Elías, it would seem, is late to the party. The call for the swamp pride brings the entire island out of the woodwork, and he does not doubt the involvement his family will have. This pride has housed their enemies, and his kin will doubtless be looking to take advantage of Alaric's distraction with his opponent. The Sigrún lacks faith that Cassandra will win; it has nothing to do with the fact that she is a woman, and everything to do with her youth and perceived inexperience. He has yet to be proven otherwise, but if nothing else, she will make for a good catalyst.

The cacophony of fighting rings against his ears, and his eye is keen and sharp as he surveys the absolute chaos he descends into. It elicits a thrum of excitement in his chest, the enticing vibrato of war drums. Even Elías, for all his control, is not immune to it. He spots @Revna within the fray, fighting a woman he knows only by description, and much as he wants to go to her, he is well aware that she can fight her own battles. Lingering tensely on the outskirts, he continues his surveyal of the area, freezing when he sees the familiar lilac tones of @Dhaveira's hips vanishing into the brush with a strange man on her heels.

Perhaps Eira can't see the anticipation lurking in the tension of @Caelum's muscles, but Elías can. His lips curl into a snarl and the Sigrún is on the move, his head slung low and ears pinned back against his skull. There is no warning other than the heavy approach of his accelerating footsteps, barreling through the underbrush and locking onto his target. Approaching from behind and somewhat to the left of the Bluffs lion, Elías juts out his left shoulder, attempting to slam the brunt of his weight into Caelum's left hipbone. His right fore swings up and around, attempting to sink his claws into the man's upper right thigh whilst his surging jaws try to snap his teeth around his opponent's spine at the midpoint of his pelvis. He hopes, for Eira's sake, that his wife has the good sense to get the hell out of dodge.

elías vs caelum for major maim
move one of five

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 10 + 20 + 8 + 11 + 12 + 17 + 3

Dodges:

Rolling 5d20: 3 + 19 + 2 + 13 + 20

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 14 + 15 + 1 + 10 + 7

_{BG — ART — CODE}

The sounds around him were deafening, a muddied loud mass of cries, growls, bodies clashing and colliding. He had played his games in the Pit, he had thought fighting did not frighten him. It was easy there... but in the very depths of his soul Scipio was terrified. Despite being approaching head on Scipio couldn't quite focus on the beast of Harrow barreling down on him. Inevitably the beast grew closer, closer, the scent of hot breath and blood flung up into his nose and his brain tickled look out.

Harrow's limbs wrapped around Scipio's lower neck, planting and tearing into the upper peaks of the shoulders while the pale albino's hair rose down along the length of his spine. Bright, ruby eye blazed and he began to wretch his neck backwards just as the older lion's head pushed past and gripped into the rolled thicker flesh beside the blades near the base of the neck. His fur illuminated with red. Panicked, drawn into battle, Scipio reached out with his teeth for what simply was within reach, minimal calculating or thought. His bite would end up being aimed for the right side of Harrow's neck, into the thick of the older male's grown in mane.

@Harrow vs. Scipio
Major Maim
Round 1 / 5
Hits:

Rolling 6d20: 15 + 19 + 12 + 20 + 1 + 18

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 12 + 10 + 9

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 20 + 7 + 14 + 19 + 17

Seneca has a vested interest in this battle, and even the tattered state of his leg will not keep him away. It means he does not move with haste, but he heads for Ecrosia all the same, stubborn as ever. The Miroslav has no way of knowing that this day will devolve into such a state of frenzied chaos, but shouting and snarls and cries of agony fill the air with the unmistakable beat of war drums. He has not started this brawl, but he will gladly finish it. Regardless of Alaric's claims, he suspects that his downfall would be beneficial to the Stärke, and trying to oust Seneca would just be good business. Unfortunately, he had failed.

And now, the Andal sovereign has a vendetta and a desire to be in the thick of the fray; he's gone too long without it. Familiar faces are locked in battle at every turn, and he cannot help the way he stiffens amongst the brambles when he sees @Hazel in the throes with the priest. He should not have let Arishem leave with his life that day. There is nothing, however, he can do about that now, and his attention peels away to see who else of import is here.

Seneca prowls the outskirts, taking note of @Antares fighting Violarum, and @Drakon with someone he does not recognize. From what he can tell, Wolfbron fights alongside Ecrosia, helping to solidify his belief that they are in cahoots with one another. Alaric has been playing a dangerous game indeed.

He might have missed @Olive's discreet presence entirely if not for the accented purr of a man he can only assume to be a Dieudonné. His head whips around, catching sight of @Apollinaire (who is vaguely familiar as one of the combatants from the war in the Bluffs), his suave drawl likely enough to convince the yearling of good intentions. Seneca, however, is not so easily fooled — and claimed or not, loyal or not, Olive is under his protection now, and he takes that task very seriously.

