Sersie, she said at first, and Folke lifted his head, boyish brows lifting thoughtfully.

The one who... the cliff.

Oh.

Suddenly, his jaws tightened, a fear plunging in his belly that soon mingled with quiet fury. Were he not in hiding, desperate to keep himself hidden under the guise of the easy-going, yet curious rogue, he might have thrown himself into the fray, been just as ready to gnash his teeth as the clay King who'd settled beside his companion. However many questions spurn in his mind, he does not protest when she turns her attention to @Violarum, eager to assess his wounds from his own battle. Perhaps it had been a blessing the man had won; were they on enemy territory still, their own fates could have been far less favorable. He is content to retain his attention onto the battle, but then—

You're András.

Folke freezes. It had been so long since he'd heard his own name, the valiant efforts of Meira unwasted as they'd gotten used to each other's new. And yet, it felt like a curse; Violarum had unknowingly painted the target upon his back and were the battlefield not already emptying, he might have slunk away before anyone could have noticed. A pleasant, yet nervous smile unfurls upon his lips, his voice lowering so that it is shared only betwixt the three of them. You can call me Folke, he says, biting back the lump that welled in his throat.

This were a man he'd never met. But he were a man of Ghyslaine's past, and perhaps one who'd known only just enough. Perhaps he did not know about the crime he had committed, about the pact he'd made with his partner, about the selfishness he'd displayed in abandoning his previous children, whisking her away from hers, stealing her into the wilds for himself alone. He were thankful, then, that his nervousness was cut short.

Whatever Gods there were, they had not looked favorably upon @Ghyslaine's friend.

He could feel her launch from his side before he could see her, but just as she was there, she was gone. Quickly, Folke got to his paws, wide and wild eyes quickly finding the crumpled form of @Olive, and her opponent as she hobbled away. The wail echoing from her lips is one of death, and Folke feels both dread and anger rising through him all at once. Violarum moves first, but Folke is close behind him. He knows not all those who remain, who can help; he is thankful in that moment that the Plains King seems to have some careful, controlled grip. Thus, he seeks to settle by Meira's side, quickly resting his tail along her own, desperate to reassure her against the blight and despair.

She'll be alright, he tries to reassure her, pressing his nose against her cheek. But he is no healer, and he cannot tell if the slowed, sleepy rise and fall of her chest is a good sign at all. It will be alright.

Art by Raph, table by cala

like the sea touches the soil there is hardly time to celebrate before she is called to action. called by the very one who had risen back to glory; called to the woman whom she had watched fight. calypso cared nothing for politics -- she recognized where she was needed and was already moving forward by the time @Violarum's voice called out above the crowd. her gaze was hyperfocused on the missing toes, for she had seen the moment they were wrenched free and it had nearly sent her spiraling. too similar to her own loss (she wiggles her toes against the ground, feeling the absence of those that had been taken from her) in the depths of the mist. identical, really, and calypso's mind nearly snaps. blow after blow, strike after strike. fight and rest, fight and rest; keep her safe. keep HER safe. it was all that mattered, nothing else. fight, fight, fight... but violarum says her name and she shudders and shakes and keeps moving forward, until she is stopped beside the gathering crowd. "aye," she assures them, for calypso had patched up much worse, "she will be well." eventually, in time, and without waiting for any kind of permission she sets to action. pulling out what is needed, cleaning the worst of the wounds (aware of the gouges in her tender stomach, the ones that were so prone to infection...) and preparing the pastes and bandages that she would need to piece @Olive back together. "cen ye hold d'is?" pressing the dry moss to the worst of the wounds, absorbing the blood, needing an extra paw so that she can bandage it. the request is directed at none in particular but she looks at @Ghyslaine, the one who seemed closest to the wounded... @András

code // art // do not use without permission

WOE to those

She found success in parting from the foul creature, and with the ripping and tearing of flesh and fur both took their respective prize from their holds. As the man spit out her flesh, so too did she spit his - though she would aim it at his feet. The gesture was meant to be more meaningful, but unfortunately the male seemed to merely be in a blind rage.

He lept at her once more, his ugly maw aiming straight for her face - so she improvised. She would dip down, attempting to avoid his bite and hopefully let her shoulders take the brunt of his fangs. Meanwhile she would focus in on a forepaw closest to her - lunging in turn in an attempt to wrap her fangs around his paw.

His face made for no satisfying target, she wanted the claw of her foe - something to wear proudly as a reminder of her victory!

@Lyle vs. Mavour
Minor maim
4/4
Hits:

Rolling 6d20: 1 + 5 + 8 + 6 + 3 + 19

Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 2 + 16 + 17

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 18 + 10 + 17 + 11 + 12

[/quote]

Who Call Me A Friend

code by corvus

He should have focused on his own fight, and not his father’s or the others around him. Valtyr’s gaze snaps to the side, just in time to see the end of the pride challenge. And his father… falls. A knot of dread and fear sits in the prince's - ex-prince’s - chest, and without thought he forgets he’d been attacking another boy entirely. Until claws strike his face, tearing his skin and freeing the blood under it. Valtyr makes some shrill, pained sound and stumbles backward. By the time he turns to find his family, the remains of Lorien -

They’re gone. They left already.

The boy’s heart hammers in his chest as he tucks his tail, the feeling of being utterly alone and outnumbered overriding any pride he might have had. Shamed, wounded, Valtyr turns and flees.

