Throw yourself into the unknown

With pace and a fury defiant

+5 Observe a challenge and learn the results (Cassandra vs Alaric)
+5 Observe a challenge and learn the results (Saga vs Erna)
+5 Observe a challenge and learn the results (Antares vs Violarum)

To call it chaos might be appropriate, though some (himself included, on occasion) might skew more poetic in their description. Bodies clashed, fur and blood flew. He couldn't even be certain of individual allegiance or what had initially sparked the wanton violence. It was, put simply, a mess.

Attention drifted erratically. The main event seemed to have been a challenge for the territory itself. A rather vicious brawl also caught his interest - upon closer inspection in seemed one combatant was not only blind but eyeless. He cringed a bit at that, unable to keep himself from imagining how that might have come about. Had she been born that way or had it been the result of a life of violence? Occasionally, he liked to imagine himself without the use of one sense or another, as an interesting mental exercise, but he couldn't quite stomach the thought of it being his reality.

He noted one brown, patchy, man going after the individual who had recently challenged for the oasis, and assumed it was a member seeking some variety of justice or revenge.

Ultimately, as the chaos began to die down and the wounded either left or were taken away, results became apparent. The mire leader retained his metaphoric crown - but, it seemed, lost something possibly more important. Judging by the way he reacted to the fall of the brown woman (Erna). He thought the eyeless beast fell as well, but a healer rushed to her aid and he wasn't quite able to see what happened after that. There was a lot of blood, though, and he supposed it might be some miracle if she survived.

He spotted the man who'd challenged the oasis (Violarum) favoring a leg, and assumed he'd lost his scuffle as well. Other lions fell or limped away, and really it was just too difficult to keep track of everything that may or may not be important. The main information he'd wanted, he'd gotten - the mire would not change paws. He hadn't really expected an actual bloodbath. It was a tedious event that, ultimately, did not affect him.

Silently, he would slip from his hiding space and head back the way he'd come. Time to wash away the muck and find some other way to spend the rest of the day.

-exit-

code by corvus

He grasps her neck, and he takes a bit of defiant joy in the moment, as the brawl has hardly been in his favor until now. He gives her a good shake, an attempt to inflict as much damage as he can, but there isn't any time to do much more. He feels her shove him, her forepaw extending to push him away, but he won't be discouraged so easily. The shove only warrants a warning snarl from him. He raises his own forepaw close to her eye level in preparation to swat her like an annoying fly, but he doesn't see her second attack coming.

A sharp pain blooms across his ribs and causes him to loosen his grip on her momentarily. With how thin the skin is there, and how exposed the area is, he's starting to resent her attacks on his flank. Assuming she's already finagling her way out of his reach somewhere, like flighty lioness that she is, he mentally curses himself for letting his guard down and quickly attempts to close the space between them again, pursuing her with a vengeance and trying to latch his jaws onto anything that's remotely within reach while extending his forepaws in an attempt to trip her in case she tries to run again.

Ambrose vs. @Dahlia
For minor maim
Round 4/5

Hits:

Rolling 3d20: 12 + 3 + 14

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 5 + 6 + 17

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 3 + 8 + 17 + 13 + 2

code + art

His teeth find a satisfying purchase across their target, and he seeks only to clamp down and worsen the damage. Apollinaire could feel exhaustion weigh him down, his movements becoming sloppier and his need to have this over and devour the petulant lion bit by bit rising. As Seneca cocks his head down and to the right, the Dieudonne's head goes with it by the force, the sudden movement causing strain upon his neck, jaw, and lower teeth, as blood seeped into his mouth. Whose blood - he couldn't tell for sure.

His left paw rises from the ground, twisting upwards, as he desperately attempts to bury his left claws into the Andal King's right cheek, to attempt to keep him in place so he can peacefully try and chew on the man's face.

Apollinaire vs. @Seneca
for Major Maim
Round 5 / 5
Hits:

Rolling 6d20: 16 + 12 + 7 + 4 + 9 + 11

Dodges:

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 12 + 10 + 9 + 1

Luck:

Rolling 7d20: 2 + 7 + 14 + 16 + 15 + 6 + 18

+1 luck due to WB's lead scout Charax being present

coded by flea + art by rabbit

@Seneca VS. @Apollinaire FOR MAJOR MAIM
— RESULTS —

Seneca Hits: 2+3+3+4+4+2 Luck = 18
Seneca Dodges: 2+2+3+2+2 = 11

Apollinaire Hits: 2+3+5+4+3+2 Luck = 19
Apollinaire Dodges: 1+4+3+3+2 = 13

Seneca Successful Hits: 5
Apollinaire Successful Hits: 8

@Apollinaire HAS WON THE CHALLENGE FOR MAJOR MAIM!

---

WOUNDED ROLL

performed on discord by @irish ★

@Seneca is automatically WOUNDED for losing!

Apollinaire Wounded Roll: 5

@Apollinaire is WOUNDED!

