The battle was coming to a close, and Cirilla wondered if she really did have the upper edge. The brown lioness could certainly give it to Uma - she was vicious in a fight, and if she were battling someone not as experienced as the lioness, then perhaps the outcome would have been rather different.

Cirilla's shoulder makes contact with the center of Uma's chest, and as the blunt force connects, Cirilla can feel the wind being forced out of Uma's lungs. Perhaps it was the wheeze that gave it away, or the grunt that slipped from her lips in pain: whatever it was, Cirilla knew that she had succeeded. Uma is pushed backward, and as she is, her jaw lunges forward and makes contact with her left shoulder, teeth sinking into already scarred flesh.

Much to Cirilla's surprise, though, is what happens next. Her attempt to unbalance her opponent had actually worked, and Uma's body gives way and begins to fall to the ground. It all happens in slow motion - Cirilla's left paw hooking Uma's right from under her, her back legs buckling and giving way, ears pinning back against her crown as her eyes widen in realization, and then the sound of her body hitting the ground, hard. Uma's jaws do clamp down hard against Cirilla's shoulder, but the Sigrún cannot feel the pain the mocha lioness had wanted to inflict - instead she just feels the ripping sensation, knowing that another scar would form there - an addition to her collection. Uma's claws latch around her body in a hug as the lioness follows Uma's body down, attempting to force her own claws into the shoulder's of her opponent in a bid to pin her down. With Uma's teeth occupied with her own left shoulder, Cirilla opens her jaws and attempts to dig them into her neck, in an attempt to find purchase but also force the woman to forfeit and concede.

Cirilla vs. @Uma
for Major Maim
Round four of four
she
Hits:

Rolling 7d20: 2 + 1 + 17 + 9 + 15 + 4 + 16

Dodges:

Rolling 4d20: 15 + 13 + 11 + 7

Luck:

Rolling 5d20: 6 + 1 + 8 + 18 + 15

@Cirilla vs. @Uma FOR Major Maim
— RESULTS —

Cirilla Hits: 5+4+3+3+9 luck=24
Cirilla Dodges: 2+2+3+3=10

Uma Hits: 3+5+4+2+5 luck=19
Uma Dodges: 2+2+2+2=8

Cirilla Successful Hits: 16
Uma Successful Hits: 9

Cirilla HAS WON THE CHALLENGE FOR major 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 @Ice ★

Uma is automatically WOUNDED for losing!

Cirilla Wounded Roll: 1

Cirilla 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 10/14, and are logged in the wounded log. Once healed, post in Trade & Dice Updates to have your dice returned to normal.

They go down in a tangle of limbs and fiercely lashing tails, with Uma slamming into the ground first. Her grip around the other woman's shoulders spares her from the worst of the impact, but it's bound to leave her sore for a some days, at least. Adrenaline drowns out most of the pain, but although she scarcely registers it, she certainly feels the way those teeth puncture her neck. Her breathing turns considerably more labored, from exhaustion and having her air supply cut off both, flanks heaving violently for breath.

Futilely, she kicks at the other's stomach, but it's a lost effort, each attempt weaker than the last as her strength steadily wanes. Meanwhile, her focus remains on @Cirilla's shoulder, and still she does not fold, not even as her claws dig painful furrows into her shoulder, pinning her to the ground. Those swirling eyes flick up to meet hers, bulbous and half-insane. She doesn't think about the blackness, slowly creeping into the edges of her vision. All she thinks about is Zelda (Cirilla?), and making her pay for her treachery before it takes her, but even as she does, her grip has already loosened, and the blackness is advancing on her fast.

image to jazzyblu + code to pine

This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of blood, and mildly graphic descriptions of maiming

Uma's larger body slams down against the ground beneath them both as Cirilla's weight seems to push her and unbalance her. Her body seems to follow Uma to the ground as her claws dig into the mocha lionesses shoulders, pushing her body further into the blood-stained dirt beneath them both. Cirilla's crimson tainted teeth sink so easily into Uma's neck, the popping of her skin as her fangs puncture it is so satisfying. The sickly and metallic smell of the blood that trickled so easily from her neck drove Cirilla into an innate frenzy, as her eyes seemed to swell with a desire for revenge.

