{ art by dark } ~ { table by aura . edited by banshee and dark }

She sputtered, feeling the cold fill her lungs, the aching pain of it driving her into a panic. She thrashed, her jaw still caught in the log's snap-shut trap, and fought. She struggled, pulling and jerking but she was held tight--trapped, here in this dark place, with the black birds circling overhead.

No escape. NO ESCAPE. NO--

Her jaws opened, and she jerked her face free of the alligator--still caught by her hind leg, her flesh tearing from her face as she broke loose. Her head flung above the surface, and she found herself choking, coughing up swamp water as she gasped for air. For only the third or fourth point in her life, she spoke--voice hoarse with dying, and filled with faltering fury.

"Nn--...oo... stu-hhh... uh-pid... Log! Let GO let go--... FIGHT! Bite-... die, log! No!" Ferocity, tempered by exhaustion and the cold that crept up her limbs, drove her into another brief flurry of resistance, biting at the alligator as it dragged her down. A moment later her head went under, cold and dark, and she was choking, choking, no, can't

breathe, can't think, can't live, can't escape, help, help--

For a moment it was pain and cold and terror, and then it all slowly drifted away.

Then the dingo found herself floating, the pain fading, a strange sense of peace and comfort washing around her in the dark. She didn't need to fight, anymore; she was home-...

And then her head was above the surface, again, and it all came back.

Character: Dragon Age: +12 (Twelth Cycle) Magic Level: +5 (Master) ROUND 1 Attempt: +15 Penalties: -# ROUND 2 Attempt: +7 Penalties: -# ROUND 3 Attempt: +8 Penalties: -# ROUND 4 Attempt: +12 Penalties: -# ROUND 5 Attempt: +20 Penalties: -# Total: 79

Character: Feral Age: +11 (Eleventh Cycle) Magic Level: +3 (Brawler) ROUND 1 Attempt: +9 Penalties: -# ROUND 2 Attempt: +17 Penalties: -# ROUND 3 Attempt: +15 Penalties: -# ROUND 4 Attempt: +12 Penalties: -# ROUND 5 Attempt: +9 Penalties: -# Total: 76

WINNER: Dragon

{ art by dark } ~ { table by aura . edited by banshee and dark }

She lay silent, mind blank. The darkness had consumed her and all she could see were the dark spots dancing high above, filling her vision, shrieking in some muffled world beyond the death she'd wandered into.

Pain distantly bit at her, cold and aching, but it no longer seemed to matter. Her entire body was cold.

It hurt to breathe.

She could feel something hot, something broken, leaking beneath her throbbing ribs, and she did not have the strength nor the will to lift a paw--

A voice came, low and rumbling, and she jerked her head but slightly. The log was there--no, not a log; a monster, staring at her, with one broken eye.

She grinned, savagely.

"T-took. Your eye-... w... w-ith me," she gasped, and when it took a step closer, she bared her fangs to the gumlines again, ferocious. But the alligator did not approach further. Instead it settled into the muck, merely watching, and when the Hallowed Callers descended too closely, it blew them away with flame. Possessive of its meal, perhaps, yet it made no move, not yet, to eat.

Not prey...

Her thought was weak.

She did not remember falling, but when her eyes again opened she was staring at rotten leaves lying black and eaten away in the mud. For a time she simply lay there, weaker by the minute, but then she heard movement again, and remembered the log-monster that had damaged her so badly.

She lifted her head again, snarling, even letting out a choking, savage growl; then blood trickled from her nostrils and jaws, and everything went gray. She let her head fall back, but the creature, once more, had stopped.

Feral could hear the monster--the dragon--talking, distantly, could hear the rumble of its voice, but its words sounded distorted, and monstrous. Confusing. When finally it fell silent, leaving her curled in the mud, she let her eyes slip closed.

Rest...

She felt a tug at her hind end, and this time she was not aware enough to react. Her mind had slipped beyond such cares, the imperative of remaining still and silent for survival taking over. She had to rest, had to sleep; if she fought, struggled, she would die of her wounds. She was cold. And so tired. She could--in a vague, distant way--sense that she was being dragged through the mud again, into the water, up to her ribs.

The dingo let out the faintest of growls, and then lay limp and still. She felt a great weight lower slowly onto her body, and though she growled again, she did not--could not--move. It slid away after a moment, and then--eyes slipping shut--so did she.

{ art by dark } ~ { table by aura . edited by banshee and dark }