Profiles will be adjusted to reflect the wounded rolls, which, if received, reduce the character’s hits and dodges by -1 for an standardized amount of time. Any wounded rolls received from this fight are considered healed as of 7/11/22, and are logged in the wounded log. Once healed, post in Trade & Dice Updates to have your dice returned to normal.

In official wars and raids, fight result timers and posting restrictions are negated. Posting may continue, but the results of this fight cannot be acknowledged ICly until either both challengers have responded, or if 3 days have gone by. Whichever comes first!

change your heart or die ▽ Ushered along from Claypso to another, Finnulf was aware of a great howling in the distance. His eyes scanned the chaos with fear and wonder, watching as Saga fell, drenched in blood. No… Despite not knowing his aunt very well, his heart heaved at the thought of their indomitable jarl falling. But before he could even form a thought on it, he was directed to another to help Emrik. It was with the briefest of pauses that Finnulf regarded @Grit. She was his age, and yet she reacted with knowledge and a no-nonsense precision. "I found him. I think he got water in his lungs." He answered, hurrying over the words – it wasn’t a lie, but the less anyone knew, the better- as he lowered his body so that Emrik could be retrieved from it, relieved at the weight leaving him. As Grit barked an order at him, Finnulf winced like he'd been struck, but he did exactly as she said without hesitation. He move to the edge of the water, stealing glances in the direction of the jarl as Calypso – his aunt, he learned – loomed over her like a witch over a cauldron. Finnulf found a section of water not visibly polluted with green things and scooped up a mouthful before returning. He waited for Grit’s instructions, glancing back over his shoulder at the scene of the necromancer trying to pull Saga back from the brink, and toward his mother, and toward @Cirilla – hoping she was not far behind. Once Grit gave him directions, Finn tilted his head and allowed the water to leak from his lips in dribbles over Emrik’s face. Mud oozed from his nostrils as Grit cleaned him. Finn wouldn’t have even thought to look for mud in there. Once the water was gone, he glanced down at Grit with a beat of wonder and then said, abruptly, "We need to hurry. No one is safe here." He turned to glance at @Leviathan and @Calhoun, hoping they got his meaning. He wasn’t sure how familiar the pirates were about Sigrun business, but surely they could see that things were down to the wire right now. Many of their own number were leaving, and if they didn’t join them and get Emrik out of here...well, Finn was young but he was not a fool. He didn’t want anyone else from the mire to recognize their stowaway cub, or for Alaric to change his mind. Always half-listening to everything rapidly occurring around him, he was aware of the moment Saga came back to life. He blinked in disbelief, unable to see everything as it happened, and welcomed the relief either way. Now if only Vellen would turn his interest to his brother. Don’t let him die before you have the chance to test him yourself, Vellen.

She isn't prepared for what comes next, even as her claws rake down the sensitive skin along his ribcage. Suddenly his paw is making solid contact with the right side of her face, the blow enough to cause stars dancing across her vision. The previous wound above her right eye is split wide open, flayed even further and suddenly a stream of blood is blocking her vision. The pain in her neck intensifies as he clamps down and she can feel the puncture wounds moving deeper in her neck; the pliant skin folding under the pressure as the wound widens and more blood stains her ivory fur crimson. She is riding on adrenaline alone, that perhaps is the only thing keeping her on her feet in the moment.

Perhaps against her better judgement Dahlia swivels her hind end to her left so that she can move clockwise to turn and face Ambrose once more. The calico yearling swats outward with a forepaw, attempting to claw at his face and hopefully deter him backward and away. Her ears are plastered against her petite skull, eyes widened like an innocent doe. Her right eye is obscured, swollen now from the blow to her brow and the wound on her neck is considerable. She pants between attacks, hoping to level out her stamina to last just a little bit longer.

Dahlia v. @Ambrose
Minor Maim (TBD)
Round 4/5

Hits:

Rolling 2d20: 16 + 15

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 8 + 18 + 13 + 6

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 13 + 6 + 20 + 17

ART COPYRIGHT IRISH

TASKS (MEDIC): +10xp - Participate in a raid or war (actively fighting, healing, or helping others).
+5xp - Attend a spar or challenge to assess the wounds [2/2].