The grip on Cirilla's shoulder, and the claws wrapped around her neck, began to loosen, and Cirilla knew that this would be the end. She had come out victorious as the edge of Uma's vision began to blur. Cruelly, the Sigrún held her grip on the woman's neck for a moment longer, ensuring that Uma would know she had lost. Eventually, though, as the life began to drain from her beaten body, Cirilla let go. She stood there, triumphant, with her claws still firmly wrapped into her shoulders. The woman was sure that the blood would return to the woman's head eventually, but the act of treason that @Uma had committed needed something more permanent as its consequence than just a battle of dominance.

The scarred lioness knew that this would draw a rift between them, but it needed to be done. She had been brought up on the importance of loyalty and family, and what had happened here today went against everything that she stood for - Uma needed to learn her lesson. Looking at her pretty features, Cirilla speaks. Holy water cannot help you now, She utters, almost in a whisper, as the lioness lay half conscious underneath her. Ég er stormurinn sem fer aldrei. I am the storm that never leaves. Cirilla's mother tongue could not be held back, not as the fury inside of her grows. Uma had betrayed her. Had gone against what they had agreed. Because of what? Because she was not there to save them, when she had made no effort to save herself? What kind of woman did that make Uma?

A low, instinctive, and gruff growl slips from her lips as she leans down, moving closer to Uma's face. She moves to the right side of her features, and for a moment, it looks as though Cirilla is going for an eye. But she moves further upward, and instead takes hold of Uma's right ear. My touch is power, Cirilla utters, before biting down against Uma's right ear and feeling the small veins pop in her mouth. The taste of metallic and crimson only fuels her further as blood drips from her own body. The stench of her loss, combined with the tarnish of treason, moves Cirilla to bite down hard against Uma's right ear tip and with one, swift, motion, pulls it away from her head. The tearing of skin is a sensation she does not tire of, and Cirilla holds her useless ear tip in her mouth for a moment, the blood dripping from it and falling onto Uma's pretty face. She looks at @Ambrose, first, and then her eyes move to @Eric. The lioness does not speak a singular word, but instead, after a brief moment, looks back down at the bleeding figure of her sister-in-law. Cirilla spits the ear tip away, tossing it away to one side. Do not underestimate me again, She growls, releasing her claws that had been pushing into her shoulder's the whole time. Otherwise, your treason will be paid for with your life, sister-in-law or fucking not.

The scarred lioness then moves off of Uma's body, and places herself on the edge of the foursome's gathering. Her adrenaline courses through her body as her emotions begin to release back into her mind, the bounding headache slamming itself against the sides of her skull as the blood continues to drip from her wounds. Cirilla assesses them quickly, looking at the damage done, and then looks to Ambrose.

It then hits her, like a tonne of bricks, falling from the sky.

What had she done?

Had she gone too far this time?

Had she taken her primal instinct and ran with it for too long, or had she been too loyal to her husband? The striped lioness desperately seeks out her husband's eyes, knowing that she would be greeted with a face of horror and a feeling of disbelief that he would never be able to shake. Had she single-handedly brought a divorce onto the table, before their marriage had even begun?

The Sigrún forces herself to remain silent. The horror is evident on her features, but she disguises it well enough that only Ambrose would be able to understand the emotion that sat on her otherwise solemn features. The panic lay evident in her rosé eyes which seemed to be drowning as her head thumped, over and over again.

Loving me is a death sentence, she thinks, wrapping her tail around her bloodied paws to hide the relentless kneading as Uma's ear tip lay torn next to her body.

