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Tyramon wrote:

Duels between wolves were relatively simple, coming down to a handful of factors: aggressiveness, strength, speed, endurance, toughness, and size. All the wolves that were fighting were rather agressive, which made sense given that they were willing to fight rather than let someone else lead. They varied in size and strength, though the smallest one of the group was also notably the fastest, able to strike and dodge with greater success, if only to lesser effect.

The fights did not last long enough for anyone to lose due to endurance, but with the winner decided amongst those who would challenge Kressidia, Kressidia knew that - by wolf custom - there was to be a rest period before the challenger faced Kressidia. Of course the challenger could not wait too long - that would be a sign of weakness and cowardice. But, the fights had been intense, and it might be hours or even a day before the challenger came forth to challenge Kressidia.

The challenger was the largest and oldest wolf out of all of them. His body was covered in scars, and he had proven to be quite resilient against the other wolves' attacks. His right eye was injured, seemingly by whatever had lacerated his face years ago, though it was uncertain whether that eye was completely blind or only severely impaired. Other than that, there was little in the way of weaknesses - at least, nothing that had been revealed in battle with the other wolves. It would be a difficult fight. Despite Kressidia's wolf form being larger than a true viper wolf, she was about the same size as this hellhound before her. Hatred filled and fueled him, and he might not spare Kressidia's life should she lose.

Kressidia slowly nodded as she faced the largest and oldest wolf. The right eye would be interesting; if vision was impaired, it might serve a valuable blind spot to manoeuvre to. Still, a wolf this powerful would be quite the boon to her pack, and would only strengthen her ranks; The scars showed at the very least it could win in a brutal and bloody fight.

Still though, she would respect the wait period.

"You fight quite well...I am impressed...do you have a name, perchance?

******

Erwin was currently peering at the oven, frowning. Looking up he smiled as he saw Vara. He himself was wearing much more casual-formal attire than his steel-blue military uniform; but a simple pair of pants and a white shirt adorned his form, although the beard which appeared rather foreign on his face remained unkempt.

"Ah, Vara...terribly sorry, this meat that some of my troops acquired from a traveling shepherd is taking a little longer to cook...I'm unfortunately used to Augustan produce and the cows we placed here haven't reached a sufficient critical mass to begin slaughtering them, doesn't help a test flight of a new multi-role fighter destroyed the only abattoir in the local area."

He stood up and smiled at her.
"Although, I must say you are looking as wonderful as ever...I presume that was made by the Suaven."

******

"Certainly...although it's not much to look at. As for Sorcerer Delegata...it's just an induction; it's a place where sorcerers seemingly have a terrible time, Delegata was sealed away by Witches...perhaps there's some correlation between the two."

Spencer held out his hand and, once the Wizard took it, he returned to the place Spencer was, nearly stepping in the small splatters of blood left behind after Spencer suffered his wounds.

******

Nelly frowned.
"Why would..."

She paused.
"Wha...hmmm, what is the planet like? Anything...special about it? Any tyramonian troops on it? Settlements?"

North South North West Kansas wrote:

William chuckled and scooped her up.
"Well, I never took myself for a monarchist...I'm certain my ancestors are rolling in their graves." He said with a slight chuckle.

Of he went, carrying Kiki gently down the halls towards her bedroom.

******

Connie shakes her head. “For once I envy Carissa for never having to grow up.”

Tsarina shrugged.
"Hey...we-" she gestured to the both of them, "-have to be grown ups...for our kids...there's no two ways about it, ok?"

She pulled her close.
"But I think we can remain a little bit youthful. No point living life if you can't live life...well...there's no..."

She paused.

"No point living life it you can't have a little laugh every now and then." She said.

Oateria wrote:

Sophia, currently trying to calm Mandrat down, motioned to van Bamber.
"Sorry just...give her a moment." Turning to Mandrat she guided her to the nearest seat. "Deep breaths, speak slowly, tell them what you saw."

*******************************

"Why? what you got in mind?" Ysali asked with a raised eyebrow.

*******************************

"Foods food." Rachael commented. "Beggars shouldn't be choosers, and while I might not be a beggar by New Franco standards, New Franco is just a bunch of Beggars by everyone's standards. Only people more worse off than New Franconians is probably the Aerlanicans or Tyramonians, for obvious reasons."

*******************************

Entering the library, she was immediately confronted by the massive size of it. It opened directly into the library proper, and the shelves before her reaching into the central chamber were both tall and long, filled to the brim with books. It was also eerily silent, devoid of even the faint echo and the current clack of computer keys from the front desk.

There were three ladies at the aforementioned desk, and the one addressed looked up from a computer and smiled politely. She like her peers was dressed in an almost stereotypical manner for a librarian; a long dress with a white blouse with sleeves rolled up. A polite smile and cheery face adorned with large circular glasses was framed by red curls. A small name tag reading "Hello, my name is" followed by the name "Phoenix" written in cursive pen.

The only thing out of the ordinary were her forearms: along each of them were intricate geometric tattoos taking the form of pixelated flowers of all colours.

Still, she gave a polite nod as she looked up form her computer.
"Hello there," she said in a voice that was paradoxically both silent as a murmur but able to be clearly heard, "I presume Hogan sent you."

Reaching underneath the desk she produced a small name tag devoid of a name and produced a pen.
"What happens to be your name? Don't be shy, we won't hurt you."