She was welcomed; it was hardly a raucous greeting, but given the circumstances it was hardly surprising. She was just relieved to find a group of faces she knew. As she sat near the trio, watching proceedings with a sombre expression, it became increasingly obvious that the stakes here were high. Anxiety began to brew in Francesca's chest, but - as a healer - she knew she had to keep a level head. Or try, at the very least. It was the fight between @Grit and @Hakon that she least expected, though she knew better than to get in the middle of it. Grit may be young, but she could handle herself, and she would not thank her for the intervention. Besides, Hakon did not seem the type of man to go all out on a youngster - especially one that @Calypso cared for so much. So Francesca would simply sidestep to give the pair more room, watching them reproachfully and exhaling a brief sigh of relief once it came to a natural end. It is at this point that Saga - the Sigrun woman, Francesca thinks; from what she can make out - falls fatally, and Calypso flees to her side, but not before sending orders over her shoulder for Grit to assist @Calhoun, who Francesca had just spotted further along with a couple of unfamiliar youngsters. Hakon would follow Calypso, and so Francesca would follow Grit, clutching her supplies as she went. The poor boy looked bedraggled, and as @Emrik was laid out on the grass and Grit started to give instruction, Francesca would turn and retrieve the mouthful of water that she needed. @Finnulf was no doubt getting more alongside it, as instructed, but it did no harm to bring more; besides, the shock of cold water may help in his revival. She trickled it, slowly and deliberately, over the nose as Grit requested, waiting then for further instruction.

@Leviathan

Despite her best intentions, as Saoirse gazed at the scene, the sheer chaos of it put the lioness in a trance of sorts. She watched with wide eyes as bodies flailed into one another and piercing screams echoed shrilly through the air, her expression utterly bewildered as she tried to make any sense of it. She could smell so many groups present, and piecing together any rhyme or reason from the madness felt a fool's errand. She did not know how long she stood there, only relatively poised for battle, before she was able to pull her mind out of its confusion and focus on those in the outskirts like herself. It was just in time to spy someone ducking behind some brush.

"Hey," she hissed in a stage whisper, trying to catch his attention while not totally blowing his cover. Saoirse only waited a moment before marching over to duck behind the same brush, wriggling into place. "Saoirse ó Canain," she introduced in that same stage whisper. "Do you understand what is happening here? I'm afraid I am new to these lands," she explained, giving the lion a sideways glance before looking back to the scene before them. In particular, she could see a pair of white lions – a lion and a lioness – duking it out with ferocity.

---

@Gauthier
+5 - Observe a challenge and learn the results (Dahlia vs Ambrose)
+5 - Have a conversation about politics
+10 - Discuss pride, group, or family relations with another character

_CODE

He's mid-yawn when she approaches, seated and watching the bloody fights unfold and the contenders scurrying from their hiding places. Musing that there is too little reason for him to chase - he's unsure of the ones leaving, who is friend or foe, too few of them familiar enough to have a clue. The only ones who are familiar are already wrapped in their battles or long gone, long defeated, taking their beaten hides back from whence they came.

There is no intent search. In the shelter of the brush he can make his decisions confidently - none see him in their passing and it is almost a shame, but he's sure to have his thrill one way or another.

The subtle hey is a shock to him, and the heat of surprise rises and falls as swiftly as he can whip around.

And - she - gets beside him?

He's not entirely upset - she's nice and shapely and apparently entirely clueless, but he can tell by her expression that she's not there for him. Is that disappointment trickling down your spine? Saoirse ó Canain. A madwoman. Or a woman certain of herself. Or - new to these lands. Ahhh, so that is what it is. He lifts his chin in a means of understanding, because most steered clear of him; if it weren't the scent of the Bluffs that sent them packing, it was his resting bastard face, half of it cut up like jerky.

He came late, but he got the gist of it. A revenge match turned into a dueling families' war. As always. he responded, his eyes watching as one fight ended, two others still underway. He jutted his chin in the direction of a dead body being taken by the swamp king, and then toward the blinded pale beast being helped another direction. Sigruns and... Pike? Rike. and then his eyes drifted back to Apollinaire and the Andal king. Andal and Wolfbron. The politics were dull to him - though if he were to follow his own ancestry, he would have his own foes.

There was something pleasant about having no emotional attachments to strangers and their troubles. The troubles did make for amusement and flavor, however. Everyone hates each other here.

@Saoirse_{BG — ART — CODE}

She lifted her brows with surprise as the stranger whipped his head around, though perhaps she should have expected his shock when he seemed to have been trying to hide. Saoirse latched her silver gaze upon his scarred visage, watching as his agitation melted away as quickly as it had come. She watched the rise and fall of his chin and, only when she was relatively sure that he was not about to reach over and bite her, did she return her gaze to the frenzy. "A revenge match turned into a dueling families' war. As always." He could not have said anything juicier, really, as was made evident by the way her plush ears stood erect on top of her skull.

"As always?" She echoed. "My, my," Saoirse shook her head with a click of her tongue. It hinted at the nature of this place – of the division of families within it. With a sideways glance toward the mud-colored predator, she attempted to follow his gaze from a corpse being dragged over to a blinded, bloody beast. "Sigruns and... Pike? Rike." He looked to another pair of lions still locked in their deadly embrace. "Andal and Wolfbron."

"These are the families? Or, are they prides?" She sought to clarify, a certain wistfulness in her tone. "Everyone hates each other here." "Whom do you hate?"

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@Gauthier
+5 - Observe a challenge and learn the results (Dahlia vs Ambrose)
+5 - Have a conversation about politics
+10 - Discuss pride, group, or family relations with another character

_CODE