I̵̠̞͖͂̄͂̉̓̆͒͠͝ ̷͚̖͋̕ẇ̶̗̰̙͉̙͍̆̐̿͘͜ǎ̷̼̟̟͓̈́n̶̛̤̝̲̼̭̠̔̏̈̓̋̄ţ̷̻͕̙͖̝̔͆̒ ̴̹̞̪͇̱͎̭̊͒̌͝͝t̷̢͚̦͉̱͔͒͂̑̈̑̐̒̊́ó̵͚̘̯̻̭̳̪̠̟̙̓̂͌̈̐̀̎ ̸̺͉͑̓̀̌̌̉͝b̶̢̛̠̰̫̣̀̊̾̈̂̎̿̀ë̴̼̤̺̣̻̥̦́̆͋͋̅͛͋̒ ̸̪̖̠͑̉̓̎͑͆̈́͜l̷̢̮̰͓̮͈̘̞͎̄ô̸̡̹̿̒͝v̵̤͙̘̥͍̤̣͚̠͈̄̌̅̍̒͘ẽ̶̳͖͈̰͉̠̙̜̓͘d̶̨̰̜̯͋̋͝͝.̴̙̜͈̰̊̏
̵͈̗̪̻͊̈́͌̈́̅̌̇̏͜
̷̡̭̮̗́̒̓͐͠Ḅ̷̨̓̊̈́́̾̆̕u̴̮̱̜͗̌̔͠ͅt̴̟͕͓͖̅̊͝ ̷̬͎̬̦̯̾̎̉͂̕͝I̵̢̱̜̱̜̹̝̊͑̊̏̄̍̽͐̈̂͜ ̴̧̥̰̲͉̩͖̪̌͒̐͂͜d̴͔͎̘͍̦͗̽̄̽̿̿̏̑ö̸̠̘́͋̓̊̓̚͠n̶̤̞͍͆̒'̵̰̙͎̽ẗ̵̨̪͙̤͔́̃͆̔̈̊́ ̴̢̧̗͕̯̫͐̆͂͐͒̔̃̕̕͠ͅf̶̳͖̉̽͗́͌è̷̛̯͕̤̱͐̏̾̓̌͛̈́͝e̶̟̩͎̣͋l̸̢͚͕̼͙̣̩̻̞͊̏̉̉̑ͅ ̶̲͚̯̩͌͒̿̏͐͘I̶͖͝ ̷̞̟͎͈̦̬̙͓̖̃͑͠ḍ̵̢̨̨͕̦̳̩̟͐͋͛̉͌͗̕͠ͅe̶̛̻̯͝s̸̫̺̫̹̥̼̱͈̑͐̐̑͊̇͝͠ȩ̶̧͔̜͇̬͔̎̉̿̒͂͋r̷̜͈̜̒̒̀̋v̴̨̛̲̩͎͕̣͗͐̂͌ḝ̴̤̹͓̗̼͚͕͋̇̈̑͠ ̸͈̜͙̥̩̇́̅̾̋͆̉͊͜ì̵̻̘̙̯̰̫̳̐ṫ̵̩͊.̸̯̾̉̔́͛̑́͘͝
̴̺̪͍̪̣̝̱̽̌̋͑̍̈̃͜
̷͕̻̙͇̌̋͝Ñ̴̡͔̜̠̗͈̫̖̖̈́̒̍ö̵̳́͊̀t̶̡̞̰̞̻̹̮̋̐̅̋̍̄̽͛͐̉ ̷̧̟̣̹̣̤̍͋͋̿̾̽̉̕͠͝a̴͕̣̳̝̳̣̱̥̖̣̔̄̀͆͗f̴̨̹̦̯̥̟͍͔͆͑́̃̊̈́͋͂̐̕t̷̲̱̺̫̭̬̤͂e̴̡̧̨̲̬͙͙̦̹̋̍̏͌̃̃̌r̴̡̻͓̘̥̜̟͍̅̈́ ̴̛͎̩̺͎̬̞͕͚̝̘͗̀͛̏̑͊͌͌ṯ̴̳̲̦̫̘͉̩͍́h̵͈̝̀́̀͑̍̚i̷̲̦̦̲͆s̴̙̽͑͛.̴̨̙̟̤̚

As the grip on her neck is released, air floods back into her lungs, and she comes back to herself again, a violent coughing fit wracking her body. She levels her gaze on the lioness before her, her vision still swimming, but gradually coming into focus. There's no doubt about it this time. It's @Cirilla, jawing away about something that never reaches her dazed ears. Blood flows from the fresh lacerations on her forehead, dripping into her eyes. She finds herself making a conscious effort to focus, blinking away beads of red to look at her rival. The words make no more sense to her than they did before, uttered in some kind of fancy speak she does not have the willingness to try and decipher. "Up yours." She struggles to take in air, her breath coming to her in short, sharp gasps, but she manages to muster up enough of it to say at least that much. Better than to beg. Better than to live and die a coward.

She can feel the other's breath brushing over her face as she leans in close, too close for comfort, and her lip curls accordingly, aware of what comes next. "Do it. You don't have the guts."

Once a coward, always a coward.

Her right ear is seized then; she doesn't flinch at that, giving a violent jerk only as it's torn clean off her head. White-hot pain stabs her skull, and she realizes she's yelling, yelling with a kind of pain she's never felt before. They're the agonized dying cries of an animal, and for the first time, she thinks that maybe she will die here. But at least she'll die having exposed Cirilla for what she truly is. @Eric and @Ambrose can make up their own minds on what to believe, but a warned man counts for two.

"Do you think she’ll do the same to everything she deems useless?"

