I want to see teeth stained with blood. I want the streets to run red." — Karma, Saints Boss
ooc news OCT 06 Infidelis' latest news is live! This is no April Fool's joke, Spring is really starting in Komorrah! :D
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AUG 04 We've released a small Chronicle announcing our monthly Top Voters, Top Posters, and Spotlights (and a staff update!) for the meantime! Stay tuned for another one with more updates later in the month!
JUL 13 Our Milestone Raffle is officially posted! No sign-ups required! All eligible winners will be drawn and posted at midnight tonight!
JUL 02 We've unleashed the latest Chronicle! Find it through the button below! A few small updates and a FUN giveaway is on the horizon for most of you! :)
JUN 16 An add-on announcement has been added to our latest Canine Chronicle regarding Character Creation rules (and some other small things); you'll want to read it! Find it in the same place - the button below!
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about us This is Komorrah, a city full of corruption, poverty, and crime. While there's good and bad in every city, this one has dogs. A lot of stray dogs.
Set in a modern-day, fictionalized version of New York City, Komorrah has much to offer our gang dogs. Strays on the street feed from human negligence and thrive on the loopholes they can fit their snouts in. It's every dog for themselves
out there, though living with and having the support of a gang is helpful.
Tensions rise, enemies are made, but perhaps alliances are arranged. Only the strong survive this harsh hand the strays have been dealt. What will be your choice in Infidelis?
featured adoptable DYNASTY • APP Dynasty is the 'Queen Bee' of the Yardies, and you'll know it from a first glance. Vain, condescending, a petty with
a capital 'P', don't let her pretty looks fool you. 'Nasty' is in her name for a reason! A former pet and now a stray, she's still getting used to the life of a street dog, but, it doesn't hold her, or her sharp tongue, back any.
CLICK FOR PERMABANS
Limits and Bans do not count towards adoptions of any kind. If you see a character that you want to adopt in the wanted ads, adoption board, faceclaim adopts, or anywhere else, you may claim it regardless of breed, color, gang or rank
The night was cold, with the current breeze drifting the faint smell of blood, booze, and drugs. A large warehouse, filled with a crowd of men and women cheering... as dogs ripped each-other apart. It was a good night to gain cash if you were looking to fight your dog, and a cruel greed for the green, corrupted many minds that night.
One dog wasn't to fight that night, but sat like a figure of smooth black and tan fur, a few marks adorned his coat; more trophy marks to the owner of the dog...but constant reminders of those who lost...to Ruger. He was a young, spirited, and light on his feet canine. He had to be if his owner, the Mob Boss of their own neighborhood, would pit him against any other good fighting dogs. A large bite wound, which was still relatively fresh smelling, was covered in a strange blue like material, this bite mark on his right shoulder; a reminder of the dog who was forced to fight Ruger...and begged not to die.
Ruger was sitting near his 'boss', his owner, as the human sat with drink, food and hoarse laughter with other humans nearby. Ruger's eyes were glued to the fights at the lower level of the warehouse. He could see dogs fighting below, amidst all the cheering and shouting. His amber eyes glued to one of the dogs in the ring. Whom was slowly loosing the battle. He showed no concern, no pitty, no worry. He just watched in silence.
"Easy." The gravely, commanding voice of her human made those poorly cropped ears of the Dogo Argentino mix perk. She heeled at the man's feet as he moved through the stands, her dark, glassy eyes staring through the chain linked fence of the dog ring below. The flashing lights and loud noises of the utterly massive warehouse didn't bother the dog - not anymore, at least.
Her master - no, her captor - led her through the stands. He was an important figurehead within this place - someone who produced well behaved, obedient, good dogs. Dogs who would fight until their last breath - dogs who knew to fear him.
All except Karma.
Which was probably why he made her his 'right hand dog'. Keep your friends close, but your enemies close, right?
The man soon sat next to another, giving him a few words of greeting. The heavy chain collar pulled into Karma's neck, forcing her to sit. Her large tongue lolled slightly as she panted - she hated this darned collar.
