Dale
Honestly, Darin was pretty lost. Not, lost in thought. No, as in he wasn't too sure where he was anymore. Those kinds of thoughts had been pushed away, instead his mind was honed to a sharp point- Pointing itself directly onto the brutish wolf-man standing before him. He could feel every single aspect of his being at this moment, and found himself in an oddly transcendent state. While some of the Northern battle-ragers were infamous for their tendency to go Berzerk and devote their very essence to the fight at hand, this was quite different. While they exploded, as if someone was throwing a torch onto a big bundle of dry hay, Darin didn't let it all spill over quite as much. He was moreso like a pot of boiling water, left over the fire with the lid on for far too long. It wasn't an intense explosion of ferocity and might, but a slow, high-pressure spill where he gradually boiled over, and the little cool he had was eroded. Underneath that, the aspect of Darin that he himself tried to keep a bit under-wraps was glaring out. Not a second soul, as some liked to describe the people who could switch into another mindset under intense pressure, but a side of him that otherwise didn't find time to grab the spotlight nearly enough.
Now, the spotlight was all his.

Darin's legs kicked slightly as his chest and face ached. The pummeling had been quite thorough, but nothing that could disable a man of his calibre. Especially with this smattering mockery coming his way, Darin's teeth ended up gritted as he haphazardly pushed himself onto his feet, stumbling slightly and tightly gripping the left side of his face- which was starting to take on a rather unpleasant looking, almost purple-ish color. It would hurt like a bitch tomorrow. That was, if Darin had a tomorrow to look forwards to. Still, his one eye that remained in use had an unnerving tinge to it. His iris was enlarged from the adrenaline keeping him on his feet, and the frenzied mood had his entire eye glaring wide open- leaving the pupil as a black island in a sea of white. Sweat, tears, and even the odd droplet of blood tinged his face with a sheen as the sun bore down on it, leaving his visage glistening slightly. For a moment, what stood there surrounded on all sides by enemies was not a noble- it was a madman who had been pushed across his mental limit, and was going to push his physical limits further.

"Teach.. *Teach* Them..?" Darin repeated, with his breath still strained despite his second wind. "Oh, I'll teach them alright.. I'll teach them what the *Inside* Of your ***RIBCAGE*** Looks like!" While it sounded like a cocky claim, there was no real 'superiority' or mocking tone in his voice- Just genuine anger, pushing a very genuine threat. His free hand shot out, grabbing a hold just below the ax head, and with a fierce tug (Probably fierced than what was required), Darin pulled it towards himself. As much as he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to absolutely *Sunder* The opposition with his bare hands. 
At this point, the beating of hooves became increasingly apparent. Darin's senses certainly registered it- but his mind didn't really. To him, there was simply put battle raging all around. Sure, he didn't remember any of the forces involved having this number of cavalrymen, but as of now he didn't remember much. There were heavy red clouds hanging over his mind, and soon there would be a red rain.
Bobby
Lord Wesley Wolff
Tobias Westbrook 
White Ridge, Asairde

The Wolff's estate was called White Ridge, named for its position stop a narrow hill with a winding path leading to its gates. The valleys below had pockets of settlers that were displaced from Iron Gate or other larger cities. For a small fee, the Wolffs let them stay on their land, hunt their game, and sometimes even provided baskets of grain to them when the snow was heavy and they could not fend for themselves. It was a long standing tradition before the Wolffs ended up becoming White Ridge's keepers. 

The snow was lightly falling outside the frosted windows when Wes rolled up his sleeves. He was already disheveled, hair wild, collar undone, sweating, and rolling up his sleeves was the final sign that he really meant business. He grabbed Tobias' shoulders, balling his fists against the fabric, before he pulled him close. "Tobias," He said as he pressed his forehead against his momentarily. "This is life or death. I have no intentions on losing, and unfortunately I have to trust this shot to you..." He pointed to the left sloppily... Just in the general direction of the target but nowhere near it in reality. "I know you're nervous..." He reached down to grab his hands, slippery with sweat. He wiped them on his own shirt as he spoke, "But, my fate is in your slippery hands. Do not lose focus." 

Wes pulled a dagger from the back of his trousers and dangled it in front of Tobias' face. 

"This is our ticket to glory and salvation," He placed the dagger in his hands then turned him to face the target. He rubbed his shoulders, "Look at it... It's there... Victory. It's yours, claim it." He patted him on the shoulder then took a few steps back, running his hands through his messy dark hair.

Willard and Theirou settled on two fur lined chairs, long since losing the game. Willard had a stein made of bone that was larger than his head and filled halfway with ale. He laughed watching Wes take the game so seriously, "Honestly, Wes. I came here planning to lose. I'm only bothered that you were not on my team." He looked over to Theirou, "Do you think we should just change the rules and declare the first ones out the winners?"

Wes barked, "SHUT UP!" Tobias was lining up his shot, he didn't want him distracted.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, "Do you really believe Willard's ramblings will help him? You're finished." She looked up from her dagger, she was using it to file her nails. Wes glared at her. She nudged Taedra with her elbow, "Look at that. He's angry. Maybe we should start rambling too."
Harold
**House Westbrook
House Wolff
White Ridge, Asairde**

Tobias' eyes squinted, letting out an exhale as Wes placed his forehead to his, telling him it was a life or death situation whether or no he hit this next shot. The alcohol on the man's breath matched his own, as they'd been drinking shot for shot with every winning strike by their brothers, and now, their sisters. Thierou and Willard had lost, and practically fallen on their asses into the thick furs that lined the chairs by the course. Their drunken laughter and jokes upset Wes, which in turn upset Tobias, who had to deal with the man pointing out his slippery hands. He hadn't been nervous until the bastard started to get intense, then he broke out into an uncomfortable sweat that the cold was doing nothing to calm. 

With the dagger and the pat, Tobias jutted his elbow back, urging Wes to fuck off and let him take his shot without any more drama. "You change the rules, Willard I change the direction of this blade towards your cock." Toby called, letting the wind carry his voice instead of actually turning. 

Charlotte shot off a comment as well, and the man tensed, pulling his arm back and letting the thickest part of the gust that hit them pass, waiting for just the right moment-
"While we're young, Toby." Taedra called, turning her own dagger over in her palms. She stood beside Charlotte, Thierou's thick fur coat swallowing her frame as she waited. So far, Charlotte was the better shot of the two, but she was eager to keep at it even when their siblings had fallen into drunken heaps in the snow. She wouldn't learn without practice, and they didn't have the same set up back home. 

Tobias threw his arm forward, and the blade soared through the air, hitting just the right curve the man had hoped it would in it's trajectory. The silver of Wes' dagger glinted in the sun, and Toby grinned, satisfied, and placed his hands on his hips.

"You missed." Thierou pointed out, stifling a snort, "All that bullshit and you fucking missed." He bellowed, sinking deeper into the chair he occupied with a generous drag from his flask. 

The dagger had hit the right path Tobias had wanted, it was true, but unfortunately, the dumbass hadn't aimed correctly, and the dagger went soaring over the target by at least a foot, only to land blade down in the frozen tundra on the other side a few yards away. Tobias' jaw dropped, and he slowly dropped to his knees, arms at his side with disbelief as Taedra picked up the decanter of wine and passed it to Charlotte, who happily took it over to their brothers. 

"And that's game, enjoy your goatpiss." Taedra smirked. It wasn't really goat piss, but the mountain brewed concoction sure as the seven hells smelled like it. A few glasses was enough to knock a man down, but a whole decanter split between the two would leave them with a terrible hangover and the unforgettable memory that they lost at their own game to their sisters.