Exit.

YOU DIG YOUR CLAWS IN

like a dog with a bone

code by corvus

@Lyle VS. @Mavour FOR Minor Maim
— RESULTS —

Lyle Hits: 2 + 1 luck + 1 + 1 luck + 0 + 2 luck + 2 + 2 luck = 11
Lyle Dodges: 4 + 4 + 5 + 3 = 16

Mavour Hits: 4 + 1 luck + 4 + 3 luck + 3 + 1 luck + 1 + 2 luck = 19
Mavour Dodges: 2 + 2 + 2 + 2 = 8

Lyle Successful Hits: 3
Mavour Successful Hits: 3

TIE-BREAKER

performed by @Shark

Lyle Hits:

Rolling 4d20: 17 + 15 + 7 + 5

Lyle Dodges:

Rolling 6d20: 4 + 6 + 10 + 1 + 17 + 15

Lyle Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 12 + 20 + 6 + 19 + 7

Mavour Hits:

Rolling 6d20: 13 + 6 + 14 + 3 + 20 + 7

Mavour Dodges:

Rolling 3d20: 7 + 3 + 20

Mavour Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 4 + 5 + 15 + 12 + 11

@Lyle VS. @Mavour FOR MINOR MAIM
— RESULTS —

Lyle Hits: 2 + 2 luck = 4
Lyle Dodges: 2

Mavour Hits: 3 + 1 luck = 4
Mavour Dodges: 1

Lyle Successful Hits: 3
Mavour Successful Hits: 2

LYLE HAS WON THE CHALLENGE FOR MINOR MAIM!

Please allow the challengers to respond to the fight results first. As per the site rules, if 3 days go by without a post from the challenger(s), they can be skipped. Whichever comes first! Any posts made before this will be removed, unless you are posting to another fight.

---

WOUNDED ROLL

performed on discord by @Shark

Mavour is automatically WOUNDED for losing!

Lyle Wounded Roll: 1

Lyle is NOT 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 31st August, and are logged in the wounded log. Once healed, post in Trade & Dice Updates to have your dice returned to normal.

They collide once more, his teeth sinking into the tough muscle of her shoulder. Her own fangs grappled a hold on his paw. Immediately he released his hold , body hopping back a step before he struck for her face once more. He sought to tear away the skin that covered the bridge of her nose. Blood gushed into his mouth and his toes flexed painfully against her hold.

Lyle rips himself entirely from @Mavour, roaring as the flesh on his paw splits wide. He stands before her, sides heaving with each breath. His bloodied body is absolutely exhausted but still he remained defiant. Now you look alhost as sexy as he. He grins. Maybe next time she'd be smarter about which side she picked.

Lyle turns away with a wince. But he wasn't done today. There still one more bitch to deal with.

/Exit

code by scorpixia♡︎ | art by drifter

So much was happening at once. Orson saw lions locked in battle, including his brother. He saw Olive fall and moved to help her, but she was quickly attended to by several others and he knew he was not needed. He saw the ugly three-legged monster that had maimed her making her escape and her lurched into action, putting on a short burst of speed before his wounds from his own battle caused a jolt of pain that made him stagger. He snarled after her, limping in her wake to be sure that she was really leaving. When he turned back towards the skirmish he saw that Lyle had succeeded in his own battle, but before he could go to his brother that smaller lion had also taken his leave. Orson wanted to pursue him, curious about his mask and desperate to speak with his brother have several seasons had passed without seeing him but for now he would have to let him go.

Orson wove through the crowd, looking for Anni. She was his main concern. With the worst of the fighting over, he wanted to make sure she was ok.

[end scene]

(2/2) +5 Study herd migration habits
(2/2) +5 Sunbathe or take a nap

Watching challenges always seemed to bore the siren, but it was also what she were drawn to. She thrived in having to know all that she could, and what better way to know who were ruling prides than showing up to the challenges themselves? Crimson gaze watches as the challenger wins, lips curling in a smirk as she thinks to herself on how she were hoping he would win - he was more attractive, anyways. And so her time here was done and Artemisia would begin to pad back in the direction he had come from.

While making her way back to the patch of sunlight she had been previously lounging in, her instincts once more made her follow a herd of prey animal. She stayed low and stalked them slowly, watching them and where they migrated to at which time. It seemed as though certain herds liked to inhabit certain portions of the fields during certain hours. Once she were satisfied with her findings, the earthen woman plops herself back down in that patch of sunlight while releasing a sigh, allowing for her eyes to flutter close to take a nice, warm nap.

exit Artemisia.

ART BY VASILIA, CODE BY LARS, MODIFIED BY GUNNER
*DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION!!*

You're @András.

If there were ever words that could rock her world, it was those. Her eyes widened, gaze shooting to stare at @Violarum as she racks her own mind, trying to think about when that name would have slipped. How he would have known. When Folke speaks, it is with an easy smile, and she feels a shudder of relief go through her at his poise and coolness.

"Folke." She repeats firmly, shooting Vio a look that is laced with warning, and 'I'll explain later.' But it is @Olive that she worries for the most. It is Olive that her heart pangs for, that brings her forward into a run to her friends side.

@Calypso, whom she recognizes from her time in the Lagoon is there, and Ghyslaine nods to her words- paws coming to rest where the healer had indicated. "Yes." She agreed, willing to do whatever, and anything to help her friend.

ART BY NAME KIM, CODE BY LARS