The man they say next to - he seemed important. And he smelled familiar. Like a scent of gunpowder and various other, icky things - a scent she was all too well friendly with. He smelled like drugs. For a moment, she felt her lip threatening to curl, but, the white dog kept her cool. She was ice - unmoving and unfeeling. She wouldn't let this bother her.
By the disturbing man's side, there sat another dog. Typically, only the most important and well behaved dogs were allowed to sit with their masters - let alone in this 'vip' section. But, she paid no mind to the young dog, her gaze not even fixated on the fight. The dog sat tense, muscles occasionally twitching - she was ready for action.
"That yer dog? I seldom get ta see em'. He's growin' up inta uh fine one." Her owner said with a grunt, giving an approving nod. "Can ya make em' bare is' teeth? I wanna see em'." He gave a wicked, cruel grin.
The man who owned Ruger grinned, tapping the cig between his lips as he retrieved a thick leather glove from inside his jacket.
"Sure betcha. Love showing this beast off, he ain't even full grown yet. Gotta have this glove ere though, he'll eat your fingers like sausages and go back for seconds. I got him fixed though, watch!"
As the man slipped the golve on, Ruger's amber eyes were slightly slanting towards the table. Just the mere sound of the glove made his blood boil and fur bristle, a small crease in his lip would sugest a snarl, but not quite.
"Ruger...Aye, sooty-paws...whimpy grizzly..." The young doberman didn't understand the name calling one bit, all he knew was those exact tones of voice and the glove meant it was time to show-off, and bite the hell outa that soft squishy glove. He despized the glove, it blocked his teeth and occasionally would scrap at his tongue and gums. But the Doberman had no choice.
"Aye, cmon do it for your pappy. Show the guys how vicious you are." The man pushed Ruger's shoulder lightly to tease, and Ruger responded as if he were a trained puppet, his flew raised to show the front of his fangs. Sharp and almost pearly white, kept in at least good condition for being the favorite. The large scar that was on his muzzle seemed to ripple like a snake as the man poked and prodded his prized trophy...before giving a motion to hit the dog in the muzzle.
On instinct, both hatred and trained to follow command, Ruger's mouth flew open; teeth bared but not a sound was heard, no growl or bark. As soon as his mouth was open, it was quickly closed around the glove as the Doberman thrashed his body around.
"What'd I tell ya! Silent as hell too! Good quiet killer he is." With Ruger still attached to his hand, and wrapping his front paws to the mans arm, he got a few hard hand slaps to his chest, "Good stud if you ever need one! Just let me buff him up a lil bit more."
Ruger's owner seemed to whisper something as he faced the dangling doberman, and emediately his hand was free, free from the crushing force which, even through the glove was enough to be uncomfortable. Ruger sat back down at the master's chair. Now noticing the other dog present to them, but keeping his eyes to the ground. Only able to see white massive paws and thick legs.
Ruger, even after having the hate-filled display and adrenaline rushing through his veins, was still generous to greet an unknown dog, "Hello.." He spoke, through light heaves of breath from the event.
The man watched the other with a keen interest. He had a like for Dobies - they were smart, quick, and vicious. And this particular one...yeah, he had a nice spark in his eyes - much unlike his own white furred dog beside. The man seemed to lean forward with extreme interest as Ruger would suddenly fly into an intense, silent rage against the glove. If that had been a man's hand, he surely would've bit it off! And so, the man only grinned and gave a loud laugh - he was pleased. " Oly' Hell n' hot damn!"
Karma herself remained still and not moving. The dog hadn't moved since they had sat down. And she wouldn't. Not until he commanded it. Not until she was permitted.
"Aye yah, that ones gots a quite ta' bite! Can't wait to see em' in action!" Her owner laughed slightly, grinning almost hungrily at the doberman. One could almost see money signs in his eyes. That one was a fine bred one - any eye could see that. "I'll keep that in mind, yeah! Karma here, she's ah..not ta kindest. Last litter, zip. None lived. Last male - lost ist' bits!" Her owner howled in laughter once more, roughly patting her on the head. His strokes and pats were never nice. They were never filled with 'love' or any sort of affection. She hated the feeling of him touching her.
