ow’s ‘at sound, love?” He tasked a breath and continues his stare hardening swaying as much as the pitch in his voice does. “‘Cause I’ve ripped men to fucking shreds, yeah? I pulled a man’s fuckin’ tongue out an’ I shoved it up his fuckin’ arse. Then I ripped ‘is cock off an’ ‘m sure yew can fhink of what I did with that, eh? Yeah, I stuffed it right down his fuckin’ throat mate.”

A pause and a tense, humorless smile comes across his face. “It was fuckin’ biblical. God ‘imself woulda been the proud an’ let me into lit’le fuckin’ doggy ‘eaven. Now, fuck. Off. Mate. Before I figure a way to rip out ya dusty cunt and fit it down ya fuckin’ pie ‘hole eh?”


He’d turn back to the other woman, the much politer one, “Aight, love, ‘m not bein’ funny but I ‘avn’t got all day. Quit faffin’ ‘bout. Let’s move before I lose me fuckin’ mind eh?” He suggests gruffly, but not necessarily rudely to Andraste. He’s already on the move towards the plains by then, she can catch up.
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 Her lips peeled back and the witch spun between them, her voice rising above the sands in a great roar, eyes wide and daring Nyra or this man to argue with her.

 “ENOUGH.”

 She turned to Nyra. “I will return with prey - you will meet me at home with some also,” but not this man. She was irritated, her amusement soured as the two continued to argue despite her demand for peace. This man stank of her daughter and her daughter's apparent mate - she did not wish an enemy in their back yard. Though her eyes turned to Solomon with a silent warning. If he continued, there would be no need for word to ever return to the Plains.

 Her body moved towards him, warning within every step. Despite being shorter than both here, her fur rose along her spine and she marched with purpose, with authority. “Come, friend, let's take you back home,” she murred, leading him with what would have been a violent flick of her tail but instead was a strange little wag. “It's best to travel while the sun's down.”

[/narrow]
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Nyra grins wickedly as Solomon takes great offense to her words.
Oh, she'd enjoy this all too much.

As the pig-man starts blabbering off again, she cackles like the wicked bitch of the west she is, right in his face.
"You've done fuck-all to prove you did anything of the sort, mate." She breathes through her laughing.

Right then, Mother sounds loudly, demanding cease. Nyra notes the irritated and soured expression that writ Andraste's face. 
Looking to Solomon, Nyra only offered a death glare that spoke her nonverbal yet violent words, before offering a dip of her muzzle with much more respect to Andraste, with which the Warmaiden turned, kicked dirt in the man's direction with her hind feet in one last show of disdain, and trotted off back homeward. 

If Solomon dared to say anything else, Nyra wouldn't give in this time. She favored her place within the cult much more than her pride.
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Solomon’s mind short circuits when Andraste finally steps in for the second time. Her voice roars between them and Solo goes quiet, expression pensive and terse. He huffs out a sigh and moves towards the straight snouted woman. He doesn’t grace Nyra with another look as he starts walking, nodding lazily as he agrees with her.

“Right, love, let’s move, eh?” He suggests in that tired, rumbling voice of his.

With that, they’d be on their way to Little Haven. Absentmindedly, he hopes this woman isn’t one of their enemies despite what she says. It would be right awful to bring their enemy right to their front door now would it? Poor manners that is. If he did, he would politely blame it on them for not keeping him informed with all the grace and confidence of a man who did nothing wrong.
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