The words tumble around in her pain-addled mind like frenetic bats in the night, and she can picture those eyes now, piercing and red, that prophetic color. At the time, she'd felt that the boy king had only been trying to drive a wedge between them, manipulating her with pretty little words. That's probably true, but they've stuck with her all the same. Cirilla's claws, digging furrows into her shoulders, are lifted, and unsteadily she rises to her paws, face blood-slicked and all but irrecognizable. Shamed. Her eyes, digging baleful poison arrows into the woman, are the only feature of her left identifiable as she regards her, drinking in her words.

She will defer to her, because, according to her own playbook, that's how it works. Because she defeated her in battle. Because she's proven herself stronger than her.

But it's another thing to forget.

"He was right about you." It's the Andal king she refers to, whose poison stinger appears deeply embedded in the soft tissues of her ailing brain still, and for a moment she only stands, watching her. Then she can stand to look at her no longer, and as that old familiar anger threatens to master her all afresh, she turns on her heel to leave, back to the badlands, back to the place where she was living before all this started.

She should never have left to begin with.

EXIT

image to jazzyblu + code to pine

His words fall on deaf ears—the duo engage in an age-old tango, each trying to outclass the other. Flowers of blood begin to bloom underneath them, and Ambrose can't peel his eyes away, no matter how much he wants to. Eric's jibe distantly reaches his ears, but even he can do nothing to douse the fires of resentment spreading between the two women.

They're not pulling punches, he can see that much, and as Cirilla slams Uma into the cracked earth with a harsh thump that reverberates in his bones, his breath hitches in his throat. There is a malefic, crackling savagery in those violet eyes, poised on the edge of bloodshed as she looms over his twin sister.

Yes, he's seen it before, the firebrand anger and ambition that has always drawn him to the cutthroat woman—but never like this. Her fury has always been controlled, intense, fleeting like a passing storm. But now, as Cirilla throttles @Uma even as she lies defeated—that's not the Cirilla Sigrún he knows and loves.

He sees Uma's body slackening, grasping for breath.

"Ciri!" He tries again, this time with a thunderous anger of which he never thought himself capable. Just as he's about to push his wife off his sister, something he probably should have done much earlier, the woodland assassin reluctantly relinquishes her hold on Uma's neck. Just as he's thinks it's over, Cirilla stoops down and tears his sister's ear lobe clean off.

At once, his insides turn to ice, his pulse racing in his ears as he watches @Cirilla remove herself to the fringes of the group. He stares at her, dumbfounded, words failing him. She didn't have to do that. She didn't have to do that. There's a silence that fills in the spaces between them, and then he speaks, quietly. "What's wrong with you?" The words are painful to say, but he doesn't take them back.

He steals a glance at @Eric, a silent invitation to join him, and then he slinks off wordlessly. No, this is not the Cirilla Sigrún he knows.

Or maybe it's a part of her he hasn't yet discovered, tucked away somewhere in the darkest recesses of her being.

-exit-

CODE BY LARS, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

Eric’s jest gets lost in the whipping of the wind, and the conflict continues barreling forth towards its inevitable conclusion. He opens his mouth again a couple of times, puts a hesitant paw forward, but nothing he can do seems good enough. Or even safe! When @Cirilla stares back at them, a piece of @Uma dangling from her teeth, she’s changed and yet all too familiar. Eric stands stock-still for a moment, a jolt of fear stabbing his spine and rendering him powerless, as reflected in his bright teal eyes is not his best friend’s girlfriend wife but his own father. “It is in that moment, Eric, the moment when you taste the dying’s blood that a vampire feels most alive.” This was the kind of savagery he’d escaped, the one he’d never managed to live up to. Eric didn’t want to live up to it anymore! He didn’t want to be what he saw before him. A monster. “He was right about you.” Again, more things he doesn’t understands. More proof he’s somehow still not a part of their super secret club. “Uma…” Eric has barely moved towards her before she darts off somewhere, leaving a trail of blood behind her. @Ambrose has the decency to be upset, the thick purple veil of love hasn’t blinded him completely to the good and bad in the world. It was one thing to hurt him, he was used to paying for his big mouth, but to hurt Uma and permanently so… What if one day, when the kids had misbehaved and they were stuck throwing plates at each other, Mrs. Ambrose, in the heat of the moment, decided to take something bigger than an ear? His friend leaves, and Eric follows suit, somehow rendered speechless. -Exit Eric- But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)