His ears slap back into the thick of his mane, and he lunges for the smaller male, ignoring the protesting burn from his shoulder and the obvious reopening of still-fresh wounds. Having been on the fringes of the battle, Seneca's approach is from behind the pair, attempting to drive his way in between them to bodily block Olive from her would-be captor. He attempts to plow the brunt of his right shoulder into Apollinaire's left, his muzzle swinging to the right as he tries to sink his teeth into the Dieudonné's left cheek, hoping to wipe that smirk right off his face.

seneca vs apollinaire for major maim
move one of five

Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 1 + 4 + 10 + 18 + 15 + 6 + 5

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 2 + 15 + 16 + 9

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 15 + 14 + 5 + 20 + 18 + 12

*Seneca has +1 luck due to @Hazel (AO Lead Scout) being present in the thread.

Seneca Miroslav

table by ferus, art by sleepykyju

THE FAMINE—
My Lord, why is goodness so hard for me?

It is the shrill rapture of violence that brings a heavenly image of Jehova Jitendra upon him. Blinding lights and rushing noise, it aids within the sanctification of the death of the baptists. Death is a feeling he has encountered in the face of the devils conquered and haughty he becomes ethereal. Bone pierces flesh through a face full of fur, pulling the cusp of crimson unto his lips as he drinks of the wine. It is delightful, damning and even the more divine as he exhales whatever sinless fates that he has once garnered as a whole is abandoned. He becomes the fleshy seal of Lucifers commands while reconciling within the repentance that they owe unto him. She is but a stepping stone to the path that they will take unto righteousness, and if violence was the way that their message shall be conveyed then violence would always be a friend of his.

It is the feeling of daggers against his skin that pull the rush of adrenaline further unto the flush disdain of what unholy actions they commit among the mire floors. The agony of a woman scorn and the thrill of battle being all that to distract him from he impending face full of claws that reaches the bridging of his cheek. He falters, lips curling upwards to produce a war cry as the beast jerks backwards from her flesh. Hoping to take some of the meat with him as he goes. Famine is the striking insolence that carries his crown heavy upon his brow as the slippery snake grins wildly, ravenous and mad like. As the stinging sensation coils amongst the maul of a damned creature, Arishem moves again. Dropping low, and coiling amongst the foliage as a damning viper. He attempts to strike quickly, aiming to grasp ahold of the woman’s hind right leg quarter, and pull. A vulnerable position to place himself upon, and yet, one that if used wisely can aid in the take down of prey. She is repentance for the sins of their forefathers, and those who had come before. Even if she is not the intended target of his anger, she will become a statement as to just what the Manasseh can do.

Sparring Stats
The Priest vs. The Devil
(@Arishem) vs (@Hazel)
Major Maim - Blinding - one eye
Round II of V
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 16 + 1 + 10 + 17 + 8 + 6 + 4

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 19 + 20 + 12 + 18

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 10 + 15 + 9 + 8 + 20

Penelope had been plenty mad at @Baltasar for disappearing on her again, but that had melted away once he had joined both her and Parvana at the Cove. They were going to have a fresh start and as long as he was safe, she would be happy. But the very moment she noticed Baltasar's scent going outward from the Cove she was hot on his heels. Perhaps it was curiosity alone that drove her to follow after him, but she couldn't help the feeling of unease in her gut as she moved across the mire borders. There was a multitude of bodies scattered across the terrain, but Penelope was searching for Baltasar and it didn't take long for her to find him entangled with a stranger. He was a ferocious sight and Penny's heart slammed faster in her chest as she pushed past others to move closer, anxiously awaiting for him to separate from her. She would be here and she would help him; they would discuss what the fight was all about later, but for now she had no choice but to wait.


[ambassador/sleuth exp]
+5 - Observe a challenge
+5 - Follow someone through a territory

ART COPYRIGHT IRISH

Her claws strike home, and Hazel tries to take as much skin and flesh from his cheek as she can on the way down. It had been so long since her claws had a lion under them, ripping and tearing, and the druid - a woman of peace, of healing - had forgotten the feeling. Adrenaline and fear and thrill pump through her veins, forcing her to keep going, because no matter her trade she would never bend or run when she could fight.

Hazel has no intention of letting Arishem get away or any sort of distance that he might spring at her again or get near her back end; she attempts to turn and twist with him, ignoring the sting of missing chunks from her scruff, the feeling of hot blood flowing down her neck. Worries for later, for after.

The man looks mad, insane, and if she’d any inclination to reason with him it’s dashed to the ground the moment she sees his face proper. She knows madness when she sees it; already all too familiar with bloodlust and hate. Perhaps they had never crossed paths in this life, but that did not matter to him. He wants to feast on her blood, he wants her pain. She will feed him his instead.

