He bled, freely, and he hurt. It was nothing new to the behemoth, who had fought his share of battles, but it was still irritating. He moved from the challenge along his new borders, even in his injured state refreshing the markers and claiming the land as his. It was slow going, the bite at the top of his Withers especially irritating, as long with the gouges in his paw. But Alaric was a stubborn man, determined, and he would not be so easily stopped.

He would go from here to call a meeting, to check in with his new pride mates and see if any had stayed. It was imperative to secure what fealty he could, he had little doubt in his mind that there would be retaliation.

For now he took a pause, sitting at the edge of the borders between his land and the rainforest, surveying the neighbourhood of his new home._{BG — ART — CODE}

Whether he will manage to gain Odhgrimm's favor, she cannot begin to guess -- but Uzma has a duty to the clan and as a medic, and she's not about to let his wounds go untreated. If he's going to prove to be any sort of asset to the Rike, he's better off not facing the complications of infection from his battle, and he may yet still have angry faces coming to take their home back. And so she hadn't left the area entirely, allowing the crowd to disperse before she slinks out of the underbrush and prowls after the man's scent. She finds him without much searching, taking a respite at the edge of his territory, and a soft chuff announces her arrival as she nears. As ever, her rabbit skin satchel is with her, always well-stocked and prepared. "Alaric," she greets with the soft lilt of her accent, her gaze sweeping towards the tired lines of his face. "May I see to your wounds?" the medic broaches, pausing a few yards away and offering a little tilt of her skull. She fully expects him to be just as cantankerous as the men of the Rike clan, and she approaches the situation with an equal amount of respect and caution -- as she does most men.

my words all fall like empires like an ancient language we used to know

art // code // do not use without permission

He had hoped she might find him.

Alaric had met her once before — he found her more deferential than Erna, even, and it stroked his ego in a way he rather liked. Uzma was well off limits of course, but that did not mean he couldn’t appreciate the asset she clearly was.

She came with an offer and he nodded but did not move. Perhaps he held his head a little higher and maybe his chest puffed out with pride; minuscule things, really. If Uzma was offering aid perhaps not all was lost, he scanned the surroundings as if half hoping to see the Jarl, too. The words from the meeting still stung, but not enough to take away from the sweet taste of victory.


- long gouges left shoulder
- bite marks top of right leg
- puncture wounds and deep scratches top of left paw
- small chunk taken from right cheek
- torn skin between shoulders_{BG — ART — CODE}

Uzma is an observant woman -- more so than most ever give her credit for -- and she can't help but notice that he looks past her rather than at her, as though searching for something. Someone, more likely, and a curious little noise rumbles in her throat. "He's not here," she informs him with a soft hum, her tone neither warm nor cold -- it just is. She's smart enough to guess at who he's hoping for, but the medic is here of her own volition, (un?)fortunately for Alaric. She meanders closer with his silent approval, bridging the gap and setting down her things on a mostly dry bed of grass beside him. Uzma loiters by his left shoulder, starting with the deep wounds there and methodically cleaning the dried blood away with bundled wet moss, her gaze focused intently upon her work. "Congratulations on your victory," the swede offers quietly, and as always with Uzma, it's rather difficult to tell if she means it genuinely or if she's simply employing a lifetime of telling men what she thinks they want to hear. +10 - Heal a character’s sickness or injury [1/2]

my words all fall like empires like an ancient language we used to know

art // code // do not use without permission

how different would it have been if he had won his first bid? would he have faced the same backlash? likely so, but at least he would have had the Rike at his back. now he faced the challenging task of forming new alliances, and he mulled over the words his wife had shared at the family meeting. he grunts when @Uzma confirms that odh is not present, though he had not really expected him to come. it was disappointing, sure, but the starke men were not known for breaking so easily.

he would work to carve out his own niche, building a reputation for better or for worse. Alaric had work to do, and his claws clenched at the ground with a hint of impatience.

there is no indication that he feels her work -- he is still as a statue, knowing well that the less he moves the quicker she will be. "thank you." there are many other retorts that he considers and perhaps it is a sign of his exhaustion that his response is so simple.

where innocence burns in flames

i'm frozen to the bones

image by yumpy, code by corvus

He isn't half as endearing as Odhgrimm, and though Uzma is always the sort to follow duty without question or complaint, she finds herself inwardly glad that he is not Rike, and that he never had an opportunity to claim her for himself. Lucky is never something she would think to call herself, but the comparison is a stark contrast that she cannot help but notice. She says nothing, of course, and lapses into silence as she works, having no need to fill the emptiness with useless words. There's nothing she's particularly interested in saying, anyway. Uzma works her way quietly around his forefront, cleaning the injuries on either leg methodically and pushing up on her tiptoes to reach the lacerations on his withers. She pauses when she gets to the gouges on his cheek, her outstretched forepaw seeking to grasp his chin in a gentle but firm manner to guide his head down and closer so that she can get a better look without fighting their height difference. +10 - Heal a character’s sickness or injury [2/2] Rolling 1d10: 7 - Rolling a 1 is considered a critical fail, and 1 OOC week will be added to the healing time. - Rolling a 2-5 is considered routine care, and there will be no changes to the healing time. - Rolling a 6-10 is considered a success, and the healing time will be cut in half.