At first, Karma didn't respond to the lankier, darker furred male. She only stared on ahead. However, finally, and after a prodding from her owner to the ribs, she cocked her head towards the doberman.
Finally, those heavy maw of hers parted. And what was the very first thing she asked? "Are you my next?" Her question was vague and demanding - but understood by those who knew 'ring slang talk'. She was asking if this dog was to be her next opponent in the ring. The dog then gave him a quick once over before looking over. "I will win." Her words weren't arrogant in tone - they were simply blunt. Perhaps almost a warning if anything.
Ruger listened to his master laugh and converse with the other. When the white female spoke to him his ears were erect and forward, listening to her voice and tone. "I wouldn't bet on it, my master only has me fight those he wants dead to get back at the other owner." After the pause and hearing the white female boast a bit of her winning, he too gave a small glance at her physique to see what she was about. "There's no doubt you'd win. You've been breed for that have you not? We both have in fact; I for speed and endurance, you for power and strength." His human gave a harsh few pats to his head, Ruger's lips curling ever so slightly with each. His master began to give compliments for Karma in return of getting his own. "Fine fighter she looks like, always had a love for the big ones. If only i could size Ruger up a few pounds of muscle and jaw. He'd be a beast for sure." Ruger licked his dark nose, before he began to speak again, "I'm guessing your the favorite."
Ah. So, he fought for the sake of his human's petty squabbles? She almost pitied the dog. Almost. She had no pity left to offer anyone - not even herself. However, her lip would suddenly curl, ivory fangs flashing in a rather sudden manner. "I was not breed for this." She snarled, only to receive a harsh tug of the leash, the chain choke collar painfully digging into her throat - a means to control her.
Still, the dog had clearly been set off by the simple statement, as seen by the briefly agitated twitch of her pointed ears. "I had a purpose. This was not it." She was meant to be tool, yes - she'd accepted that. But...not this. Not a clown with sharp teeth - a means of entertainment for humans.
As quickly as her brief anger had came though, it had subsided - a quick burst that had been quickly put out. Or, more like left to fester inside the dog like a boiling volcano that could never release.
At the doberman's comment, she didn't seem to respond, until finally, her maw parted. "Is that ever a good thing?" The ivory furred dog spoke in a gruff, yet questioning tone. Even if the question didn't need to be answered. Being the 'favorite' of any scumbag human down here was never a good thing.
Unfortunately for her, she'd always been the 'favorite'.
" 'Side from her 'ccasional attitude, I hit the jackpot with her. Paid a pretty penny for her too. Tho, I'm sure the day I let go ah this baby here," the man harshly yanked on the leash once more - earning nothing but silence from the dog as she was suddenly jerked backwards, "I'll lose a finger o' more from er'." He let out a chuckle.
"You plan on putting him in the ring today? Heard we got a few good ones showing. I wouldn't mind bettin' on him." The man reached forward, aiming to boldly pat the doberman on the side.
The dark dog turned his attention back down to the ring below, his breath still slightly heavy, "I know what I was breed for...pain, death upon others, torment. To take the lives that may not deserve it, but are handed the end by my jaws."
Ruger listened to the female speak about a purpose, his eyes diverted from the ring, back to the ground near her direction, he seemed to think for a moment, as if carefully picking words to speak.
"What is your purpose, if I may ask? Just yours, no one else, not even what the humans have planned...what will you do, when the time is right." Ruger's amber gaze stayed to the ground, keeping his respects to the female. "What will you do when the time is right...to destroy the hand that beats you." He shifts his gaze, not to Karma's face, but the tight collar around her neck. "Will you take advantage...when he least expects it?"
Ruger's master, flicking the ashes from his cig onto Ruger's back, waved his other hand, "I got him for next month here, I'm just makin e bit of spending money here and ridding a few dogs that won't make the cut. Plus this young sprout is healing a gnarly wound...can't say it's from a dog or I'd be fibbin out my old teeth."
Feeling the ashes on his back, his black fur twitched to relief the slight tinge of burn. "My purpose...one day, will to be rid of the thing that holds me to the ground. Who cages me and starves me." Ruger's gaze slowly rolls to his masters face, "To Rip and shread, to devour and torture..."
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