The lion’s claws sear a path along her front shoulder (as she’d attempted to keep facing him as he moved) and as his arm jerks, Hazel launches herself forward - hopefully at his face - with her jaws open and skull turned slightly to the right. She attempts to sink her teeth into his left upper lip, into the meaty chunk that holds whiskers and lip, while her forepaw lifts and attempts to slam into his eye on the opposite side of his face and dig in.

Hazel v @Arishem
For Major Maim (blinding)
Round II / V
Hits:

Rolling 4d20: 4 + 17 + 7 + 11

Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 3 + 16 + 1 + 10 + 9 + 17

Luck:

Rolling 6d20: 3 + 8 + 16 + 6 + 2 + 19

DO NO HARM
TAKE NO SHIT

coded by flea

the old gods are dead They clash. The white lion's shoulder surges forward and collides with Falki's cheek. His skull seems to rattle as he steps back half a pace. Everything rings and spins for a moment. There will be bruising later, and it will hurt. Drakon's teeth bite into his mane and shoulder. It could be worse but he has his mane protecting him. Falki lifts his paw and attempts to shove and claw at Drakon's cheek while his skull turns, and he attempts to bite the lion's ear and clench down on it. Childish moves, designed to hurt more than damage. He does not even know this man's name, only that in some fashion he is on the side of the Sigrun. Falki v @Drakon For Minor Maim Round II / V Hits: Rolling 6d20: 5 + 13 + 2 + 1 + 15 + 11 Dodges: Rolling 4d20: 7 + 19 + 15 + 16 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 1 + 2 + 17 + 10 + 4

code // art // do not use without permission

Ashtoret was preoccupied again, letting her mind revel in the primal force that was a battle. So much so that the sudden pressure, followed by pain was unexpected. Her world was rocked by a sudden imbalance, twisting around her till her side hit the ground. The cleric was stunned, locked in a momentary daze from the rattled skull against the ground. Her head would shake side to side as paws found the earth again, tail lashing irritably as the sting of her wounds resurfaced to the forefront of her mind.

Blue turned back to the Wheaton colored lioness, the one of the supposed enemy. A roar rippled from beneath her skin as her teeth were bared again, before Ash leapt forward in a short distanced run. Here she attempted once more land a painful blow--as the space began to close she stopped suddenly, swiping at the lioness's face with a slender but still firm arm in the hopes the black weapons would rake across such a pretty visage, and leave one final cut. Just one, just one line of blood to burst she hopes. Ashtoret felt time begin to rush forward, as if it has slowed during the duration of this encounter. The sounds of the battle came flooding back, drawing her attention to the all-out conflict that had erupted in the murky mire of ecrosia. What the outcome would be, she could not fully say, but one thing was for certain--she'd never forget the face of her opponent

code by corvus II Art by Drifty

Ashtoret vs @Tullia
Minor Maim
Round 5/ 5
Hits:

Rolling 3d20: 4 + 6 + 9

Dodges:

Rolling 5d20: 14 + 1 + 10 + 7 + 19

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 4 + 18 + 14 + 9 + 20

She is joined by her father @Drakon and leans against his shoulder only for a half a second before the ebony Tollaire is separating, shifting to her left slightly while her emerald eyes are locked onto the battles that were erupting around them. Her muscles were tensed and prepared, however what she wasn't ready for was an attack from the right, one that was directed to Drakon. She manages to side-step just in time to narrowly avoid being trampled by her father and his opponent, a man that was completely unfamiliar to her. Anger ripples through her hot and bold, encouraging her to engage. She peers beyond her father and Falki, her gaze landing directly upon @Fallon. It's nothing personal, in fact Hestia has no remorse as she bolts past her father to move closer to the grey woman. The bloodlust surges through her, pushing her to move faster and to close the gap between them which admittedly wasn't very large to begin with. Hestia attempts to barrel towards the woman, hoping to take her left shoulder and ram it directly into @Fallon's chest. Her right forepaw would then swing upward in an attempt to hook the woman by her left shoulder in an effort to yank her closer. Meanwhile her ears remain laced back, eyes narrowed, and chin tucked to protect her neck. This was going to get ugly. Hestia v. @Fallon for Minor Maim (TBD) Round 1/5 Hits: Rolling 5d20: 1 + 4 + 15 + 13 + 2 Dodges: Rolling 2d20: 13 + 19 Luck: Rolling 5d20: 10 + 9 + 15 + 18 + 14

code // art

Hecuba probably should have cared a bit more that her daughter and husband had launched into battle, but the truth was, it warmed the tendrils of her cold, dead heart to see them side by side. The family that slays together stays together or something, right? Not that death was on the menu today -- at least not for her small group. "Go get them, dear," she cried after @Hestia, cheering her on despite having absolutely no idea what the fuck was happening. A young man was attacking her husband and that was quite annoying, but she enjoyed seeing Drakon in action. Always. She was his biggest fan and so she stood nearby, watching, but staying alert for any possible combatants coming her way.

Code + art by @CloudyNight