my words all fall like empires like an ancient language we used to know

art // code // do not use without permission

The Alaric she meets now is not the Alaric most have met. He is subdued, wounded, and exhausted in a way he has not been for some time. The last month had been fraught with more stress than he had anticipated, and some of the shine has worn off of his charm.

@Uzma pulls his face down and he does not fight her, but his green eyes do take the opportunity to study her more closely. She is quiet, pretty enough, and skilled. “i can see why he likes you,” he observes, with the faintest twist of his lips. It is an observation not meant to insult or upset — it is, in fact, a compliment, if she chooses to take it that way.

where innocence burns in flames

i'm frozen to the bones

image by yumpy, code by corvus

She's used to being looked at that way -- to being studied, as though she is some puzzle they're trying to sort out. It's fair, to be honest, for she is something of a puzzle, and her motives seem to be the source of great intrigue. Why, after all, would a free woman subject herself to a life of subservience beneath the feet of men? Uzma knows nothing else, truthfully, and the years of lessons drilled into her by an overly strict mother have left her with a belief system that aligns with sexist idealism. She does not suffer them, but works cohesively with them, and she takes pride in it. A slight quirk of her brow answers his commentary, and she meets Alaric's gaze for only a moment before she's refocusing on his torn cheek and wiping free the clotted blood as she has for all his other wounds. "Can you?" she murmurs somewhat curiously, padding around him again to rummage in her kit to begin preparing a paste of herbs on a flat piece of bark. She finds his choice of words somewhat amusing, though it doesn't show; a month ago, she might have said that Odhgrimm was incapable of anything much more than tolerating her, but their last few interactions have changed that drastically. Beneath his surface is a kaleidoscope of colors, and despite all her efforts to ignore it, her affection for the jarl is growing at an alarming rate. And as often as she tries to push thoughts of him out of her head, it's rather difficult when he's at the center of the current conversation. With Alaric, though, she finds it easy to hide the turmoil of thoughts tumbling around in her head; he doesn't make her feel flustered like Odhgrimm does. +10 - Heal a character’s sickness or injury [2/2] +20 - Successfully heal a wounded roll using the healing system [2/2]

my words all fall like empires like an ancient language we used to know

art // code // do not use without permission

He wonders if there is a fire in her. He wonders if, like Erna, she shows subservience where it is needed, but can rise to meet whatever challenge comes her way. Does she have the same sharp bite as his wife? Or is she mild tempered through all of life’s twists and turns?

“Indeed.” He does not elaborate, but there is the hint of a wolfish grin on his lips. How unfortunate that he did not have one like her at his disposal, with her set of skills…

This is another thing he considers (and admittedly his mind is racing with it all) and he asks the question as it springs to mind — “Why are you helping me?” Odh had made it clear there was no alliance here, and he did not think uzma had any relationship with erna. Loyalty to her sister in law? It seemed unlikely, if he was being honest.

where innocence burns in flames

i'm frozen to the bones

image by yumpy, code by corvus

Uzma doesn't need his answers, really, and she's unperturbed that Alaric doesn't elaborate. She can guess well enough which of her traits are likeable, after all; she had been raised for this life, and she fits into it well. Every part of her is crafted to fit the mold -- and if there had ever been a chance of Uzma being anything else, it's long gone now. With the pale green paste completed, she scoots nearer again to coat his wounds in a meticulous manner, flicking an ear idly towards him when he questions her. It's a fair enough query, considering that Odhgrimm had made the lack of an alliance quite clear, but whether the jarl likes it or not, Alaric is entwined with them in some way. Erna is a problem, but she is still a Rike, and discarding her now would be unwise. "I have a duty as a medic," she says quietly, but she knows that isn't exactly the answer he is looking for. It can be assumed that Uzma does not just help anyone she finds along the way, after all. "Erna is under your protection --" for better or worse, she hasn't decided yet -- "and it's in her benefit that you are at peak health." There is no doubt that Erna is more than capable of protecting herself, but she's chosen Alaric for some unfathomable reason, and Uzma is not fool enough to think that means nothing. More than duty as a medic, she has a duty to the Rike, and that includes Erna -- however unfortunate that fact may be.

my words all fall like empires like an ancient language we used to know

art // code // do not use without permission